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luvf4ngz · 24 days

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Til Death Do We Part Brings Us Together

grim reaper! jason todd

Description: Your constant close calls with death first captures the attention of the Grim Reaper, then his heart, and lastly, his devotions.

Contents: Female Reader, Mentions Of Death/Dying, References to Greek Mythology, Possessiveness, You Watch Pretty Woman and Read Pride & Prejudice Together Bc Yeah, Mentions Of Isolation But It’s Okay I Promise, Jason Is Lowkey Lonely And Desperate, Reader Has A Death Wish? Maybe?, Praise Kink, SO MUCH PRAISE, Unprotected Sex, Religious Symbolisms, Sacrilege?, Nipple Play, Jason Calls You Princess, Obviously???, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, (Female Receiving), He’s So In Love, Jason Todd Is Touch Starved, Devotion, Jason Is A Munch, Overstimulation, Vaginal Sex, Yes Greek Gods Wear Boxers, Enthusiastic Consent, “Will it fit?” I’m Sorry Okay, Size Kink, Jason Todd Has A Big Dick, Gentle Dom Jason Todd, Intimate Sex, Slow Sex, Soft Sex, Aftercare, Cuddling

Word Count: 6081

Author’s Note: Jason is loosely based off of Thanatos from Greek Mythology/Hades (the game). It was kind of hard infusing his personality with the literal personification of Death, but I hope I did a good job! Also some details are completely made up or changed for the purpose of the fics, like how dying works in Greek Mythos. Please don’t come for me, I’m just trying to be horny on the internet. Without furthermore, please enjoy :)

Actually one more thing I have a Thanatos/Death playlist and I adore it to bits, please listen if you want.

Thank you @toruslvt for beta-reading!

He’ll do anything for his most devout follower, he’ll worship you twice as much as you ever could him.

"Yet another brush with death." You heard a husky voice beside you, making you turn your head to look at the figure sheepishly.

Whether you’re extremely unlucky or just unfathomably reckless, he’s not sure. All he knows is that your soul has been on the edge of being his over and over again - whether it was narrowly missing a car or falling into a river or even just choking on a bone. You always seem to make it out of those situations just fine, which has thoroughly caught his attention.

"You should really be more careful, you know." He looked at you and sighed.

“I am! Or at least I try to be...” You murmur timidly, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s uh, it’s nice to see you again.” You give him a small smile, turning your body to face him.

As always, he’s in his dark cloak, the hood lifted to conceal some of his hair, casting a shadow over his face. The gold accents adorning his body glint due to the faint sunlight casting through your kitchen window, the same sunlight making his tan skin glow, making him look otherworldly - which he was.

He raised his eyebrow, “Is it now? Most people are terrified to see me.” He muttered, smirking a bit,

“I guess I’m used to you now.” Your grin gets a bit larger, warmer. “You don’t have your scythe.” You point out.

He lets out a slight chuckle at your observation, “Such a keen eye. I figured I wouldn’t need it, and I was right. What was it this time?”

Your face heats with embarrassment at the question. “I slipped.” You confess, pointing to the puddle of water on the ground. “Almost cracked my head open, I guess. But! I turned my body in time, so I’m fine.”

“Yes, that would explain your wet clothes.” His eyes trail down your body, catching slightly where your nipples peek out against the damp fabric, before looking back up to your face.

He clears his throat, “Haven’t you learned your lesson by now? It’s not even lunch time yet and you were on the brink of death. Aren’t you afraid of dying?” He scolds you.

“I mean, not really.”

A pause of silence.

“What? You’re joking, right? How can you be so cavalier about this?”

“I don’t know, it doesn't seem so bad. It’s a natural part of life. Should I be scared?”

“What kind of question is that?!” He raises his voice slightly, eyebrows scrunched as he looks at you. “Of course, you should be. Dying isn’t fun. You’ll be dead, trapped in the underworld for the rest of eternity. You should be trying to preserve your life while you still have it.”

“I am, though. I’m not saying I don’t like being alive, I’m just saying, when it happens, it’ll happen. There’s no use being so pre-cautious and anxious all the time.”

He lets out a huff, “You are… certainly a strange one.”

“In any case, I’d like to think my soul will go to Elysium. I'm a pretty good person, so I think the afterlife won’t be too awful for me.” You continue on, carefree.

"That isn't my point, though. Even if you're guaranteed a place in Elysium, you should still be more vigilant.”

“Why should I be? My end is already predetermined, isn’t it? Don’t the fates know when my time is up?”

“Well… yes, but-”

“Wait, then how come you visit me before I actually die?” You interrupt him, a realization suddenly taking place. “Near death experiences shouldn't summon you right?”

He hesitates a bit, caught. "You’re correct… I visit you on my own accord.”

“Why?” You tilt your head cutely, an innocent and puzzled look in your eyes.

“You’ve just caught my attention, is all.” He looks away. “I like to keep track of you, the Fates are wrong sometimes, and you basically have a death wish so I just… I like to make sure you’re okay.”

You smile slightly at his words, “You don’t want me to die?”

“Of course, I don’t. I like- I like to watch you. You’re interesting to me.” He chooses his words carefully.

“I am?” Your eyes brighten a bit at his words.

He turns back to you and nods, his hood shifting a bit with his movement, revealing a bit more of his hair. The white streak catches your attention.

“I have to confess it’s… cute the amount of trouble you manage to get yourself into. It’s entertaining to see what you get up to, how you treat others, what you desire out of life.” His eyes move to look into yours. “Your mentality is quite unique, as well. You see dying as natural and not something to be feared, but I think you've accepted it to an… abnormal degree." He paused. "...You're the first person in a very long time to not express fear of me.”

“Why would anyone be afraid? You're only doing your job... and you're quite nice."

He laughs, the deep rumble of his voice goes straight to your knees. "I think you're the first person to ever call the God of Death ‘nice’. You wouldn't believe the amount of people that fear me, even before their time is up. It's... exhausting, really. I can always hear their prayers, their cries, their pleads.”

"I mean I can’t blame them, I just can't share the same sentiment, especially with all the conversations that we've had."

He smiles at you, “You really are like a breath of fresh air. It’s nice to know that someone doesn’t hate me.” He pauses again, a soft look in his eyes. “But you should still be careful. You're not made of rubber after all. Don’t let me take you earlier than I should.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad, though.”

“What?” In such a short time, you’ve shocked him again.

“I wouldn’t mind dying knowing that you'll be the one waiting for me.” You say it so casually, continuing to smile at him, as if it wasn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever uttered to him. His heart beats a little faster as he stares down at you, stupefied.

“You can’t mean that.” He replies after a while.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He’s speechless, dumb-founded. How could he possibly begin to explain that the idea of anyone liking him enough to allow him to take them from this world so happily was absurd?

“What?” You ask, noticing his sudden silence. “Why’s that so strange? I like talking to you, and when I’m in the afterlife you would keep me company, right?”

He lets out a breath and smiles a bit, the whites of his teeth peeking out behind the pink of his lips. “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t sound appealing.”

“Good.” You smile a little wider, your eyes crinkling as it makes his heart begin to race now.

“I-I should get going, there’s uh- souls I need to get to.” He stutters out.

“Yeah, that sounds important. I should clean up with water. I’ll see you around uh… Mister Grim Reaper, sir.”

He lets out an amused huff. “Jason. Just call me Jason.”

“Will do.” You jokingly salute him, and it makes him let out another chortle.

“Alright, farewell then.” He nods, before blinking out of your kitchen.

You stare at the space he used to occupy for a bit, still smiling softly, before leaving to get a mop - and maybe a change of clothes.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be here?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow as you stare at him from the couch.

“Yes.” He replies simply, his eyes and attention focus on the movie playing on your TV.

His visits have been more and more frequent lately, ever since the conversation the both of you shared in your kitchen. Now, Death, who prefers the name Jason, shows up even if you didn’t go through another life-threatening event.

And right in this moment, Jason is standing in front of your couch, entirely enraptured by Pretty Woman, of all things.

“Don’t you have to do your duty? I’m sure there’s a lot of lost, wandering souls right now.” You try again, concerned.

“What? You don’t want me here?”

“I didn’t say that!” You put your hands up in defense. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble or something. Won’t Hades or the Fates or… whoever your superior is get angry?”

“Probably.” He shrugs. “But what are they going to do? Kill me?” He casts you a glance from the corner of his eyes, before going back to the movie. “Besides, souls can’t leave the mortal body without me being there. They’ll just rest for a bit, I can always come get them after.”

“I guess that’s fine then.” You sigh out. “Could you at least sit down?”

Jason lets out a nod, before moving to the couch, taking a seat beside you but still keeping his distance.

He watches the rest of the movie in silence beside you, enjoying your company. His eyes flick over to admire you a few times, taking in your immersed gaze and noticing the way you’re clutching a plushie so close to you (cute). When you sniffle, when a few tears trail down your face, when your parted lips form a pout at the ending, his heart pumps hard in his chest.

This was a much better use of his time.

“You have so many books.” Jason states, his figure crouched so that he could properly read all the titles. His hood is off, fully revealing his soft, dark hair - the white streak a beautiful contrast.

“Who’s the observant one, now?” You chuckle from your place on the bed, eyes not leaving the novel in your hands.

He rolls his eyes, “What are you reading?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” You hum softly, eyes still scanning the page.

“What’s that about?” Jason asks, walking away from the bookshelf and towards you.

“Uh, it’s a little complicated.” You murmur, “But basically it’s two people learning to get over their, well, pride and prejudices to fall in love.”

He lets out a hum, “Read it to me?”

“Oh my Gods, you’re so lucky, I just got to the best part.” Your eyes watch him as he lays down beside you on your bed, the fabric of his black cloak pooling around his body.

“Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began: ‘In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression.”

Jason turned to his side in order to get a better view of you. He watches how your eyes practically light up as you read, a smile gracing your face. He can’t help but think how pretty you look like this.

“She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. UGH, it’s so romantic!” You yell out, clutching the book to your chest and rolling back and forth slightly, making him let out a chuckle at your antics. “I mean at this point in the book I still hate Darcy but Gods, the way it’s written is just so good!”

He falls silent for a bit, his gaze affectionate as he watches you. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

You stop your giddy reactions, looking at him curiously. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you remember when you said you wanted to be with me in the afterlife?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?”

He took a deep breath. "Let's say... let's just pretend for a moment, that when you die... I don't guide you to the afterlife. Instead, I take you somewhere else with me."

You sit up slightly, pushing yourself up on your arms, turning your body to face him. “Where would we go?” You set your book aside on the nightstand.

“To… my home. I have a residence on the outskirts of Tartarus. You would be safe there, I can make sure that nothing would bother you.” He sits up fully, grabbing and holding your hands gently. “Please, I want you to stay with me. I get so lonely, and I just- I like being around you.” His tone is soft, pleading and sincere as he confesses his desires to you.

You smile back at him, eyes crinkling softly in that way that he’s come to adore. “I’d like that.”

“Really?” He gasps out, face mirroring yours as a bright smile overtakes his features.

“Mhm,” You hum, “It’ll take some time, though.”

He shakes his head, hands gripping yours a bit tighter, “I would wait the entire rest of eternity for you, if I had to.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to not make you wait that long.” You giggle out.

“I’d hope not. I want to have you with me, I want to keep you around until the end of time itself.”

“I think that’s the most romantic thing anyones ever said to me, Jay.” Your tone is light, teasing.

“There’s a catch though,” He pauses, hesitant to see your reactions. “You won’t be able to leave the house or see anyone else. I can’t risk you getting found. B-but I get you anything you need, I can make you happy.”

“That sounds just fine to me.”

His eyes glisten in happiness, a bright shine in them. “Then... it's settled. I will take you to my home, and you will stay with me… forever.” His glances down to your lips for a second, before quickly looking back into your eyes.

You notice the movement, heart beating a bit faster.

“Could I kiss you?” He whispers, his voice low and warm.

“Yeah,” You mumble back.

He leans in closer, hands releasing yours as one places itself on the small of your back, pulling you closer to his body as the other gently grips your chin. He leans down, tilting your head up until he feels the soft press of his lips to yours. Warmth floods his body as he feels electricity in the air, and he feels his heart pound behind his ribcage when your own arms wrap around his neck.

Your touch, your taste, was addicting. You were tender and sweet, and Jason never wanted this moment to end. He groans when he feels your hand begin to play with his hair, and he presses himself closer to you, both hands moving to grip your waist.

His grip tightened on you as your kiss intensified, his body started to tremble as it filled with a desire so deep that it was all-consuming.

Eventually you break apart from him, needing air. He dismays at having to pull away, but allows you to do so.

"If that's what's waiting for me at the end of my life, maybe I do want to die sooner…” You joke, breathless.

He groans again, “Don’t… don’t say that. Don’t tempt me, I can’t take it.” He presses his forehead to yours, both of your breaths mingling together.

You giggle, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him again. He relents easily, his heart skipping when you hum softly against his lips, the desire in his body igniting higher and higher.

Eventually, he’s the one to pull away, his breath tickling you as he trails his nose against your neck. He can feel the soft tremor in your breath as your body shivers against his. “Can we go further?” He murmurs into the skin.

“Yeah, I want more.” You nod.

“Good, I do too. I want all of you.” He begins to press his lips to your neck, lightly leaving kisses and bites that you have squirming and gasping.

“You have me.”

“You don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “You... you don't know how much I've been longing for you. Your presence alone gives me joy. Having you touch me… it makes my heart pound and my body melt. The way you talk, the sounds you make... it’s perfect. I want to touch you. I want to hold you. I want to know everything about you. I want all of you.”

“You can have that too…” You sighed out.

“You drive me crazy.” He groans, leaning close again to kiss you deeply, caressing the sides of your body. He wasn't holding back anymore. He couldn't. He wanted you so much that it ached in his bones. His hands started sliding slowly but surely, caressing your back and waist. He couldn't get enough of you, and your body’s twitching and the sound of your heavy breaths was such a thrilling sensation that he was consumed by it entirely.

“Jason…” You pant out his name as you experimentally grind your body against his, whining when you feel his hard cock rub against your clothed cunt, your hands holding him tighter.

The sound drove him crazy with arousal, his body wracked with longing. You felt so good and he couldn't help but lean into you more, allowing you to press against him over and over and over. The feeling of heat was flooding his entire being, his cock throbbing beneath his cloak.

He worships the feeling of you grinding against him for a few more moments, his breath coming out in husky pants before he rolls you onto your back, hovering above you.

"Just be a good girl and let me do all the work, now." His voice is husky, needy, as he leaned down and kissed your neck again, his breath hot and his body trembling with anticipation.

You whine again, rubbing your thighs together to relieve the sudden ache between them. Your eagerness spurs him on, he presses a peck to your cheek before sitting back on his knees to gaze down at you.

“Gods, you’re gorgeous.” He mutters, his hand slips up your shirt a little, and he shivers at the instant warmth of your skin. “Can I take this off?”

You nod rapidly, quickly pulling off your top and tossing it aside, revealing yourself to him.

Jason responds by leaning down to litter kisses over your body, a flush on his cheeks. His lips are soft and reverent almost as they softly touch your heated skin. He takes your nipple into his mouth sucking slightly, as a hand comes up to tweak and roll the other one.

“Jay…” You call out his name, your back arching slightly, and he never wants to stop hearing your voice.

“I got you, princess.”

He lowers his mouth, trailing down your body until he reaches the hem of your bottoms. “Can I take this off, too?”

“Do anything you want, Jay.” You breathe out, head dizzy with your need.

“You sure?” He asks, fingers hooking into both your pajama pants and underwear, dragging them down your body, uncovering inch after inch of your naked body.

You look like a dream under him, eyes blown with lust, lips parted, body bare for him as you nod. He sets your clothes aside, going back to relishing you.

You look away softly from embarrassment, “You take off your clothes, too…”

Your shyness got to him and he could help but laugh softly. You were so cute. He took a step back and off the bed, pulling off his cloak. He could feel your eyes watching his every movement, could feel your eyes rake his form as you settled on the bed.

His gold adornments drop to the floor with a ‘clunk’, quickly followed by his black trousers.

“You’re so beautiful.” You softly praise. You can’t help but to stare at him, eyes lingering on every sculpted muscle or coloured scar of his frame.

He couldn't help but feel like you were the beautiful one. The way your eyes traveled over his body made his heart beat fast. He felt like he was on top of the world, knowing you admired him.

He climbs back onto the bed, taking his place between your legs as he lays on his stomach. His hands come to grip around your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“Oh.” You gasp slightly at the intimate position, gulping as your blood pumps faster through your veins.

He slides a hand down towards your cunt, already slick for him. A thumb parts your swollen lips as he gently glides it up and down, before pressing it against your sensitive bud.

“Ah-” You moan oh so sweetly for him, hips twitching as he starts rubbing your pretty clit. Your body was so responsive to him, and it makes a grin break onto his face.

He brings his thumb away, making you frown before replacing it with his mouth, lips wrapped around the nub.

“W-wait!” You cry out, hands flying into his hair as you do your best to not buck into his face. He smirked around you, starting to suck despite your call. Your reaction only added fuel to the fire burning inside him, your writhing body and shaky gasps were too much for him to handle.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just let yourself feel good.” He mumbles into your cunt before going back to sucking and lapping at you. He holds you close to his face, his grip firm to keep you as still as he could.

He groans as you tug at his roots, the sound vibrating around your needy clit. Your desperate moans and whispers drove him crazy. He liked how fast you were breathing, how much you were moving. You were a squirming, twitching mess underneath him as the sensation became too overwhelming.

“Jason, oh my Gods.” You gasp.

“I’m your only God, now, right? Just me…” His hand moves to your fluttering hole, slowly pressing two fingers inside you. They slip in easily with how wet you are, dripping your desire down his wrists. He feels you clamp down on them, slick walls sucking him in further.

“Jason, Jay!” His name slips from your lips like a chant, a prayer wrapped in shallow breaths.

“Keep saying my name just like that, pretty girl.” He loves the way you make it sound, loves the way you say it. Not Grip Reaper. Not Death. Just Jason. Your Jason.

“Oh, Jay…” You breathe out his name like you’re struggling to even think.

“You’re such a sensitive thing, aren’t you?” He coos, starting to move his fingers in and out of you. He smirks when you squeal as he curls his fingers up, pressing against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you. His arm moves to keep you down, pinning your hips to the bed as he goes back to tasting you.

“N-not there!”

“Why not? Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It’s too much!” You’re breathless, barely able to gasp out replies as he keeps abusing that spot inside you.

“Do you want me to stop?” Jason slows his pace, fingers dragging painfully slow against your aching, slick walls, making you let out a needy mewl, clenching on him.

“No! P-please don’t.” You pout, softly tugging at his head to turn his attention fully on you.

“Say my name. Tell me what you want.”

You hesitate a bit, pondering your words. “Make me feel good, Jason. Make me cum.” Your tone is so soft and pleading, it’s the best worship he’s ever heard.

The only prayers he’s ever heard were cries for his absence, beseeching his very being and purpose, but with you - he’s found a new one. You want him, you want him closer, you want him to make you feel bliss. He can do that. He’ll do anything for his most devout follower, he’ll worship you twice as much as you ever could him.

He dives back down with a fervor, thick fingers working you quickly, the soft squelches increasing in volume and frequency. His tongue traces your clit, sucking and rolling and indulging in the way you writhe and whimper below him.

He keeps going as you squirm uncontrollably, as your body tenses further and further, as your eyes glaze over and your heart pounds. Your nerves are frayed and begging for relief as the soft warmth of his tongue doesn’t let up. Your grip on his hair tightens, making him grunt low and husky into you.

“Jason, m’gonna… can I please-?” You can barely make out full sentences, head fuzzy and blood searing as the dam inside you threatens to break.

“You don’t have to ask, just do it.’ He murmurs; his cock throbs in his garments, waiting for you to release on his tongue.

The feeling overtakes you, making you choke out a shaky cry as you climax. Your thighs squeezes his head, fingers buried deep into his dark locks as you tremble. You’re lightheaded and breathless and euphoria has settled in every inch of your veins.

Jason removes his fingers, gripping your thigh as his mouth slots against your leaking cunt as he engulfs his tongue into your taste. He greedily laps up your slick, moaning as it blooms over his tongue - more sweet and addictive than even ambrosia.

Your cries are so adorable as he continues to seek out every last drop of cum from you, your body pliant and weak below him as you keen and mew.

“J-Jay…” You stutter out his name as your body twitches, sensitivity kicking in.

“Yes, love?” He barely pauses to utter out those words, mind set on devouring you whole.

“C-can’t!” He frowns, giving you one last lick before pulling himself away from you.

His eyes are filled with a feral like need, mouth smeared and shiny with the aftermath of your arousal. “Did that feel good?” He husks out, “You looked so divine, cumming.’

You’re panting hard under him, mind dizzy as you process his words, nodding in reply.

“I want to make you feel that way for the rest of eternity, you’ll let me right? You’ll stay with me?” Now that he’s had you, he doesn’t think he can survive on his own anymore.

“Y-yeah, Jay.” You nod again, voice small.

He raises himself up, licking you off his hand before he crawls over your body again. His legs slot between yours, tangling the both of you together. He leans down, sighing out in satisfaction as your damp, warm skin presses into his.

His lips brush over yours, silently asking for permission to kiss you again. You accept him willingly, hands drifting to hang loose around his neck as you push your lips to his.

He groans, hand gripping your waist and the other running through your hair as he explores your mouth. You can taste yourself on him, spit mixing together as he groans into your lips.

He pulls back, both your breaths lingering in the small space between your faces. He trails his nose down to the sensitive skin of your neck, teeth dragging lightly across the flesh.

“I want all of you, so bad.” He groans. “I’ll do anything for you. Can you tell me I’m yours?”

He so desperately wants to belong to you - to know that one day you’ll accompany him in the deepest pits of Tartarus - that you’ll never let him be alone again.

“You want to be mine?” Your tone is puzzled, words ending in a lilt.

“Please.”

You smile, hands coming to hold his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. “Who knew the God of Death would be so needy?” You tease.

“You try being alone and hated since the dawn of existence.” He sighs, melting into your touch. His eyes close, leaning into your palms.

You giggle a bit. “We can be each other's.” Your lips break out into a grin as you bring his face down to yours, pressing pecks all over.

He relishes your kisses, letting out a deep, happy sigh. His cock is still painfully hard, straining against his boxers, but he tries to ignore it. He opens his eyes and brushes your stray hair behind your ears, slightly damp with your sweat.

“Jay,” You murmur his name, pulling back to look at him, “I want more.”

“More? You want me to eat you out again?” His mouth salivates at the thought of having your taste on his tongue again. He’ll do anything you ask.

You shake your head, thumbs rubbing along his cheekbones, “I want you to fuck me, Jay.”

“You do? Are you sure?” He whispers.

His breath hitches as you nod, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

“I wanna feel you, Jay. J-just go slow, I’m still sensitive.”

“You’re sensitive?” He huffs out an amused breath, smiling softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. I’ll make sure of it.”

You try to press your thighs together, getting excited by his promises and husky tone. He feels your legs shift around his, smirking as he takes in your desperate body language.

He shifts back again, tugging his boxers down. Your eyes trail to his now exposed cock, standing proud and flushed and daunting.

He’s…. big.

Your jaw drops a little as you take him in, your mind reeling with thoughts of “Will it fit?”.

“Hm? Don’t worry. I said I was going to take care of you.” Jason murmurs, voice adoring. He positions himself back between your legs, hands lifting your legs to encourage them to wrap around his waist. You willingly follow his guidance.

His hands come to hold your hips steady, hips canting forwards to rub the head of his cock through your folds. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” You reply softly, hands drifting to lay on top of his, gently grabbing his wrists.

He pushes inside of you, pace steady and measured as he tries his best to let you adapt to him.

“Ohmyfuck…” You slur, words mushing together as you feel him stretch you out. You grip him a bit tighter.

“Just relax, pretty girl.” He mutters, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin to calm you down. He continues pushing himself inside you, making you feel every ridge and detail and inch. It’s slow and deliberate; he’s savoring watching the way your cunt sucks him in, the way your head tilts back, how shallow and quick your breaths have gotten. “Can you feel it? Am I too big for you?” He teases, eyes shining with both mischief and affection. He pushes forwards again.

Your pussy flutters around the girth of him, slick pouring out with every second, making the process that much smoother.

You try to take deep breaths, groaning softly as you feel the way he bullies into you, nestling deep inside.

“S’it in yet?” You hiccup.

He chuckles softly, you were just so endearing. He was taking his time, enjoying the feeling of you. “It’s not even halfway yet, baby.” He coos.

“S-still?” Your eyes widen a bit, as he laughs again.

“Just lay down and take it, princess. I’ll do everything, don’t think about a thing.” He leans down and silences your whimpers with a kiss. His lips lock onto yours as he swallows your moans, moving his hips until he feels you flushed against him.

He pulls back, body once more shadowing over yours. His eyes drift down to where the two of you connect. “Look at that, she took me all in. I told you that you didn’t need to fret, love.”

“A-ah, it’s so deep…” You mumble.

“Isn’t it?” He grins.

He starts to move back and forth, instantly groaning at the intoxicating sensation of you wrapped warm and snug around his pulsing cock.

He keeps his pace slow, staying true to his promise. He doesn’t mind though, he’s just relishing in every little detail of you, burning the memory of how you look, feel, and sound into his mind - a treasure for eons to come.

You’re moaning uncontrollably, hands moving to grip at his biceps, nails digging slightly into the skin. He grunts, liking the shark twang of pain that shoots through his body.

He can feel you clamping around him desperately, like your body needed more. You’re so wet and sloppy, he can feel your slick smearing on his thighs with every thrust.

“Feels s’good, baby.” He groans, and immediately he feels you clench on him again. “Did you like that?” He grins.

“Uh-huh,” You nod dumbly, eyes unfocused as whines spill from your throat.

“My pretty girl likes it when I praise her, huh?” The next words flow from him easily, he’s venerated you so much in his mind already that the flattery comes easy. He wants you to know exactly what you make him feel. “You’re so fucking perfect for me, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Everytime he bottoms out you can feel him in your throat.

“J-Jay…”

Your bodies blend together, waves of pleasure overtaking you both with each long stroke. You can feel every inch and vein and crevice of him pushing against your sensitive walls.

He continues speaking. “You make me fall apart so easily, my love. I want to give you my everything. I’ll be at your disposal from now on, you can do whatever you want with my body, as long as you stay by my side.” His tone is deep, dripping with lust. “Your pretty pussy takes me so well, it’s like you were made for my cock, yeah?”

A shiver of arousal runs through your body at his speech, lower body getting hotter. You feel like you’re surrounded by lava, melting and wound tight all at once.

“Your body is so beautiful, I don't want anyone else to touch you; I want you only for myself.” His hands lift your hips up a little, his cock pressing inside even deeper than before, making you let out a yelp.

He’s hitting every good spot inside you, knocking the breath from your lungs even with his sensual pace. You feel constant spurts of warmth pouring out of you, and you notice just how soaked the mattress is beneath your shivering body.

“Are you enjoying yourself, love?”

“S-so much, Jay,” You whine out, clutching him harder.

“Good, I want to be the only one that can make you feel like this.”

Each rock of his hips gets you higher and higher, dangling on the edge of release. The glide of him is so smooth and sweet as he drags against you.

“M’gonna cum, Jay.” You sigh out, voice high and whiny.

“Good girl, go on and soak my cock. Show me just how much you’re enjoying this.”

A few more more moments and you’re letting go, gripping his biceps hard as elation sinks deep into your bones. A sob of his name escapes your parted lips, body tingly and twitchy as endorphins rush through your veins. He groans as he feels your slick walls convulse around him. His grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he pulls out, his cum instantly spilling onto your stomach. Relief floods his system as he pants hard, chest heaving as he catches his breath.

The both of you bask in the afterglow of your climaxes, the soft sound of breathing drifting on the heated air. Jason thinks you look divine with your hair spread on the bed, his seed marking your skin as sweat glistens your body. You think the view of him above you, satisfaction prominent on his face, is just as sacred.

When Jason’s body settles he gently slides out of you, smiling apologetically at your small wince. He goes to your bathroom, having memorized the layout of your house from all the times he’s visited you. He returns with a damp towel, mournfully wiping his traces off of you. He throws the rag into your laundry basket, crawling beside you in bed and pulling you into his chest.

“How ya doing, princess?” He whispers into your hair.

You give him a small, happy hum in return, scooting yourself even closer into him.

"You're so soft," He mumbles, nuzzling into you. "This is where I want us to stay, for eternity. Nothing else, forever."

“That sounds perfect, Jay.” You reply, yawning slightly.

Jason’s smile grows even wider, his arms tightening around you. He looks down at you with an adoring gaze, your warm and tender body slotting perfectly against his. "There is nothing, and no one in this world that I want more than you, my dearest."

Thank you so much for reading! A comment or reblog is much appreciated. Have a great day <3

- sumi ☆ミ

ミ☆ masterlist

requested tags: @a-deadbeat-fucking-valentine @in-som-niyah

#sumi — dc.#sumi — my love.#sumi — works.#jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #dc smut #dc x reader #red hood x reader #red hood smut

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zooone · 8 months

Text

as above, so below

╰┈➤ a grumpy grim reaper falls in love with an optimistic angel.

one sided hatred to lovers; grim reaper!wilbur x angel!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - here it is, my magnum opus. even tho its not done! i had to split this fic in half, so unfortunately there will have to be a part two :( very sorry. but on a lighter note, HUGE HUGEEE thank you to @harbingerofheartbreak. as per usual, she helped me visualized the entire thing and even made some of the plots and ideas that i used. in fact, the original fic was supposed to be a grim reaper x human, but it was florence who thought of the grim reaper x angel prompt and i could not thank her enough. furthermore, she helped keep this fic going and constantly pushed me beyond my limits to do so. the fic was started july 21st and it was supposed to be shelved after a couple weeks, but she made me keep going. she is the best forever and ever go read ynaf. additionally, another big thanks to @starsyoubreaklikesugardust for being another little beta reader for this fic. she always has the greatest ideas known to man and i wanted to run everything by her bcuz it was like having van gogh rate my painting. i had to share this with her earlier than i thought cuz she was threatening me but we dont have to talk about that smile. both of these people helped me so much, and i will forever be in debt to them.

all in all, please please enjoy and give this your love pretty please <3

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - talk of death, religious aspects, and swearing

she had a lot of questions about wilbur.

not the type of, "what's your favorite color?" or "what's your favorite band?" questions. more like, "on a scale of one to ten, how much does being a murderer really affect your mood?"

all of these questions would go unanswered. including "what's your favorite band?" no matter what, she just could not crack the code of wilbur soot.

to say he was intricate would be an understatement, and her ongoing curiosity would surely be the death of her.

unless he had something to do about it.

he stomped away from her on the rooftop as she followed after him.

"i told you to leave me alone," wilbur grunted, trying to speed walk past her with his long scythe trailing behind him. "is that so difficult to understand?"

"i just- i just wanna talk-" she panted, trying to catch up to him. her white dress flowed beneath her, but wilbur tried not to think about it too much.

"no." he made a sharp turn to fully face her, making her nearly bump into him.

her frown was illuminated by her golden halo, making her hair look almost cloud-like. her eyes glimmered like the entire sun was like a clown nose on her face, despite them arguing in the cold of night.

she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. her halo also lit his face up, and she saw the permanent frown and scrunched up eyebrows under his dark hood.

"why not, wilbur?"

he looked at her like she asked if the moon was real.

"you ruined my job. again." he punctuated his sentence with her name, saying it like he was curling at the nasty taste of it.

he always hated her. there was no mistaking it. he hated the way she giggled and danced around just because she could. he hated the way she spoke, always sounding so bright and happy and fucking naive. he hated her big white wings and her shiny halo.

"there you go talking about your job! like its all that matters to you," she yelled over the continuous honking cars beneath them. "do you even care about anything else in life?"

they weren't even supposed to interact, her being an angel and him being the prince of death. but he was always out doing his grim reaper duties, and she couldn't help but stop him.

he just wanted to follow orders from mumza- the queen of death. every single day that he existed, he had to take the lives of those who were ready. it ate him alive, but it was his only purpose.

"i can't care about everything else in life if i have to care about everything else in death," he grumbled under his breath, making her go silent. he liked her silence, loved it even, because that meant she couldn't criticize him for everything he did.

he would tell her about how angry the job made him. that if he could just switch spots with his brother, the stork, he would be the happiest being in hell. that he hated being the grim reaper almost as much as she hated him.

but if there was anything he really hated, it was opening up to people. and vice versa.

the last time he remotely opened up to someone, it was his mother, and he barely remembered the conversation. it was all the way back when he was welcome to smile. all he could recall was it being something about love, whatever it meant.

"will you please leave me alone now?" he sighed, rubbing his hand in his eye. he watched her eyes go from their usual large state to becoming droopy. she silently nodded her head.

"sorry. goodbye, mr. grim reaper," and the title tore him to shreds. it angered him, over everything else, that all he would be to her was an evil being.

yet, he watched as she jumped from the rooftop, fluttering her wings until she flew away. as she looked back over at him, he couldn't place the odd feeling left in his stomach. if it was guilt or hatred, he would never know.

he would continue to travel, picking up the souls on his way. she always thought he was lucky for being able to travel wherever he wanted. she always wanted to befriend the humans- in fact, she wanted to befriend everyone, but she found it impossible when she was constantly being held back.

he arrived back to hell's palace, a bag in one hand, and his scythe in the other. his head drooped down, avoiding any unnecessary eye contact with the other demons.

that hope would be short lived, however, as a demon took his shoulder as he walked.

"wilbur!" he spoke cheerfully, as if he wasn't living among lava pools and ash.

"quackity," wilbur responded in the same, monotone voice. it made the demon groan.

"quackity-" he mocked, changing his shape to an exact replica of wilbur's. mimic demons, they were called, and they were able to take form of any other being, even adorning their voice. it came in handy for most demon's entertainment, but it certainly didn't faze wilbur.

he stared into the mimic of his face, hating what stared back at him.

"oh come on. that usually works on people," quackity frowned as he twisted himself back to his natural state. he began poking wilbur with his blackened hands. "just give me a little giggle, wilbur."

"no." he'd said the word so much that it rolled perfectly off his tongue. "and for fucks sake, please put on a shirt."

quackity laughed loudly. "we're in hell, wilbur! its hot as- well, hell down here. don't tell me you haven't thought about walking around shirtless either." he paused, putting his hands on wilbur's dark outfit, "or.. hoodless.."

wilbur glared with an unamused look on his face, shrugging quackity's touch off of him and trying to continue walking along his path. walking away from conversations never worked to end them, yet he still tried it.

it would be the second example today that his tactic never worked, because quackity continued to walk along with him into the palace.

"what's the catch today?" he said it like it was a cheer. "did you get the big numbers? beat your high score yet?"

he would say he could feel his blood boil, but the flames in hell already did that.

"no. i don't keep track," he explained simply, pouring his bag's content into the soul sorter. it went to the fates to decide whether the soul was good or bad. simply enough, the good souls would be transported to heaven and the bad ones would stay. sometimes he imagined them debating over a soul's purity. the sound of screams every time he opened the bag would never become easier to stomach.

"bummer," quackity hummed. "why don't you try to make the job a little fun?"

"because i don't want to, okay?" he raised his voice. this time, quackity caught the memo and stayed quiet, except for a "shit, okay." under his breath.

wilbur walked along the palace's stairs, leaving quackity alone in the lobby without another word. this time, walking away from the situation made it stop. the third time really was the charm.

he set his hood down to his shoulders with a sigh, being able to fully see the gold and red palace for what it was. all of the vibrant and bright colors that quite literally clashed with the flames. it was scary and huge, but it was home to him. it was all he'd really known.

he went up to his room, laying on his bed with a groan. sometimes he wished his bed was quite literally made out of feathers, because his back always ached. tommy always said it was because of his "fucking posture", but wilbur knew he had no room to talk. just the thought of him jumping into a big pile of fluffy feathers made his bones ease a little more.

he would spend the night rolling around in his not-feather bed, having issues with his sleep. it was such a frequent problem for him that it was barely even a problem. just how he existed.

and, meanwhile, she would spend her "night" (in quotations. it never got dark in heaven.) staring up at the sun, wondering what sort of buttons she could've possibly pushed with wilbur to make him hate her. it was a recurring thought, but it kept her up too frequently.

the worst part about waking up was simply that. waking up. wilbur would roll out of bed, fluff up his hair a little bit, put on the same clothes, and be going. he went through the same routine every day and he hated it. but at the same time, if anyone disrupted his routine, he'd be angered.

"wilbur!"

and his routine was ruined.

"morning, tommy," he muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a yawn. he couldn't be bothered to be angry this early, and definitely not to tommy. "aren't you supposed to be in heaven right now?"

"i'm on break," tommy said in a matter-of-fact tone. he stretched his arms and his wings with a groan, leaving some stray yellowed feathers behind. "delivering babies to peoples' doors is quite the workout."

wilbur barely registered his words, staring idly past tommy. his eyes wandered more on a decoration on a table behind him. he didn't even notice that tommy had continued speaking until he put his hands on his hips and sighed.

"yeah. both mum and dad really like me!" tommy spoke, ruffling his hands through his hair until he realized his goggles were in the way. the mention of phil darkened his mood.

"mum told you to stop calling him 'dad'," wilbur spoke monotone and simple, as usual.

and as usual, tommy groaned at wilbur's monotone voice and simple words, slouching down. "she also told you to stop being so fucking gloomy."

wilbur felt the need to do a lot of things; one- hit tommy with his scythe, two- tell tommy what a privileged asshole he sounded like, and three- do both at the same time. but wilbur had an okay-ish perception of tommy, growing up alongside the boy took a lot. but as annoying as the boy was, he was wilbur's company. even if he would rather swallow his scythe than to admit it aloud.

instead of acting on his mental list of intrusive thoughts, wilbur only sighed. he didn't bother to pick the conversation back up, his eyes wandering to the decoration again. had they always had that there? it looks off-centered.

"well," tommy noticed wilbur's spacing and patted his shoulder as he walked towards the stairs. "good luck today."

wilbur stared blankly through the fringe of sweaty hair on his forehead. inside, he was trying to form whatever a smile was. "thank you, tommy."

he watched as tommy jumped down the stairway, yellow tufts of hair flying with him. he heard a shout from down below, "and don't forget to fix your posture!"

wilbur scoffed in response, sounding more uninterested than he intended to, but ultimately pulling his shoulders back. a new day! a new window of opportunity! is what wilbur would think, if he wasn't wilbur.

he grabbed the railing of the stairway, his pale thin hand contrasting with the gold. he stared at his feet the entire time stepping down. he'd already forgotten about "fixing his posture".

he made his way down the lobby, not getting a chance to speak to his mother due to the abundance of demons lined up, trying to tell her that she was making a mistake. it was typical, but it still left bags under her eyes. wilbur only gave her a timid wave as a greeting before exiting through the palace's doors.

he dragged his tacky shoes through the red dirt beneath him, watching as tiny rocks rolled along his feet before stopping. he almost ran head first into the elevator due to how long he kept his gaze down, but luckily he saved himself from the mental embarrassment.

he stepped inside, proving his identity to the machine far more times than he needed to. mimic demons would always try to steal his finger print to use the elevator and get themselves back onto earth, but it was never successful. he had a keycard, just in case the identity proving didn't work. tommy had the same.

as the doors parted and he made a careful step out, he did his daily greeting to the guard (his daily greeting being a casual glare and a furrow of his eyebrows) and used his scythe to poke himself out.

from the surface, it would simply look like a boulder being turned over. but as wilbur stepped onto the grass, he took a moment to breathe. the air on earth was far better than the smoke in hell. he would spend a great deal of time taking a couple deep breaths, appreciating the silence, oh the lovely sound of absolutely nothing-

"wilbur! there you are!"

he almost screamed. instead, he only turned to the source of the way-too-cheerful voice, saying her name in utter disbelief. "what are you doing here?"

he didn't speak as if he were asking a question. he wasn't actually interested in why she was here in the grass with her elegant white dress and her annoyingly wide smile, using her wings to shield herself from the sun, even if they were translucent.

"i was waiting for you!" she squeaked, getting up from her spot in the grass and practically skipping up towards him. she had what looked to be a gardener's nightmare in her hands. "this is for you!"

before he could say another word, she pushed his hood off of his head. she had to use her wings to reach the top of his hair, but she was still able to run her hand through his brown waves. and as she giggled, she placed her makeshift flower crown on his head.

she pushed herself away- still hovering on her wings, and took a long, meaningful look at him. "you look great!"

"i feel disgusting," he said with anger, taking the weeds out of his hair and stuffing them sloppily into his bag. "why did you do that."

she looked at him with a frown, but still tried to make herself sound happy. her halo flickered softly. "it.. it was supposed to be a gift for you."

"yeah? well i hated it," he squinted his gaze down at her, and she could feel herself shrinking the more and more he looked.

she stayed quiet, the halo above her head still flicked on and off. she looked at him with nothing but a frown, lowering herself so that her feet hit the ground.

what she failed to notice was that he unfurrowed his brows ever so slightly upon seeing her upset.

"let me just get going, okay?" he spoke, trying to make his voice a little bit softer but still keeping the agonizing punch in there.

she spoke quieter now. "i have one more thing for you."

wilbur flinched, fully expecting a glitter bomb to come out of her pocket. but to his surprise, it wasn't.

she pulled out a pack of gummy worms, handing it to him with a pitiful smile on her face. he took it, examining it slowly.

"why is it open?" he took another look at it and realized it was almost half empty.

"umm.. i got a little hungry waiting for you," she mumbled, playing with the hem of her dress. "you were taking a little bit long."

"and speaking of which, i've been talking to you for a little bit too long," he retorted, crumpling up the bag of gummy worms in his palm. the sides of the bagging were practically fighting with the cage he made out of his fingers.

he began to walk in the opposite direction, debating in his mind exactly how long it would take to make his way out of the field and to the nearest trash can. she quickly followed behind him, almost tripping on herself in the process.

"hey- i didn't expect a hello from you, but a thank you would at least be nice!" she yelled as he speed-walked away with his grumpy walk and stone shoulders. "i'm talking to you!"

"and i'm not," he grumbled, fiddling to put his hood back onto his head as a way of closing himself off.

"just-" she flapped her wings, trying to be alongside him. "just have some gummy worms, please?"

he glared, slightly squinting from the piercing light of her halo. "maybe later."

"right now."

as much as he didn't want to, he stopped dead in his tracks. his stare was hurtful and his hand clenched onto his scythe. that was the most demanding he'd ever heard of her.

there was a voice in his head telling him to leave, to just let her have the last word and be gone. but he felt like he couldn't move.

"excuse me?" he only said, scrunching his eyebrows up.

"i want you to have them right now," she enunciated her words, crossing her arms and trying to copy his expression. she was fighting her usual bright smile under her pursed lips. "in front of me."

he blinked, almost starstruck. "why?"

she seemed nearly surprised at his one word question, her stern voice softening slightly. "you look like you haven't been taking care of yourself," as she spoke through a pout, he could feel his face warming up, like tiny little punching bags beneath his skin. "i wanna make sure you're eating."

he hated the feeling of his cheeks going warm. he slept in hell, obviously he knew what warmth was. but for some reason it felt even weirder when it was behind his skin. he cleared his throat with a cough.

"this? you think this is healthy?" he held up the crumpled, half-empty bag, speaking with his forceful actions.

she went quiet again, only speaking loud enough for him to hear. "i couldn't afford anything else at the gas station."

the feeling of warmth in his cheeks soon boiled over into anger. "you couldn't afford anything else?" he repeated in disbelief, "you are quite literally an angel! you're invisible to the human eye! it is so easy for you to steal."

"but i don't wanna be a bad person!" she copied his raised voice, standing on her tiptoes as almost a challenge. "i leave money in the cash register for the man. you know, he's really struggling. he could use the money. his name is robert, i think-"

"i don't care!" wilbur screamed, cutting her off completely. she flinched at his voice, feeling overwhelmed tears start to prickle from her eyes. she hid behind her wings, afraid that he might do something drastic.

he felt his shoulders shrink at her reaction, but ultimately grumbled and opened the pack of gummy worms. he hesitated, holding out the candy in front of him.

she opened her eyes from her flinch, and saw him sniffing the gummy worm. a smile spread across her face. "you just.. take a bite out of it."

"i know," he muttered. he was already mad enough that he had to eat it, he didn't want to be instructed on how.

"oh.. okay. i mean- i just kinda assumed that you didn't know because i don't think there are gummy worms in hell. they'd get all sticky and stuff. at least, that's what i've heard. are there really no gummy worms in hell?"

he looked at her with no amusement on his face. she looked right back at him, however, wanting an answer to her long winded question that was somehow said in a singular breath.

"no… no there aren't," he spoke slowly, raising an eyebrow at her. "are there gummy worms in heaven?"

why was he making conversation with her? he should be out collecting souls right now, not talking about stupid little gummy worms with this stupid little angel. he mentally slapped himself in the face, cringing with a shake of his head.

"no, there aren't," she batted her eyelashes like she was trying to think for a moment. "but phil sometimes gives me money for gummy worms. i share it with the others!"

he was barely registering her words, his mind still clouded with the mental boxing match he was having with himself. he was being stupid. not even the mention of phil was able to knock him from his thoughts.

"hey," she waved her hand in his face, acting as the referee and stopping his boxing match. he was almost at a knockout. "you've been making that face for a while. do you not like gummy worms?"

wilbur didn't know how to really respond to the question, having never even tried gummy worms before. he looked back at her. she had her full attention on him, waiting for another answer that he would hopefully not blunder.

"it's.. it's fine."

he definitely blundered.

he ignored it, not ready for a round two fight, and put the gummy worm in his mouth.

she leaned forward. "how is it?"

it was about the best damn thing he's ever had.

"it's.. okay, i guess."

"great!" she jumped- fucking jumped. "im sure you have to be on your way for your very important job-"

he completely forgot about his being the grim reaper, straightening up suddenly with widened eyes and tightening his grip on his scythe. he cursed under his breath, running towards the direction of the city.

"hey, i didn't finish!" she called out, catching up to him once more with flaps of her wings.

"i can't talk. you've already made me late enough," his hood almost fell off in the wind with how quickly he was running. "fuck, mum's gonna be pissed."

she would, in fact, not be pissed. she was always far too busy to even greet wilbur or tommy, and they hadn't done any sort of domestic activity in what felt like an eternity. he tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that she was just busy with being the queen of death, but it was extremely lonely.

there wasn't any time for them to really speak. they were both always busy and family meals were long forgotten. in fact, wilbur had never eaten in front of another person before. the most he'd done was eat some boring, rotten food while sitting on his floor with tommy- and even then, he was only picking at it idly with his fork.

he found comfort in eating alone. there was no one there to judge him or to argue. it was just him, his thoughts, and the literal grayed out food they had in hell. but there was something always so reminiscent about having food with another person, even if it was just something like dessert.

"oh," she sighed, moving her wings idly. she watched as he ran away without another look. her arms swung at her sides in an almost confused fashion. "okay. um- hope you like your gummy worms! bye wilbur!"

at least she didn't call him mr. grim reaper again.

he didn't care, anyway, just trying to get to work on the job he obviously hated. but when he stopped to catch his breath, he couldn't help but stare at the pack of gummy worms in his sweaty palms, the colorful designs contrasting his dull looking hand.

he looked around. it looked like there were no cheerful angels in sight, so he figured himself to be safe. he popped another gummy worm into his mouth, scrunching his nose at the taste of something so impossibly sweet. it was a pleasant change from the tasteless foods in hell, and the addictive sweetness coated his tongue for a while.

he stuffed the rest of the pack into his bag, appreciating how empty it was without the souls inside it- a temporary feeling.

wilbur already felt like he'd wasted enough time, and got to work. bringing people to death's door wasn't exactly the easiest job.

he started with a car crash, wincing at the amount of shattered glass and blood everywhere. he fell sick to his stomach with a nasty feeling bubbling up in his throat. all those years dealing with death and it still never got easier to see the causes.

he held his scythe up slowly, shutting his eyes in a flinch. he thought of a thousand things all at once, trying to focus on one. they have to die. i have to put them out of their misery. they're dying because they have to, not because i chose to.

he took a breath, feeling like needles were going up his nose and into his lungs, and swung the weapon down.

it sunk through the person's body without struggle, opening up a passageway for him. he removed his scythe carefully, as if it would hurt them.

he sat on his knees next to the car. although his body was phantom-like against the gravel, he could still feel the roughness under him.

he held a cold hand to the person's back, trying to ignore how it looked to see the life drain from under their eyelids and filter out onto his palm. as soon as he could no longer feel a nauseating pull on his hand, he lifted it gently. he watched as the soul threaded directly off the person, catching onto his fingertips.

he didn't bother to take a closer look at it. the last thing he wanted was to remind himself that these people were actually human. he only took it in his palms, mushing it until it turned into a small circular shape. he put it in his bag, not caring to look at what else was in it.

wilbur would continue to follow through with that sequence throughout the day, as he usually did. scythe, hand, soul, bag. when he was growing up, mumza told him that he would be used to it in no time. but as "no time" passed, he still felt like throwing up after each day.

he made his way down the elevator, his shoulders stinging with the weight of his bag. the souls were practically weightless, but gathering so many into his bag made it sag down. he held his scythe with two hands, his arms being too sore to function properly on their own.

tommy was waiting for him at the steps of the palace, ignoring everyone lined up at the doors. his elbow was on his knee, and his face was being held up in his palm. he had been playing with a stone, trying to break it with his fingertips.

"wilbur," he automatically sprung up upon seeing his brother. he used to go in for hugs, however stopped shortly after wilbur started discussing how much he hated them. "mum wants to see you. says its important."

wilbur took time to react to his words, feeling like his bones weren't his. he only hummed an, "oh. okay," as he made his way up the steps, his feet barely dragging behind him.

"wait-" tommy called out, making wilbur almost freeze on cue. "i was.. i was wondering if you wanted to hang out by the fountain.. of wishes. the one up there. like- like we used to..?"

wilbur's breath stalled, stopping in his lungs. he'd barely even remembered it, but was holding back a smile at the memory.

that smile became easy to suppress as it slowly disappeared. he remembered all of it.

"mum doesn't want us talking to phil," was all wilbur muttered. he finally took a breath, his chest rising and falling with a sigh. "sorry."

"its not like that anymore!" tommy tried, throwing his hands up in the air in an almost child-like fashion. "they've changed, phil especially! i talked to him the other day, and-"

"mum doesn't want us talking to phil, tommy," he enunciated it slower this time. watching tommy's shoulders shrink, a sinking grayness fell over his face like a cloud was above him.

"yeah. okay," tommy sighed with a shake of his head. he played with the calloused skin on his fingers. "you're right."

wilbur stood there for a great deal of time. as much as it physically pained him, he felt a trapped sensation in his chest.

"tommy?" he spoke softly, barely enough for the both of them to hear. "you're a good kid."

he left before tommy could respond, expecting the boy to make some stupid remark about how soft he was turning. tommy didn't react that way, however. he stood alone on the steps, taking breaths watching as wilbur walked away.

wilbur made his way past the screaming, impatient people. he was always hateful towards loud noises as they made his skin crawl. he thought maybe that was the reason he hated the angel's voice so much.

there he went again thinking of that stupid angel. if he'd given her any more room in his mind, she'd have to pay the rent.

shaking his head from stupid thoughts, he called his mother's name, gaining her attention.

"wilbur," she spoke softly, her voice too tired from all the demons and ghosts she spoke to. her black hair hung over her face messily, but it was covered by a large lacy hat. "how are you?"

wilbur knew she wasn't actually curious about how he was feeling. it was just a filler for the missing years of his childhood.

"i'm doing well," a lie, "tommy said you wanted to talk to me?"

he saw his mother's face light up, as if she'd just remembered something blatantly obvious. wilbur could imagine her thoughts- "oh, thats my son, i forgot."

she fished for something on a table near her large throne. it looked more shiny than any angel's halo. damn it, why was he thinking about her again?

"here," she handed an envelope to him with her large hand. he hesitated in taking it. "the messenger said it was for you. you don't usually get mail, so i figured it was important."

wilbur stared at the wax seal, the intricate pattern almost painful to stare at for too long. "are you sure this is for me? im not-"

"im so sorry, wilbur," her eyebrows disappeared into the shape of her hat as she put a hand to her black gown. "i have to get going talking to these people," she motioned to the line in front of her. "i also have a super busy day. i have to-"

"its fine, mum," he cut her off just as she did to him. he couldn't feel any remorse for his lack of formality. "you're.. doing great."

he spared himself from the long speech his mother always gave about how busy she was. it was always a drag to hear. tommy said it was her way of indirectly apologizing for not giving him family meals- but wilbur always thought that if he was right, she would directly say it.

in all honesty, however, he missed being able to sit next to someone and eat something.

the black lipstick on her face formed into a smile. "thank you, wilbur," she sighed, her body already facing the demon she was talking to last. "and tell me what the letter is!"

"i will," another lie. he was really great at them because she could barely ever hear them.

as he was going to the soul sorter, he turned the letter over in his hand, squinting at the written address. it read, "hell's palace (if it's real! i've never been there but i've heard about it!) for wilbur!" with a bunch of hearts and smiley faces. wilbur felt himself go sick to the stomach, nearly tripping on himself.

it was probably that stupid angel trying to give him a pity letter that he didn't want. he scowled at the thought as he emptied his bag into the soul sorter.

that dumb little angel, who did she think she was? did she genuinely think that wilbur would soften up to her because of a little letter with hearts all over it?

but as wilbur was coming up with more mean adjectives, items had been rejected from the soul sorter, and fell out.

it was her flower crown and gummy worms.

wilbur felt his angered expression slowly fade away like sand in an hourglass. he stared at the objects on the ground by his feet.

he was reminded of her soft smile as she put the flower crown on his head, her gentle touches to his hair like he was delicate. or how she forced him to eat fucking gummy worms because of his health.

he could feel the tiniest sliver of a smile peeking out from the corners of his lips. no, what was he doing? that angel was always so judgemental of him. from the moment they first met, she was always criticizing his job and she was always being rude to him.

but, she still cared about him.

wilbur didn't know how to react to that thought. his stomach felt like it was clawing its way out of him, and that weird, warm feeling came back to his face. he hated it.

he bent over, picking up the flowers and gummy worms. he held them in his hands and under his robe, just in case someone saw him holding them.

he quickly went up the stairs, cutting the corner to his room so that no one saw him. he set the flowers, gummy worms, and letter on his desk, his hands propping him up. he stared, yet again, at the objects until he realized- he hadn't even opened her letter yet.

he took a sharp inhale, his fist pressed so hard against the table that he didn't even register the fact that his hands were shaking. he leaned back, taking the envelope with him.

sure enough, it was from her.

"dear wilbur!

hi! i hope this delivered to the right address. i thought mail would be easier in the afterlife, but it really isn't. i hope you're okay!! i hope you didn't hate the gummy worms too much and that you are taking care of yourself! get plenty of sleep please.

i was writing to ask if you wanted to meet me for ice cream! i asked phil, and he said that ice cream would melt in hell too, so i wanted to have some with you. i can show you all the good flavors and everything.

it would be tomorrow, i've listed the time and address below. i hope to see you there!

ps. you better come with a full eight hours of sleep!"

he read over the letter at least a thousand times, his eyes glazing all over the hearts and smiley faces that she used to punctuate each sentence. he felt like he was going to throw up his ugly, beating heart. he didn't know if he should write back or even show up.

it would be his first time properly eating in front of someone in a while, and the thought made him nervous, almost.

as if to taunt him, tommy burst into the room, the sudden loud noise making wilbur scream. he hid the letter on his desk behind him.

"woah," tommy put his hand up to almost shush wilbur, as if he were some wild tiger. "calm down, man."

"sorry-" wilbur straightened himself up, coughing out of awkwardness. he felt his skin melting off of him, and he wanted something to make the tense air easier. "tommy, can you cover for me tomorrow?"

oh god. was he really that desperate to start a conversation?

tommy's eyebrows disappeared into his golden tufts of hair, a confused look grazing his face. "you want me to what?"

"cover.. for me?" he couldn't even believe the words he was saying. "i have a.. thing tomorrow-" no he didn't. he wasn't gonna go. "and.. i need someone to do my job."

"what thing? its not like you have a.." tommy's words trailed off as he stared at his brother in terror. "do you?"

"do i have a what..?" wilbur spoke with confusion as tommy gawked at him. he stage whispered, as if someone were watching.

"do you have a date?"

wilbur's chest bloomed with an awful sensation, his heartbeat picking up and pounding against his ribs. "what? no, i-" he felt like his mouth was stuffed with tar and feathers. "no, of course not, tommy."

"okay! okay," the boy held his gloved hands up in defense, backing away from a powder keg in the form of his brother. "but, whatever it is, how do i cover for you?"

wilbur dropped his tensed shoulders. "you always talk about how easy my job seems, right?"

"what?" tommy screeched, his gold wings flinching with him. "but- but you're the prince of death and i'm the prince of life! how am i supposed to do that?"

wilbur felt his stomach churn at the comparison. he hated the way people would always say "the prince of death" like it would curse the next seven generations of life. his eyebrows furrowed like caterpillars above his eyes.

"then at least pretend that i'm working," he muttered. "it's gonna be easy. i'm sure mum won't even notice."

tommy's lips shifted as he bit the inside of his cheek. he knew wilbur was right. mumza barely said hi to him too.

"okay," tommy sighed as his shoulders fell in defeat. he pointed a finger at wilbur, "but you owe me big time!"

wilbur nodded in response, shooing tommy away with a flick of his hand. tommy listened (although not shutting the door properly), and left his brother alone in his room. the letter was still hidden behind him.

he sighed, feeling his lungs shrink intensely. he had no clue what to do or how to pull it off.

wilbur went to sleep earlier that night, trying to fulfill her promise to get eight hours of sleep. when he woke up, he could feel his bones almost moving on their own. it felt odd to not have the burden of being the soul taking grim reaper.

he looked at himself in the mirror. he looked nothing short of depressing.

he walked over to his closet, sighing as he was face to face with the same rotten black robes he wore. people always trashed on tommy for owning the same white, red sleeved shirt, but wilbur wasn't any better with his duplicates.

he groaned, his head falling in a near defeat. though, he could see a small glint of yellow. hesitating, he picked it up, taking off his cloak to put it on.

it was a really old sweater that phil got him many years ago. back before everything went down the gutter. he ran his thumb down the frayed material. by some miracle, it still fit him.

he looked at himself in his mirror, scowling when he saw who stared back. he looked nothing like how he usually did, and that slight bit of color changed him. the yellow fabric, even when old, still popped out more than his pale skin did.

still, something felt like it was missing. his glasses, maybe? he set the frames on his scrunched face, pushing it up his nose with the back of his hand. that didn't seem to work.

he looked over at his desk, his bottom lip plumped out as he thought. he gave a long stare to the flower crown, feeling his chest tighten and warm with a disgusting feeling. he picked up the flower crown- more delicately than he'd like to admit, and placed it on his tufts of brown as he stared at his reflection.

his mouth hung open. he looked completely different now. there were so many colors and shapes for him to process. and were the dark spots under his eyes really that prominent?

although, even with the wave of confusion, it felt almost comforting. he tried his best at a smile, but shook his head. too far.

wilbur shuffled through the underworld quickly, trying his best not to be seen- and especially not by quackity.

"tommy," quackity stage whispered, gaining the boy's attention. "what the hell's he doing?"

tommy took his place beside quackity, looking to where he was pointing. he scowled. "dude, i kid you not, he's got a fucking date."

quackity scoffed a laugh before looking at tommy. his face was still scrunched in disapproval, his wings idle behind him. quackity’s expression dropped. “wait- you’re serious? he’s actually got a date?”

“that’s what i’m thinking!” tommy’s voice screeched suddenly. he looked and sounded like a bird. “i’ve never seen him wearing something so.. colorful. and look at his fucking posture!”

they watched in amusement as wilbur jammed his finger on the elevator button, trying to get the doors open as he looked around frantically. he hadn’t even noticed, but his shoulders were in fact more pushed back.

he stared at his reflection in front of him, bringing a hand into his hair to even it out. flowers were still scattered around in his hair and it was as if he were producing a trail of petals behind him. he let out a groan as the doors finally parted, and he stepped in.

“who is it with?” quackity asked, holding his chin. his other hand was dug into his pocket. a small, rectangular figure lining the fabric. “do you know?”

tommy turned to quackity with a serious look on his face, as if he were speaking about a universe killing secret rather than who wilbur was eating ice cream with. “you didn’t hear it from me,” he emphasized his words, “but i keep overhearing this angel talking to phil about wilbur. its weird- especially when you think about how phil and wilbur think about each other.”

tommy grimaced at his own words. he could tell how much it cut the mood. it was practically taboo to say wilbur and phil’s name in the same sentence- let alone even mention phil in the underworld. even with tommy trying to get them to forgive each other, the thought of them ever eating at the same dinner table was unfathomable.

quackity interrupted the tension filled silence by asking the angel’s name. tommy gave it without a second thought, but eventually had to repeat it for quackity to properly hear. they were stood outside the pit of lost souls, a place that the forgotten demons would go. they served no purpose in hell as long as they were somehow remembered by someone on earth. it was always a loud area, having literal burning souls inside.

“huh..” quackity hummed, repeating the angel’s name again. “you think they’ll become a thing?”

“no, definitely not,” tommy huffed, laughing as if quackity was telling a knock-knock joke. “he’s too grumpy to actually function around another being.”

“i say give the guy some slack! he deserves at least a chance," quackity protested. "twenty bucks."

"you're betting on his love life?" tommy asked, but quackity stood still with a smirk on his face with his hand out. "fine. deal."

as they shook on their bet, tommy grumbled, his wings tensing up with him. a plan was forming itself in quackity’s mind, his hand patting the lining of his shorts.

“he’s probably up there making out with her right now.”

wilbur, in fact, was not. he was standing on the distant sidewalk, watching her from afar. she sat on the concrete with her legs crossed, looking like her mind was in another galaxy. wilbur on the other hand, stood with his clammy hands at his sides. his palms never sweat as badly as this, and it was making him unsettled. he tried his best to wipe his hands off on his sleeve, but it only made them damp and warm. he sucked in a breath, ignoring it and walking up towards her.

when he caught her eye, her never-ending smile only widened. she stood up to properly face him, looking at him from the top of his flower-ridden hair down to his shoes. “wilbur?”

“hi.. hi-” his voice cracked, and he tried to cover it up with a fake cough. now his throat wasn’t working. “um, i didn’t know.. i wasn’t sure if.. i-”

“you look really nice!” she interrupted, saving him the embarrassment. he let out a mix of a smile and a relieved sigh, muttering his thanks. “and it looks like you actually slept.”

“i did,” he mumbled, adjusting the collar of his bunchy sweater. suddenly, he could feel every texture touching his body. “eight hours.. just like you asked..”

“it wasn’t so difficult, was it?” she giggled, and the noise stabbed wilbur a thousand times in the stomach.

“actually, it was,” he bit the inside of his cheek, rocking back and forth on his heels with nervousness. “my bed is a literal stone. i wish it were made out of feathers.”

“maybe your dream will come true some time! come on, let’s make a wish,” she tilted her head, closing her eyes and putting her palms together. “i wish wilbur’s bed was made out of feathers!”

“..is that gonna work?” he tilted his head in her direction.

“hm.. i don’t know. but i always like to try it,” she hummed with satisfaction, putting her hands back at her sides. “can i tell you a secret? i’ve always wanted to visit the fountain of wishes.”

the name rung a bell all the way in the back of wilbur’s mind. he remembered his father telling him stories every night about the fountain of wishes. he scowled at the thought of hin. phil would tell wilbur that his only wish was to meet a beautiful woman, but look where that got him.

“what would you wish for?” he asked, trying to shift the gears of his mind.

“i don’t know,” she said, contently, leaning forward to grab his hand. “maybe i’ll think of something later.”

wilbur flinched, something she didn’t see because she was dragging him into the store. he wondered if she could feel how damp and warm his palms were, but it looked like she didn’t mind. for some reason, their hands seemed to magically fit together like puzzle pieces.

his mind was churning again, thinking about the unknown feeling running through him. he felt suddenly aware of everything around him, and it was awful. yet, she kept giggling and smiling like it was just another day. he envied her power of optimism, even if it was the same thing he disliked about her.

uncomfortably, his mind felt as if he was put in a room of a thousand people, contributing and understanding each one of their conversations. as overwhelming as it was, it was how his brain regularly worked. how he somehow managed to get even an ounce of sleep every night, he'll never know.

his thoughts were unraveling before he could roll them back up, feeling tired of aimlessly following the long film of this and that and-

"do you have a favorite flavor?"

it all snapped away.

"uh- um, well, um-"

how was she able to do that?

"oh, right," she giggled. somehow, in the thousand person room that took place in his mind, her small laugh was the only thing bouncing off his skull. "you've never had ice cream before."

unable to process the sudden quiet of his mind, he simply shook his head. "n-no, i haven't."

"try this!" she held out a scoop of her favorite flavor and wilbur stared at it like it was a cure to the common cold.

shakily, he took it. even if it only existed as a transparent-phantom thing, he was surprised that it didn't slip out of his sweaty hands.

"do.. do i bite-"

"just give it a small lick. i know it'll be cold, but it'll taste good," her words felt like a small promise to him, the most comforting thing he'd heard in a while. yet, it was like talking about the weather to her.

god, what was the feeling? he couldn't exactly pinpoint it at all.

he followed her directions, scrunching his brows in a slight concern as he stuck his tongue out. she was right, it was cold. terribly cold. he thought his tongue would get stuck to it like in the old christmas movies tommy forced him to watch.

and yet, it tasted terribly good. it was such an unfamiliar feeling on his tongue, but it somehow had a certain kick that he enjoyed.

he smacked his lips a couple times, and nodded slightly, mumbling his words. "y-yeah, i like that one."

"great!" she spoke, going over to grab the ice cream scooper. the real thing stood still on the table, but the translucent version was in her hands as she scooped up some of the flavor. as long as she put it back in the right place, nothing would be messed up too badly.

as she finished up scooping her cone, she sighed dramatically. "oh gods, i forgot to get cash."

"you don't need to give him cash, angel, he won't even notice."

his tongue went numb- not from the ice cream, but from the small nickname he'd given her.

it was a small gesture, and he could probably play it off, but it stirred his intestines until he felt like throwing them up. he'd never willingly give someone a nickname. ever.

and the worst part? she noticed.

"did you call me angel?" she stopped her fit of panic over invisible cash to look at him, the corner of her mouth lifting in an asymmetrical smile.

"well- yeah, because you're.. you're an angel," wilbur stumbled, unable to pull something out of thin air. he's lied many times. to his mom, to tommy, to quackity. but for some reason lying to her didn't feel right on his tongue. "a-and you.. have a halo.. and stuff.."

she noticed how he fiddled with his fingers, and decided to spare him of the embarrassment by switching the topic to her day. she seemed passionate with talking about every small thing she'd done, and wilbur admired her attitude.

wilbur prided himself in his writing. his pen and paper were like a magical escape from his burdens. he had a specific way with words that would always get him praised by his parents when he was younger. but despite that, he was completely lost on a word to describe his feelings.

she dragged him back outside without a care in the world, looking around like she owned the place. she pointed to a bench, talking about how it was her favorite bench (to which wilbur began to wonder how one could have a favorite bench), and began guiding them towards it.

in the midst of her excitement, however, she made a wrong step on the curb and yelped. wilbur noticed this quickly, bringing a quick hand to her waist to catch her.

"woah, are you alright-?" he brought her back up carefully, checking to make sure that her and her ice cream were still intact. he checked both off in his mind.

"yeah- yeah i'm fine-" she muttered, and it was the first time he'd ever seen a glint of gloominess on her face. "sorry- that was embarrassing-"

"no need to be embarrassed," wilbur's tone was calm. not a monotone calm, but an assuring calm. one that was stranger to her too.

his hand remained still on her waist, his fingers trembling in such small beats. “wilbur?” her gaze slowly met his, and she could see a small droplet of worry beneath the pools of his irises. “can i tell you something?”

he nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing in such a concerned manner that it almost cut his forehead in half. with his hand still on her waist, he guided her carefully to the bench.

she looked at the pavement, her words coming out in a string of small mumbles that made him feel like they were the only two beings ever. just him, an angel, and a bench. “i don’t.. i don’t usually tell people this,” she fiddled with the hem of her dress, her wings draping over the back of the bench. “but.. the- the way i-i d..”

wilbur stared at the angel- the carefree, optimistic, happy angel; while she broke down bit by bit. he felt like he was almost breaking the law, that he wasn’t allowed to see such a sight. but most importantly, he felt like he needed to help.

he was always gentle, there was no denying it. he spent a lot of time as a child examining bugs (which he called “friends”) and making sure they were okay. and the urge to care for anything in need grew with him, even as everything else changed.

he noticed that his hand was still on her hip, and he drew her closer to his body. the small gesture made her startled, but she quickly grew accustomed to his touch. she felt safe, and wilbur knew that.

she took a deep breath, and spoke. “we were playing a game of hide-and-seek,” she whispered, “i-i was always clumsy, everyone made fun of me.. nobody..”

her words trailed off again, and wilbur felt his heart aching. “nobody..?”

“nobody really.. liked.. me,” she huffed, her face turning away from him. he could tell that she didn’t speak about this much. “everyone hated me, actually. like you do..”

his heart was wrapped in thorns.

it was the clearest thing she’d said. like she had so much time to think about it and deduct it. he wanted to say something, wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and scream at her. but he didn’t. he couldn’t- he felt paralyzed.

“i guess i tripped and fell or something, a-and i-” a bile swelled her throat. “it hurt. a lot. i was- i was screaming and crying for help b-but everyone ignored me. except for..”

her head lifted as she looked at him. it was the type of look in which he could study each pigment on her face, and he’d be able to use the rosiness of her cheeks to paint a breathtaking portrait.

“except for you.”

she smiled. and even through tears, her expression lit up the earth.

“me?” he whispered softly.

immediately, she nodded. she was so close to his face that she could see a tiny cut to the right of his adam’s apple. she suppressed a giggle as she thought about him struggling to shave, making all sorts of faces into his mirror.

“i was so scared and alone.. and then you came along with your big scythe and your scary hood. and you plunged your scythe into me chest- gods, i was so scared,” she giggled briefly at the thought, but her expression was genuine. “but you gave me peace.”

she leaned closer, wanting to wrap her arms around him and die a second time like that. but she knew he’d hate it.

“it was all i wanted in that moment.”

his eyes were droopy, staring from her left eye, to her right, and down at her parted lips. she was nothing short of beautiful. looking at her for that long felt like a mere privilege, forcing him to be speechless.. he squeezed her hip tighter just to hold her.

“i.. i wanted to thank you..” she whispered, so quiet that her vocal chords barely buzzed.

in his peripheral vision, he noticed how her eyelids fluttered softly. his sight blurred as she leaned in closer, and-

“but you always hated me.”

she leaned back in the seat, and wilbur’s disappointment split him in two. she was right there- right fucking there, but she was so out of reach. the only barrier? his own loathing. the irony of hating his hatred felt like a stab wound to his thorn-crowned heart.

and the worst part; she was unphased.

wilbur gulped as a stack of words piled themselves in his throat. that nasty, overwhelming feeling running through him again. “angel, i-”

“so, what’s your favorite color?” she asked in a light tone, licking at her ice cream.

a wave of dismay washed over his face. he couldn’t think. “t-teal?”

“really? i wouldn’t have guessed that,” she swung her legs beneath the bench, clearly unbothered by wilbur’s confusion. “you don’t really dress like a teal-lover. do you think the moon is real?"

what?

"no, bad question. hmm. what’s your favorite band?”

his heart fell into the pit of his stomach, thorns poking at his sides creating a terrible sting on his abdomen. he opened his mouth to speak- maybe cry and release his feelings; but nothing came up. not even an answer to her stupid question. it was nauseating.

she began talking about the sort of music she liked, but none of it struck his brain. he felt sick. he wanted to scream and sob and punch something. but he sat still like he was posing for a renaissance painting.

“hey, that reminds me,” she stood up abruptly, pointing her finger upwards, despite going unnoticed by wilbur. “i gotta get cash for the ice cream man! i’ll be right back.”

he didn’t even realize she spoke, even when she was repeating his name and trying to get his attention.

why was he disappointed at the lost opportunity? why did he want to curl up in a ball and tug his hair out? what was that stupid feeling that was haunting him all afternoon? it was tearing him apart limb by limb. what was the word, what was-

oh.

it was love. he loved her. it was as simple as a four letter word.

the last time he told someone he loved them, he was begging his father not to leave. as he watched the man- the god- his father walk away, he realized that the word meant nothing. it only brought him pain; and if he didn't love, he didn't have to feel that agony.

his stomach turned, breathing becoming alarmingly shallow. too many memories flushed his mind, and his throat tightened.

"hello? wilbur?"

"don't come back." he stood up suddenly, ice cream falling to the ground next to him.

"what?" she flinched, staring up at him with terror on her face that he didn't even read. he was so blinded by his anger. the light of her halo flickered.

"i said, don't come back." it was almost a subconscious thing, how he lifted his hand into his hair and threw the flower crown onto the sidewalk. right next to his ice cream.

his throat burned harshly. all of his muscles tensed up in such a way that definitely wasn't healthy. he could barely even hear his own words through the pounding in his ears, and he most importantly couldn't hear her heart ripping in two.

"wilbur-"

"stop. stop this. stop following me everywhere, stop- stop acting like you care-" his hands balled up into fists at his sides, "stop everything! i never want to see you again!"

and that was all that was needed for her to turn around and fly off, and that was all that he needed for him to realize what a complete moron he was.

his walk home was nothing short of shameful. and this time he walked through hell with messy flower petals in his hair and a stupid yellow sweater and dumb tears in his eyes.

he didn't realize that quackity, a man who was about to lose twenty dollars, was watching him from afar. he cursed under his breath, biting his bottom lip until his hand brushed against his pocket.

tommy's keycard.

he looked at himself in the reflection of a lava pool, making all sorts of scrunchy and over dramatic faces. he experimented with the way the hood fell over his hair and how it made his furrowed eyebrows look.

he made his way to the elevator, admiring how the scythe looked when he tossed it around in his hands. and when it asked for a confirmation of identity, he pulled out the keycard, swiping it before anyone could see.

he'd continue to try to do tricks with the scythe until he got to the top, waving a hand to the guard until he realized he had to stay in character. his lips suddenly pursed and his eyes became hooded.

to his delight, an angel was there waiting for him.

"wilbur-" she stood up suddenly, her hands shaking at her sides. the light in her tear filled eyes was nearly gone, the glow of her halo barely there. "i wanted to a-apologize-"

"come with me," he spoke, as monotone as he could. his hand reached out towards her, and she hesitantly took it.

with uncertainty written all over her face, she spoke nervously. "where.. where are we going-?"

"i want to make up for what.. happened.. last night.." he muttered, dragging her underground.

she held her flickering halo carefully as they zoomed to the elevator, watching him jam the buttons with his finger. she'd never seen someone so eager.

as soon as the doors parted, he forced her inside with such an anticipation she couldn't pinpoint. it made her feel uneasy, how weird he had been acting.

"wilbur?" her voice came out as more of a squeak, taking his other hand in hers. she looked right at him with swelled eyelids. "this.. this isn't a trick, is it?"

his eyes widened, eyebrows unknotting a crease on his forehead. "what?" he practically laughed, "why- why would it be a trick?"

"i don't know.. you just seem.." her voice wavered, eye contact faltering. "nevermind, it's stupid."

"look at me, love," the nickname was.. new. "i don't want to hurt you. i'm gonna make everything up, okay?"

she hummed an agreement, eyes fluttering to make contact with his. his face was soft, just like the other night. but something seemed missing.

"i wanna show you everything about my home," the excitement in his voice was almost raw. "i live in a palace, did you know that?"

"i didn't," she smiled, a forced one. "are you gonna show me around?"

at that, the elevator's doors opened, and she was hit with a sudden wave of heat that nearly made her fall over.

and he almost didn't catch her.

tears started to swell up her eyes as she clung onto his arm, nails digging into broken fabric. soft yelps came out of her mouth.

"love, are you alright?" he spoke worriedly, and the amount of emotion in his voice made her even more lightheaded.

"i-i am-" she whispered, getting back onto her feet. "its just- y'know- what.. what i told you last night..?"

he nodded his head, a soft "oh" coming out of his mouth. but it didn't seem like an ounce of actual empathy lied behind his eyes. a tint of red glazed it instead. she felt odd.

did he not remember? or did he choose not to?

when she was able to walk properly, he led her around. if it wasn't for the burning pit in her stomach, she'd be extremely excited. but she had a feeling that something deeper was lying under the lava pools.

"this is the palace," he sighed, gesturing to the building. "isn't it cool?"

"it is.." she muttered. this awe, she could not fake. the large, intricate structures of gold and red and the occasional fire bounced off her glassy eyes. "can we go inside? maybe you can show me your room-"

"i.." he stiffened up suddenly. "i don't think that's a good idea."

"oh.." she muttered, trying to read his firm facial expression. but she couldn't.

a thick silence fell upon them. the only noticeable thing was how her halo flicked on and off with inconsistent beats.

"hey, i have to.. do something.. how about you stay here until i'm finished, okay? maybe you can talk to my mom or.. or talk to the hellhounds," his voice was unconvincing, but she still nodded, even as disappointed as she was.

and she watched him walk away, turning the corner away from her. she couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of disgust rummaging through her. the constant stares of demons around her didn't make anything better.

her feelings were mixed. maybe he's having a good day or- or maybe he's really considering peace between them.

but what if it really was a trick?

her soft facial expressions fell into her lap, weighing her options. she always sought to find the good in people, always trying and trying to think positive. but even after she revealed everything- everything she couldn't admit out loud, he turned her away. and there was no right explanation for that, no matter how beautiful his palace was.

she straightened up, fists clenched at her sides. she wasn't going to take it. after going through so much of his hatred for so long, she didn't like him practically making fun of her death. she hated it.

she was going to look for him and tell him all of her raw feelings.

as he rounded the corner, his back hit the wall and his knees failed. his breathing was labored as he ran a blackened hand through his changing hair. he could feel the skin literally crawl off of him, and he was delighted to have his normal look back.

quackity sighed against the wall, catching up to his quickened breath. "now all he has to do is find her. and they're forced to make up. and i win my twenty bucks," he muttered under his lips. "god, quackity, you genius."

his laughs felt amazing to churn out. pretending to be wilbur was exhausting him to the core, but it was worth each and every penny of the twenty dollars he'd be receiving soon.

but, through all of his buzzing victory, he didn't notice an angry little angel looking for a certain grim reaper. he didn't notice her stomping around with her fists clenched at her sides.

and he definitely didn't notice her tripping and falling into the pit of lost souls.

wilbur's day went on horribly.

he didn't get any sleep. not that this was any different from usual; but this time his night was spent tossing and turning in his stone bed trying to think of how he was going to talk to her.

his bones ached when he got up, and no amount of stretches could heal the knot in his neck.

work was even worse. especially considering the fact that everytime he heard some sort of high pitched noise, he'd think it was a little angel fluttering her wings at him, and then he'd be able say the speech he had written up in his mind.

he was regretting his word choice of "i never want to see you again" on top of his regret for the rest of his blown out word vomit.

but as he walked from the elevator to his palace, he couldn't help but hear a sort of cry for help. and it sounded oddly similar to the angel's.

"wilbur? w-wilbur.. i know- i know you hate me but this- this hurts -"

was it?

"its not fffunny anymore- i know you got your kick out of tricking- me- but this is- ow!"

it couldn't be.

"i won't bother you again! i promise! just please- let- let me out of here- help me.. please..? it's- it's -"

he'd been hearing her voice in his head all day in somewhat intervals. but this felt more real, more raw.

he stumbled on his feet. he knew where it was coming from. he heard noises of desperate cries from it everyday, but the thought that this might be real? it scared him to his core.

worry rushed over him quicker than second thought, and he rushed over to the pit of lost souls in a panic. hoarse, raspy screams of "angel!" flew out of his throat as he scrambled to climb the volcano-like structure.

she still had a lot of questions for wilbur.

not the type of, "what's your favorite color?" or "what's your favorite band?" questions. more like, "wilbur? hello? please help- this hurts- are you still there?"

and she was starting to lose hope in the fact that those questions might be answered.

one things for sure; her curiosity will be the death of her.

unless he's got the courage to do something about it.

11.4k || 8.12.23 || masterlist here!

taglist (dm or send an ask to be added!) — @sixofshadowandbone @theoneandonlyyeti @harbingerofheartbreak @starsyoubreaklikesugardust @mcr-pr-fob @sapphic-soot @flynn-thebin @puppyburbites @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @merakiaes @aimi-chann @axthrial @lololol00 @deadphantomsociety @hometown-smile @qweengigi @kisstheskin

thank you so much for your read, i appreciate all of the support <33 a part two is indeed coming soon!! stay tuned

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lazuruspit · 11 months

Text

Dog Days Are Over — (m)

pairing: miguel o’hara/afab!reader content warnings: unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional baggage, established relationship, angst and smut in the form of cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex wc: 3.9k summary: Feeling broken following a particularly perilous mission, you find yourself hanging on by tendrils. Lucky for you, Miguel’s always there to pick your pieces back up. a/n: its come to this..... cant believe its come to this. i was debating posting this on my dc tumblr blog since this is comic centric but... whatever. enjoyyyy

ao3

Miguel’s muscles are tense. Rigid, tight, like a disciplined dancer. He’s hunched over his console, shoulders square and eyebrows taut. His jaw is tense, tongue rounded into the corner of his cheek, hair falling like spun-thread sable over his hooded eyes.

His fingers—dry, jaded, thick—curl around the lip of his instrument panel. His forearm flexes beneath the spandex of his suit, veins popping with the strength in which he grasps the dashboard. He grunts, eyes tired, and speaks without turning.

“I can feel you thinking over there,” Miguel rasps.

You flush, a little embarrassed to be caught but– not surprised. Miguel’s constantly heedful; a predator perpetually stalking its prey.

“Sorry,” you hum, resting your shoulder against the metal door of Miguel’s private room, jamming your hands in the pockets of your casualwear.

He slightly turns. “What are you doing, standing there? Come in, don’t act modest.”

Then the thick sensation of soiled cotton balls seems to fill your nose: you're here for a specific reason, and the very thought of letting Miguel in on that secret seems to seize your every thought.

“What is it, mi alma?” Miguel asks, gaze centred on a labyrinth of holograms of different Spider-People in different universes. Despite that, his focus—each of his five heightened senses—are attuned to you.

So, after blindly sweeping the holograms away, Miguel turns to you, resting himself and his hands against the edge of his console. His body language reads of vulnerability—something he hopes you’ll do for him, as well. He can tell something is off.

You inhale, loiter your eyes across his body, then exhale. It’s rare to see Miguel in casual clothing at headquarters—rarer to others, but not so much to you.

(Miguel always shows you a different side of him. Both figuratively and literally. You’re the only one he’ll bare himself to, let you see him jaded and threadbare after he was hit a little too hard.)

Miguel tilts his head, his band tee riding over his navel garnished with a brown scruff that disappears into his sweatpants, hanging low on his hips.

He slowly reaches out and traces your cheek. Miguel’s hands are rough—a testament to his decades of Spider-Man discipline—but the whispering caress with which he cups your cheek offsets that fact. He curls his lower lip out, pinches his eyebrows.

“ ¿Qué pasa? ” He asks, tucking a wisp of hair behind your ear.

He’s gentle, so gentle with you, and you hate it. It makes it so much harder for you to say what you need to.

Asphalt thickens and settles in your throat. You look away, and flinch at the cold absence of Miguel’s comforting stare. So you chance a glance back, and bite your lip as you study his concerned mien.

“You’re making me a bit nervous,” Miguel mirthlessly chuckles, struggling to fill the pregnant air.

“No, don’t worry,” you hurry, moving to hold Miguel’s cheeks, trace the streamlines of his numerous scars, “last thing I need is you worrying.”

“Well, with a little shit like you, I do a lot of worrying,” Miguel says, crossing his eyes to twirl a strand of hair around a finger, “I’ve already got grey hairs, mierda .”

His words carry no real malice, but still, Miguel’s words are only the shell of a joke. His eyes fog over as he says it. He’s referring to last month's injury: a deep slash running like a scythe of death against your thigh—something that almost was death—if it wasn’t for Hobie swooping in and tackling Earth-95’s Doc Ock to the ground before you bled out.

“Well…” you start, straightening– then wincing, upon being gravely reminded of your fresh wound that stretches and pulls, “you won’t have to worry for a little while… I’ll be out of your hair.”

Miguel’s eyes marginally widen. He pushes himself off the console, blinking a few times.

“Your grey hair,” you belatedly decide to tack on.

“No,” Miguel shakes his head, brushing past your lame attempt at a joke. His pinched features sober into something a little more soft, and you’re regretful that you won’t get to enjoy it much considering the news you’re about to break to him, “What are you talking about?”

You inhale sharply. “I’m… I’m going home for a bit, Miggy–”

And that’s the moment panic seizes him. Miguel stands up straight, his sheer body mass and height eclipsing your vision, and places his hands on your waist.

“No, you’re not, what are you–?”

“But I am, Miggy. I’m going home. Just for a little bit, okay?” It’s hard to keep the warble out of your voice. It’s hard to miss it, too.

(It’s not the warble Miguel has come to love. Not the one that billiards past your lips and into the shell of his ear, as his fingers are knuckle-deep nestled inside of you and crooked. It’s not the tight whimper he bullies out of you as he sinks his cock past your cunt’s first ring of muscle. It isn’t one of your kitten moans, when you puckishly curl into Miguel’s arm late at night, resting on his chest as you muse about everything and nothing. This is a new cadence—one he doesn’t like—one like the little cry of anguish that wafted past your lips as Hobie lay dead, a spot that should’ve been yours.)

“Mi alma…” Miguel peters off.

You clear your throat. “I talked to Jess… well, we talked to each other…”

Miguel hates where this is going. He also hates that the diablo on his shoulders asks, “why couldn’t she come to me?” instead of being glad you confided in someone at all. He furrows his brows, listening.

“We think– we think it’s best I just go home for a while,” you cough out a bland chuckle, “maybe she just wants me gone—and I can’t blame her—but… I think… I don’t know. Maybe you can give me some of Margo’s tech.”

“... Why not stay here?” Miguel says, with me, he so desperately wants to tack on, but he reminds himself that this isn’t about him. This is about you, and the slow supernova to your eyes.

(He made the deaths of his fiancée and daughter about him. Miguel’s learned that moving on is finding a new flower to nurture, standing an arms length away to let it bloom.)

“... Okay,” Miguel whispers, “how… how long will you be gone?”

You shrug, and Miguel’s face pains.

“That’s okay,” he hurries, trying a smile, “as long as you need, mi alma.”

Miguel steps closer, pulling you into his arms. Strong, protective, warm… you’re inclined to slip into a dream, leave all your problems behind.

“Just close your eyes,” Miguel whispers, running his fingers through your hair.

You bury your face in Miguel’s chest, choking back a tight, tiny whimper.

“Can’t,” you murmur, “I still see him.”

Pain physically throttles Miguel’s heart at that. He wishes he could take away your pain, just as you had taken away his, and his breath, and all forms of cognition. But… he doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know how to say the right thing, let alone what the right thing is. So Miguel opts to plant a kiss to the crown of your head, where your unwashed face and brittle hair meet.

You pull back after that, just scarcely enough to stare into Miguel’s eyes, wishing you could fall into them.

“Miggy…” you breathlessly utter, like a prayer, an olive branch of atonement, “I need…”

Miguel rests his forehead against yours. “What is it that you need? Tell me. Tell me everything.”

You don’t tell, you show. Timidly. You rake your shaky palms lower, shucking Miguel’s crop top over your hands, placing a kiss to the corner of his jaw.

“Mi alma…” he lightly scolds, catching your wrist within his big palm, “not now.”

“Why not?” You croon, wrapping your arms over Miguel’s shoulders and behind his thick neck.

“We can’t,” he tells himself, more than you, “you’re…”

“Needy–”

“Not thinking straight–”

“Wet.”

Miguel’s breath hitches. Right in the middle of his throat, it catches, tripping and tumbling out of his mouth as a tight cough.

"Mierda..."

You lean in close, brushing your lips against his collarbone. “It’s what I need right now, Miggy, won’t you give me what I need?”

Miguel’s lips wrap around your name as he quietly whispers it. “I want to give you everything.”

“So?” You say, forlorn, “Will you make me feel good?”

“I’ll do anything,” Miguel whispers. It’s a promise; it’s atonement.

Miguel spins you around with his hands on your hips and bullies you backwards, trapping you against the lip of the console. He slides his palms on either side of your neck, cranes your head up, and plants a smooch to your lips.

“Mi alma…” he mumbles into the kiss, slotting his thick thigh between your legs.

Miguel kneads your hips and tugs you down on his leg, flexing it, guiding you back and forth as you grind your pussy over the strong sinews of his muscled thigh. You whine, clutching his shirt, and beg for more, a little sniffle crossing your swollen lips.

Miguel runs his hands down, fingers biting into the fat of your thighs as he lifts you up, plopping you atop the control panel. From there, he nestles himself between your legs, and shucks your shirt (his shirt) over and around your head, moving to suck your neck.

You shiver as his fangs graze your pulse point. You dig your fingers into his tousled hair and pull, mired in the sweet cacophony of Miguel’s moans, softened by the way his lips are pressed into your collarbone. He ruts his cock against the supple skin of your inner-thigh, baring his fangs as the cotton of his sweatpants reduces friction.

Miguel comes up for air just as you sink your fingers beneath the hem of his sweatpants. You drag them down with sparse tugs, revelling at the sight of his cock that strains against the taut fabric of his boxer-briefs as his sweats pool at his feet.

You sprawl your hand atop his dick and palm him softly, squeezing the fat mass of muscle that tents from his boxer-briefs. You peer up at him, doe eyes pleading, and Miguel sinks to his knees.

He cranes his neck up at you, musing a corporeal prayer to the altar that is your body, and kisses a trail up your flesh. Miguel latches onto your shorts and pulls them down, puckering his mouth before kissing your clothed clit. The excited bud pulses under the plush of Miguel’s lips, swelling, slick as your arousal oozes out of your cunt, sticking to your panties, outlining the barest hint of your soft pussy.

After the kiss, Miguel shifts upward, and sinks his fangs into the gauzy material of your panties. He hooks it with his teeth, dragging the soiled fabric down your legs and off your ankles before lowering again, kneeling eye-level to the winking of your dewy cunt. You quiver and raise your legs, placing your feet onto the counter, baring your sticky pussy to Miguel, spreading yourself open with careful fingers.

“So pretty, my love,” he mumbles, popping drunken smooches onto the buttery inside of your trembling legs, “ todo mío .”

Miguel paints your thighs in a mosaic of love bites, inching towards the pulsing beat of your cunt as he settles in front of it, unfurls his tongue, and lays it flat against your folds.

He licks a fat, warm stripe up your slit, growling as you coil your thighs around his full shoulders and thick neck and hasp him closer. You twist a fistful of Miguel’s dark hair between your fingers, pulling him closer, meagrely grinding your sweet clit against his cracked lips and the bump on his nose.

(You always did tell him he lacked vitamin D, needed to eat more oranges. Miguel thought it was fruitless—that you kissing him, having your chapstick smear against his lips, would be ample moisturiser for his dry mouth.

You had to force the serums on him. Miguel gets too caught up in his web of responsibilities and thawed regrets, oftentimes neglecting himself. So you clutch him by the jaw, the rough flesh of his half-sunken cheeks from empanadas in the cafeteria spilling over your fingers, and smooth some of your chapstick onto his lips. It’s cute, he gets nervous; reverting his stare to the ostentatious ceiling of HQ and sticking it there, too shy to meet your gaze as you get too close.)

Miguel pulls away for air, a wash of your precum glistening his chin. He darts his tongue out to clean it up—a fang peeking out in the process—winking under the lustre as it catches the light. You whine at the loss of Miguel’s tongue buried between your folds, inclined to use your web shooter to stick him back in place.

But Miguel’s quicker. “Patience,” he says, placating you with a kiss, letting your taste percolate into your mouth as he cards his tongue past your teeth.

“We’ve got to stretch you open first, don’t we? Hm?”

You loosely nod, breathless.

“That’s right,” he says, “it’s always quite the tight fit.”

Miguel stands between your legs and eclipses your world, readying his thick fingers by running them between your folds, lubing them up.

“Ready for me?” He asks, looking through your eyes and into your soul.

You answer with a kiss—one that says so much more than yes . It’s a barter, where you hand your life over to Miguel, and a promise to find him in every universe.

Miguel’s lips tilt up in a fickle smile as he sinks a large finger in, followed by another, moving to rest his forehead against yours.

“I hate you,” he whispers, pumping his fingers in-and-out, “for making me weak, making me break my promise.”

(As Miguel’s inflexion weakens, he hides his face in the crook of your neck. It’s obvious what promise he’s talking about: the vow made to the corpses of his child and fiancée. That he wouldn’t move on, that he’d turn black and blue in the name of penance.

But then you came along; crashing into his world like the luminous death of a star.

And just like it, albeit destructive, powerful and bright, he couldn’t look away.)

Miguel continues, blindly sweeping at your clit, rolling his jaded thumb over it as he scissors you open.

“I hate you for leaving me,” he finishes, crooking his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner , into the warmth of your pussy.

“I– I’m not…” you pant, too caught up in Miguel fucking you with his fingers to form a better defence.

“I know,” he nods, his forehead still pressed against yours—a tender blip in the streamline of his fingers’ thrusts, “you’ll come back when you’re better, and things will go back to normal.”

Miguel buries his fingers knuckle-deep, pawing and circling at the sticky walls of your pussy.

He rolls your clit with a deft thumb and latches onto your neck, biting and kissing.

(The nipping is a sign of defiance from Miguel, the reluctance of letting you go, and the kissing… because he’s seen the catatonic look in your eyes. Your face—usually sweet, albeit scarred—leaden with guilt as you broke the news to the Spider-Society.

Guilt doesn’t look good on you, Miguel decided. Only puckish smiles. Only sheepish glances.)

Just your face, moulded into extreme pleasure as your orgasm draws close, eyes squeezed shut and nails digging into his flexing forearm. That’s what looked good on you.

Miguel doesn’t fasten his pace as you tail your orgasm. Just keeps thrusting his fingers, thumb pressing into your clit, lips sweetly trailing your jaw.

He curls them once more, pushing the pads of his fingers deeper, into the squishy-spot inside you that has your jaw slacking, head tipped back, baring your neck, and your orgasm cresting to new heights.

Miguel’s keenly aware, pouncing onto your pulse-point and licking the sheet of sweat off of your skin as he keeps finger-fucking you, walking you through your orgasm.

“That’s it,” Miguel praised, lending you his broad shoulder as you quivered.

(The two of you have been in this position before—vulnerable, trembling, except those times you were bonding over the rigours of vigilantism and regret and baring the skeleton’s in your closet to each other, not panting from the tremors of your orgasm.)

“More,” you whined, cupping Miguel’s face, acutely aware of the absence of his cheeks—sullen, instead.

Miguel tries a smile and slides his hands under your thighs, picking you up, carrying you over to a low table, setting you down.

He bullies you onto your back and nudges your legs open with his knee, brushing his knuckles over your clit. The bud is still sensitive, so you flinch under Miguel’s touch.

(A part of you always thought he was bad for you. Miguel was your becoming, but…

he also was your eventual doing.)

“My girl,” he mumbles, “my pretty, pretty girl. Te amo.”

(You ask yourself… why does your response get stuck in your throat?)

Miguel pulls away, only marginally enough to tug down his boxer-briefs. The fabric stretches against his thighs as his cock springs out, softly slapping his navel, red and leaking precum, solid, angry , standing tall.

He holds your gaze as he gives his dick a few jerks, heavy balls lightly bouncing as Miguel steps out of his boxer-briefs, sets your calves atop his shoulders, and cuts his fingers into your thighs.

“Do you need me? As bad as I need you, mi alma?” He asks, and it’s obvious he isn’t just talking about sex.

But you nod, silently because you don’t trust yourself—you don’t think you ever have—and edge yourself closer to the lip of the table, egging Miguel on.

He expels a breathless chuckle, and slips his heavy dick between the fat of your cunt, rubbing himself with your dewy folds.

“ Mierda… ” he grunts, slapping his cock against the velvet of your inner thighs, “you drive me fucking crazy.”

You smile lazily, wrapping your legs around Miguel’s lithe waist, beseeching him with rolling hips and pleading eyes for him to just fuck you already .

Miguel smiles as he sinks the fat head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle, his face squeezing into pleasure.

He keeps going—slowly, filling out your every ridge—until he kisses your pelvis and almost folds you in half. You’ve never felt so full . Miguel makes a home in your tummy, pressing down on your navel as he feels for his cock, feels it pulse and throb in your pussy.

Miguel pulls his hips away, and you throw your head back as his cock drags along your walls, his fingers toying your clit. He lowers over you, folding you in half and into a press, leaning down to catch you in a kiss.

This way, Miguel eclipses your entire world. Your lips, your sex, your every inch; he’s your body’s beginning and end.

Miguel slams himself back inside of you and you squeal. It’s jarring—how gravely different Miguel’s fast-paced, desperate thrusts are to the gentle way he holds your face to his, peppering kisses on your cheeks.

He presses so close, as if trying to mould your souls into one. His mutated DNA comes out at this time—like clockwork—and he loses composure, clawing you close, hips snapping into you as he growls into your neck.

His thick brows furrow, full lips tightening, beads of sweat running down his sinewy back that you scrabble at as an outlet for the sharp thrusts Miguel drives into your wet cunt. Your walls flutter around him and you swoon, his hands sneaking under your shirt, running over your pebbled nipples, tweaking them between his jaded fingers.

“Miggy–” you whine, twisting tufts of his hair in your hands, digging your nails into his muscly shoulders, “I want it all, please. Please give it to me.”

Miguel feels himself tiptoeing the edge of sanity. Yes, a thousand times yes, he’d give you anything you ask. His life, if you wanted it; his heart served on a silver platter; his skin, his bones, his cartilage.

But Miguel knows what you mean. Because he wants it too. That primal little scratch at the back of his head kindles to life just as Miguel feels his balls tightening. When he feels you clench down on him, back arching, he can tell you’re close too.

(Miguel knows you well. A little bit more than he’d like to, because he could see the exact day the light left your eyes. How they didn’t light up again upon seeing him.

And Miguel chose to ignore it.)

He holds you a little closer, weaving his fingers with yours, grunting against your lips.

Your orgasm washes over you as the sea extends into the sand. It’s all at once cold, blistering, and envelopes you whole, leaving no room for thought of anything else. You squeeze your eyes closed as you gush over Miguel’s cock, panting, rutting your hips up and meeting him halfway as he empties his balls inside of you.

“There we go,” Miguel breathes, pushing his cock into you a few more times until it can’t possibly go any deeper, filling you with his seed, “that’s it.”

You stare at each other as his cock softens inside you. It’s left to marinate a bit, still lightly pulsing, throbbing within your sensitive cunt. Then, Miguel shoves his face into your clavicle, noses your sweaty flesh, and deeply inhales.

He wants to remember your scent, the last moment you shared before you returned to your universe for however long you needed to be there.

(Your scent isn’t your usual one, though. Usually it’s sweet. Salty if it’s after training. But today it’s tangy—bitter. Miguel doesn’t like it, but he inhales nonetheless, damned if he’d let you go before committing this moment to memory.)

Miguel pulls away, an unstable smile gracing his lips. He works himself back into his sweatpants and helps you get dressed, nerves coiling in his stomach.

When you turn to look at him, fully dressed, eyes dark, he gulps.

Miguel walks closer, sets his hands on your waist.

“When will I see you again?” He asks.

“Before you can say the word S-Man .”

Miguel folds his lips, but nods.

You look down at the watch secured to your wrist, fighting the scowl that betrays your emotions. It looks like a house arrest brace, and you suppose it's not that far off, either, holding you down in place. Constantly.

But you key in your Earth and stare as it projects a kaleidoscopic threshold before you, twirling with golds and greens and whites.

You turn to Miguel and step closer, eyes welling up as you set a palm to his cheek, kissing him.

(It’s cursory, Miguel thinks. Because you’ll come back one day, finish what you started; finish the kiss, Miguel tells himself.)

You turn around and walk into the egress, a weight lifted off of your shoulders; the weight transferred to Miguel.

The portal closes, and your smell hangs thickly in the air.

With you, you had taken the rest of Miguel’s heart.

And he hasn’t gotten it back.

That was the last time he ever saw you.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader smut #marvel x reader #miguel o hara x reader #across the spidervse x reader

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yawnderu · 5 months

Text

Seasons Don't Fear The Reaper — Death!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Life!Reader

Ice and fire, acid and stone; life and death. Two complete opposites coming together, forming a never-ending cycle. Your creations will inevitably go to him once their time has come, and you've come to accept every single life you create with your bare hands is a gift to Death.

"My old friend." You recognize the voice immediately, yet your attention is focused on the field of white roses surrounding you, the beautiful lake making his imposing figure look almost majestic. He takes a seat next to you, skull gloved hand lowering the hood of his cloak before his hand is on your waist, holding you close.

"Death." You greet, gaze drifting up towards him, taking in all the details of his bare face, a sight reserved for you only. His brown eyes are focused on you, not feeling uncomfortable by the way you're examining his features.

"You look as lovely as ever." Your bare hands trace the length of his scythe, head leaning on his shoulder as you look up at him with nothing short of raw adoration.

"I got something in your honor." He lifts an eyebrow with curiosity as you raise the sleeve of your white dress, showing a highly detailed black tattoo of the grim reaper, a skull instead of his handsome face. A small chuckle of amusement comes out of him, lips curling up into a small smirk.

"Brave girl." He compliments, smirk growing wider as he lifts the sleeve of his cloak just to reveal a tattoo you've never seen among his existing sleeve— a dove, one wing stretched out, the other one guarding its heart. It was old, healed a long time ago, yet he never once mentioned it.

"Why'd you never tell me?" You ask curiously, hand drifting up to gently caress his bare cheek.

''You didn't ask.'' His hand rests on top of yours, easily dwarfing it.

''Was I supposed to read your mind?'' He simply nods his head, planting a gentle kiss on your palm before his fingers intertwine with yours. His touch is gentle as he changes positions, getting on his knees while his other hand rests on your hip, slowly lowering you onto the soft, green grass.

Simon's head rests comfortably on your chest, your hands coming up to run through his short, cropped hair, a smile forming on your lips at the content sigh coming out of him.

''Do you know what they say? How seasons don't fear the rea—'' His warm hand is gently planted over your mouth, muffling your laugh.

''Don't. Just... Don't.''

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melodic-haze · 18 days

Text

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino (GI) x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Pet play, using a hidden vibrator in public, reader with a cock/strap referred to as the former, ROUGH sex, spanking, a lot of painplay actually, blood cuz have you?? Seen her nails????? What the hell, overstimulation, dumbification 🫶

☆ — NOTES: I haven't actually played Genshin since the eternal Ayaka timer lol but anyway I got carried away I think LMAOOO I just have a huge thing for authority figures who are all subby for me 😞 I might do an aftercare continuation post idk

☆ — PARTS: Part 1 (you are here), Part 2

●❯────────｢⊙｣────────❮●

I really need to put a collar on this woman and call her my personal attack dog

This tall, scary woman who wields a SCYTHE, this Harbinger slash one winged fallen angel with crosses for eyes, this person who people call 'Father'???? Imposing as hell, very much the type that you can't look at in the eyes or else you're probably marked for death next.......but who could EVER expect that all that would go off and crumble down at the mere sight of you with a collar on your hand, a smile on your face and the intent to reduce her into nothing but your personal little pet?

Intimidating? Oh, please. Maybe she'd cut everyone else, but she wouldn't dare do that to you! Not even when she has a vibrator stuffed in her pussy. What's she gonna do realistically, hurt you? Oh no no no she wouldn't dare do that, you've done nothing wrong, could NEVER do anything wrong so whyever would she do that to you?

You've always wondered how Arlecchino could ever balance on those shoes of hers, with the way her heels narrow down into practically nothing by the time its length reaches the ground.

It's an impressive feat, being able to balance on such technically impractical footwear.. especially when the wearer has a small vibrator stuffed in her cunt, controlled by none other than you and the equally small device resting in your pocket, ready for you to use when you felt like it.

And you did exactly that—as the Harbinger went to talk to some person about whatever it is (you never really cared about the current semantics), you dug into your pocket idly, innocently, even, but the both of you know full well that it was anything but.

Despite Arlecchino keeping a straight face, you know the effect was immediate; you could tell from the slight stumble and the quite-literal split-second glitch that you miss when you blink. Unfortunately for her, though, the third-party hadn't blinked so she's left to scramble for an excuse as you watch on nearby, utterly delighted.

Eventually you see her excuse herself early, making it appear as if whatever they were discussing didn't seem to work. And who would ever question Arlecchino, of all people?

You.

"Well, now," you begin with a raised eyebrow as you watched your approaching lover approach you with a surprising amount of grace, wondering how she's kept herself steady with those heels of hers, "I thought you were going to take longer. What happened?"

You see her eyes stare at you, the red crosses within them practically burning so bright it's as if you were so close that you could touch the sun and burn... Though instead of looking away like a normal person with a sense of self-preservation, you dared to flash her an innocent smile as if you were utterly clueless, but both of you knew VERY well that that was, simply put, pure and utter bullshit.

She licks her lips before answering, "I have.. rescheduled for the discussion to continue when his pr-- ..proposal has been polished to the standard I require. We can return to-- ..!"

Her breath hitches, and she moves on to sit down swiftly and cross her legs in a futile effort to keep the toy still within her, though that turns out to be a mistake as you increase the intensity even further. Her mouth practically drops open before she looks down and covers her mouth as she grabs onto your wrist, nails digging and causing you to wince, though it doesn't keep the smug look on your face from increasing.

You narrow your eyes, as if utterly unimpressed by her antics, as you speak only for your lover to hear, "Flaking on your responsibilities just for you to get some relief sooner rather than later? Okay, then." And she hears, sees you laugh, and you both know that she knows she's crossed you, "Let's go home."

The only thing your pet Harbinger could really do was nod.

She need need NEEDS to be treated roughly for her to feel things bc tbh she probably has a high FEELING threshold in general. And like she's insane but that's another thing

Pull on her collar, her leash. Actually no pull on her HAIR there's a reason why she has it in a low tail 🤨🤨 pull it use it to direct her where you want her and she'll do whatever it is you require for her to do

Please do absolutely spank her, put her in her place, urge her on. Pain is a great stimulant, and is a great teacher 🫶

Needs she NEEDS you to hold her up as you pound at her without stopping, vibrator still in her cunt and being pushed deeper into her over and over by your cock and she doesn't tell you to stop either bc she's telling you to give her more, please!!

This deadly woman is asking you, pleading you, begging you for you to absolutely ruin her!!! But nonono you can't let her have what she wants when she's been uncharacteristically not doing her job like she's meant to so you pull out of her and immediately turn off the toy inside her and she looks at you with such shock that it's so strange to see on this ever-so-composed-and-strict member of the Fatui. But at the end you don't really care as you start up the whole process again after waiting for long enough, even switching your positions and paces and everything

Once you deem it enough and that she's basically at her limit, you decide to grant her.. mercy. Fuck her until she cums and she cums HARD, her nails reducing the sheets into damaged tatters of fabric and leaving bloody claw marks and bites on your skin as she writhes and twitches and glitches violently (you'll take care of it later, you reckon, but right now do you really care?) before she settles down.......

But you don't stop. Nononono you don't stop not at all!! This IS what she wanted, right??? Being fucked so hard until she's all dumb and forgets everything she has to keep track of in that brain of hers, make her forget that she's supposed to be this scaryyy Harbinger who could kill you in the blink of an eye, reduce her into nothing but your obedient little puppy desperate for a powerless mortal, of all things. That has to be humiliating, it SHOULD be humiliating when she has all that power, but she doesn't care. Not now, not ever.

Not when it's you :33

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hyunsvngs · 6 months

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READ PART 1 FIRST!

continue straight ahead

It had been so dark for so long. But over there, if you strayed from the path just a little, there was a break in the canopy of trees above. Rays of gold filtered through the leaves, and something deep within your chest told you not to leave the path, whatsoever. But it was oh-so-enticing, the thought of stepping into that light and perhaps even feeling just a little bit of warmth spill onto your skin…

Your legs were moving before you could stop them. With each step, your surroundings transform. The black and grey shadows gave way to hues of pink and purple. How could this be possible, so deep in the forest? Your will to question this wasn't quite strong enough. You felt so light, so floaty, so warm.

There was a ring of mushrooms, outlining the clearing, red and white. It may have been a trick of the light, but you could've sworn they sparkled. You stepped over them, into the light.

"Hello, darling."

A man? No. No man was this beautiful. A creature, an angel. A fairy?

He was lounging on a large, flat rock, glowing beneath the sunlight. His feet were bare, toes curling. His legs were slender and ever so long, poking out from beneath a brown, suede-looking skirt. His blouse was white and worn, unbuttoned halfway down his smooth, hairless chest. He was toying with a violet, the petals so bright they hurt your eyes. The further up his body your eyes travelled, the more intoxicated you felt. His features were sharp, all angles and lines, yet there was a softness to him. His cheeks were as rosy as his lips, his eyelashes longer than you'd ever seen before. His ears were pointed where they poked out of his long, blonde hair, cascading down past his shoulders and intertwined with flowers.

"Who are you?"

He simply smiled. "How did you get here?"

You tried to think backwards, but your memory was getting hazy. "I… I don't know. I just woke up here. In the forest."

The fairy chuckled lazily. "That might be my doing, love."

Your eyebrows furrowed. It was like you had to fight twice as hard just to think. "What, you brought me here?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. What does it matter? Come over here."

At his words, you felt a tug deep in your abdomen, as though he'd hooked an invisible scythe to you and was pulling.

"What if I don't want to?" you asked, though your own words startled you. Where did they come from? Of course you wanted to get closer to him.

He laughed, bigger this time, his smile meeting his eyes. "Oh, don't be silly. Come."

You didn't register yourself moving, but suddenly you were in front of him. You loomed above him, as he lay on the rock, though you still felt utterly powerless.

"What can I call you?" you asked, then felt silly for asking.

"Hyunjin," he said. It sounded like his first time speaking the name. "You can call me Hyunjin."

"Have you hypnotised me, Hyunjin?"

He raised his hand, his index finger landing on your lips. "Shhh. Look up at the sky, my darling."

You ignored the electric tingle in your lips, and followed his direction, reluctantly tearing your gaze from him and tilting your head up. Through the trees, with their rose and peach-coloured leaves, you saw.

"Purple. It's - the sky is purple."

"That's right, sweetheart, well done." You could hear the smile in his voice as he praised you, and you didn't dare look at him in fear you'd fall deeper. "And the clouds?"

"So pink," you murmured.

"Do you want to feel the way those clouds feel?" He had dropped the violet he'd been twirling between his fingers, his hands laying to rest on your waist instead.

There was nothing you could do but nod.

"Then come here, my sweetheart. Let me help you get there."

He spun you around, and you were sitting between his legs on the rock. It didn't feel hard beneath you, somehow. It was like sitting on a cloud. Hyunjin's hands moved from your waist, his fingertips sliding under your shirt and dancing across your tummy.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath tickling your ear.

It was difficult for you to check in with how you felt; your mind and body felt so disconnected. Not in a bad way, not at all. You just felt… far away. "Light. I feel light."

"I can make you feel better than you've ever felt before. Would you like me to do that?"

You didn't even need to think about the answer. You needed it. "Yes please, Hyunjin."

All of a sudden, your shirt was coming off and your bare back was pressed up against Hyunjin's chest, soft but firm. The air was warm on your skin, and you didn't know if the flowery, powdery scent was coming from Hyunjin or the flora around you, but you were enamoured with it.

His hands made you feel tiny. You looked down and watched as they cupped your breasts, squeezing them. He found your nipples and pinched them, rolling them between his fingertips. It sent shockwaves throughout your entire body, and you could barely breathe. You choked at the feeling, feeling as though your chest were collapsing - it was more than you could ever possibly handle. The tingling sensation was so warm, stronger than a thousand orgasms and all he was doing was tweaking your nipples.

"Breathe, darling," he urged you. "In and out."

You steadied your breathing, grounding yourself, focusing in on the pleasure bursting from within you. "What are you?" you panted.

"I'm yours. That's all you need to worry about."

Hyunjin dipped his head, his nose bumping against the skin below your ear. It traced a line downwards, right into the sweet spot where your neck ended and your shoulder began. He kissed you, making you moan out loud with just his plump, pink lips.

His fingertips made their way down your torso, tickling your tummy and passing over your hip bones. When did you become naked? you wondered. In all honesty, you didn't really care. Hyunjin's fingers were dancing across your pubic bone, then reaching between your thighs, spreading them. You hooked them over his own legs, fully spread for him.

"Oh, look at you," he whispered, chin on your shoulder. He spread your pussy lips, exploring what you had to offer.

"Am I pretty?" you asked, heart racing.

"Prettier than every flower I've ever seen," he agreed.

He plunged two of his slender fingers inside your pussy, and you writhed under his touch, throwing your head back against him. It was more intense than anything you'd ever felt before. You couldn't handle it, yet at the same time you wanted to stay here, feeling this way, for the rest of your life.

"How are you doing this?" you whined, your body thrashing with each pump of his fingers. He was playing with your g-spot so accurately that the pleasure almost hurt. It was beyond overwhelming. Nobody had ever made you feel like this before.

Hyunjin only laughed in response, kissing your neck again. "Are you enjoying it?"

"Y- Oh, fuck, yeah," you stammered. The pleasure was so immense that it felt like one ongoing orgasm. When did you start cumming? you wondered. And when would you stop?

"Do you want more?" There was a mischievous lilt to Hyunjin's voice.

"Are you gonna fuck me?" you asked, equal parts terrified and excited. You could barely handle two fingers, how would you possibly tolerate his dick?

He picked you up effortlessly, laying you back on the flat bed of the stone. You watched as he unbuttoned his blouse (the last few buttons that were hanging on, at least) and unlaced his skirt. His skin almost sparkled in the sun, bright and dazzling. His pecs, his toned abdomen, his waist, his hips, his… his dick.

"What is that?" you asked, voice hoarse. You stared at it, wide-eyed. It was long, must have been twelve inches at the very least. The tip was pale pink, a broad mushroom bulging at the top of the shaft, with the prettiest little slit at the top. The shaft just went on and on, delicate lavender veins twirling around it, all the way down until it met his balls, hanging softly beneath. "It's beautiful."

"I know," Hyunjin said with a smile.

"I… I can't take that, Hyunjin. That's too big, I'm… I don't know who you've fucked before, but I'm just a human. It's too much for me."

Hyunjin ignored your slightly panicked babbling, hovering over you where you lay. His long blonde hair fell into your face, tickling you. "Look into my eyes."

You did so. They were black, at first glance. Until pale lilac streaked through the pools, softening them. Rosy pink tones joined the mix, marbling the colours. You felt immediately calmer, pure relaxation flooding your system.

"Three…" You felt Hyunjin spread your legs. You didn't look away from his eyes.

"Two…" You felt him bumping at the entrance to your pussy. He lay his forehead against yours, and all you could see were the swirling colours. Hyunjin disappeared, the forest disappeared.

"One."

The feeling was back - you were cumming again. His dick was inside you - how far inside, you didn't know. It could've been a single inch, for all you knew, or it could've been the whole thing. He could be gutting you with it this very second, tearing apart your insides, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. His dick was even more magical than his fingers.

"Does that feel okay?" he asked. At his words, he came back into frame - you could see again. His expression was so calm, not a single crease or line across his porcelain-perfect face.

"Good - feels good," you said with a nod. "I - am I cumming? Have I been cumming this whole time?"

"Of course, darling."

"Are you inside me? All the way?"

Hyunjin gave you another gentle smile. "Why don't you look?" He sat up, and his slender frame was no longer obscuring your view.

You had no idea what to say. He was inside you - to the fucking hilt. It didn't make sense, he shouldn't fit inside you so easily. There shouldn't be such a lack of resistance. Logic said that he should surely be perforating your cervix at this length.

Logic? Logic was out of the window. You were laying on a stone, in a forest clearing, making love to the most beautiful being you'd ever seen. You were experiencing a continuous orgasm so strong that you could barely feel your body, yet at the same time you could feel it immensely.

Hyunjin pulled his dick out of you, slowly, until just his mushroom tip was left inside. The shaft was dripping, coated in your cream. He thrusted back into you gently, further and further. You felt him deep inside you. He just kept sliding further, impossibly deeper. Your tummy bulged, and you could see the glow of his cockhead inside.

"I don't understand," you mewled, spit dribbling from the corner of your lips.

Hyunjin caressed your cheek. "Stop trying to understand. Just feel."

You reached out to touch him, your hands exploring his skin. You touched his shoulders, so strong yet so soft, the muscles bulging beneath your hands. He felt like a cloud. You touched his face, his perfect pretty face, his expression remaining unchanged as you sobbed beneath him. How could he be so calm?

"Does-" you hiccuped. "Does it feel good for you? Hyunjin?"

"Yes, sweetheart." His voice was still, even as he was fucking you. "I don't do things that don't feel good."

You felt as though you were on top of the fucking world. You felt unstoppable, untouchable. You were making this man - this creature, this fairy - feel good. Your mind floated away from you. He hadn't lied; you felt just like the bright pink clouds in the sky.

"Do you love me, Hyunjin?" you asked, silly grin on your face.

Hyunjin looked at you blankly. "In a way."

He wiped your cheek with a single finger, following the tracks your tears had painted. "Your tears are so pretty." He lifted the finger to his lips, licking it. He threw his head back, closing his eyes tight, the first real display of pleasure you'd seen from him.

"Are - Are you gonna c-cum?" you asked, choking out each word.

"Yes, my darling," he said, and you heard just a slight strain to his voice. "I'm going to cum."

You gripped his biceps, steadying yourself. He looked deep into your eyes. Those gorgeous, ever-changing orbs disappeared from your view, the pinks and purples and blacks evaporating. His eyes were solid white, and held more emotion than you'd seen from the man so far. His eyebrows furrowed deeply. He was cumming.

You quickly realised that you hadn't been cumming this whole time - this was the peak. You felt his ethereal cock cum inside you, felt his seed spurt out of his slit and into your pussy. There was an impossible amount, flooding your body. It tingled, made your pussy throb in ways it never had before. Your entire body was on fire.

"Thank you, love." He pulled out of you, and you whined at how empty you felt. You swore you'd feel empty until the day you died, if you never felt his cock again.

His cum was spilling out of your pussy. You frowned, wanting to keep it all inside you, a memento of your time together; but your discontent couldn't last long. It was entrancing. His cum wasn't white but silver, and glowing. It was more like smoke than a man's seed, curling out of you and flying away.

"Don't worry, darling," he spoke with a smile. "There's some inside you, still. Deep inside." Could he read your mind? Had he been reading it this whole time?

"What happens now?" you asked, a sudden panic gripping your chest. "Will I see you again?"

Hyunjin grinned at you. His teeth looked sharp, pointed. You didn't blink, not even when your eyes burned. You couldn't look away for even a second, you had to absorb the sight of him. His glowing skin, his angular jaw, his now-white eyes. His pale blonde hair, cascading in waves down his back.

He leaned in, and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Goodbye, love."

And with that, as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.

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cowyolks · 1 year

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FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Chapter Seven. I See You

Prev. Chapter Six Masterlist

Pairing: God! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: A prophecy written long ago stated of a human that would become the God’s wife and live in his domain for the rest of eternity.

A/n: Sorry this took eons to write. This chapter is longer than my others because I felt bad lol. Please enjoy!

It had been nearly a week since Simon had left in an angry flap of wings. At least you thought it was a week—time was hard to tell in the Underworld.

You spent your days in the large library of the palace, drinking in words as if they would sweep you away from your current situation. If you read the text with enough concentration you could pretend that you weren’t in danger, let alone with such beings of high power.

In this week, it had given you a lot of time to think. To reflect that you were just shaken, and Simon had been the one to protect you against your mother, Shepherd, and any other threat you’ve encountered. It wouldn’t make sense for him to kill you, specifically since he had been so passionate in proclaiming you as his promised.

You thought, and you thought hard.

Maybe being his wife would result in safety, in undying gratitude that he’s shown you already. Perhaps, loving a God could make you feel immortal.

A page flipping startled your thinking, making you pull your eyes away from the passage you were blankly staring at.

Keegan had been your role protector in the last few days, only changing shifts with the furies when you bathed and first thing in the morning when he had conferences.

While his black robes and sharp appearance stood out like a sore thumb in the massive library, he made it clear he was a man of literature. He’s introduced you to the book you were skimming upon now.

“You’re thinking awfully hard to just be reading.” His deep voice was very similar to Simon’s, but unlike your betrothed, Keegan’s voice teased and slithered playfully.

Like a friend you’ve known of centuries.

“I’m worried about Simon. Has he contacted you, lately?” You chewed your lip, bookmarking your page and setting it in your lap. You felt ashamed for sitting idly and reading while Simon was cleaning up your own mess. With the artificial sun dimming into oranges and pinks you knew it would be another day without him.

“No, but don’t worry, flos. Simon can take care of himself.” Keegan spoke in blunt honesty, something you appreciated, but didn’t stop your stomach from twisting.

You glanced down to your ankle, no longer hidden by your long dress. Instead you wore a summer dress of lilac, the material smooth against your skin. The mark had healed slightly, only red blemishes remained, instead of the painful burnt char that was there before.

“Hey…” Keegan spoke up, nudging your shoulder slightly, “all this worrying is only going to give you grief, come let’s take a walk before it gets too dark.”

The lethal man stood, stretching on his heels and flexing his spine, almost similar to a large predatory cat. His white eyes turned to you, upon noticing that you haven’t moved an inch, your eyebrows still furrowed together.

“Up… I’ve got something that will lift your spirits.” Keegan commanded, offering you his hand, calloused from holding his scythe.

You took it, surprised to find the flesh warm and comforting. He hauled you up, releasing you before nodding his head to the doors that led outside.

You followed close by, something Keegan insisted upon so he could watch your every move. In a way you were relieved to have such protection from the demon, but annoyance tickled your mind since you enjoyed solitude on occasion. That wasn’t an option now.

A solid thwack to your back made you stumble slightly, your eyes going wide as you nearly fell upon the stone path. Keegan’s deep chuckle mocked you as he flapped his wings playfully. You narrowed your eyes, a small smile gracing your lips at his amused expression.

“That hurt, you oversized chicken.” You let the insult slip your tongue with a teasing lit, though it didn’t halt Keegan’s gloating nature.

“Chicken… No one has ever called Death a chicken.” He teased, his smile broke open, revealing a set of sharp canines. “Wipe that grin off your face, mighty one.” You found yourself quipping again, truly thankful to Thanatos for halting your fears and doubts. It was comforting to know you’ve made a friend, regardless of him being the literal vessel of Death.

“I wanted to show you a place of peace. It’s Simon’s favorite spot to be when he isn’t working.” Keegan crossed his arms behind his back, retracting his wings as he marched like a dutiful soldier.

He led you to an area of seclusion, hidden by waves of ivy and vines. With large hands he pushed the plants back, gesturing for you to step through the cavern and into a very familiar garden.

The garden from your nightmare.

Your steps halted, gaze falling upon the stone path that lead to your own demise. Keegan took notice, his palm coming to rest upon your shoulder in comfort.

You attempted to anchor yourself to him, forcing your eyes away from the sight from your potential death. Yet, the God seemed to read you enough for a knowing look to creep on his face. “Whatever you dreamt of, it will not happen.” He spoke so firmly you immediately felt the heavy weight fall from your shoulders.

“It just felt so real. I died over there.” You pointed, Keegan followed your gaze before pushing you forward. “I know when all deaths will happen, flos. The demon was tricking you.”

This made you uneasy, but you began to creep forward to the path anyways. “So you know when and how I’ll die?” You questioned, taking in the truly magnificent details of the garden.

His lips quirked up, his youthful appearance did little to hide his actual age. You supposed death was as old as time itself, because even the stars died before mortals walked the earth.

“Yes, I suppose I know how everyone will die, but tis bad luck to tell.”

You dropped the subject, feeling as if you already had enough bad luck for the century. With a shake of your head, you began to walk the path, knowing that Keegan would be there to protect you. Maybe, if you faced your fear, you could finally get rid of the cloud of doubt forming. It was only two weeks until the effects of the pomegranate wore off. Two weeks you had to decide if you would marry a God.

The path broke off into a split, the union breaking to give way to a simply gorgeous pond of the clearest waters you’ve ever seen. It was full of life, tadpoles swam in little circles, among with an occasional swan. Frogs bobbed above the surface, and koi fish gently preened the green vegetation on the bottom.

It was simply beautiful, and it made you feel more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time.

“I gave this to Hades after word was told of a union between him and his betrothed.” A voice said from behind you, making you yelp and jump back near Keegan.

Keegan gripped his scythe tight, but made no effort to use his weapon.

Your eyes found purchase of a woman, her hair like spun gold and face as beautiful as it was dangerous. She was dressed in white, her dress accented with what looked to be feathers. She floated above the water, hovering just enough to not touch the wet surface.

“Hera.” Keegan greeted with a bow, a small slap to your back told you that you needed to repeat his gesture. Softly, you curtseyed, eyes curious as you took in her glowing aura.

“Thanatos, may I borrow the girl for a moment?”

Keegan’s lips pursed, obviously not pleased with the question. “I don’t like the idea of her leaving my side, Queen Mother. Forgive me, but I was told to watch her by orders of Hades himself.”

Hera smiled slightly, her skin glowing like a warm pearl in the artificial sunlight. She stepped closer, now firmly on the stone path. “Yes, I was told in council of his protection notice. Ghost is very fond of you, mortal.” She turned to you, a glimmer in her knowledgeable eyes.

You couldn’t help the nervousness eating away at you. “Is he alright?” You found yourself asking, cursing yourself with how much concern you had actually voiced. A knowing smile fell upon the woman’s face.

“As far as I know he is well. Hades left with Artemis earlier this week, she’s our best tracker. If they find word of Makarov we shall know.” Hera informed with her lips pressed together. She now ascended in front of you and Keegan, the God pushing you behind him slightly in protective vigor.

“Makarov?” You voiced, attempting to ignore the shiver that traveled up your spine. Was this the name of the demon that had sent you into such a fright?

Hera stood in front of Thanatos, both of their auras contrasting each other in a clash of dark and light “Let me speak with the girl. We shall stay in your sight, and no harm will come to her, I swear upon the River Styx.”

Keegan huffed, still slightly displeased, but whatever vow she had insisted was enough for him to shake her hand in agreement. “Come with me, mortal. We have much to discuss.” Hera turned to you with periwinkle eyes.

You found yourself stepping around Keegan, his stare burning into your back as you followed after Hera, attempting to keep up with her long stride amongst the stone path. She snapped her fingers, producing two sitting cushions against the soft grass.

Hesitantly you sat against a cushion, the woman falling next to you. Keegan watched from across the pond, arms crossed as he waited.

“You must be unsurprised of us Gods and Godesses appearing before you. But I am Hera, Queen of the Olympians and Goddess of Bonds and Women. But you may call me Kate.”

“You’re Zeus’ Queen?”

Hera smiled softly, a little chuckle falling from her petal lips. “I suppose so. When the atoms formed us and the titans, Zeus and I decided to rein together, but we do not hold a romantic connection, no.”

“I apologize.” You hoped to not offend such a powerful being, despite her vow to keep you safe in this short time.

“It is a common thing to ask, especially since you did not know any better. Most of us Gods do not have the satisfaction of finding a partner.” Kate tutted, her graceful hand swishing across the grass.

“Yet, Simon had found me.” You murmured, eyes falling to the pond that symbolized your betrothal.

“You know, I’m the Queen of Marriage. It was I that the Fates consulted to draw your match.” Hera spoke up, just as the water began to brighten slightly. As if her words echoed into the wet surface.

“So you must know about this prophecy.” You questioned, hoping to possibly get some answers about what the Olympian’s kept mentioning. Yet, you were left dissatisfied, for the Queen of the Heavens pursed her lips. “I do know of the prophecy, but I do not know it word for word. It would be wise to consult in Gaz at your wedding.”

“Gaz is another God?” You questioned, attempting to ignore how sure Hera was that you’d accept Hades’ marriage proposal. “Yes, Apollo is his name, he’s the God of Prophecy and the Sun.”

“There are many of you, it’s hard to imagine you have any enemies at all.”

Kate’s face turned grim, her eyes swirling in a look of caution. “Makarov was always locked away in prison in the underworld. It frightens me that he was able to slither his way into your chambers so easily.”

“How could he have escaped?”

Hera’s lips pursed, “I don’t think he truly has. What you saw was merely a figment of him. Makarov is Tartarus, pure chaos. He wouldn’t have let you live if he was in his true form.”

“He said he wanted everything from me.” Your voice came out confused, what would literal chaos want with a mortal?

“We will keep you safe. Besides, times will be happier.” Hera stood from her position, seemingly satisfied with the little chat.

“Wait…” you called out, suddenly feeling your cheeks redden as you bit your lip in thought. “You said you fortified our marital bond. Will I be happy? Will he?”

Hera let a soft grin spread across her lips.

“For Eternity.”

You stood in front of the mirror, taking time to glance at yourself before making the descent to your chamber. The moon reflected against the glass, as well as Kleo’s watching eyes.

It wasn’t ideal for her to watch your every move, especially such simple actions like bathing or dressing. But it did ease your mind and made your thoughts run clearer.

“Almost ready?” Kleo asked from against the wall, her hand resting upon the hilt of her sword, as if anything would happen in the slightest second.

With a final glance in the mirror, your eyes traveled to the soft ivy green of your nightdress, before shifting up to the soft blemish of your neck, still visible and showcasing.

“Yes, thank you for waiting.” You made sure to show appreciation to all of your guards, knowing they likely had so much better things to do.

It was a short walk to your chambers, the room was lit by a series of candles. Something you found to be lit at all times, despite the waste of wax. The thought of being alone in the darkness was now too much for you to bare, despite being guarded.

You never wanted to see those red eyes again.

Before you could even sit down on your furs, a loud commotion made you jump, coming just from down the hall. Kleo drew her sword, placing you behind her quickly.

“Your Grace, please. You’re injured!” A small voice called out into the hallway, just as footsteps grew louder towards your chambers. “Move.” His deep voice growled close to your door, making you bite your cheek in worry and in happiness that he was back.

The God of the Dead bursted through your door, not bothering to knock or even unfold his wings to make his way through the door. Instead, he stood still, his wild eyes falling to you.

Kleo lowered her weapon, still staying close.

“Are you hurt?” He asked rapidly, you didn’t hesitate to shake your head, not knowing what would happen if you so much as said you had a paper cut.

His shoulders sagged in relief, and it was then that you could see he let his fatigue and injuries get the best of him. Your God was covered in slashing wounds, all the color of his blood of liquid gold.

He took a step closer, and another, until he stumbled slightly, a large gash on his torso making him gasp. It was strange seeing someone of such high power be in pain. Almost instantly you reached out, running on your own instinct as you lowered him down to your furs.

“Why hasn’t he been tended to?” You asked to the man in white robes, likely a medic to Simon. He gulped, extending a variety of bandages and salves out for you to see. “I was trying, he insisted upon seeing you first, my lady.”

Your gaze traveled down to Simon, who was covering a particular long gash on his chest, his eyes adverted almost as if he was scared of your reaction.

With a huff, you moved to take the supplies into your own hands. “I’ve got this, I was my village’s healer. Besides the two of us need to talk.”

The medic nodded, hastily bowing with relief before shuffling out of the room. Kleo held your stare for a moment, before following out of the room.

“What happened to you?” Worry dripped from your tone like falling rain. Gently, you set the bandages upon your bed, right across from Simon. His wings twitched behind his back, just as his black eyes glanced up.

“We found him—the demon. He was stronger than I thought. Artemis and I hardly escaped. But I believe he’s licking his wounds somewhere far away.” His legs spread wider against your bed, his torso leant back and stretching. He jerked, letting out a loud hiss. Even with the mask upon his face you could see the wincing in pain.

“Stop, stop moving you’ll make it hurt worse.” You fussed, bringing up a bottle of salve to your eyes.

“Already hurts pretty bad, darling.”

Your heart fluttered at the name, still you attempted to hide your shaking fingers as your eyes trailed down to his mauled torso. Silently, you bit down upon your lip. Who could destroy a God so easily?

“I need you to take off your shirt.” You ordered, feeling some sense of professionalism leak through your command—Perks of years of healing in your village.

Simon did as told with little fuss, lifting his arms to pull his robes over his head, but as he tugged upon the swirling fabric his wound gushed more liquid gold, making you hastily reach out to him.

“Stop! I’ll do it, you’ll injure yourself more.” Simon dropped his arms back down, looking to be in relief as his skin constricted normally again. He said nothing as you pried his clothing from his torso. Even though it was your second time seeing his rippling chest and stomach, you still found yourself inhaling slightly harder as you examined him.

Snapping out of your stupor, you reached near your nightstand, taking a rag from the pile and dipping it into a wash basin you had previously used to wash your face. The water was still warm to the touch.

You made work of dabbing the multiple wounds with the water, surprised that Simon didn’t even flinch when the rag hit his wounds. You wondered then how many battles he was truly in.

His eyes pierced against your face, making you heavily aware of his stare as you dabbed salve upon the already closing wounds. With nimble hands you began to wrap up his chest.

“You’re staring…” you muttered, eyebrow furrowed in concentration as you attempted to ignore his stare. His hand reached up, latching to your own as he squeezed lightly.

“Makarov, he gets into people’s heads, he managed to get the best of me, slashed clean through my cheek. I thought I had lost you, it seemed so real.” His words rumbled deep within his chest, sincerity dripping from his tone.

“I’m right here.” You assured.

His eyes blew out in adoration, something you were beginning to grow used to. How he adored the air because it was what you breathed, how he envied the sun and rain because they got to touch your skin. How he planted flowers in your name because you had once picked the stems.

“I know.” He whispered.

It was silent for a moment, until you thought back to what he previously said. You sucked in a breath, “you said Makarov cut your face, you need to treat it. I can leave if it brings you comfort?”

His hand gripped your wrist tighter, silence over taking you for a moment before he attempted to sit up straighter.

“Stay.” He requested, a silent plea that spoke volumes. This was huge, at long last you would see his face. His fingers dropped your hand, instead reaching up to the skull helm he proudly wore.

You gulped as he peeled it from his skin.

Air escaped every crevice of your lungs when you looked to him. The real him.

He was every bit a God. His hair cropped and a color of sweet honey. His skin was rich and pale, previous smile lines etched against his eyes, amongst with dark circles hidden underneath his black irises. His nose was large, that fit well against his high cheekbones and lengthy cheeks. Stubble grazed over his sharp jaw, and a singular white scar ran through the bottom of his chin to a set of petal pink lips.

Without thinking, you brought your palm to his cheek that was free of any injuries, reveling in the warmth of his skin and prick of his stubble. He was real, despite how beautiful he was. He was yours.

“You’re staring.” He repeated you from earlier, a small smile peeking from his lips, you decided it was breathtaking.

“You’re insufferable…” you teased back, hand still cradling his cheek. His eyes locked with yours intensely—an intensity that wasn’t there when he was wearing a mask.

“And you’re simply exquisite, Sponsa Mea.” Simon slightly turned his head, his lips falling upon your open palm in a gentle searing kiss.

Your face flushed at the kiss, something that made you yearn for it to be his lips on yours instead of just your palm.

“I’ve had some time to think about our betrothal.” You murmured, suddenly feeling just how close you were to him. How his eyes fluttered shut at the sound of your voice, as if he was intoxicated just on you.

He hummed, the dark wings behind his back extending to your waist, only touching you enough to tickle against your sides. You weren’t sure if he was truly aware of what he was doing, his face still locked against your touch.

“I’ll stay. I’ll marry you.”

Tags: @soapyghost @queenqu33f @blueoorchid @lethalchiralium @eclipse-darling @galagcica @dead-noodles @agspgrwasb @toobsessedsstuff @mooniesyubi @cookielovesbook-akie @vile-villain6661 @peachlcve @soldier-lass @ghostslittlegf @rebel-soldat @erintaro @ghost-with-a-teacup @fante-di-denari @sollucifer @embers-of-alluring @icepancakes @queen-ilmaree @ahmya-4 @msecho19 @the-abyss-of-fandoms @madysonavery @angstyjellybean @trashboat-the-raccoon @multitargaryen @kdkj122920 @montenegroisr @lilacsourgirl @thisperspective @random0lover @pasta-m1lk @badpvn @sweetybuzz25z25 @stupendoustyrantstranger @4ndjelij4 @bootlegroach @brainstormbby @yehet-moi-ohoratrat @lilpothoscuttings

#cod #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #simon riley #modern warfare #simon ghost riley x reader

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

Reaper

This isn't a thing, it's just... a thing.

Simon Riley/reader - Grim Reaper Simon Riley 1k words Warnings-tags: ... none? Silver tongue and scythe.

The porch is decorated with mirrors. They’re all strung together on fishing line, clear, nearly iridescent strings that move with the wind, reflective glass occasionally chiming when they hit one another. It almost looks like art, beams of sunlight getting caught in the mirrors and reflecting off into different directions, across the worn wooden boards or into the two front windows, sneaking past the white lace curtains that are pulled shut.

A broom is nailed to the right of the front door, it’s gnarled and twisted handled complimented by frayed bristles, fuzzy twine wrapped around where the two meet. In the front garden bed, a small, trimmed tree stretches upwards, its branches adorned with upside down glass bottles.

He shifts his weight from one leg to another while he waits for an answer to his knock. He keeps catching his own reflection in the many mirrors that swing in the breeze, shards and squares and circles all reflecting his own gaze back to him, over and over. He realizes, right then and there, that this, will be more difficult than usual.

You open the door. Just a crack, not enough for him to fully see, not enough to even get a good idea of what you look like.

“Excuse me, I’m-“

“What do you want.” Your voice is flat. Unamused.

“Well, I’m your neighbor, just moved into the old Callaway place down the road. Thought I’d stop by, introduce myself.” He twists his tone into something American, something southern, but you don’t take the bait.

The door doesn’t budge. The wind picks up, and the leaves of the sugar maple in the yard rustle against each other.

“Great. Did you need something?”

“Just, wanted to meet my neighbors, I guess. It’s just you, and the house up the way so I figured-“

“You figured wrong.” He bites his tongue, nearly swallows it when you go to force the door closed.

“Wait. Sorry, I know… it’s rude to just show up unannounced but I promise, I’m just tryin’ to be neighborly. I’m Simon.” He doesn’t extend his hand because he already knows how that will go. You trace him from his black leather shoes to the top button of his shirt, cinched tight beneath his throat. A cat meows from behind you, black and shiny, sitting on its haunches with its head tilted, regarding him silently. A familiar? Bloody hell.

You stay silent, the only response a raised eyebrow.

“I hear you’re named after a princess.” He tries to pry you open but fails, glancing down at the familiar before attempting a different approach. “Cat got your tongue?” The joke bounces, and you try to shut the door in his face, but he sneaks the tip of his shoe in front of the frame, allowing it to slam into the side of his foot. “Come on, now.” He shifts his voice into something silken, honey smooth and sweet, a tempting pull for all who hear it.

Well, almost all.

Your eyes narrow.

“Get off my porch.” The maple creaks, and something pushes your voice through him, as a warning, an evoking. Marvelous creature, I wonder what weight your soul carries? Will you let me strip it from you, taste it for myself?

“That’s no way to treat a neighbor.”

“You and I both know, you’re no neighbor.” His lips crack into a smile, parting to reveal a beautiful row of pearly white teeth that you cannot see behind the balaclava. The wind whistles again, harder. The smile melts into a thin-lipped frown.

“No. But they say I drive a hard bargain.” It’s your turn to frown, and you do it so beautifully, lips pulling down into a pout, cheeks sucking inward with displeasure. Your nose wrinkles in distaste.

“There is no one here to bargain with you. Take your silver tongue and sickle elsewhere.” A flash of rage thunders across your eyes, and something burns in the pit of his stomach. Intriguing.

“Surely there is something you want? Something you would give in exchange?” You don’t flinch, don’t pause to consider, don’t even blink.

“You’ll have better luck down the road.” You instruct him, daring to point a finger over his shoulder, directing past where the trees curl around your gravel driveway.

“Now, Buttercup.” He drags the first vowel of the nickname out, mimicking the way you grandmother said it, drawling it long and deep. You scowl. “I wonder…” He steps closer, close enough he can smell the scent of your spearmint-tinged breath, see the flecks of brown and gold that gather around your irises. “Do you dare venture out, after dark? Or do you resist the call of the woods, staying safe up in your house, locked away.”

“I venture plenty.” He grins.

“Do you now?” Let me rip you open, darling. Let me drink your soul from the threads of your being. “They say all the fun happens at night; you know.” His hand finds his pocket, slipping into the black linen, and you tense. When he produces a card, silver in the shine of the midday sun, your shoulders ease, following the movement of his hand with your eyes. “My card.” He flourishes it towards you, and you lift a lip in a snarl.

“I said, get off my porch.” You cock you head, tilting your chin just so, straightening your spine in challenge.

“Take it. Just in case.” He watches the hesitation in the tightening lines at the corner of your mouth, the subtle quirk of your lips. Take it, buttercup. A bead of sweat trickles from the hair behind you ear, tracing down the curve of you neck before it disappears down into your shirt.

The air around him snaps to a halt, and your fingers hover in the air above his. Brave little lamb. For a second, your eyes meet his fully, and a tangle of webs weave in the space between him and you. No one moves, or breathes. The world stands still.

The wind shrieks through the maple.

The spell breaks.

You snatch the card and slam the door in his face.

He chuckles. He’ll give you a few hours and hope you come to your senses. He hates reaping by force.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod mw2 #peaches writes

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notellum · 7 months

Text

— “it’s cute that you think you do anything more than amuse me. you’re only interesting when you manage to put a knife at my throat.”

BIO.

while their real name is unknown, you’ve always known them as serpente—as do their enemies. your paths cross often, for they are one of the only other people you know who dare to trek across the abyss. that alone makes them arrogant, cocky in a way that is only explained after meeting them in person, but it’s hard to deny they aren’t good at their job. as their rival in a very niche job, you’d know.

however, despite being each other’s competitors, you’ve come to find the knife at your throat almost comforting; a profession like this is as lonely as it is deadly. for all their salutes and crooked smiles, serpente isn't bad company. though you know they’d protest, with all your encounters, even they can’t deny you know them better than most. it’s why, at the other end of the blade, you sometimes wonder if their deadpan smiles, sarcastic drawls and aloof attitude are simply cover-ups for something else.

APPEARANCE.

serpente has warm tan skin and brown eyes. their short-medium length hair is a dark chestnut brown, wavy and fluffy with volume, matching dark and full eyebrows. they have a noticeable scar across their throat from their first near-death experience, dragging from the top left to the bottom right. their other scars are less visible, but you know they’re there. somewhere. they stand at 6’2.

serpente is non-binary and aroflux. the closest ethnicity to describe them would be argentinian.

OTHER INFORMATION.

age: 22.

birth realm: notellum.

birthday: may 25 [gemini].

allies: alabaster [the bastard], morpheus [the dreamer], nyx [the owner].

enemies: rikaya [the queen], scythe [the executioner], thorne [the asset].

powers: enhanced agility [manipulation].

MBTI: entp [debater].

#intros #char: serpente #ink\void duology #twine game #interactive fiction

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bee-can-art · 8 months

Text

I call this piece, "It's okay, qPhilza has two hands."

• Click for better quality (01/09/2023)

(Details/headcanons below vvv)

Missa

• His whole body is a skeleton existing/floating in a black goop. It's partially see through, allowing people to see the bones inside. It can move and bend in an inhuman way, but it mostly solid to the touch (similar to qSlime's slime body).

• The skeleton's mouth moves when he talks, along with the blue dots in his eyes changin to reflect his mood (seeing as he doesn't have eyebrows, then function like two in one).

• His scythe is more akin to a hand-made one, that anyone could have made. It is both a weapon, tool, and can also reap souls if he wants.

_____

Krisitin

• Is still the literal Goddess of Death (design is consistent for both dsmp and qsmp (but doesn't mean they're the exact same character)).

• Has purple eye with white exes ('X') in them, due to her nature as death herself (this is a design I also use for revived characters).

• Crow skull and a feather from Phil's wing on her hat, alsong with withered rose flowers.

• Has a skull-like shadow/markings on her face, along with her hands and forearms also being the same.

• Her wings are meant to be like lookign into the night sky (i.e. A very dark colour, with speckles of starts through out them). This is only visible on her top set of wings.

• Unlike Missa, her scythe was gifted to her when she began existing. However, it can change it's appearence to however she sees fit. Currently, the handle is made out of Crimson wood, with the blade clamp having a hardcore heart on, and a bird skull opposite the blade.

There is also a piece of string with: red, yellow, and pink hearts intertwined. These are there to prepresent, Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno.

#This is my first time drawing qMissa and c/qKristin #(I put c/q bc imagine her with the same designs for both)#please appreciate all the little details in their designs thank you #also technically this is my second time drawing Kristin but I never posted the first one #qsmp #qsmp fanart #qsmp philza #philza fanart #qsmp missa #missasinfonia #missasinfonia fanart #qsmp kristin #misstrixin #art #digital art

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soulfireblue · 5 months

Text

The mood on the boat is somber as Bad stares across the water at the tumbling waves. He is far too aware of the barrels surrounding him and the symbol that will catch his gaze the moment he turns back to look toward the boat; it takes a lot of willpower for Bad not to reach up and touch the green that is growing and spreading.

He forces himself to think of blue for a moment, not green— he imagines smooth ice solidifying over the surging waves. But the fond thought of his little slice of heaven in hell comes with dark anxiety now; he is returning to a hell with no sure promise of heaven.

He hears quiet words behind him, both English and Portuguese running together, and he pulls himself away from the waves. He forces himself to ignore the barrels that might be speeding up his death and instead focuses on what makes him want to live.

Tubbo is pacing, holding his scythe and not looking at anyone as he mumbles to himself. Bad catches just a handful of words here and there: Cucurucho, not going out on a loss, Sunny, my fault, and then the odd nonsensical three-minute ad. Pac and Bagi are having a conversation in low voices, but Bagi and Etoiles with entirely different expressions: Bagi’s brows knit in worry, but Etoiles holds his sword and watches with interest. Pac, on the other hand, looks terrified.

It’s a stand-off for a moment, of which will win first— if Bagi will attempt words of comfort, if Etoiles will suggest a nice, distracting PvP warmup, or if Pac will join Tubbo in begging: no, no, please let us go home.

Bad decides to say something first. “So, Purgatory again, huh?”

Bagi’s eyebrows furrow further, and she purses her lips.

Etoiles looks away from Tubbo to take a moment to look Bad up and down. “You do not look so good, Bebou. ”

Bad resists the urge to touch his wound and smiles instead, but Tubbo speaks before he can respond.

“I just finally showered,” Tubbo moans. “Or jumped in a lake and swam with the catfish, actually. But close enough.”

“Well now you can jump in the icy cold waters of Purgatory,” Bad says cheerfully.

Tubbo stops pacing and looks directly at him. “You think I’m going to do anything other than devote my life to the grind for the next five days, BadBoyHalo? You think I’m going to have time to shower?”

“Please do,” Etoiles groans. “You stink. You are stinky.”

“Oh, fuck you, Etoiles,” Tubbo shoots back.

“Language,” says Bad.

Tubbo ignores him. “You’re the one who stinks. I’m better than you at PvP. You wanna go? I can take you! You’re washed!” His tone is playful, but his hands shake as he pretends to thrust out his scythe.

“At least I have washed.” Etoiles sounds amused. “Unlike you, you stinky little garbage boy.”

Tubbo gasps loudly, and Bad smiles despite himself. Pac snickers.

“I hope Empanada is okay,” Bagi says abruptly. “She didn’t want me to go back to Purgatory, but I’m leaving her anyway.”

The mood immediately becomes tense again, and none of them say anything for a moment. Bad watches as Tubbo glances away, knuckles whitening as his hand curls into a fist around his scythe.

“I miss Fit,” Pac admits, his voice quiet. “And Richarlyson.”

“But at least we are together,” Bagi adds, after a long moment. “If I have to go back, there is almost no one I would rather do it with. You were a great coach, Tubbo.”

A small smile flickers across Tubbo’s face, and he lowers his voice. “What are we gonna do? We’re going to go out on that field and we’re going to win that Superbowl, can I get a yes coach?”

“Yes, coach!” Bad, Pac, and Bagi echo, and Etoiles chuckles.

But Tubbo’s smile falls away as quickly as it formed. “There are no teams this time, Bagi. We’re on our own.”

Bad’s stomach twists. They are on their own. It is a twisted funhouse mirror of the days before Purgatory, when the eggs disappeared on them, and now they are disappearing on their children because of the same entity that their kids had run away to protect them from.

“I don’t care,” she says. “We are going to kill that big eyeball guy. I said I would come back to save you. I will fight for you. We can fight together.”

Tubbo’s eyes widen for a second, but then he glances down, biting his lip. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, Bagi. This could be some Hunger Games shit. That stupid eye motherfucker said that there can only be one winner.”

“Language.”

“I know you,” Bagi says. “You do not care what that eye guy says. You fight for us anyway.”

Tubbo studies each of them, one by one, starting with Pac. He looks at Bad last. Bad holds eye contact with him, but Tubbo is the first to look away.

“We can say we’ll fight together,” Tubbo says, “but people don’t always stick to their promises.”

“Hey,” Bad protests, “it was one day. You weren’t doing a very good job of being a leader of the team, but the next day it all worked out and you were a great leader again! I think listening to Pierre was totally understandable.”

“I think BadBoyHalo is wrong, Tubbo,” Bagi says. “I really appreciated what you tried to do. That’s why you’re a good coach.”

“It worked out in the end,” Pac says, comforting despite his own fear. “We got Fit on our team.”

It hits Bad how wound up Tubbo is when Tubbo doesn’t even take the opportunity to make fun of Pac’s crush on Fit.

“Oh, that’s not even the day that bothers me most, Bad,” Tubbo says. “Day 12! Day 12! I told you to run and you should have listened! We lost because you let them kill you!”

“I thought they would be nice and respectful,” Bad says. “But instead they were silly muffins and killed me even though I was just getting my stuff back. I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“You don’t see how that’s your—” Tubbo inhales sharply and then shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re right, Bagi. Working together is worth a shot. We didn’t let Purgatory tear us apart last time, and we won’t this time, either.”

“Oh yeah, I hated you before Purgatory,” says Bad.

“Me too,” says Bagi.

“I didn’t,” says Pac.

“Thank you, Pac,” Tubbo groans. “But we’ll fight together then, yeah? As long as we can. Can I get a yes coach?”

“Yes, coach!” Bad, Bagi, and Pac cheer.

“I will not fight with you, I will fight you,” Etoiles chuckles. “With my superior PvP skills.”

Tubbo immediately opens his mouth, but Bagi thankfully cuts in before he can swear at him again. “If you do not want to work with us, fine, Etoiles. Team Soulgayfire will stick together.”

“We gotta keep everyone safe,” Pac agrees.

Tubbo glances back at Bad for a moment. Bad can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“I will beat you though,” Etoiles says cheerfully. “Because you are trash.”

Pac leans over to Tubbo and whispers, just loud enough for Bad to hear: “I think he’s trying to be comforting in his own way.”

“Dapper only has Bad,” Tubbo says at last. “Just like Sunny only has me. If the stakes are high enough, Bad can’t lose any more than I can, because we can’t let our children be alone.”

“Baghera is Dapper’s mother,” Pac points out, but Tubbo shakes his head.

“And where is she?”

Bad turns back to look at the ocean, the waves lapping over each other in an inconsistent rhythm. He feels everyone looking at him. His mind grows hazy for a moment, and it’s just him and the ocean, everything falling away from his mind, before snapping back again like a rubber band pulled taut.

“When we get back to the island,” he says, “I have something I want to show you, Tubbo.”

He sees Tubbo turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, but before Tubbo can respond, Bad’s attention is caught by figures in the distance.

“Wait,” Bad says. “Guys, come look.”

The others join him at the side of the ship. The figures become clearer as they come closer— a federation worker with a large eye grips the arm of the other figure as she tries to squirm out of his grasp, kicking and screaming, words desperately climbing in volume, tripping over her as she cries.

“TINA!” Bagi screams beside Bad. “No— Tina— not Tina— I promised Empanada—”

Tina shakes as she climbs the ladder, the tip of the eye worker’s sword pressed against her back. Her face is red and blotchy, but no one mentions it.

“Welcome back to Purgatory, Tina!” Bad says. “We’re going back!”

“You’re a monster,” Tina cries, and Bad laughs, voice tinged with desperation that he's not sure if anyone else can hear.

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory 2 #qsmp purgatory #qsmp fic #qsmp badboyhalo #badboyhalo #qsmp tubbo #tubbo #qsmp bagi #bagi #qsmp pac #qsmp pactw #pactw #tazercraft #qsmp etoiles #etoiles #qsmp tina #qsmp tinakitten #tinakitten #qsmp soulfire #soulfire #team soulfire #qsmp team soulfire #this whole thing stemmed from the image of bagi telling tubbo that she promised to save him #and saying they need to work together #and tubbo exhaustedly replying that not everyone would #etoiles admitting that he wouldn't. because the competition is his way of comforting tubbo #but then tubbo reveals that it's not etoiles he's thinking of but bad #because even though he's had sunny for only a short while he knows that as single parents they have to have different priorities now #and bad can't promise anything. but he can promise that when it's over tubbo will get to see the soulfire base on quesadilla island

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azsazz · 1 year

Text

No Tricks, Just Treats

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: In honor of Halloween can you do an imagine where Azriel and reader take the kids trick or treating? ❤️😭

Warnings: None, fluffy Halloween with the babes.

Word Count: 1,963

Notes: This is so flipping cute, thank you for the idea 💙

_________________________________________

“Is everyone almost ready?” Rhys calls as Azriel lets him, Feyre, and Nyx in through the front door. They’re the last of the family to arrive at your home, where you’d all agreed to meet before taking the horde of children of the Inner Circle trick-or-treating.

“Uncle Rhys, look! I’m you!” Wren yells, racing to him with Gideon on his heels. Nyx grins at his cousins, looking the two of them over. They’re all dressed as each other’s fathers: Wren wearing a replica of Rhys’ favorite suit, Gideon clad in blue siphons while Nyx wears leathers with red stones.

You want to laugh at Nyx’s overly colored eyebrows, made to look thick like his uncle Cassian’s. How they managed to find fake muscles for him to wear under his leathers you didn’t know, maybe they’d paid a pretty penny for the stuffed fabric, but you were intent on finding out.

“Would you look at that? You chose the handsomest uncle to be,” Rhys compliments, a feline smile on his lips as he admires his outfit. You’d had a replica of one of Rhys’ favorite suits made by a seamstress in town and had asked Feyre to force her mate into the matching one.

“You may be the handsomest, but I have the biggest wingspan,” Gideon claims proudly, flaring his wings. The blue stones adorning his clothes twinkle in the light like his eyes and Cassian chokes on his drink while Azriel’s cheeks burn bright. You and the other females glare at your respective partners.

“Alright now, easy boys,” Rhys says, hardly controlling the laughter threatening to burst from deep in his chest. Feyre smacks him on the arm and he tries his best not to roll his eyes. “Is everyone ready then?”

Your oldest daughter glides across the room, greeting her uncle at the door, twirling around and showing off her costume. “I’m ready Uncle Rhys!”

Zuzu is dressed in the billowiest silken threads of the Day Court, bright white and striking against the dark colors of the night. She dons a golden crown atop her head, looking much like the sun, looking exactly like an ancient Goddess of the Day Court.

Knox is bundled in a hooded robe which he keeps pulling down over his eyes. The toy scythe in his hand droops by his side when you crouch before him, tugging the velvety cloth back so he can see.

The three year old stares up at you with wide eyes, face stoic as you fuss over him. He calls the shadows from his twin who’s animatedly babbling to Wren now who is helping straighten her witch’s hat. The little broom in her hands swings wildly and she giggles, nearly hitting the boy in the face.

The tendrils swirl around Knox’s feet, immediately tugging the hood back down once you’ve fixed it. You raise your eyebrow, giving your youngest son a look that he can’t even see with the fabric falling across his eyes.

Baz comes racing into the room dressed as an undead being, bloodied and torn clothes. He’d made his aunt Feyre paint his face scarily, and it had been truly terrifying for all of your other children who weren’t dressed as something so gorey.

And he’d had a ball chasing the young ones around until they realized it was just their older brother. The scolding he’d gotten from Azriel was well worth it by the look that shone on Baz’s face, the cheeky little thing.

“Mom, can we go trick-or-treating in the Autumn Court? Please,” Wren begs, running over from where he was comparing costume details with his cousins. “Nyxie told me that they give out the best caramels!”

“And what does Uncle Rhys think of all this?” you question, scouring the room for the High Lord. He’s pulling a tiny black stuffed kitten from between the folds of realms for Malos, who stares at it, clearly unimpressed by her Uncle’s tricks.

There really was nothing that could impress that girl.

“I dunno,” Wren shrugs, looking down at his feet.

“I think it’s best we stay in Velaris tonight, Wren,” you try to soothe the stray strand of hair from his eyes but he ducks, wanting it to fall exactly like the stubborn piece of his uncle’s hair does. “For the little ones. Maybe when you’re older you can do that sweetheart.”

Or maybe when the Night Court and Autumn Court are on good terms.

He nods solemnly, “Yes mommy.”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Wren picks lint from his jacket after every house, causing his cousins to burst into laughter each time. He’d thanked the female fae at the first house they’d stopped at with a “Darling” at the end, which Azriel quickly put a stop to.

The older children are two houses ahead and have no means of slowing down, even when you and Feyre call after them. You clutch your warmed spiced cider tighter in your hands, the air becoming cooler as night nears.

Azriel’s helping Zuzu with her coat that he’d been holding, the stubborn girl claiming that she wasn’t cold at all when they had first started. She complains that the maroon jacket is ruining her costume, but her father doesn’t give her any room to argue.

Jax reaches up for your cup. You’d been sharing your tasty drink with your fourth born, who was more interested in what you were sipping on than receiving candy from the houses. Cassian had even tried to help him, gently pulling the child away from you and leading him up towards the house, but Jax had burst into tears, screaming and wailing exactly like the banshee he was dressed as and the warrior had speedily surrendered him back to you.

The little boy preferred to be near you or his father, and didn't like strangers at all, even if they were giving out free candy.

You’d given him a sip of your drink and a sucker to help soothe him and he’d favored the sweet liquid over the candy pop, which Azriel had caught before it hit the ground once Jax had abandoned it, popping it into his own mouth with a wink at you before he stalked off towards the older children.

“Baz,” Wren calls from a few yards over, “Come on, this house has chocolate dipped cookies!”

His favorite treat, anyone who knew Baz would know that. He perks up, remembering to say thank you to the older fae female who’d just handed him a piece of candy before he’s abandoning his sisters, jumping down the steps and taking off across the spookily decorated lawn to catch up with his older brother.

“Basil,” you scold as he dodges the intricate tombstones that must’ve taken hours to paint.

“Sorry mom,” he calls over his shoulder but doesn’t sound very sorry and he doesn’t stop, dipping and ducking under a low hanging branch with a silhouette of a witch in front of a moon hanging from a branch.

You send the woman an apologetic look but she’s just shaking her head and laughing fondly, clearly used to the excited children around Velaris during the holiday.

Knox chases after his older brother, making it only a few feet before the fabric of his cloak works against him and he trips, face planting on the cobblestone streets.

You wince as he looks up from the ground, hood still falling across his eyes, and he shoves the covering back, falling completely off of his head as he peers up at you, gouging your reaction.

You don’t give him one, remaining neutral-faced as he makes his decision whether to cry or get back up.

He shoves his feet underneath him and it takes him a moment to maneuver the thick robes but he eventually does, staring at his scraped palms before he holds them out for you to see.

“Are you okay baby?” you hand your drink to Cassian as he passes, making his way towards Az and the older boys. The little ones walk much too slowly for him and he’s ready to take his son and cousins out for some innocent trickery without you or Az’s knowledge.

You see him already downing your drink from the corner of your eye as Knox and Malos’ shadows dart for the child in front of you, swirling around his tiny hands and up around his ears. He looks to where his twin is, hand-in-hand with Zuzu who’s shoving her glowing ring that changes colors with her moods onto her finger. She looks over, curious as to if he’s okay.

He sends the dark tendrils of midnight back to his twin, reinforcements as Rhys places a gentle hand on Zuzu’s shoulder, ushering the two girls off of the front porch with a dazzling smile that makes the old female blush. Nesta and Feyre tease him when he reaches the sidewalk, the oldest Archeron scooping the baby witch off of the ground to coo at.

Knox’s attention returns to yours and he doesn’t look like he’s going to cry but you know he needs some love. You take his hands in your own and plant soft kisses to his skin. When you pull away he’s reaching up to be in your arms and you comply, tucking him into your side while Jax helps by cleaning up Knox’s spilled candy and his toy weapon.

“Here mommy, Knox dropped these,” he says, holding the boy's possessions out to you. You thank him kindly, taking your son’s stuff. Jax’s brows furrow as he realizes that you no longer have his drink with Knox in one hand and his stuff in the other.

“Uncle Cass has it,” you answer the unspoken question on your son’s face. He peeks to where the warlord stands with the older children, cup hanging empty by his side. Jax deflates a bit and clings to your leg tightly, your heart panging in your chest at the sight.

“Maybe Uncle Rhys will get you another one, if you ask nicely,” you try your best to hug him where he’s glued to your limb but it’s awkward and you end up patting his back with the scythe.

He sighs softly but it’s better than having to go towards the rowdier uncle who is whispering mischievous things in his son and cousin’s ears. Jax slinks towards the calm and collected High Lord.

“What’s taking you all so long?” Azriel appears, and he’s chewing on the lollipop stick, his tongue green from the candy that melted away. He’s trying to usher you on without seeming pushy, but he wants his children to get to as many houses as they can so he can sneak some of their treats when they get home.

“Little man down,” you reply, bouncing Knox on your hip for emphasis. He shows his father his hands, revealing his tender palms.

“My poor boy,” Azriel says, taking the boy that’s suddenly reaching out for him. You pass him over with a pretend shocked face, watching as Azriel fusses over your youngest son, pressing soft kisses to his hands and cheeks, tugging up his hood once again while Knox rests his head in the crook of Azriel’s neck. “All tuckered out little man?”

He sways his body slightly, rocking Knox back and forth as he soothes him.

“I think we should be heading back soon,” you suggest, watching them with a soft look.

“A few more blocks, love, and then we can go home,” Azriel offers as you two bring up the rear to the group, the rest of your family walking ahead. “We’ll help the little ones to bed and then I’ll show you some tricks and get my treat.” The spymaster winks and you bite back the grin of excitement threatening to split your face in two.

You can hardly wait.

#azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel/you #azriel #dad!azriel #daddyaz #azsazz #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotar next gen

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

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Stop the World and Melt with You//Eddie Munson x fem! reader//Part 5

🚨18+only, MDNI, adult themes, magic realism, fantasy, talk of dimensional travel, fear of the unknown, smoking cigarettes, sense of fear, held hostage (not reader), getting slapped (not reader), mention of blood, mention of being restrained (not reader), storyline involving people other than reader, sense of being hunted down, eventual smut, talk of tattoos. Word count: 3.2k

Series Masterlist

💜disturbed by the temporary tattoo you got from the quarter machine, you cut your time with Eddie short. Time goes on, you get a job at the motel, and meet Robin Buckley who says you remind her of a girl she used to know. We meet some people behind the scenes of your trip to Hawkinsgate.

A/N: Brought to you by my love of Eddie Munson, parallel universes, and The Twilight Zone, this story is for anyone who wants something a little different--definitely not for everyone. This is something I'm writing to relax my brain while I work on a longer series. Parts will be short, updated hopefully every other week. ALSO, forgive me, but I lost my tag list for this, I know there were a couple of you xoxo

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Part 5: The Flicker

"This place is like someone's memory of a town, and the memory is fading."

-------------

In the real world, we live on the hands of a clock, digital flashes that remind us that we’re always aging in this free fall, on a rock plummeting through space. In Hawkinsgate, you felt like you were living in moments, some of which didn’t even belong to you. Like a peddler somewhere in the universe sold you someone's memories, without any structure or reason, and you were now a permanent resident in one.

Eddie leaned over. “What is it?” He asked. You had your hands positioned like you were holding a book in front of your face, blocking him from seeing what you had while you tried to make sense of it.

The first words that escaped your lips were that it must be a mistake, yet a mistake would imply that it existed in the realm of possibility, but this did not. How could it?

Eddie was worried about you, your skin had gone ghostly pale and you weren’t saying anything to him, you were just staring down, mouth a bit slack.

Your tattoo was an illustration of a pineapple wearing Eddie’s denim battle vest; not just any pineapple, but your pineapple.

You showed it to Eddie. “How can this be? Look---” you pointed to the tiny, specific details of the pins on his vest, right down to the pocket that was unbuttoned. Strange little green flourish of pineapple hair sticking out from the collar like a real cool exotic fruit boy.

Eddie didn’t know what to make of it. Sure, strange things always happened in Hawkinsgate, but they seemed to be getting stranger since you arrived. Eddie’s tattoo was a grim reaper, complete with a scythe, a bit menacing for a quarter machine, but nothing to get alarmed about, all the same.

“It’s a good thing though, right?” Eddie lifted his eyebrows. “That way you will always remember him.”

Eddie seemed to be missing the point of why the existence of it was freaking you out. Or, maybe he fully comprehended the magnitude of your situation and wanted to try and make you feel better somehow by minimizing it.

“I have to go,” you whispered, grabbing your bag off the chair.

“Wait, no, stay. Please,” Eddie stood halfway and lingered there, hoping you would come sit back down. As long as you didn't see what was in his bedroom, everything would be fine.

“I’m sorry Eddie, I just...I need some air,” and then you were out the door, jogging down the steps, throwing yourself into your truck as quickly as you could as if there were a killer at your heels. Eddie stumbled out onto the porch with a wave, watching you yank the gear shift to reverse and peel out. You threw a wave over your shoulder at him, made sure you were out of his line of sight, and then you burst into tears.

------- Somewhere Else--------

A short, blonde man studied an obscure map on the wall, his hands behind his back, mumbling to himself, “where can she be...where can she be?”

Just then, the doors to his study open and two officers in dark blue jumpsuits enter.

“We have Lorelei,” they tell the short blonde man, and then there is a sparkle of satisfaction that stretches across his face.

Lorelei is tied to a chair in a slightly damp cement room, with weeds growing up from the corners and cracks in the floor; a tiny window with metal bars above her head, and a bare mattress against the wall. She’s wearing a long, purple dress, her bare feet are dirty, and her long red hair is dotted in dried mud.

She tucks her chin to give the blonde man a Cheshire smile when he walks in.

“Lorelei,” the short man with the receding hairline says, tucking a yellow file full of paperwork under one arm. The two guards in blue jumpsuits are with him, guns holstered at their sides. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hello Ronald,” Lorelei purrs, batting her lashes a few times at him. “This is an odd way to let me know you have a crush on me.”

“Hilarious,” Ronald returned, handing the file under his arm to one of the guards. His hands go into the trouser pockets of his tan suit, his smile fading. “But this is no time for jokes. You know what I want.”

Lorelei sniffed and licked her lips, her resolve set; there is a tinkle of laughter in her voice: “You’ll never find her.”

Ronald loses his cool instantly, his face screwing up, his fists flexing at his sides. She could almost see smoke coming out his ears like a whistling tea kettle. She enjoys the sight of his frustration while it lasts, but then he calms himself with a deep breath.

He takes a few steps toward her, flexing his mouth, scooping two fingers in to stretch his shirt collar away from his neck. “See, now, that’s where you’re wrong,” he chided. “This little game of yours has been entertaining, albeit a complete waste of time. You know I’ll find her with or without your help, my dear.”

“You can try,” Lorelei replied with an air of smugness, a dull laugh escaping her throat.

Ronald was shaking, the whites of his eyes cracking with bloodshot veins. It took him years to find out which dimension you were in, and when he finally did, that cunt Lorelei was somehow able to move you, and it was really grinding his gears. He was tossing and turning at night, fully obsessed.

He came up and snatched Lorelei’s chin, squeezing her lips together, forcing her to look up at him. His words were a venomous hiss. “Oh, I’ll find her, and when I do, you’ll be sorry you played this little game with me, you fucking bitch,” and then he threw her chin so that her face jerked to the side, hair falling in her eye.

Defiantly, Lorelei turned to meet his intense gaze again. “She’s growing stronger, I can feel it. If you do find her, it will be too late.”

Ronald’s hand came down, smacking his palm across her cheek in a slap. “You know I hate it when you make me do this!” He barked, his hands going to his hips as he started to pace in front of her.

Lorelei continued to exude calm and patience as she watched him unravel before her very eyes. She licked her teeth and made a smacking sound, tasting blood.

He turned his back on her, facing the door. “Why couldn’t you just let me have this one?” He asked in a softer tone, cheeks red, eyes dry. “You could’ve had anything you wanted; a home, a life, freedom. But instead you choose this,” his hand gestures around at the concrete room.

She thought about her words for a second. “I could tell you, but you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me!” Ronald shouted as he turned on his heel to face her.

A dreamy look passed over Lorelei’s face as her eyes shifted to the ceiling, thinking beyond it, to the sky. “Because I love her,” she replied, a partial smile exposing a tint of pink blood over her teeth. “She’s one of the last Creators, Ronald. For all of your faults, I know you can appreciate what that means.”

There was a gold wedding band on Ronald’s finger and he twisted it as he frowned at the ground. “Wherever she is, you can’t keep her there forever. You’ve been on the run for too long, you’re getting weak, Lorelei.”

Lorelei felt the pang in her empty belly, and the ache in her sore muscles, but her spirit was strong. “I can keep her there long enough,” she answered in a hush.

Ronald cursed. “Long enough for what???” He belted, flapping his arms out wide and then letting them slap down against his legs. “It’s always goddamn riddles with you people.”

His flare for the dramatic never ceased to amuse her. Ronald continued to pace, running his hand down his mouth, until he stopped, abruptly, and turned to her with an unnerving smile pressing his lips against his teeth.

“You put her with him, again, didn’t you?” He bleated, a thrill rising in him when he noticed the way Lorelei’s gaze flickered away, unwilling to meet his gloating stare. Ronald clapped his hands together, giggling like a toddler.

“He’ll protect her,” Lorelei squared her shoulders, wrists flexing in the ropes at her back. “He doesn’t know he can yet, but he will.”

Ronald chuckled, wagging his finger at her. “You’re too much of a romantic, Lorelei, that’s your problem. You could’ve sent her to a dimension on Saturn to sit in a cave and stay safe, but you just had to reunite those two like the incredible sap that you are.”

“Love is stronger than fear,” she said with a lift of her chin.

“Oh, shut up!” Ronald shook his head, signaling for the guards to open the door. “Thank you Lorelei, you’ve been very helpful.”

Pausing in the doorway, Ronald jerked his thumb over his shoulder at her. “Make sure she eats something, will ya?” He looked over his shoulder at her, and then patted the guards arm. “Not too much, though, wouldn’t want to spoil her.”

----------

A week went by and you were still living at the motel. You mentioned to Mrs. Henderson that you were running out of money and things to trade, and as it turned out, she said she was in desperate need for some part-time help at the front desk, so you had yourself a job.

The pineapple tattoo on your forearm was fading, but you brushed your fingertip over it, thoughtfully, wishing it would stay.

You didn’t see Eddie that whole time, but you did notice that his van drove extra slow down the street in front of the motel a few times on his way to or from work, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He didn’t deserve to be ignored; he had done nothing wrong. Nothing except be a part of this obscure place that held you captive, where nothing made any sense. The other day, there was a pile of mismatched socks on your doorstep; not a single pair in the lot of them. You asked Claudia about it and she didn’t have an explanation, but said you could keep them if you were interested. You doubted there was any value in a pile of single socks, so you put them in with the lost and found at the office.

You started your job the next afternoon, flanked by your three office helpers; cats named JoJo, Henry, and Clarice. Cleaning out their litter box was one of your nightly duties, and they loved to watch you as you did it, twitching their whiskers with pride as you collected the gifts they’d left for you. Every so often there was the random husband having a fight with his wife who got a room for the night at the motel, or the occasional friends who were having a “girls night” and wanted to sit by the pool out back. One night, a shifty couple with sweaty palms asked if they could rent a room for a couple hours, but you regretted to inform them that they would have to pay full price. The Grove was the only motel in town, and they ended up trading with a bunch of food supplies like gold chocolate coins, oranges, and an unopened box of Honeycomb cereal.

You made a friend, her name was Robin Buckley. She worked as the part-time maid, and she also worked at a Family Video down the street.

She went out back by the dumpster to have a smoke, and you went with her. She offered you one from her pack, and you took it, thinking that maybe this was as good a time to start smoking as any.

You took an aggressive inhale, and then sputtered and coughed.

“Couldn’t remember if you smoked or not?” Robin asked with a crooked smile.

You choked a few more times, throat burning. “What is it with people coming here and losing their memory?” You asked, hoping maybe Robin would be the one withholding some answers.

Robin leaned against the side of the building, hiking one foot up behind her, both of you staring across the alleyway at the metal fence and the diner that was down another block.

“I wish I knew,” she admitted softly. “I met a girl once…” she drifted off, taking time to flick her cigarette. “She was...like you, but also, not.”

You turned to face her, interest piqued. You put the filter of the cigarette between your lips but did not inhale before lowering it.

Robin continued. “She remembered stuff, from her other life.”

From her other life…

Robin looked around, as if to make sure no one was around, as if she shouldn’t be talking about it. “She had these tattoos all over her body,” she used the hand holding her cigarette to gesture down her leg and over her shoulders. “She said they were like passport stamps for all of the different dimensions she’d traveled through.”

You swallowed hard, thinking about your own tattoos.

“Anyway,” she snorted, scratching her elbow. “Everyone thought she was crazy, but I loved---I thought she was funny and brilliant. I believed her.”

Robin seemed to follow where your mind went and both pairs of eyes traveled to the tops of your feet that were visible through your sandals. There was a circle with dots around it on your left foot, and three parallel lines on your right foot; a thick black circle around your big toe. You also had some on your stomach, your sternum, under your arms, behind your knees, just behind your ear. They were all geometric shapes and markings, and none of them made sense to you, but you figured that, whoever you were before was into that sort of thing.

“Hers were the same, but different,” Robin assured you, without you having to ask the question.

“What else did she remember?” You asked reluctantly, a part of you almost afraid to know.

Robin swallowed, clearing her throat after taking another drag. “Supposedly, this place---” she looked around at the sky and the building, “--was designed to be like a safe house for travelers like her...like you.”

You made a face, clenching your eyebrows together. “So this place isn’t real? You’re not real? It’s all just a dream or something?”

Robin put her hand up, palm out. “Touch me.”

You obliged, spreading your fingers and pressing your hand against hers to feel the warmth and the callouses.

“Do I feel real?” She asked.

You nodded, deciding to run your fingers down the brick of the building to also see if it was real.

“She said there are billions of parallel lives, and we’re all living them at once, moment to moment,” she snubbed the last of her smoke out in the ashtray. “What this place is called is a flicker, like a blink, a sliver that exists in between each of our simultaneous existences.”

To be honest, it made you head hurt a little. But you didn’t want her to stop talking, you wanted to know more, you wanted…

But then the bell at the front desk rang to alert that someone needed service, and Robin was getting ready to head to her other job, but you asked her when she’d be back.

“Not for a couple days,” she told you with an air of reluctance. “But come by Family Video sometime, I’ll introduce you to the King of Hawkinsgate.”

You didn’t know what that meant, but you knew you wanted to talk to her again.

“Is there a VCR in your room?” Robin asked. “If not, we rent them at our place. I could get you all set up.”

The bell rang again, this time the person was tapping their hand on it over and over.

As Robin backed away, she waved to you. “Hey, don’t be afraid, okay? Wherever you come from, I’m pretty sure you were a badass. I know she was.”

----------

Eddie dropped down on the couch in the living room of his trailer with a grunt. He was still in his work clothes, hair and face filthy, mouth parched. His grim reaper forearm tattoo was almost gone, and so he ran his hand over it vigorously to peel the rest of it off, bits of his sticking to his arm hair. He was tired of convincing himself not to go over to the motel and see you. He was tired of listening to people, especially Gary, telling him he was doing the right thing by staying away.

If only they knew…

He pulled the bandanna off of his head and let his hair go loose, thinking about what sounded good to eat. It had been over a week, but he still had some of the cans of spaghettiOs you’d left behind, and he figured that was as good as anything for dinner. He turned the TV on and slipped the movie Halloween into his VCR so that he could have something on while he cooked.

In the bathroom, he washed his face while the shower got hot, and then he opened a can of beer and jumped in, sipping the beverage as he washed the grime of the day away.

Standing on the blue bathmat, he turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around his waist, hair long and wet down his shoulders. On his chest and back were strange markings he’d always known as birthmarks: the outline of a crude triangle, a letter C with a line through it, two vertical wavy lines. He used his hand to wipe some of the fog off of the mirror on the medicine cabinet, making a squeaking sound as he went.

He continued on down the hall to his bedroom, stopping at the closed door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob, wondering what you would think of him if you ever saw what he had in there. The paintings, the drawings, the letters. The songs he had written. The nights he had paced the floor wondering why he kept seeing your face; and then one day, there you were --- appearing to him in the flesh.

First order of business after he ate was to finish the mix tape he’d been working on for you.

Scorpions, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, those were all a given, but he had some other things planned for your listening pleasure as well.

That night, you both had the same dream, and shot out of bed in your separate rooms with a start, clutching the blankets, hearts racing, tears of joy brimming in your eyes. But the second you were fully awake, it was gone; another precious memory lost in the flicker.

——-

#eddiemunson #eddiemunsonseries #eddie munson x fem reader #fem reader #fantasy #mystery #twilight zone #stranger things #strangerthingsau

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