#speak of the devil chapter ten

[macfrog]

ride it, cowgirl cowboy like me chapter ten

hey dudes. anyone up for some dbf? i seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the love y'all show this series. blows my mind every time. i have been super excited for this chapter for a WHILE. might be my fave so far. who knows. you can grab chapters 1-9 on my masterlist and also my ao3 if ur feeling fancy. love u all sm!!!!!! ✨💘💫

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader isn't an astrology girlie (sorry), more pining beCAUSE, alcohol consumption + a mention of the devil’s lettuce, very quick bit of unwanted touching, even quicker bit of protective joel, soft!joel, softdom!joel, one tiny mention of daddy, protected piv sex this time (feeling conservative slutty max will return), reader rides him into the sunset, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand. His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper. “There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

You never believed much in the power of the universe. Astrology, moons, manifestation. Whatever. None of it ever really meant much to you. You knew your star sign, knew which cool little symbol resembled you, and that was about it. Everything past that was…confusing and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

However.

If the universe were to send you a sign, one huge, fluorescent, multi-colored, in-your-face sign, that it was on your side…this weekend might just be it.

Your dad’s downstairs, finishing up packing for his work trip. His departure is imminent. Sarah’s been in Nashville since last night. A series of texts she sent you at 3AM riddled with spelling errors and heart emojis tell you she’s been having a pretty good time so far.

You are Joel are…alone. All by yourselves. For a whole…twenty hours.

Can’t have it all, I guess.

Your eyes skim down the texts you sent him this morning, texts he is yet to reply to.

You: Merry Christmas!!!

You took his non-reply for confusion – he is almost fifty, maybe he doesn’t get the joke? It’s a pretty lame joke, anyways. Very lame. If your thumb hovers over the send button before you press it, it’s probably not that great a joke. And your thumb had most definitely hovered. So, you’d followed it up.

You: As in, today’s the day

You: I don’t mean it’s actually Christmas

You: I mean like, happy ‘we’re finally gonna be alone again’ day

You: Never mind

“Hello?” Anna’s voice cuts through your train of thought. “Are you even listening to me?”

You drop your phone, shaking your head clear of Joel. “Yep. Sorry. Just didn’t catch that last part. You froze.”

The image of her on your – pretty fucking dusty – laptop screen rolls its eyes, knowing you’re lying. “I don’t know whether to go with the pink or the black boots,” she says.

“Ain’t your dress yellow?”

Her head falls into her hands. She throws herself down onto her bed and slides her laptop closer. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I’m goin’ with the pink strappy one now.”

“Pink does say rodeo.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps through a giggle. “Remind me what you’re wearin’, again.”

“Black hat, black boots, black dress.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Thanks. Really looking forward to our night out.”

Anna snorts and then stands back up, strides over to her closet and resumes rummaging. “Black jacket, too?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uhuh,” you reply, glancing back down to your phone. “Although – it has rhinestones. And tassels. Not so boring after all, huh?”

Anna’s silence drags your eyes from the text thread back to your laptop screen. She’s frozen in place, twisted around with a dress in her hands, jaw on the floor. “Show it to me. Now.”

“Hold on,” you roll over and off your bed, your shoulder stiff from the position you’d been lying in, “I think I left it downstairs.”

“Tell your dad I say hey!”

You pad down the carpeted stairs in your socks, toward the sunlit hallway.

“Dad, have you seen my– Oh, fuck.”

As you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder to the front door, your chest knocks into something hard. Steady. Strong.

Something you recognize the feel of before you’ve given him a proper look.

“Mind your step, baby,” Joel says, and your heart leaps.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” you whisper, peering around his body to look for your dad.

“He’s out front,” Joel tells you, then takes your shoulder and reels you in against his chest. “’m just here to help ‘im with his GPS.”

He plants a kiss on the top of your head and gives you a squeeze. Your head rests safely on his chest, arms link at his back. If you didn’t have plans tonight, and if your dad wasn’t, like, ten feet from you guys right now, you’d never let him go. Just follow him around, vice grip around his waist, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

Not that that means anything. You’d do other stuff, too. You’re not…you know.

Your dad’s voice streams in through the open door and Joel releases you.

“It ain’t for workin’, Joel, I’m about to throw it at the f– Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. What’s the matter with your GPS?”

You lean in to the tiny device in his hands. Joel’s elbow comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“Just won’t connect to the car. Every time I plug it in, it just…” He lifts his hands, screen loose in his fingers, and hands you a bewildered look.

You look at him, expressionless. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I paid almost a hundred bucks for this thing, and I’ll be damned if I’m– Alright,” he stops himself, eyes shutting in exasperation, “I already explained this to him. I ain’t justifyin’ myself to the two of you.”

Joel’s laughing behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose when your dad stalks off to the kitchen and throws the device down, snatching the instructions off the table.

The pair of you follow, both still trying to swallow your laughter. Joel wanders around the table and sits down beside your dad, fumbling with the screen. You dive into the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and fish out your bejeweled, tasseled jacket.

“You lookin’ forward to your girls’ night?” Joel asks, eyes flitting up and down the leather jacket in your hands.

“Mhm,” you reply, opening your mouth to continue when your dad butts in.

“S’posed to be a girls’ night, but that boy Sam’s crashin’ it, ain’t he?”

“Well, we asked him.” You shrug. “It’s his night off.”

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head to Joel, who looks up to you with a confused expression. “’s the big deal with that?”

“Oh, wise up, Miller. He’s only goin’ ‘cause of…” He wags a finger in your direction, and a smirk peels across Joel’s lips.

“Is he, now?”

“Uhuh,” your dad replies, intense stare still on the instructions in front of him. “Makes no damn sense. I plugged it in using the cable they gave me in the box. Stupid thing…”

You shake your head to Joel, who’s still looking at you, bemused. He knows you and Sam are just friends. Also knows your dad is the most oblivious theorist to walk the planet. Just aiming his gun at the wrong target, is all.

“I’m gonna let you two get back to…that,” you say, turning to head back upstairs. “Anna says hi, by the way.”

Your dad’s eyebrows rise once, his eyes never lifting from his GPS. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hey, Anna,” Joel echoes, smirk on his lips.

“Not to you,” you throw back, hopping up the first step. You hear his chuckle as you disappear.

----------

Anna’s reaction to your jacket in person matches that over Facetime: a deafening squeal. A squeal which she repeats almost every damn time she sees you throughout the night.

“So – fucking – cute!” she exclaims for the fifth time, fingers dancing through the tassels. “And it goes so well with your hat.”

You sip on your cocktail, nodding enthusiastically, pushing your eyebrows up underneath the brim of the black cowgirl hat on your head. Trying to match her energy. Your mind’s elsewhere.

Joel texted you a few hours ago. Told you to have a good night, said something about Sam, but you were stood right next to the dude, so you quickly locked your phone and slipped it back into your clutch.

Now, standing with your back against the wall of Franks, watching Sam play pool with Eve, you feel safe enough to read over the message.

Joel: Have fun baby. Be safe. Tell Sam good luck from me.

You squint at the screen, pulling it away from your face and leaning back in to read it over. Good luck? The fuck does he mean –

You: Good luck??

He replies almost instantly.

Joel: Yeah. Good luck winning you over. Took me, what, a week?

Oh, fuck off. You roll your eyes and throw your phone facedown onto the table where Anna and Kara sit, about twenty minutes deep into a conversation you missed the beginning of.

Your attention turns to the room before you – brick-walled, metal dome lightshades hanging over each pool table. Glass-paneled door to your left leading back through to the main bar. For being a tiny bar on a backstreet, Frank’s is pretty lively. There are bodies everywhere, bumping by each other, drunken arms slung over shoulders, hips swaying with the soft rock song blasting from out front.

You imagine your dad here with Joel, maybe Hank and Bill, too. Playing pool, beer bottles resting on the felt while they take their shot. Or sat on the rooftop, sipping on a whiskey. Talking about you and Sarah. What does Joel say about you when you’re not around?

And what does he want to say, but can’t, ‘cause it’s your dad? What does he think, and bite back when it bubbles to the surface?

Your straw gargles, slurping up the last few sips of your drink. You lean over to Anna and Kara, holding your empty glass up.

“Another?”

They both shake their heads, and you nod, turning on your own back to the bar.

You squeeze between two older women, both dressed smart and sharp. One of them – clutching a Manhattan – shifts out of the way as you pass.

“…one more conversation with him about squash,” she tells her companion, “and I am gonna blow my brains out…”

You edge over to the bar and slot into a free space, propping your elbows up on the wood. One of Sam’s coworkers – her name escapes you – notices you and shuffles over, smiling sweetly.

“How you doin’?” she asks, running a damp cloth inside a tumbler.

“Good,” you reply. “Could I just get a Bud, please?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and reaches behind to grab one. You slide her a note and she hands you change, and then you’re on your way back to the pool room.

As you slink by the two women, a weight knocks into your shoulder, almost sending your beer flying out of your hand.

“Sorry,” a rough voice sputters on your left, and you glance in its direction. Some broad dude in a tight t-shirt.

“’s fine,” you mumble, clutching your hat; a smell of weed choking your throat.

He passes by behind you, one hand lingering a little too long on your waist, and you saunter back over to Anna and Kara.

“That dude stinks, right?” Anna whispers behind a cupped hand, and you snort.

“He smells like he’s having a good night.”

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet over there. We’re basically third, fourth, and fifth wheeling,” Kara says, nodding over to Sam and Eve, who’re finished their game of pool and have now graduated to darts.

“I don’t…think that’s a thing.”

“Eve asked me if Sam was single earlier,” Anna says, lifting her straw to her red lips.

“What?” Kara spits out, choking on her drink. “Eve has a boyfriend!”

Anna giggles. “He’s kinda an ass, anyway. Look at them, they’re so sweet.”

“You say sweet, I hear morally wrong.”

“Who says it’s morally wrong?” you chirp, alcohol pushing the words over your lips before your brain’s had time to stop them. Your fingers clutch your phone, still laying on the table where you left it. “You?”

“Uh, it’s cheating, dude. What if Nick found out?”

“’s not that big a deal,” you reply, phone screen lighting your face in a blue hue, “they’re just having fun.”

Anna points to you, lifting her glass. “Here’s to havin’ fun, I guess.”

Kara lifts her own reluctantly and they clink, but you’re distracted. Already typing a message to Joel. Bored. Drunk. Morally wrong.

You: What you doing?

Joel: Watching TV. What you doing?

You: What ya watvhin ?

Joel: None of your business. Go get another drink. Looks like you’re not drunk enough.

You lift your head with a giggle, almost ready to turn your phone around to Anna and Kara and say, look what the dude I’m sleeping with just text me. And then, thankfully, your good sense kicks in and you bring the screen closer to your chest.

You: Kinda bored. Wanna come home now please

Bored, horny. It all means the same.

Joel says he’ll be at Frank’s in twenty minutes. You rest your chin on your palm and watch as Sam cheers Eve for hitting bullseye.

“I think they’re cute,” you whisper.

Anna and Kara are already preoccupied, taking photos of one another across the table. Kara leans into you and you smile, flash blinding your hazy eyes for a few minutes afterward. A few more pictures, couple boomerangs of your glasses cheersing, and then your phone’s vibrating.

Joel: Outside. No rush.

That last part is where he’s wrong. There most definitely is a rush, and it’s in the form of the heat that starts to pool between your legs.

“Alright,” you shimmy off your barstool and stretch your back. “My ride’s here.”

“What?” Anna almost screams, her hand slapping down on the table. “You’re leavin’?”

You nod. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t babe me, traitor. It’s, like, midnight.”

“Uh, it’s, like, almost 2AM. I’m tired. I don’t know how y’all do it.”

She sighs, conceding, and agrees to walk with you to the front door. Kara and Eve stop off by the bar to grab another drink. Sam holds the door open for you and Anna and you’re hit by a wave of cold night air, instantly cooling your hot, sweaty skin.

“Is that…Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, mouth falling wide open.

You glance down the street and notice his black truck, parked up by the curb. “Mhm,” you reply, “my dad’s out of town, so he’s picking me up.”

“Can he take me home, too?”

Sam snickers. “Wow, Anna. That’s just…Wow.”

She shrugs, lips closing around her straw as she stares at Joel’s truck. Something inside you lurches at the idea of Joel sitting there, his eyes glued on you, watching everything you do, everyone around you. And then again at the thought of Anna and her doting gaze on him.

“Alright, I guess that’s my cue to skip.”

Anna pouts. “One more drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you scoff, patting her head affectionately. I got business to attend to.

You give her a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze before you’re wandering off toward Joel’s truck.

“Hey.” Something – someone – hooks around your elbow, and you turn back. It’s that same guy who stank of weed.

“Hi,” you reply, as sweet as you can, but trying to loosen his grip.

“Saw you inside, you out with friends?”

“Mhm. I’m just leavin’, my–”

“Few of us are headed upstairs. You wanna come?”

You glare at him a few seconds, before yanking your arm from his grasp. “Nah, no thanks. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

You stagger off, feeling his eyes on you as you go. Joel’s truck headlights switch on, dazzling your eyes, and you quickly click around to the passenger side, throwing yourself in beside him.

Joel doesn’t say hey, doesn’t squeeze your thigh, doesn’t even look at you when you settle into the seat. Just asks –

“Who’s that kid?”

“Uh…not sure. Bumped into ‘im in the bar.”

“He give you trouble?”

“No,” you lean over the console, pulling your seatbelt over your body, and flash him a tipsy grin, “thought that was my job. Givin’ trouble.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Doesn’t take his scowl off the dude outside Frank’s, either. Your eyes meander across to his hand, locked in a tight fist around the wheel. Your smile drops.

“Joel. It’s fine. Can we go?”

When you lift a hand to the crook of his elbow and he feels your warmth on his skin, he tears his gaze away and it lands on you. Soft, gentle. His lip isn’t curled anymore. His brows lift.

His eyes watch your lips as you whisper the words to him.

“Want you to take me home.”

“’s go, pretty girl.”

----------

Joel refuses, no matter how many times you ask, how hard you bat your eyelashes, how many promises you make, to stop by a drive thru.

“Please?” you ask one last time before he’s pulling in to his neighborhood.

He shakes his head. “Look at that, we’re already home.”

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, Miller, not until the engine’s off. We’re still driving.”

He doesn’t reply. Just pulls up in his drive, cuts the engine, and looks at you. Shrugs. “Oops.”

“Fuck you,” you groan, sliding down in your seat. “I’m starvin’.”

“Make you a big breakfast in the mornin’, how’s that sound?”

“Wanted a Big Mac, but whatever.”

Your fingers fumble for the door handle, clicking it open. You roll out of the truck and stroll around to meet Joel at the driver’s side. He snakes an arm around your shoulders, steadying you as you walk up his porch steps and into the house.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, glancing around his living room.

“Alright,” he says, tossing his keys and kicking his boots off.

Your eyes settle on the TV screen, paused. Probably around the time you text him. There’s a crowded hospital room onscreen, doctors in dark blue scrubs, all surrounding someone lying on a bed, someone who looks pretty familiar…

“Is that…fuckin’…Grey’s Anatomy…?”

Joel chuckles, peeling your jacket from your shoulders.

“That’s Meredith! When she–”

“She fell in the damn river,” Joel mutters, placing the tasseled leather over the back of his couch. “Derek had to go in after her. Intense stuff.”

“Right? I told you it was good!” You smack his arm. “I can’t believe you’re watchin’ it without me.”

“I ain’t watchin’ it,” he protests, “it was just on, ‘n I needed something to keep me awake. I’m still rooting for Meredith ‘n George.”

“We can watch it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, moving over to him. “And then I can be over here all the time, and you can make me all the grilled cheese I want, and we can lie in bed and…do stuff.” Your chin rests on his chest, flashing him a toothy grin. Hands swinging in his at your side.

Joel’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I had a couple drinks. I’m not drunk.”

“H’many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Joel asks, raising his fist. You punch it away.

“Ha-ha,” you say tonelessly, and wander away from him.

“Baby,” he calls you from behind. Sure, you’re tipsy, and he can be a cocky asshole – especially when he has to take care of you, but that’s a sound you’ll never get tired of hearing. Baby. You’re his darlin’, his sweet girl.

You spin around, very nearly losing your footing, and he’s standing with an arm out, ready for you to take.

You smile dumbly. Meander over, and take his strong hand in both of yours, wrapping your fingers around two of his to let him reel you in against his body.

“C’mon,” he whispers, as you lean against his frame. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You follow him up, knowing where he’s leading you. You’ve spent more time in there the last few weeks than you have your entire life.

His room is cool, not cold, but comfortable. It’s Joel all over; the muted colors, the décor, the smell that calms you as soon as you stumble over the threshold.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels, pulling your boots off one by one.

You giggle.

“You laughin’ at me?”

“You’re like my own personal tr…No, not trainer. Wait. Personal ch–”

“Chef?” he says, snorting. “Not chef. Try again, soberhead.”

“Oh, I dunno.” You throw your arms up as he sits your boots against the wall, then stands and takes your hat off.

“This,” he says, placing it on the nightstand at your side of the bed, “is very cute. I like it.”

“I’m cute, too, y’know,” you whisper, pouting.

He smiles, and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, pointer finger under your chin.

“The cutest.”

“Ha!” you roar. Joel twists around you to undo the zipper at the back of your dress. “Joel Miller thinks I’m the cutest. Take that, Anna…”

He laughs. When he unzips you, he pulls the dress off your bare chest and down your legs. You don’t shy away, used to the idea now of him seeing you naked. Used to the idea of him seeing you in any vulnerable state; drunk, or naked, or in a sobbing mess on day two of your period.

You notice, even though you’re a tad dizzy with what alcohol is left in your system, that his eyes linger on your panties a moment before he turns and grabs a tee from a chair.

And something inside you ticks.

“Joel?”

He’s pulling the shirt over your head. It smells like him. Intoxicates you much more and much quicker than any drink you could order from Frank’s.

“Mhm?”

You feed both arms through the sleeves, swallowing the question you were about to ask. He’s standing up now, telling you to get into bed.

He walks over to his dresser and begins removing his own clothing. He only sleeps in boxershorts. Your eyes track him as he yanks his t-shirt up over his toned shoulders; fingers undo his belt, unzip his jeans. Everything is discarded to the side for now; he has something more pressing to attend to.

His best friend’s daughter, laying in his bed, a pool of wet forming in her panties.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

As he slips under the covers beside you, you pull off your underwear in one quick movement. Joel doesn’t seem to notice, or so you think; his arms immediately take hold of your waist and pull you against his body. You’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping pressed against his torso, his thigh between your legs. Joel settles comfortably with you draped over him, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Joel?” you whisper again into the darkness, growing braver.

“Hm?” he replies, starting to fall asleep.

You toss ideas over in your head. None of them good, you’re sure, but you’re getting desperate. How he can’t feel your damp core on his thigh, you’ve no idea.

But then, maybe he can? Joel doesn’t miss anything, especially not where you and your…arrangement are concerned. Can he feel you? Is he deliberately ignoring it?

Maybe he has something up his own sleeve?

“I…was just wondering…”

“Wondering what, darlin’?” His voice is muffled, spoken through unmoving lips. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed.

You grow more desperate.

“…wondering what your body count is?”

You ask it as innocently as you can, your voice wavering on the words body count. It gets him, though, as his eyes blink open a few seconds after you say it.

“I ain’t tellin’ you that. Go to sleep.” He closes them again.

“I wanna know.”

He ignores you.

“Joel,” you moan.

He calls you by name now, and you’re not sure if you’re pissing him off or turning him on – or both.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“I’m not tired, though. Not yet.”

In response, Joel lets go of his hold on you and rolls over without another word. It’d sting if you weren’t soaking wet right now, and didn’t have a strong hunch he was hardening under the sheets.

“Joooel…” you whine, sitting up on your elbow. No use.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back. Like a deadweight, he remains frozen.

“Ugh,” you groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He’s hard.

Not as hard as he can get, as you’d like him to be, as you’ve felt him before…but he’s hard.

“Joel…” you mewl into the darkness, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

“If you don’t stop that,” Joel’s voice finally grumbles, “I’ll be sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Sex in the living room sounds good to me.”

His eyes open. “We,” one hand comes up to point between the both of you, as if he doesn’t expect your sobering self to understand which pairing he means, “are not having sex. No sex tonight.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Huff all you want, baby, it is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re a few drinks too deep and it’s three in the morning. I’m tired, it’s been a long night waitin’ for you, I–”

“So let me make it up to you. I ain’t even drunk anymore.”

“No?”

“Nuh-uh. Could count any number a’ fingers you put in front of me.”

“Funny.” He closes his eyes.

“Joel.” You drag your hips again. If anything, he’s harder than he was when you first sat down on him. “I had a few drinks, I’ve sobered up. C’mon…”

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“I wanna ride you, daddy.”

This gets him. His eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling. His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t– That’s low, even for you, kid.”

You giggle and straighten up. When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn’t stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Joel breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he’s not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

Well, you’ll be screaming either way.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

“Go on,” he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

“Uhuh,” you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Joel’s humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

“Woah, woah,” Joel takes hold of your wrist, “slow down, cowgirl. I gotta get a condom.”

You huff as he leans over to his nightstand and opens the drawer. “Don’t want one, Joel, I’m on the pill.”

“No way, baby,” he says through a chuckle, silver wrapper in his fingers. “We already did that, one too many times.”

“So just pull out?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, frustrated.

Joel holds the packet out to you, smirk on his face like he doesn’t expect you to take it.

So, you do.

You steal it from him and tear the wrapper, fishing the rubber out between your two fingers. Pinching the top, you roll it down his shaft and pump up and down for good measure.

“Ready?” you ask, head tilted, cocky smile on your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, shoulders lifting off the mattress. He lifts the hem of your shirt, telling you, “Off,” before pulling it over your head, exposing your bare breasts.

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, figure silhouetted against the slivers of light peeking through the shades from the streetlights outside. You’ve never felt so confident, mounted on top of Joel fucking Miller.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. “Fuckin’ – knock yourself out, baby.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Joel hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Joel groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

He’s so deep it brings tears to your eyes, so big that he’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, hitting all the right spots already before you’ve even begun.

Joel’s eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Joel’s chest now for balance. You’re whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good and borderline painful at the same time, but you don’t stop.

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” Joel moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. “’attagirl, just like that.”

“Joel…” you cry, letting him bottom out each time, feeling his balls slam into your ass with each bounce.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me, baby, use your words.”

“So – good – Joel – oh!” you shout.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you’re directly above him now. One of Joel’s hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Joel speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

“Like ridin’ me, do ya? Like the way it feels?”

“Mhm,” you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. “Fuck…”

“You look so good, baby, so good. Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear, even at this hour. Joel smirks back, resting his hand back on your hip, where he has a grip of you.

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

“Joel – I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, sweet girl, cum all over me. Let go, baby, I’m here.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Joel lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That’s my girl, doin’ so good, baby as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can’t take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you’re not sure you can sit up straight on top of Joel.

But he’s always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

“Joel…” you whimper pathetically. “Can’t do it anymore…”

“That’s okay, baby, we’re gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?”

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn’t shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You’re overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Joel makes you feel so good that it’s impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

“Good girl, that’s– that’s it, so fuckin’ tight for me, pretty girl.”

When it all becomes too much to take – Joel’s hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open – you push him back down onto the bed.

Once when you still lived in New York you read something in a Cosmo about spelling the word ‘coconut’ with your hips when riding a guy. You’d tried it a couple times with hookups, and it’d never done anything for you. They’d never done anything for you.

But here you are, nearing your second orgasm, on top of someone making such a mess of you that you brain can hardly compute to spell coconut, never mind your hips being able to round the shape of the word.

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand.

His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper.

“There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

It’s all you need. It’s all it takes, by this point.

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Joel’s mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

“So – fuckin’ – big – inside me,” you slur, and Joel moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he’s there. He’s just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Joel’s groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

“Fuck, darlin’.”

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his. “Good?”

“So good, baby, did so well. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you, condom full of his seed.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

Then Joel gets up, and wanders over to the bathroom, where you watch him through the open door as he pulls the filled rubber from his soft dick. He bins it, then runs a facecloth under the faucet, dabbing it across his own forehead as he makes his way back over to you.

You can’t hide your grin as you watch his naked form approach; tan lines where his t-shirt must end, dark hair decorating his arms, legs, chest, the base of his cock. He sits at the edge of the bed, arm outstretched with the flannel in hand.

You go to take it from him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Just pats it over your face gently, soft gaze on yours, your fingers intertwined around his wrist. Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

“Feel nice?” he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he’s being, how tender. When he stands to throw the flannel back into the sink, you almost find yourself reaching out to hold him down.

He climbs over you, springing back down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

You prop yourself up and shimmy over, positioning yourself on top of Joel, chest-to-chest. He looks down and smirks, running a lazy hand across your cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head with a smile and lay down on his chest. You can hear his heartrate slowly calming down. His fingers twist through your messy hair.

“I have no idea what you’re laced with,” he says, “but you got me.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

Joel nods. You shift positions, adjusting your aching hips safely between his thighs. “You hurtin’?” he asks.

You nod. “Mhm. But I like it. It’s you.”

Joel’s hands run through your hair and his fingertips trace your shoulders. His touch is so light it almost tickles. You turn your jaw and kiss the back of his hand.

“My dad gone, Sarah out, free house…” you mutter.

“Hm.”

“So, you invite your mistress over.” You lift your head, smirking at him.

Joel’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You ain’t my mistress.”

“Oh really? What am I, then?”

“I am not having this conversation at 4AM, kid. Ask me again tomorrow.”

You’d think of something to throw back at him, messing with him, but your entire body aches, and your heavy eyes are starting to fold closed with how sleepy you suddenly feel.

You pull Joel’s sheets over yourself, turning your back to him. Joel instantly follows suit, pulling up right behind you, your back tight to his chest, his thighs cupping the back of yours, then slipping one between your legs.

His arms lock around your torso under the sheets. Safe. Secure. Nothing can happen to you as long as he’s got you.

“Ten,” his voice mumbles against the back of your head.

You turn so your ear is pressed against his lips. “Huh?”

“Ten. That’s my number. Includin’ you.”

Oh.

He doesn’t ask to hear yours. You wouldn’t mind if he did, but he doesn’t. You don’t think he’s telling you to hear yours in exchange. He’s telling you because you asked. He’s telling you because, whether in attempt to turn him on or simply to know something about him that you didn’t before – something nobody else knows – it mattered to you.

He’s telling you because you matter to him.

You nuzzle back into him a little, a form of reply, and, as you start to fall asleep, you feel him place a gentle kiss to your ear.

----------

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[heavenlyraindrops]

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Twenty Two♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Twenty Two Warnings: profanity, mentions of blood Visit my pinned post to see all other chapters.

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Twenty Two]

You wiped the blood spattered across your cheek, and it spread across your skin. Velvette smirked at seeing you, taking back the spear you held out to her, your face emotionless.

“Another successful day staking claim to territory?” She asked. You nodded wordlessly, stepping into your bedroom, then the en suite. She followed you, grabbing every bloodied article of clothing you peeled off and tossed.

“Turn around,” you said bluntly. “I’m taking my bra and underwear off now.”

Velvette turned. “So. Revenge.”

You sank into the hot water. “Yes, revenge.” You combed your fingers through your hair. “You can turn around now. Just keep your eyes-“ you flipped a finger to your face. “-Up here, dolly.”

Velvette spun around clumsily, face turning bright red. “Right, right.” She rested her elbows on the side of the tub, watching as you poured shampoo into your open palm. “So, who exactly are we getting revenge on?”

“We?” You said dryly. “It’s me who’s getting revenge. You three stay out of it.”

Vel sighed, drumming her fingers on the side of the bathtub. “Right, right. But who?”

You bit your lip. You weren’t even sure you wanted revenge- the more time you’d had to think about it, the less you trusted Alastor. But if you wanted to be sure about anything, you needed either Alastor or Lucifer in front of you. You needed to talk to them face-to-face. You’d only told the Vees you wanted revenge in a fit of angry passion- but you needed to take things slow, to find out the truth first. 

Being an overlord would be an asset either way. Your eyes slid to Velvette, who was looking at you expectantly. And if the Vees ever became a problem, you could just send them to whatever came after Hell. 

“No one yet,” you murmured slowly, full of thought. “But maybe once I find myself some answers.”

Velvette nodded. “And that is…?”

“I need to speak with Lucifer Morningstar.”

Velvette’s mouth turned into an ‘o’ shape, but one look at your face and she pressed her lips shut, pushing down all the questions. She stood up. “Well, there’s towels, I’ll send over your clothes, and, uh…” she sneaked a glance at you. “I’ll get going. Bye babes.”

“Bye. Vel.”

The door shut. 

-

“[name].”

You’d wiped off another smatter of blood from your face, stood over the now-dead overlord before you, as your eyes swept over the newly claimed territory, when you heard the familiar voice that sent your mind and body into overload. You snatched the spear up, pointing it straight in between Lucifer’s eyes.

“You take one step closer and I will make mincemeat of you.” You licked your lips. “Did you know cannibals quite like the taste of angels?”

Lucifer pushed the blade away from his face. “You talk as if I’m not ten times stronger than you,” he said slowly, eyes locked onto yours, “or as if you’re not an angel yourself.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not really any more, am I?”

“Well, we all have choices, angel.”

Your lip curled, and you looked away. “Whatever,” you muttered, lowering the spear. “What do you want from me?”

“To talk.” You looked up, and his face was pleading now. It always shook you, the way he could look like he was toying with you in one moment then begging you the next.

“Go on, then, talk.”

“I-“ he choked up, then looked away. His eyes flicked back, and he reached out. “C-can I touch you? Please, I… I haven’t seen you in so lo-“

“No.” You struggled to fight the wavering in your voice. “Not yet, no. I’m sorry.”

“Angel, whatever the reason you may be angry at me for-“

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“And so do you!” He burst out, then took a deep breath. “Please, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” you sighed. 

“[name], I- did you really threaten to burn the hotel down?”

“I- what?” Your eyes widened with outrage, as you lifted the spear once more. “Why would you say that?”

“I know it’s not the first thing to start with, but I just need to know, for Charlie-“

“For Charlie?” You spat. “To Hell with her. Who do you- who does she- who do any of you think you are?”

He stepped back, a scowl blooming on his face. “[name], I’m not done talking.” 

“Well, I am. Maybe you shouldn’t have started with an accusation of-“

“-It was a simple question-“

“-that I would never do-“

“[name], if you don’t start listening to me I swear to-“

“Who? God? The guy who fucking abandoned you? The guy who kicked you out of your only home-“

Lucifer pressed his lips together, fury blazing in his eyes, then his shoulders slumped. He reached his hand towards you. “[name], what- are you really… okay? I mean- I-“ He ran his hand through his hair. “What happened to you?”

You smacked his hand away, and he hissed, recoiling. Golden blood stained his white skin, where your now-sharp nails had cut into his flesh. Guilt bloomed fresh in your stomach, and tears sprang to your eyes as you stepped back, away from him, face crumpling. 

“You did.” 

“I- no, [name], I haven’t fini-“

“I’m done here.” You turned around, wings spread. “I need to go. I- come find me again, and I’ll-“ you drew in a shuddery breath. “I’m not in the right state of mind to be having a level-headed conversation with you right now.” Your voice weakened. “I’m sorry.”

You spread your wings, preparing for flight. He didn’t object. You didn’t turn around to check if he was even still there anymore as you launched yourself into the red sky. 

You wouldn’t have been surprised if he wasn’t.  

-

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You dragged your hand across your scalp, letting out a broken sob as the spear clattered to the floor. What the fuck was wrong with you? Why would you hurt him like that? Every time you closed your eyes, the image of his crestfallen face, cradling his hand, appeared in your mind. You were so prepared to just pick up the spear and drive it through your heart. 

The guilt was gnawing away at you until you would be nothing but an empty shell of all your mistakes. 

You took in a deep shuddery breath. But that wasn’t all. Instead of explaining everything, giving you a chance to ask him about Alastor’s recording, he immediately accused you of something as barbaric as- you cut the thought short, pacing the room. Why should you feel guilty? For all you knew, everything Alastor had said was true.

You could have found out if you had stayed longer, but your emotions were so out of control you would have definitely caused irreparable damage in a violent fit of fury. Leaving was the wiser option. There was always next time.

But was there?

And, despite all that, you still felt undeniably guilty. You sank to the floor, putting your head in your hands. 

You missed him. 

You missed his stability, the way he’d be there for you every year, the touch of his hand, the brush of his lips, the way his fingertips would trace your skin. But now nothing was certain. He could very well be the monster Heaven had told you he was.

“[name]?” 

You looked up to see Velvette standing in the doorway. You sighed, looking back down. She padded over to you, hoisting you up. “It’s late, babes. You should go to sleep. You look…” her eyes flicked over you and she sighed. “Tired.”

“That’s an understatement,” you laughed, voice cracked and raspy with the toll of heavy emotions weighing down on every inch of you. She dragged you over to the bed.

“Sweet dreams, you goddamn bitch,” Velvette sighed. You chuckled, eyes barely open. 

“Sweet dreams, Vel.” 

A/N: did anyone notice the callback to chapter four?

#father forgive me (for i have sinned) lucifer morningstar x angel!reader #father forgive me (for i have sinned) lucifer morningstar x angel!reader -chapter twenty two #romance #hazbin fanfic #shitposting #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #memes #hazbin hotel #funny #father #patience #blessing #caring #sacrifice #romance prompts #romantic #falling in love #lovestory #coming of age #novella #romance fanfiction #romance books #fanfic meme #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Ten

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Madam Despoina gives you a little more insight, as well as a significant gift.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 10: Curses

This tired old machine is a-rumbling (oh my, oh my). Singing songs to the secrets behind my eyes (oh my, oh my). All my aching bones are trembling, and I may yet fall apart. Won’t you stay with me, my darling, when the war starts in my heart? Oh ashes, ashes, dust to dust. The devil’s after both of us. Oh, lay my curses out to rest, make a mercy out of me.  — Curses, The Crane Wives

“His name was Dimitris.”

You frowned at Madam Despoina’s first words to you after she entered the caravan. 

“May I sit?”

Instead of replying, Tommy moved to grab the chair against the wall and sat it next to the fireplace, offering his hand to assist her down. 

The old woman thanked him as she sat, lifting her head back to you. Her worn voice was solemn, tired even, as she went on. 

“Dimitris joined my camp some odd years ago, having traveled from the old country. For most of his time with us, he was a good man — hard worker, good soldier, did what he was told. Recently, he became more aggressive. First it was with the women, then fighting amongst the men. When I discovered that he’d been selling information and stealing… well, I displayed a lapse in judgment with my punishment. He was banished, with a threat of death if he returned. Apparently, he still has friends in the camp. They informed him of your arrival, of your importance. I believe he snuck in during the bustle of preparation—”

“He escorted us into the camp,” Tommy pointed out, interrupting. “He escorted us to your wagon.”

The Madam’s face remained unchanged, her eyes not leaving yours while addressing Tommy. 

“A breech that I am investigating with serious severity, Mr. Shelby, I assure you.”

“He dead?” His question made your gaze move from her to him, causing you to inhale sharply. 

What the hell had your life become where conversations about gypsy fortune telling and gangster murders had become just another Sunday night?

Tommy’s eyes flicked to yours before returning to the Madam’s. For an insecure moment, you wondered if he considered you weak for your reaction. 

“When we find him, he will be.”

The woman’s reply felt like cold water as you realized the creep was still out there. Her eyes softened as she held on to your gaze. 

“I apologize, mikrí mou màntissa. This was not what I envisioned for our meeting.”

You swallowed the irony, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “May I ask — what did he want from you?”

You took a deep breath before shrugging. You had no idea how long ago the event had occurred, could have been an hour or ten, either way you just wanted to push it as far from your brain as possible. It didn’t help that you were on the tail end of your buzz — that and the adrenaline (and your newfound ability to disassociate and compartmentalize) made the memory feel fuzzy. 

“Um, well,” you began, speaking for the first time since the Madam entered the caravan. “Originally he thought I was Anastasia Romanov,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you said it. 

Tommy’s brow creased, “Who?”

You missed the way Madam Despoina watched you answer his question. 

“The Romanovs? The Russian royal family that was just killed like—” you paused as your brain tried to do the quick math. “Holy shit that was just this year,” you muttered to yourself, though the other two in the room could certainly hear you. 

“We heard somethin’ about that in France. A revolution, ya?” Tommy pondered, reaching into his jacket pocket on the hanger to grab a cigarette while shrugging — as if hearing one of the biggest historical events ever was just no big deal. “Who was she, exactly?” 

Realization of just how disconnected you were from the rest of the world began to set in. You’d been here for more than three months, and the only real news you’d been privy to had been the war end. And that was only because Ada had shoved the newspaper in your face. 

You made a mental note to start saving enough to purchase newspapers when you got back into the city. If you were going to be here, you wanted to know what was going on. 

“She was a daughter of the tsar,” the Madam answered for you. “A princess. When the family was taken to be executed, it was rumored that the princess escaped.”

You nodded, “Creep-o said he thought that’s who was coming to the camp when Madam Despoina said they had special company.” 

The Madam hummed her understanding. “We’ve often had queens and princesses come to bargain for good fortune. Dimitris thought you were the princess.”

“He said he knew I wasn’t Russian though due to my accent. I may have implied with my tone that he was an idiot for believing the rumor… he didn’t like that.” You grew angry at the memory of him grabbing you, instinctively wrapping your own arms around yourself. “Still, he said that you thought I was someone important. That he could use me somehow to make him money.”

Somehow was beginning to feel a lot like selling as you said the words out loud. The words sat bitterly at the tip of your tongue as your anger began to bubble. 

“What did he think he was going to get away with, huh? Kidnapping me and holding me hostage? Handcuffing me to a table and forcing me to give seances? The nerve—“ you fumed as you grew lost in your own imagination. “What psychopath thinks he can do that? I can’t even tell fucking fortunes! I’m not important! I can’t—“

The tears surprised you as your anger began to catch in your throat. This was the second time today you’d began to cry out of frustration, exhaustion, everything. And you hated yourself even more for it. 

You felt weak again. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to control your breathing, and suddenly you felt two hands cradling your face. Expecting to see Madam Despoina, who’d been sitting closer to you, you were surprised when you opened your eyes to see it was Tommy who was kneeling in front of you, his own face inches from yours. 

You felt ashamed again for your weakness, dropping your eyes and trying to push him away. But he held on to you and forced you to look at him again. You prepared to see disappointment or pity in his eyes, but instead you saw the same reassurance that you’d almost come to rely on in the depth of his crystal blues.

“That won’t ever happen,” he said confidently. “You’re not a doll, remember? And you are strong. If the Delphi don’t find this fucker, the Peaky Blinders will. Either way, you’ll never see him again, you understand me, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly, the tears no longer falling as he wiped what remained off your cheeks. 

“I have a second reason for coming by,” Madam Despoina’s words broke the spell between you and Tommy, who stood up and resumed his original position between you two women and the doorway. She reached inside her baggy skirt pocket and pulled out a small wooden box, extending it to you. “I wanted to offer you this gift.”

Your brow furrowed as you took it. 

In the Madam’s hands, it appeared to be an ordinary box. But when you ran your fingers across the edges and held it toward the light of the fireplace, you could just make out the intricate carvings. It reminded you of the inside of this caravan. On the lid of the box was the Delphi symbol — you couldn’t help the way your pointer finger moved from the trunk of the tree upward, through the branches and down one side of the circle, across the roots, and up the other side until you completed the path. 

“It’s beautiful,” you couldn’t help but breathe out as you finally lifted the lid. Your brow furrowed again as you examined a pouch of leaves and small vile of water inside. 

Madam nodded. “Boil some water and let the leaves soak, then pour in the water from the vile before drinking the entire cup.”

“Tea? You want me to make tea?” You looked between her and the box. “Um, why?”

She smiled. “My gift. It’s one final conversation with your mother.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, the words falling out absentmindedly, “What? You’ve got to be joking.” You looked down at the box suspiciously. “What is this then, drugs?”

“These are passed from our ancestry, they’re very valuable and once designated cannot be transferred to another. The water is from the original springs of Delphi, the leaves are from the gardens of the temple.”

“The leaves that gave the priestesses epilepsies?” you questioned, raising your brow as your suspicions were confirmed. “You want to drug me and pretend like whatever hallucination I might get is some divine vision from my dead mother?”

The woman gave you a smile, “You still disbelieve, don’t you, young girl?”

You set the box down on the bed next to you and shook your head. “I mean no disrespect, Madam Despoina—“

The old woman lifted swiftly from her seat and reached for your hand. Out of surprise and instinct, thinking she must have fallen, you jumped off the bed and squeezed her hand, matching her firm grip with your own. 

The room flashed white. The Madam before you was all you could see, but as your eyes adjusted, your vision began to shift. 

Her face — it began to change. You recognized the woman’s face, something ancient and beautiful, with eyes that glowed that brilliant gold you’d seen in your dreams. Another flash, and the face began to morph into so many faces, one after the other. Hundreds of women, all unrecognizable and yet something familiar pulled at your gut. 

Suddenly the shifting stopped as you saw your mother’s face. You gasped, taking a step forward before your mothers face morphed again. This time, your foot moved backwards as you looked upon your own reflection. 

Snapping your hand out of the old woman’s hold, your vision cleared. You were catching your breath as you found the familiar brown eyes of Madam Despoina, the caravan surrounding you again, a knowing smile pulling at her cheek. 

Your eyes found Tommy’s, who had taken a few cautious steps toward you both and was looking at you concerned. “You okay?”

“I saw— I, I thought I saw—“ you breathed out, your eyes moving back to the Madam as you held your hand to your chest. 

“Drink the tea. Talk with your mother. She will be able to tell you now what she could never before.”

She turned to leave before stopping. When she turned back to you, she reached out for your hand again. You flinched at her touch, expecting the same thing to happen again, but nothing did.

“During these winter times, our camp retreats back to our home ground to prepare for the cold. We drink and dine as is tradition during these darker and colder months until it is time to travel again. But this year I knew we had to wait — that we were waiting for you.” 

She squeezed your hand as she held yours between both of hers. 

“Today I have felt closer to our god than I have in many years. I had nearly forgotten what his light felt like, but with you, I can feel his warmth again. Won’t you stay?”

“We can’t,” Tommy answered for you, his voice stern. “We promised we’d be back ‘fore Christmas Eve.”

In the back of your mind, you knew that was a lie. Tommy had already told you he’d prepared for you both to be gone for as long as a week’s time. But you didn’t dare question him now. 

Besides, you felt as though her question wasn’t just a courtesy to stay tonight, or even for a few days. The question felt like an invitation — to stay with the Delphi family. 

For a split moment, you considered her offer. You were already a time traveling fish out of water, and you’d bet money that she knew more than what she’d even revealed tonight. Maybe you were here to find them — maybe this is where you were meant to be. 

But your eyes instinctively looked to Tommy at the thought, and your chest tightened. 

Maybe it was a mistake, but that stupid part of your brain or hormones or whatever it was controlling you couldn’t leave Birmingham. 

The Shelbys. 

Tommy. 

Madam Despoina hummed an understanding, her eyes watching your internal struggle. “Then you should leave now. There are some here who are under investigation of helping Dimitris, and it may not be as safe as I’d have wished for you here.” Her eyes dropped in shame. 

“If you thought we may be in danger, why would you ask for me to stay?” 

“I’m an old woman, mikrí mou màntissa.” She repeated the foreign words again, and her soft smile made you sense they were a term of endearment. “Sometimes I’m more selfish than I’m proud of. I will see you again someday, Cassandra. Until then, remember what I told you —“

“Stay true to myself.”

“Aye. You will feel like you can’t use your second sight for fear of alteration, or alienation. But it will be your asset in the times to come. And it can save those around you, if you let it.”

She looked to Tommy then, whose brow creased at the conversation. 

The Madam smirked. “Our god is closer to you than you think.” Her attention moved back to you. “Listen to your mother. Break the cursed chain.”

She turned again to leave. 

“Wait,” you stepped forward as she paused. “Why are you giving me this now? You told me before that it wasn’t the time. What’s changed?”

Madam Despoina let out a humored hum. “You’re not the only one who gets visions, love.” At the doorway, she stopped and turned to Tommy. “Remember what I told you as well, Apollon.”

With that, she left the caravan. 

Tommy ran his hand through his hair as he let out a breath. “We’re leaving. We’re gettin’ in our wagon and gettin’ the fuck out of this nut house.”

He began to get dressed, throwing on his gun holster over his shoulders before putting on his jacket. 

Your brain was processing the name Madam had called Tommy. “She called you—“

“Get dressed,” he instructed, ignoring you and handing you the bag and your shoes before grabbing the rest of his clothes. 

You pulled out one of the clean skirts and pulled it over your nightgown. You grabbed your jacket and threw it around you before shoving your feet into your shoes. Stuffing the rest of your items in your bag, you gingerly picked up the box Madam Despoina had given you and set it on top before latching it closed. 

Tommy returned, offering you his hand to lead you out of the caravan and through the dark, clutching the bag close to your chest. The wagon came into view, Johnny Dogs hustling to secure Midnight. 

“Tommy, she called you—“

He shushed you, his eyes flashing down at you before making a quick scan around you both. “Not now.”

You huffed. “Never now.”

“Soon,” he reassured, giving your hand a squeeze before jumping in the back of the wagon while Johnny appeared at your side. “All clear?”

“Aye, Tom,” Dogs replied. His usual jovial vibe was gone tonight, serious as he addressed his friend. 

“Good. Up ya come,” Tommy offered you his hand as he stood in the wagon. 

Your brow furrowed, expecting to sit with him in the drivers seat like you had earlier. 

“There’s a bed in here, and some blankets. It’s the middle of the night and you’ve had a long day. You already fell asleep once today, I don’t need you fallin’ over on the drive back.”

Your instinct was to fight back, prove him wrong. Before you could reply, he squatted closer to you. 

“I won’t have you sitting like a fuckin’ target in case we run into trouble on the road. I don’t expect it, but I’m a cautious man, ‘member? Get in the wagon, and let me keep you safe.”

“She called you Apollo,” you whispered, looking between his eyes. 

It felt like you were standing in a room with thousands of puzzle pieces, and every time you thought you’d found a connection, thought you’d gotten a handle on the full picture, a new piece would pop up and throw you off your track again. You felt like you were slowly losing your mind. 

He softened his look, grabbing your hand and lifting you into the wagon. You let him walk you toward the front before gently pushing you down onto the small mattress pad. “Rest. Once we’re safe, you can explain to me why.”

You swallowed as he stood back up and climbed through the front flap of the wagon and sat on the bench. Johnny Dogs wished you a small farewell and you gave him a sympathetic smile before he secured the back of the wagon. 

Despite everything that’d happened to you tonight, you’d enjoyed the man’s company and hopped to see him again. If Tommy allowed. 

You could see Tommy settling in his seat from your spot, grateful for the secured tarp on the side your head rested against to cut the cool night air as the wagon began to move forward. 

The wheel hit a bump, causing your bag to jump against your leg. You picked it up and secured it against you, not wanting anything to happen to the box inside. 

The box filled with the magic drugs, that is. 

What were the chances that the leaves and water in that box were actually from the Temple of Apollo in Greece? Was it old? New? There’s no way something like that could have survived all this time, and there was definitely no way that if it had, someone would just hand it over to a complete stranger for nothing. 

And the flashes that you saw — was it the drinks you had tonight? You had a hard time believing that the woman you just left would have you drugged without your knowledge — but the cynical side of you, the cautious side as Tommy might say, couldn’t exclude the possibility entirely. 

No, you shook your head, trying to reason your way out of that thought. Why would a woman who already had you drugged offer you more drugs and tell you what they were? If she’d done it once, what was stopping her from doing it again without your knowledge? She could have made the tea herself and fed it to you easily at any point during the night. But instead she gave it to you in pieces, as a gift, and told you exactly what it was (more or less - you still weren’t entirely convinced). 

So if you weren’t drugged, then you had to have just been ole fashioned drunk. 

You shook your head at yourself again, getting more comfortable on the mattress until you were laying down, the wagon wheels continuing to move along underneath you. 

Nothing like that had ever happened to you after a night of drinking before. And there were definitely nights you’d been way drunker than you had been tonight. 

The only time you’d seen visions like that before, with the white flash and everything, was the night you traveled back and saw Tommy in the mud. 

But why Tommy? was the last question you asked yourself before your eyes began to drift closed and you wrapped the blanket around yourself. 

And why did Madam Despoina call him Apollo? 

——

“Cassandra.” 

Your god reached out to you, his once ice blue eyes had now returned to their brilliant gold, his look was full of concern. 

“You just said—“ your breath was short at the previous feeling of dread as you grasped at the front of your dress to steady your heart. 

He cupped your face with his hand, “I said that I didn’t expect to fall for you, Cassandra.”

No, you thought. There was rage, there was anger. He said he cursed you… didn’t he? 

But as you looked up at him now, the face you saw was the same face you’d been gazing upon night after night. You hadn’t intended to fall for the palace gardener. The first night you’d come out here was the day you pledged your allegiance to priesthood. You’d sought solace, a place to sit with your thoughts to ensure that you were making the right decision. 

The gardener had surprised you, his voice soft and kind as he asked if you were okay. After that, you’d come to rely on the man as a confidant. Eventually, you were spending most of your day awaiting the hours until you could see his sweet face again. 

But now, everything was different. He wasn’t a man at all — he was a god. He was your god, confessing his affection for you. 

And yet still, you touched your lips at the memory of his cold blue eyes, his angry words, his curse. 

His brow creased as you pulled your face away, turning back to the garden ledge as you looked out to the sea. Your eyes focused on the horizon line, where you saw ships sailing toward your kingdom. Thousands of ships - an armada. They were racing forward, growing closer and closer to the shoreline, launching hundreds of arrows into the air.

“We’re under attack!” 

You turned back toward your lord and pointed, but he only shook his head. “There’s nothing out there.” 

Whipping your head back toward the sea, your eyes searched for the sight of the ships, but they were gone. The seas were calm once again.

“But—“

An explosion caught your attention, pulling your gaze back down toward the square of the city. It was on fire — people were screaming, children crying. Men in foreign armor raced through the streets on horses, swinging swords and axes, killing your citizens. 

You blinked — they were gone. 

‘You’re cursed, Cassandra! You’re cursed!—‘

“Y/N!”

You jumped at the shout, turning to find Harry standing at the end of the bar with his arms crossed. 

“I don’t pay ya to daydream. We’ve got a packed ‘ouse now snap out of it.”

“Sorry, Harry.” You flushed at your absent mindedness, picking up the rag and moving to give the counter a good swipe before heading toward the first man with his arm reached forward. 

But through the monotony of the job, your mind couldn’t help but wonder back toward your dream in the wagon. 

Tommy had woken you up the same as he had on the drive to the camp. Clinging to his arms, you found yourself gasping for air and your cheeks damp from tears. Embarrassed once again for waking up in a panic, you began to wonder if you’d ever have a normal night’s sleep ever again. 

Despite the nightmare, you’d somehow managed to sleep through most of the drive back into town. You rode up front for the remaining drive back while Tommy hit you with the realities of going back into society. 

“There’s something we need to discuss before we get back to Small Heath,” Tommy had started in his serious voice. “Only Polly knows where we truly went yesterday. Arthur, John, and Ada know a version of the truth — they know we were lookin’ for a gypsy clan that might have had some of your last surviving family members, but we’re gonna tell ‘em we were unsuccessful in our journey. That they were supposed to be outside the fairground, but they were nowhere to be found, so we came back and you decided to give up the search. Got it?” 

You had nodded. “And Polly? What are we going to tell her?” 

“That’s up to you,” he surprised you with that response. “But one thing I want to make clear. That we saw Johnny Dogs and what was discussed with him will be told to no one, ya?” 

“Can I ask why?” You threw the question out as a tester — it wasn’t a no to his confirmation, but you were curious if he’d shut you down or trust you. 

Tommy didn’t respond right away, staring straight ahead at Midnight pulling the wagon forward. You swallowed, ready to admit defeat, when Tommy cleared his throat. 

“Most of what we do is illegal. To make any real money, to gain any real power, we need to expand into some legitimacy. It’s the only way to break out of Birmingham.”

“And Billy Kimber has something to do with that?” 

Slowly, Tommy nodded. “Think so. Still working out the details, but it starts with Johnny Dogs. That’s all I’m willin’ to say now.” 

You thought about the words exchanged between the two men, about what Tommy said on Saturday about domination. You wondered if his ambition extended further than just working with the racetrack owner, or if he wanted to control it. 

Tommy didn’t seem like a man who limited his ambitions. 

“Got it. Not a word, then.” 

You paused, contemplating what you were going to say next and deciding to just go with it. What the hell, right? 

“I still think you should look into running alcohol into America. The probability of a prohibition is higher than you’re estimating.” 

“Thought you said you weren’t a fortune teller,” Tommy rose his brow up as he looked at you. Beneath you, the dirt roads had transitioned into cobblestone, indicating an end to your ride. 

You’d shrugged, “I’m not. I’m just a woman on your payroll, who sometimes knows things, offering you business advice.”

Tommy watched you for a moment more, but chose not to push you on it further. Neither of you said anything as he made his way to your doorstep. You’d mentioned wanting to change and then head over to the Garrison, hopping to mend the nagging feeling you had of Harry being angry with you and offering to work a shift that evening. 

“I’ll see you later then,” Tommy had said as you turned to leave, watching as you clung to your bag and ascended the stairs. 

To his promise, Tommy walked through the doors of the Garrison some odd hours later, an entourage of men behind him. Harry hustled to shoo people out of the snug before escorting the men into the private room. 

This had been a part of the deal Tommy had made with Harry, apparently. The Garrison was not only protected by the Peaky Blinders, but now it was officially the pub of choice for the gang. That meant that any time a Peaky boy was in the premises, the snug had to be available. It also meant that anything a Shelby man ordered was on the house, no questions asked. 

Tommy still dropped a coin at the snug window when he asked for a bottle of whiskey and six tumblers. 

“Irish or Scotch?” You asked, a smirk playing at your lips as you watched him attempt to stop his own smile. 

Without his response, you grabbed the Irish Whiskey and glasses, circling the bar and turning into the private room. Tommy was taking his seat as the men around him grabbed for the cups, Arthur electing to grab the bottle and open it. He poured himself a shot first, then Tommy, then John, before passing it to the other three in the room. 

You vaguely recognized the three non-brothers from the betting shop, and part of you wondered if any of them were the book men you audited as you began to wipe down the table.

Arthur was patting John on the shoulder, sounding already drunk as he went on about the boy finally getting out of that house. You took a quick look at John, who looked tired as he mumbled something about the kids driving him mad. 

You smiled at that, silently wondering if John being out meant that Martha was starting to feel better. You made a note to ask Tommy about her later as you asked aloud if anyone needed anything else. 

“That’ll be all, Y/N,” Tommy answered for everyone. 

You gave a friendly smile, eyes scanning the room before landing on one of the non-brothers, who was watching you quite intently. As a barmaid, you were either invisible or the subject of lustful attention, so a part of you was used to the creepy looks and just bid your time until the man either hit on you or lost interest. Not expecting this kind of attention here, with Tommy around, you felt caught off guard. Awkwardly, you nodded and left the room, leaving the doors open behind you. 

Some time passed as you worked the room, the crowd slowly beginning to lessen as the night went on. You were working on the pub books, taking advantage of the lull, when the man who’d been watching you from the snug approached the bar.

“You’re Ada’s friend, ya?”

You couldn’t stop the quick look through the snug window, noticing that the other Peaky boys were still in there, working on their second bottle. “Um, yeah,” you answered, offering him a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Need something?” 

“Ya, a mild.” 

Trying to control your annoyed face at having to pause your book work — seriously, there was no way you could ever leave Harry in charge of the books ever again — you rose from your seat to prepare his drink. You could feel him watch you as you worked. 

“I’ve seen ya round the Shelby house with Ada and Ms. Polly. I work there, with the boys. Names Benji.” 

Benji — you recognized the name as one of the bookkeepers at the betting shop. He was one you’d been suspicious of for a while now. 

The first couple big offenders of stealing from the shop had disappeared some time after you brought them to Polly’s attention. At the time, your innocent mind believed they’d just been fired and moved on — but now you knew better. The chances that those men were still breathing were slim. 

With Benji’s records, his error rate decreased after the first few men were outed, and you always suspected that he was biding his time before he began to steal again. You just had to wait until you had more evidence. 

For a paranoid moment, as Benji’s eyes scanned you over, you wondered if he knew about your secret employment. He was a Peaky boy, after all. He lifted his hand over the bar counter as an offering when you set his drink down. 

“Y/N,” you offered out of ceremony, your smile still not quite genuine as you shook his hand.

“Y/N,” he repeated, donning his own smile as he looked at you again appreciatively. He wasn’t unhandsome, so you imagine that smile worked on most girls. But after what happened to you last night and your suspicions about his bookkeeping, you felt yourself taking a step back out of caution. “Next time you’re in the shop, say hi.” 

You watched as he took his drink and swaggered back into the snug. Part of you was slightly surprised at his boldness. You were a friend of Ada’s — his employer’s sister. Plus, you and Tommy—

You scoffed at yourself. You and Tommy what? You weren’t a couple — you didn’t think so, anyway. He hadn’t gone to kiss you, or even offer to walk you to your apartment door when he’d dropped you off. What’d happened last night before Madam Despoina interrupted had been… hormones. A mixture of adrenaline, alcohol, and an attempt to grasp onto some kind of sanity after a series of crazed events. 

He hadn’t spoken of the moment since — hell, he hadn’t spoken of any of it since, something that was also making you anxious.  

Out of instinct, your eyes moved to the window of the snug where you could see Tommy sitting comfortably in his chair. As if feeling your gaze, his own eyes moved to meet yours. You jumped slightly, feeling as if you’d been caught, and proceeded to go back to checking on the other patrons in the room. 

You’d settled back to working on the inventory, almost finished when the Peaky boys loudly made their exit of the pub. Surprised, Arthur shouted a drunken goodbye to you, even using your name as he waved and stumbled out the doorway with his arm around John. Benji turned and gave you a wink before following the group out the door. Tommy stood back, watching the whole thing before walking over to the counter. 

“What was that about?” He asked, gesturing over his shoulder to the doorway. 

“What? Arthur saying goodbye? Not sure, but it’s a big improvement over him calling me a whore or just grunting at me—“

“Not Arthur, Hancock.”

Your brow creased. “Who?” 

“Benji,” he added, and you realized Hancock must be his last name. Tommy poured the last of the bottle into his drink. 

You stood up from your seat again and walked over toward Tommy, taking a scan of the room. There were only two young men in the corner finishing up their last round, but you still kept your voice low. “Who knows about me?” 

It was Tommy’s turn to furrow his brow. “‘Dya mean?” 

“My job, at the house.” 

Tommy nodded, understanding. “Just immediate family — me, Pol, Arthur, John, and Ada.” 

“And before you guys returned?”

He shrugged, “Just Pol and Ada, I believe. What’s this about?” 

“I was just paranoid, I guess. I thought for a moment Benji may have suspected me, but now I think he was just coming on to me.” 

Tommy’s back straightened at your comment, lifting his glass for another drink. “And is that somethin’ that you want?”

“No,” you answered immediately, watching his shoulders immediately relax. 

“Good,” he said softly, his eyes moving down to your lips. “Let me walk you home?” 

You smiled at both his response and his request, wondering if maybe you were wrong about what exactly you and Tommy were. 

“I can’t go until those two leave,” you said quietly as you gestured to the corner. 

As if realizing for the first time that the two of you weren’t alone, he turned to the other guests. “Oi! Time to go!”

The young men jumped from their seats and scattered out the door. You couldn’t hold in your surprise at the immediate obedience. 

It’s good to be the king, you found yourself quoting Mel Brooks in your head at the action, not yet confident enough to say your quip out loud. The thought still made you smile though, and you were again surprised when Tommy offered you a smile in return. You knew how rare a Tommy smile was. 

“Fine, but I still have to put the book away and sweep the floors. Harry mentioned something about putting in an ad for another barmaid — I’m not about to further piss him off and have him replace me.”

Tommy scoffed. “I’ve seen the receipts, you practically saved this business. He’d be a fool to replace you.”

Your pride swelled at the compliment as you lowered your head to hide your blush. 

Luckily, it’d been a rather tame night, so your cleanup was minimum, allowing you and Tommy to leave soon after everything was put in order. 

Tommy lit a cigarette as you locked the door, wrapping his coat around you tightly and cursing to yourself how right he’d been about it getting colder. 

“Come to dinner tomorrow,” he said, breaking the silence on your walk. It didn’t sound like a question, but his gaze down toward you implied that he was waiting for a response. 

“To your house?” You asked, curious if this was just a regular dinner or a date dinner. 

He nodded. “Aye, Christmas Eve dinner with the family. Ada made me promise to ask.” 

You deflated slightly at his follow-up. Was Ada’s insistence because Tommy didn’t actually want you there? God, listen to you — sounding like a pathetic teenager again overanalyzing everything your crush said. 

“Okay,” you said instead. 

“Good.” 

He stopped and faced you when you got to your apartment. Gently, he lifted his hand and cupped your cheek, pulling your face upward until your lips met his. It was a soft kiss, but it still left you breathless as he pulled away. 

“After dinner, when everyone’s distracted, we’ll talk, ya? About the dreams, about what Madam Despoina said, and about why when I was waking you up this afternoon you kept saying that you were cursed.” 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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[atinylittlepain]

Chapter One

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: dark themes surrounding history of domestic violence, references to physical injury, heavy emotions (hope can also be heavy)

a/n | thank you to everyone who has expressed interest in this piece. I can't stress enough that while this work does deal with very dark, difficult subject matter, I always strive to speak to these things with as much care and respect as I can. I'd love to talk, if you'd like to share your thoughts on this one. thank you for reading.

.................................

Well the devil has been known to chase angels from their homes

And I know I got some angel left inside me

But my halo's hanging low

My halo's hanging low

And I'm nine hundred miles from my home

Angel Ballad as performed by Hurray for the Riffraff

................................

Quiet. It’s what he likes best about this job. The night comes on close and cool, even in the slow simmering slump of the summer. And nobody is ever out here at this time. No thrum and thrush of cars passing by on the highway. Just the jittery yips of coyotes, and maybe the growl of something bigger and meaner from time to time. Nights like this, he settles down in the drivers seat, letting the radio fizzle and thread through the quiet, whispered pasts and mournful words that he can hum along to. 

But tonight is different. 

He hears different before he sees it. That low murmur of an engine, and then the slow flood of headlights rounding the bend. Too fast, impossibly fast, there and gone. He fumbles, flicking on the siren and the lights before peeling onto the road, his car whimpering under the heavy demand of his foot on the gas pedal. 

His whole body is a closed fist curled around the wheel, waiting for this person to give up, surrender in the flash of their brake lights. But they hold on for a while, long enough for his jaw to start to ache with the way his teeth grit and grind. But eventually, the slow give in. 

Never gotten a taste for this, never liked this, the slow saunter up to the car, palm on the hood and the lean down, the spiel. He prefers the coyotes. 

But tonight is different.

Different stops his words in his throat. Wide eyes, unblinking and unmoving from his. A quick glance to hands still on the wheel, knuckles tensing over and over again, ready to bolt. The strap of her tank top has fallen down the slope of her pallid shoulder. He blinks, twice, hard, half-expecting an apparition to dissolve into gossamer breath before his eyes. But she just stares at him, lips parted in breath that catches somewhere in her sternum.

“Do you know how fast you were driving?” 

“I’m sorry, officer.”

“Probably a hundred and ten in a sixty-five. Where are you going this time of night anyways?” 

“Do I have to answer that?” Said meek, a little warble, though her boldness still surprises him, a clip of laughter getting stuck in his throat, disbelief bubbling up.

“License and registration, please.” Her brow pinches and falls, eyes darting out along the highway like she’s looking for an answer. Knee bouncing, a jolted wire of a woman. Drugs, he thinks, maybe. Though he’s seen drugs, and drugs don’t look like this exactly. Fear, pure and simple. 

“I can’t do that, officer.” 

“Why not?” It startles him, fingers instinctively jumping to his holster when she suddenly jerks her hand off the steering wheel. But it’s only to draw her curled fingers to her mouth, worrying at split and sore-looking skin between her teeth. 

“I just can’t.” 

“If you don’t, then I’ll have no choice but to take you in.” She doesn’t respond to that, just continues to stare at him. Part of him wants to let her go, catch and release, a quiet warning to slow down. Harmless enough, he thinks, shivering like a beaten dog under his stare. But he knows he can’t do that.

“Please step out of the car, ma’am.” Relief when she complies, her eyes staying turned down to her sneakers as she shuts the car door behind her. He keeps his eyes on hers as he clicks on the radio on his shoulder.

“I need to get a plate checked, H-W-G–” Before he can read out the rest of her license plate number, her whole body jolts, a stuttered step toward him, her hands stretched out, palms stark white with the splay.

“No! No, please don’t do that. Please.” For some reason, he listens, clicking off his radio as he squints at her. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” She’s washed out wan in the headlights of his car, her frown slanting in harsh shadows. No answer, he moves to speak into his radio again.

“It’s my husband’s– my husband’s car.” No ring on her finger, her eyes follow his in their quick sweep of her hand.

“It’s complicated.” He huffs, a tilt of his head toward his car. She takes two steps forward before stopping, considering him.

“You’re not going to cuff me?” “Ain’t got a reason to.” Not yet, at least. Still unsure just what this is, still trying to figure it out. He opens the door to the back of the car for her, not missing the wary flit of her eyes before she ducks into the backseat. Reluctant but willing to settle her anxious plumage in this cage. 

They leave her car, or her husband’s car, on the shoulder of the highway, the station not too far away. He finds himself stealing glances at her, her expression unreadable in the bare glow of the few lone streetlights they pass. 

And then, somehow, he finds himself pulling into the parking lot of somewhere other than the station, catching her confused look in the rear view mirror. There’s nobody else at the diner this time of night, the only building for another few miles before the small town comes into focus. A blinking, chipped beacon in the night.

“Are you hungry?” No answer, though he thinks that she presses herself back into the seat, a small shrinking. He sighs, getting out of the car and opening her door, somewhere between leaning down and hovering over her in what he hopes is a less intimidating posture.

“Just wanna talk, get the whole story from you. I can’t help you if I don’t know what all this is about.”

“Help me?” Said like it’s foreign to her, a concept she can’t even imagine. 

“You like pancakes?” She does, he discovers, with blueberries and a thick swirl of syrup. She eats like she’s getting away with something, hurried, her eyes sweeping around the diner every so often. Hunger, a deep kind, like she hasn’t had a full meal in a while. He tries not to watch her too closely, taking cursory bites of his own meal.  But his eyes get caught on the fragile flex and flick of muscle in her forearms. Elbows on the table, the fluorescent lighting shocks into focus a dark bloom of bruises running up both her arms. Half moons of pain, waning gibbous and gruesome. Like fingerprints. He pushes his plate away from himself, swallowing hard.

“You can have the rest of mine too, if you want. Or we can get you something else?” Her eyes go wide again, freezing mid-chew before she swallows with a shaky gulp, setting fork and knife down, hands tangling in a close fist in her lap, ashamed. He wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“Where are you from?” 

“Nebraska.” He’s a little surprised when she so quickly responds, though he nods, trying to school any expression from his face.

“And that’s where you’re coming from?” She nods, one palm absent-mindedly coming to curl behind her neck, her elbow resting in her hand that’s crossed over her stomach, a small defense, or at least the posture of it.

“You said that’s your husband’s car. Does he know you have his car?” 

“I imagine he has an idea by now.” 

“Does he know where you are?”

“I hope not.” She says it with a weak laugh, though her lashes stay dropped to her cheeks, not looking at him as she says it. He’s starting to feel a sick curl in his stomach, getting tangled up in something that he shouldn’t be, and he hasn’t the slightest idea why.

What he should do. What he should do is take her to the station and let someone else handle this. Someone who knows how to handle this. What he should do is let work be work, and what he should do is not get involved any further than the meal he bought for her.

“My name’s Joel.” He holds his hand out across the table, though she doesn’t take it, just works her fingers a little harder into the nape of her neck.

“I’m Dolores.” How fitting, he thinks. Our lady of sorrow, and she certainly looks every bit of it.

“May I ask what you were planning to do with a stolen car, going a hundred and ten in a sixty-five, Dolores?” She sniffs back the swim in her eyes, chin tucking up, a pantomime of conviction.

“I was getting away.”

What he should do, he doesn’t. What he does do, he shouldn’t. 

“You understand that if you keep driving that car, eventually you’re gonna get tracked down one way or another?” 

“I was gonna get rid of it once I got into Utah.”

“You got any money?”

“No.” 

“You got family in Utah?”

“No.” He almost doesn’t want to ask anymore questions, seeing the way she starts to wilt with each no, her shoulders curling in like a despondent cage. 

“So, what exactly was the plan?” He tries to ask it quiet, trying to temper his doubt, though she still winces.

“I already told you.”

“Getting away?” 

“Yes.”

“You’ve already done that. What, eight hours worth or thereabout?” She nods.

“I think you need a better plan, Dolores.” Her lips collapse in an instant frown, and he regrets the words, digging the knuckles of his fist into his thigh to keep anything else from coming out of his mouth. 

“I don’t know any more.” Like a child, like a hopeless child. Before he can respond, the waitress comes back around, filling up their coffee cups, a friendly, familiar word to him and an uncertain look to Dolores who keeps her eyes down on an invisible spot on the table. Just enough time for him to think over what he shouldn’t do. 

“Do you want my help?” 

…

When Sarah went off to college, and when Austin got to be too much, and when the work got to be too much as well, he decided he needed a change. Sold his half of the business to Tommy and used that money to buy a palmful of land. Small town, strange town, right in the curve of a mountain, just a few hours outside of Boulder. Sarah calls, and comes home for the holidays. Tommy not so much, a sour spat that has lingered between them ever since Joel left. Both of them too prideful to be the first to break, little brother that wanted more and wanted it fast, and big brother that was ready for everything to slow down and get silent.

He has enough money saved for his job at the station to be something that keeps him busy a few nights a week more than anything else. And in the meantime.

“Do you have animals?” She sits in the passenger seat now, pointing out to the dark outline of the barn and coop as they pass it.

“Got sheep, and chickens. But between you and me, I don’t care much for the chickens.” An attempt at lightness, he bites down on his own smile when he catches the small curve of her mouth in his periphery. 

Small house, sleeping house in a thick flare of brush and trees. He lets her do it on her terms, leaves the front door wide open and tries not to watch as she steps through the threshold, busying himself with linens and towels for her. Part of him is surprised that she agreed to come with him at all. But the other part of him knows why she did. It was this, or going back, and she wasn’t about to do that. 

“There’s a guest room down the hall. My daughter stays there when she visits so it shouldn’t be too bad.” She just nods, hands held loosely in front of her, quick sweeps of her eyes when he turns on a lamp, warm shadows and light. It takes her a beat to follow him down the hall, leaving a wide swath of space between them even when she steps into the room, watching him set the sheets down on the bed and flick on the light, her back pressed against the wall. 

“Bathroom is the first door on the left. And I’m upstairs if you need anything.” She still doesn’t move, only offering him another nod.

“We can go into town tomorrow. Get you some clean clothes and see about some work for you.” 

“Okay.” He doesn’t miss it, the way she takes two shuffled steps back when he moves closer, even though it’s only so he can get to the doorway. 

“Try to get some sleep.” He doesn’t think he’ll get a response from her, already making his way out of the room, but.

“Thank you, Joel.” He stops in his tracks, turning over his shoulder to look at her, though he doesn’t say anything, just a puff of breath that’s loud enough to sound like an answer before he shuts the door to her room behind him.

He shouldn’t. Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t. Repeats to himself what a bad idea this is with each step up the stairs to his room. He shouldn’t, but he did.

What he offered her was time. And place. Time and place for her to find a better plan for herself. Make some money, stop the shake in her limbs, unbothered and unnoticed in a quiet town like this.

The husband’s car is a problem he hasn’t worked out yet, though he has some ideas. Pop off the plates and squirrel them away, let the car get found by some other patrolman, let it be a mystery. Or just leave the car as is, abandoned on the side of the highway, and let the husband wonder where his wife ran off to in the middle of nowhere. Not a fitting punishment, he thinks, but something nonetheless. 

For now though, there’s a stranger sleeping downstairs. A stranger that he has decided to help. He has been so careful at alone. At keeping people and place at arm’s length. And tonight, he has ruined that in one maybe, probably, stupid choice. But he’s never been one to change his mind, stubborn to a fault. So he lets one more shouldn’t fizzle out in his thoughts, and then resolves himself to this reality. A stranger sleeping downstairs who he is going to help. And not really a stranger now. Her name is Dolores. An old-fashioned name, he thinks. A weeping name, a wailing name. A name that demands it be said on a sigh. He wonders if she would like a new name, if she will need a new name. A problem for later, already getting ahead of himself. 

…

She’s sitting on the couch in the living room when he comes downstairs, her legs tucked up under her, head propped in the cup of her palm, looking out the window. Part of him half-expected her to be gone. A finely threaded figment slipped through his fingers. But she’s there, and she doesn’t notice him at first. 

“Morning.” It startles her, that close curl in on herself as she finally looks at him, and he again finds himself wishing he hadn’t said anything, had just let her be in that quiet moment.

“Hi.” 

“Get some sleep?”

“Yeah.” Said from behind her palm, he’s pretty sure it isn’t honest. Dark, drooping eyes and a heavy pull in her frame, truth without telling. 

He’s not sure if he should ask, so he doesn’t. He hides a smile when she follows him anyways, out onto the front porch and toward the coop. 

“Do they have names?” Her eyes brighten when the first of the ladies strut out of the coop, dipping and bobbing their heads with self-righteous clucks and chirps. 

“No, I can barely tell who’s who.” Her brow furrows, mouth screwing to the side as she watches the chickens, already bowing beaks to the dirt to pluck fresh crawling things for their breakfast. 

“Still, they should have names.” It seems to be an absent-minded thought that happens to come out in words, her eyes still focused on the fuss and flutter of the birds as she says it.

“Well if you come up with any, let me know.” He says it halfway over his shoulder as he ducks into the coop, swallowing down how strange this is. But we are so good at reconfiguring around strange, aren’t we? Fitting strange into our lives as if it was always meant to be there. So, he collects the eggs from the coop, listening to the faint sound of what he thinks is her quietly murmuring to the chickens, though she’s quiet again when he joins her. 

Two for her and two for him, he gets no answer when he asks her how she likes her eggs, a ghost lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, like she’s surprised when he acknowledges her presence. Fried, fizzled fat around the edges, he hopes it will do, setting two plates down at the table.

“Coffee?”

“Please.” His back turned as he pours two cups, his ears prick to the sound of the chair scraping out, and then a long sigh, a settling. She waits for him to sit down before she lets her hands stray from her lap. A careful bite of her eggs, yolk splitting and spilling gold against the edge of her fork. 

“Thank you.” 

“Not a problem.” Quiet, he keeps his eyes on his plate and his mug, only quick flickers up to see that she’s doing much the same. 

“There’s a drugstore in town, and a secondhand shop. We can head in after breakfast to get you, uh, situated.” Situated, because he’s certain she’s been wearing that same tank top and jean shorts for a few days now, rumpled around the edges. 

“Okay, I’ll pay you back for it, all of it. Soon as I get some money saved. Just– just hold onto the receipts?” Question more than command, he just nods. 

It used to be a mining town, way, way back. Then it went dormant for a while, picked back up and polished over by the commune movement in the seventies, the vestiges of flower power and free love still evident in some of the older residents. Long hair and bluejeans and leather sandals and skin. But mostly, it’s quiet folk. Ranchers and farmers, the occasional dirtbag blowing through, looking to climb something he has no business climbing, wary looks passed at the prospect of a large backpack trundling down the main, and only, drag of town. Newcomers are spectacle, something Joel learned when he moved here four years ago. But the novelty is fast to wear off, everything and everyone blending together in the thin mountain air. Jobs to do and seasons to plan for, after all.

Dolores is new though, and especially unexpected walking through town with him. Eyes lingering hot on the back of his neck, he can only imagine how she’s starting to feel, a small mercy that they’re already stepping inside the secondhand shop. It smells like cedar and damp. He only comes in here when he absolutely needs a new something after something else finally wore itself out, but he knows the owner well enough.

“Patty?” 

“In the back, give me a minute!” She doesn’t take a minute, already blustering out from the back of the shop, a crooked grin when she sees him.

“Joel Miller, been a while since you’ve been in here. Did those jeans of yours finally–” Patty stops mid-sentence, mid-stride, her eyes stuttered stuck on Dolores, who looks about ready to dissolve, hands clasped across her waist like she might cave in on herself. 

“Patty, this is a friend of mine. She’s gonna be staying with me a while and needs some clothes.” Patty looks perplexed, clearly waiting for him to explain the rest, though she doesn’t press when he stays silent, her attention settling back on Dolores.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you then. I’m Patty, but you already knew that.” Surprise when Patty holds her hand out for a shake and Dolores easily reciprocates, though he supposes the terms they’re meeting on are a little less jarring than what happened last night. 

“I’m Dolores, nice to meet you.”

“Huh, you don’t hear that name too often these days.” Patty has always been something of a force, and now is no different, Joel barely getting in a low murmur that he’ll meet Dolores outside of the store when she’s finished. Patty nods absent-mindedly when he tells her to put the cost on his tab, too busy coaxing Dolores further into the store, something about jeans and sweaters for the soon to come snap of fall the last thing he hears as he steps outside. 

…

“Is Sarah visiting soon?” Joel pauses in placing the items on the checkout counter, at first confused by Rod’s question. But then he realizes that yes, this haul looks much like what he picks up when his daughter comes to visit. Toothbrush and toothpaste, because she always manages to forget them, and feminine products that he’s been buying long enough for her that he doesn’t feel the least bit bashful about putting them in his basket. His best guess for what Dolores might need. This time, not for Sarah.

“Uh, no, no. Just have a friend staying with me for a while.” He knows that everyone in town is going to run with the word friend. In his mid-forties, he’s one of the youngest members of the community, and there’s been plenty of times when one of his well-meaning neighbors has tried to set him up with their daughter who’s just visiting, but it could be more than just visiting, you know. Yeah, right. He prefers the coyotes. 

Rod finishes ringing him up, a nod and another comment about the oncoming fall that Joel agrees with, friendly enough, always speaking in terms of seasons out here. For now though, the mid-day sun is still unforgiving, burning the tips of his ears as he sits down on the bench outside the secondhand shop. A few people pass, all greeting him by name, and he does the same. It’s easy in a town like this, not too many to remember anyways. 

Eventually, Dolores comes out with a thick stack of folded clothes in her arms, a pair of worn-looking work boots settled on top. 

“All set?” 

“Yeah, thank you.” 

“I think I did okay at the drugstore, just let me know if you need anything else.” He rests the brown paper bag on his hip, stepping into stride beside her as they walk back to his car, reminding him of that mistake he needs to set right.

“Gotta get this car back to the station and pick up my truck. We’ll stop there on the way back.” She stiffens and stops instantly, her shoulders hiking up high and hackled as she frowns at him, making no move to get into the car now.

“That’s not– not like that. You can wait in the truck, I just have to go in for a minute, okay?” Cagey, a broken bird getting ready to attempt lift-off. He feels himself holding his breath for her response. It doesn’t come in words, another nod as she ducks into the passenger seat, her bundle of clothes settling in her lap, palms smoothing over fabric again and again and again. 

The thought occurs to him again as they drive toward the station. What the fuck is he doing? This jagged woman, all skittish and sharp around her worn-away edges. Though not much time to consider it as they pull into the lot, a new problem presenting itself.

“You go wait in the truck, alright? Don’t worry about this.” She scoffs, a broken piece of a laugh in the back of her throat as her eyes stay trained on the tow in the station’s lot, her husband’s car still hooked to its cable. He doesn’t give her time to question it, just nestles his truck’s keys on top of her pile of clothes and reaches across her to open her door, mindful to keep plenty of space between his arm and her. Wordlessly, she acquiesces, shuffling over to the truck Joel had jerked his head toward. 

“Morning, Miller.”

“Morning, what’s going on out there?” John sighs behind a swig of coffee, leaning against the front desk in the office of the station. Big man, amicable man, lived in this town his whole life, wife and two kids still in elementary school that they have to ride the bus a half hour to get to. He was who offered Joel this job about a year after he moved to town, something about not minding an extra pair of hands and eyes on the team.

“Someone reported an abandoned car on the side of the interstate early this morning. Just ran the plates, turns out it was called in stolen in Lincoln, Nebraska two days ago.” A longer than eight hour drive, he thinks, though he keeps his face unmoving, just a hum of acknowledgement to what John tells him. 

“Well that’s something else.”

“That isn’t all. Apparently, the guy is pretty sure it was his wife who stole it, because she went missing the same day. If you ask me, a woman’s gotta have a real good reason to just pick up and run away like that.” That sick feeling starts to slurry in his stomach again, though he tamps it down with a hard clear of his throat. 

“It’s quite the story, John. But where’s the wife then?”

“That’s the thing. The car was abandoned, not a sign of anyone around. All we found inside was a ratty-looking book in the passenger’s seat.” 

“Huh.” He glances back out into the lot over his shoulder, rubbing at the back of his neck like he’s still thinking through what John just told him. What he’s really doing is checking on Dolores, still in the passenger’s seat of his truck, worrying at her thumbnail between her teeth. 

“Anyways, if you see a lost-looking woman wandering around, bring her in. Though I reckon she’s long gone by now, God bless her.” Joel nods, talking numbly through all the requisite things he must, shifts and schedules, relief in his ringing ears when he steps back outside into the hard bake of the sun. He takes one more look at the tow from over the hood of his car, a shake of his head, a sigh, a conclusion, and then the slam of his car door.

…

“Can I help?” He nearly drops the pail of water he was carrying she startles him so bad. All cleaned up, in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, already fitting into the landscape, squinting at him through the late-afternoon glare. 

“If you want, you can grab that other pail and come help me top up their water.” A little unsteady with the slosh of it, she still manages just fine, following him out into the pasture, the flock already nosing closer to their water troughs. 

“Are they all girls?” Something like wonder laces through her question, taking a tentative step closer to one of the sheep, too domestic for Joel’s taste, though Dolores just laughs when the animal noses at her open palm.

“There’s two rams, they’re always a little late to the party, but you can just see them over that hill. The one on the left is Casper, and the one on the right is Lloyd.” 

“So you can tell your sheep apart, but not your chickens?” That’s new, a crackle to her words that makes him laugh as he finishes filling the water trough. But she’s still focused on the lady who is now demanding her full attention, snuffling at the hem of her shirt as she scratches between her ears. 

“Does this girl have a name?” 

“That’s Avril. My, uh, my daughter named her when I first got her.” She smiles, a little laugh when the sheep starts to jaw at the fabric of her shirt.

“Like that pop singer?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. She was a big fan as a teen.”

“My little sister was too.” Her face falls the instant the words leave her mouth, the bitter flavor of the past turning her quiet all over again. Another piece that he tucks away somewhere in his mind, still quick to change the subject, to keep her in the present.

“Forgot to mention, I talked with Sal in town– he owns that diner. Said he was looking for a new waitress to work day shifts. I know it ain’t much but–”

“No, that’s– anything is good, perfect.” The sheep is starting to pull at the bottom of her shirt, Dolores too polite to do anything more than pat her lightly on the head, a small sound of protest when the fabric starts to get rucked up her stomach by the animal’s continued mouthing. 

“You know better than that, c’mon now, get.” He gives the sheep a gentle shove, earning himself a dejected bleat, though she finally gives up Dolores’ shirt, joining the rest of the flock in their huddle around the trough. For her part, Dolores doesn’t take two steps back to his two steps closer. For his part, Joel tries not to pay too much attention to this fact.

“So, should I go talk to Sal tomorrow?” He has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth the crumpled hem of her shirt, settling for stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Yeah, I’ll take you over there tomorrow morning, if that’s alright with you?” 

“Mmhmm, uh, yeah, thank you.” She seems to be holding words back beneath the pinch of her brow and the tight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Joel waits, watching her rub her palms down the front of her jeans, like a little quick heat will coax more voice out. Finally, she lets out a breath that clips itself like a laugh, shaking her head.

“Sorry, I guess I’m waiting.”

“Waiting?” 

“Yeah, you know, like, for the catch?” She says it squinting, her arms crossed over her chest, bottom lip pulled between her teeth when she finishes.

“I– that’s not– there’s no catch. You seem like you need some help, and, well, I can.” Help, still a word she’s not familiar with, something falling in her face when he says it. 

This woman who is a stranger to help. This woman who is still a stranger to him, if he’s being honest. What he knows, she has a little sister. What he knows, the bruises painted dark and dull along her arms make him sick with the want to do something for her. What he knows, the small slip of delight that slackens her frown as she watches the sheep nudge and nuzzle against each other makes him giddy with the want to do something for her. 

Stranger or not, help, because he can. Care, because he can.

...........................

taglist (lmk if you want added or dropped) : @casssiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @darkroastjoel @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @beskarandblasters @trulybetty @softlyspector

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fics #joel miller au #joel miller series #joel miller story

[ghost-buddies]

ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴇx!ʙꜰ ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ….

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡ. In which your ex, Gojo Satoru, shows up at your favorite restaurant's front door.

ɢʜᴏsᴛ ɪɴɢʀᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴛs. The tiniest bit of angst (sorry, sorry) :: fluff :: comfort :: self indulgent :: sfw :: cursing

ʟᴏsᴛ sᴘɪʀɪᴛs. Gojo Satoru :: Ieiri Shoko :: mentions of Masamichi Yaga :: a lil Mei Mei moment

ɢʜᴏsᴛ ɴᴏᴛᴇs. Thanks for all the support lovies! Here's the long awaited part 2 to this madness. I feel like after the whole bombshell that is chapter 261 we need some comfort. thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged, and commented for a second part, hope you guys like this! Tagslist is always open too, comment to join!

ᴛᴀɢsʟɪsᴛ. @azure-xvi, @hojoslutoru

Shoko sighs, her energy drained. Not only did she drag the one and only Gojo Satoru halfway across Tokyo, but she had to stop his drunkenness, make sure he wouldn't wake up with hangover, and call Yaga to let him know that no, Gojo wouldn't be able to exorcise any curses later today. All at three in the morning.

She looks in her hospital mirror. Eyes groggy as ever. Purple eyebags even more pronounced. Looking at the time - 2:54 pm - she whips out a fresh cigarette and begins her descent to the hostpital courtyard.

Time for a smoke break, she thought. Hopefully Gojo would leave her alone today---

Her phone buzzes, ringtone seemingly louder than necessary. Rolling her eyes, she looks at the caller. Speak of the devil.

"Shoko shoko shoko help--" Gojo's garbled voice whines. "I have my date with y/n in a few minutes."

Shoko's silent for a little bit, then laughs. "Then why aren't you getting ready, loverboy? Haven't you just gotten her back--"

"Shooooooooo!! First - don't call me that - but that's not the point, I don't know what to wear! Do I go formal? Informal?" He groans right into the speaker. "Why is it so hard being filthy rich??"

"You know her. Just wear something she'd like." Shoko's finger nears the end call button. She's going to treasure this smoke break, she just needs to end the damn call--

"Shoko don't you dare--"

BEEP. Call ended. Shoko can practically hear the dramatic cry Gojo lets out from the dorms. She smiles wryly.

Meanwhile, you're waiting at your favorite restaurant for your ex - was he even your ex now? - to arrive. But there doesn't seem to be any sign of him near. He wouldn't stand you up, right? Right?

It was a mistake calling to Mei Mei.

"Is Gojo there yet?" her voice drawls. "Pfft. This is cruel. Gojo really does fumble easily." a pause. "Hmm, how sad."

You sigh into your palms. "Mei Mei, you're not helping. He's usually late anyways. I shouldn't have arrived so early."

"A bet could make this interesting."

"I'm listening." Mei Mei and you had been making bets for as long as your friendship. It seems that you're the only person anyone knows who could actually win one against her.

"If he does stand you up, you need to give me... ten thousand yen. If not, I'll give you the money."

"Someone has to have a little faith in him. Fuck it, I'll take that bet."

But even after your phone call ends - fifteen minutes later - there's still no Satoru in sight. You begin getting antsy. The customers around you begin looking at you, pitying. The waitress even gives you a free appetizer, frowning at the empty seat across from you.

The bell at the front door chimes. You don't even bother looking up, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. A shadow falls over you, and you frown, moving your gaze skyward. White hair mussed, Gojo Satoru above you heaving, slightly out of breath. You break into a relieved smile. He offers you a nervous smile. "H-hey. Sorry for being I'm late."

You see the waitress grinning at you.

--

You're laughing. Head thrown back, giggles interrupting every word you attempt to utter. Satoru's leaning back in his chair, grinning like a fool.

"And I was practically begging for her help! My closet was a mess! And she hung up on me---" Satoru takes a sip of his extra-sugary drink--- "and somehow expected me to not go crazy! I know! Terrible! I told her. 'Shoko, don't you dare!' but she still hung up!"

You almost fall over your chair, clutching your stomach and falling into another peal of laughter. He chuckles too. It's a good thing that he has his blindfold on. If he didn't, everyone in the damn country would see the blatant heart-eyes he held for you.

When your laughter finally subsides, plates cleared and tummies full, you both lean over the small table.

Like moths to a flame, you think. Or magnets. Why did you break up again?

"I missed this," both of you utter at the same time. One still slightly nervous, not wanting to mess things up. The other, a little out of breath, flustered.

He leans over and kisses you, and you melt against him.

--

Your newly re-official boyfriend Satoru drops you off at your home and heads back to his dorm at Jujutsu High. His smile never leaves his face.

--

"Dammit! I knew he was too down bad for you to actually stand you up!" Mei Mei's anguished voice crackles through the phone. You giggle.

#ʕ•͡-•ʔ rui.tells.a.tale #gojo satoru #jjk angst #jjk fic #jjk x you #jujutsu satoru #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #mei mei #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu sorcerer #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #jujutsu kaisen shoko #satoru #gojo #satoru gojo #yaga masamichi #comfort #fluff #jjk fluff #part two #wish this was me #this was fun to right #sorry for the late upload! #jesus chapter 261 took me OUT

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Bedeviled | Chapter 13: trustfall

Pairing: demon!jungkook x female reader

Genre: romance, drama, angst, horror

WC: 9.9k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, anxiety, blood, injuries, frightening depictions of Hell and those in it, frightening/disturbing scenes, graphic gore, read at your own risk

Previous, ML

Arms held out in front of you, you walked slowly, cautiously. 

It was a lot darker than you anticipated. 

Your wings were tucked up safely and covered by your cardigan, although they were already beginning to feel a bit sore and achy from being cooped up for the miniscule amount of time it had already been. 

There were small areas of forest where the blood red sky shone through the leaves and illuminated the burnt bark of trees that you passed by. You’d quickly begun to get confused with how long it had been. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since you went into the forest. 

Just as you were about to stop to try and gather your thoughts, you saw a tall dark figure walking just ahead. 

It was coming right towards you.

Quickly, you ducked behind a thick trunk, careful not to touch the heated bark. 

In your panicked haste, you tripped; cringing at the sound of a twig snapping under your right foot. 

A dead silence fell.

After a moment, you flinched at the sound of a deep voice, laced with amused irritation. 

“I can hear you breathing.”

Shoot. 

You gulped, bringing a hand up to your mouth. 

Shifting a little, you nearly groaned aloud when you stepped on another twig and broke that one too. 

The snap echoed around in the otherwise quiet forest. 

Another moment passed before you realized there was nothing else to do but reveal yourself. 

Slowly, with your mind spinning a quick story, you stepped out from behind the trunk. 

Only ten feet ahead, the figure stood there, dark and silent. 

You gulped, eyes wide as you tried to see in the darkness.

“Sorry, I uh- I didn’t mean to startle you.”

It’s silent for another few breathless seconds, then the figure speaks again. 

It was a demon, right? It had to be. 

You hoped they’d let you talk before having their fun with you.

“Who said you startled me?”

Your brows furrowed at the voice. 

It sounded familiar. 

But it couldn’t be. 

Impossible. 

You finally shrugged slowly, “I guess I just assumed I did.”

The silhouette came closer, their footsteps practically undetectable as they moved silently.

“And what, pray tell, is a human doing this close to the entrance of the Underworld?”

A sliver of red light shining through the leaves fell on the newcomer as he stepped even closer to you. 

As the ghostly light finally illuminated the demon’s face, your heart stopped in your chest and you froze. It felt like the entire world had frozen right along with you as you could do nothing but stare, wide-eyed, at the sight in front of you. 

His black hair was shorter than it used to be, only just reaching his chin in soft waves.

It was as if the passing of time hadn’t occurred.

As if only five days came and went since you saw him last, not five hundred years.

Dark brown eyes that were once full of love stared at you with an emptiness so prominent there was a visceral horror in your gut that almost broke you right then and there. 

The love of your life was standing right in front of you, after half a millennium. 

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t speak. 

He truly looked no different besides a dark hardness surrounding him that made him look almost unrecognizable, no matter how similar he appeared to the last you spoke with him. 

Your stomach turned. 

“What’s the matter, doll? Devil got your tongue?”

It felt like a large stone was shoved down your throat, choking you to death and rendering you incapable of speech. 

He chuckled. 

The sound made your heart lurch as your eyes fell on the tattoos covering his skin. 

When they landed on the rose, you ground your teeth harshly together. 

Focus, ____. 

Don’t mess it up, not now. 

“What’s your name, little human?”

You promised, ____. 

Do… not… mess… it… up… now... 

Even if it took every last bit of strength out of you, you would resist.

You snapped out of it and took a step back. 

No matter what happened from then on, you were not going to give up on him. 

You would not fail him.

________________________________

You drag your eyes away from the apple tattooed above his heart, all the way up to his face. 

He’s staring at you in bewilderment, his dark eyes squinted as he watches you closely, as if anticipating you blowing up again. 

Swallowing thickly, you drop your gaze to the boots still clutched in your shaking hands. 

You haven’t once been able to look at him for long.

There’s no knowing the amount of time you’ve been in Hell, it could be weeks or even months. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You will never be able to look him in the eyes without your heart breaking. 

The first moment you saw him, at the gate, you knew it would never stop hurting. 

The way he still looks at you without an ounce of recognition makes you sick. 

You had lost it there for a moment and done something foolish, thinking maybe if he touched something that used to be his, he would remember the life he once had. 

He would remember Aera. 

He would remember you. 

Give me strength. 

You set the tiny boots back into the chest, something else catching your eye as you do so.

JK watches silently as you stand up, still not looking at him. 

“Please,” You whisper, “Can we not be here anymore?”

“What just happened?” He asks coldly. 

“I’d like to leave.”

“Not until you tell me why you just went fucking psycho and tore this place to shreds.”

You close your eyes and take a shuddering breath, “I don’t want to be here-”

“Too bad,” he snaps, “Answer me.”

“I-” You gulp, hands beginning to shake again as you stand there and stare at a broken beer bottle on the ground, “Please-”

JK stalks across the room, his height well above yours as you try your best not to look at him when he whispers angrily, “What are you so fucking afraid of?” 

Your chest rises and falls with quick breaths.

It’s too stuffy here. 

“JK, please-”

“Say it.”

“I ca-” Tears build in your eyes, a hand moving to your chest, “I can’t breathe i- in here, please-”

He sighs sharply, irritated. 

His eyes take in your current state; still slightly sweaty, hair a mess, small welts running along your arms and legs, and more bruises and cuts than one could count. Your exhausted face is filled with anxiety and something else he can’t place. 

The demon sighs again, but this time it isn’t as aggressive. 

“Let’s go.”

You look at him, relief clear in your eyes. 

He forces himself to look away after a second. 

“Thank you-”

“Come on,” he snaps, turning and walking towards the door. 

The second you step out behind him, you once again see the blood red sky and perpetual smoke filling the air. 

You’ve always had the strength.

Now, you just need to believe it.

Taking a deep breath, you follow him out, shutting the door of your past life behind you. 

Only for a second, you look back to see it one last time.

But it’s gone. 

There’s nothing but mounds of dirt and weeds. 

Closing your eyes, you will the tears not to come. 

You are so close, you can feel it. 

Now is not the time to ruin everything, as much as you want to fall to the ground and sob. 

Ever since you first came face to face with him, it has been a nonstop battle not to crumple and beg on your knees for him to please know you, to cry your heart out and plead for him to remember. 

“So? What happened?”

You turn away from the piles of dirt and look at him. 

“Is this what you want?”

He looks at you in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

You clear your throat, “In exchange for you explaining the tattoos. You said you would think about what you want from me.”

JK scoffs, “Really? You think I’d fall for something so easy?”

“Your choice,” You walk around him. 

“You know I could-”

“Torture it out of me?” You turn and look at him again. 

Then you walk forward and grab his hand, noting how he doesn’t pull away.

You put his larger hand on your chest, close to your throat, “Do it.”

“What?” His voice is barely above a whisper. 

“You want to know all my secrets?” You speak softly, eyes locked on his, “Then hurt me. Tear it out of me, however you want to do it.”

He doesn’t say anything. 

Doesn’t move his hand either, even when you’ve taken yours away from his wrist. 

“Afraid I can use His name against you?” You mumble, “Don’t be. I won’t say a word. Not until you rip what you want to know out of me.”

“What are you doing-”

“I’m giving you permission.”

His eyes widen slightly, but you don’t look away. 

“I’m giving you permission to hurt me JK, to torture me in any way that you want, until you’re satisfied.”

Even though your eyes stay locked on his, you can feel the slight tremble of his fingers on your skin. 

His eyes fall to where his hand rests on your chest. 

JK takes a deep breath.

Everything inside is telling him to do it, to choke you, to force you to speak by whatever means, to hurt you in any way he can. 

He’s capable. 

He always has been. 

“Do it.”

Your soft voice makes him gulp as he stares at his hand. 

Do it. 

Hurt her. 

It would be so easy.

So easy to break her.

You watch closely as he gulps. 

After a minute, a sharp intake of breath leaves him and he pulls his hand away. 

“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” He chokes out, “Stop wasting what little I do have.”

When he turns and starts walking away, you let out the breath you were holding, hand cupping your throat gently before you watch his back as he walks off. 

A small smile tugs at your lips, a tear sliding down your cheek. 

You quickly wipe your eyes, then hurry after him. 

-

You’re not really sure where you are. 

It’s clear you are no longer in the seventh circle, but you don’t think this is the eighth circle either. 

All you can see is the blood red sky, black smoke thick in the air, and nothing but a wide expanse of dirt that you walk along.

He stays silent as you walk, which is expected. 

Every time you seem to rattle him he broods for a while before inevitably calming down again. 

For the first time, it doesn’t bother you too much. 

He didn’t hurt you. 

That’s the one thing in your mind that you hold onto as you limp along slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite the pain in every part of your body, inside and out. 

He didn’t hurt me.

You look up and see that you’ve almost caught up to him.

He had been a lot further ahead than you for a while, how did you suddenly catch up after not changing your pace at all?

That’s when you realize that he must have been the one to change his pace. 

For whatever reason, he slowed down enough for you to get closer. 

He still faces forward, not acknowledging your presence whatsoever even as you come up beside him, still very much limping. 

You two walk in silence for a while.

“You’re taking forever.”

You smile to yourself at his sudden grumpy comment. 

It’s about time.

“What else is new?” You joke softly, looking at him. 

There’s a tiny smirk on his face as he drops his head, then looks at you, still walking.

Amusement is clear in his dark eyes as he observes you. 

When your smile grows a little, you see the amusement drain from his gaze before he turns to face forward again. 

“So,” You look down at your feet, noticing how different they are compared to his. 

His feet are clad in sleek black boots, not a single falter in his steps. Yours are bare apart from tattered cloth stained with blood and dirt and sweat, the rough ground unforgiving on the unsteady appendages. 

Oh, well. 

“So?” He presses in annoyance after you never finish your sentence. 

“I’m not sure if I ought to say…”

“Let me help you decide,” He says snarkily, voice pitched higher, “You ought to finish saying what it was you were going to say before I lose my patience with you.”

You roll your eyes. 

“I was just going to ask where we are. It’s not like you’re going to answer me anyway though,” You grumble, “You never answer anything I ask with simple explanations.”

JK barks out a laugh at that but doesn’t respond to what you wanted to know.

After a moment, you sigh. 

“See? I told you so.”

“Someone’s impatient.”

“Says you,” You scoff, “The one that threatens to torture me any time I don’t do what he wants.”

He raises a single brow as he turns in your direction, but you’re too busy looking at the barren wasteland ahead to see him. 

JK sighs quietly and looks forward, once again falling into silence.

“Ok, but like actually-”

The sound of his laughter at your sudden words after it being quiet for so long makes you smile. 

“-where are we?” You finish. 

“You don’t like silence do you?” He asks, looking down at you. 

You swallow, dragging your gaze from his; not noticing how he doesn’t look away. 

“I guess not,” You say softly. 

“Why not?” He asks, seeming genuinely curious. 

“You know,” Your eyes linger on a burnt twig as you approach it, then continue on past, “You’re really good at asking questions. Terrible at answering them.”

“I don’t see that as an insult.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” You laugh. 

He shrugs, “Maybe I’m not terrible at answering, maybe you just suck at coming up with good questions.”

“You think my questions are too boring to answer?” You ask in disbelief. 

“I think you’re just asking the wrong ones.”

“And by that you mean…?”

“I rest my case.”

You shake your head, “Not answering questions just means you have a lot more to hide than you want me to believe.”

“And what about you, little mortal?”

“What about me?”

The demon stops, making you halt as well, wincing a little at the pain in your right ankle that’s been flaring up for a while now. 

He steps closer, but you don’t move away. 

“How much are you hiding from me?”

You stare back at him steadily before whispering, your voice even despite the hushed tone. 

“Absolutely everything.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, but it’s subtle and passes too quickly to catch.

He takes another step towards you, and another, until he’s only two hands length away from your face. 

If you reached out, you could touch him. 

You wonder briefly if his cheeks would feel the same as they once did, only colder now. 

“You’re truly a piece of work,” He whispers back, but there’s no undertone of malice in his voice as there has been most of your time here, “Do you realize that?”

“Never doubted I was,” You respond, “Didn’t think I could so easily get under the skin of a demon though, I won’t lie.”

He chuckles lowly, shaking his head at your words. 

“Do you ever tire of being so incredibly annoying all the time?”

“I’m not sure,” You smirk, “Do you ever tire of fighting back?”

His dark eyes flicker between yours. 

“No.”

“So, JK,” Your voice has dropped to a low whisper, “How much are you hiding from me?”

You keep your eyes on him as he moves closer. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to whisper in your ear, but he doesn’t, he just keeps coming towards your mouth, head tilted slightly. 

That’s when you think he’s going to kiss you. 

Your stomach flips over when he stops, his lips a mere inch from yours as he whispers, his icy breath going past your parted lips and into your mouth as your eyes flutter closed.

“Absolutely everything.”

The demon pulls away just as you open your eyes again, an evil smirk planted on his stupidly beautiful mouth. 

You gulp, which makes him chuckle darkly. 

“If you’re gonna play the game, doll,” His pretty eyes look large and innocent, yet clearly mocking. A cold slender finger runs along your jaw before flicking off your chin, “At least try to win.”

You bite your lip, which draws his gaze there momentarily before it flickers away quickly. 

He turns and walks a few paces away, “How do you feel about taking a break?”

You stand frozen for another moment before gulping and nodding stupidly, “Good, gre- great. I mean, sure… fine.”

“Careful doll, your weakness for pretty things is showing.”

Of course he knows how pretty he is. 

Gosh darn it. 

It seems like just when you think you have the upper hand, he flips the board just to show you that he’s been in the lead the entire time and will continue to be no matter what you do. 

You sigh and walk over to sit on the spot of dirt that has the least amount of twigs. 

Not that it’s much comfier than any other spots. 

JK glances at you briefly, watching as you put your chin in your hands and sigh softly. 

He turns away and sits on the ground across from you, less than ten feet away. 

You stare at the thick black clouds of smoke in the sky, wondering if you stared hard enough if there would be a glimpse of the sun. 

Or a star. 

Or anything. 

You already know you won’t, you can’t help but pretend though. 

The loud crackling sound and sudden warmth makes you jump before staring wide-eyed at the bright fire that appeared in front of you. 

Letting out a slow breath, you touch a hand to your chest to calm your racing heart. 

Across the fire, you see him. 

He’s sitting cross-legged, staring at the fire, not a single thought behind his eyes. 

Is he even aware of making the fire just now?

After another few moments of silence, you see his pretty eyes drift up to look at you from across the red flames. 

Neither of you says a word for almost a full minute. 

“Why?” You finally whisper, voice cracking a little after not using it. 

He tilts his head in question, wanting to know what you’re asking.

“Why would either of us want a fire in the middle of Hell?” Your voice is still soft, but there’s a teasing lilt to it, “This is the hottest place to ever exist. Yet, you make them all the time…why?”

His eyes fall to his clasped hands and you see a faint smile appear before he bites his bottom lip, then shrugs and mumbles, “Just bored I guess-”

“Liar.”

His eyes raise to yours again.

It’s quiet save the crackling flames trying to lick their way into the sky. 

You can’t blame them. 

How unfair it would be to be one of nature’s most powerful forces, yet be stuck on the ground, confined in one place while your brethren, the brilliant stars, get to shine in the sky for the whole world to see. 

What a terrible luck to be drawn. 

You’d want to join the stars too. 

“I don’t know.”

You’re jolted back to the present at the sound of his uncharacteristically soft voice. 

He’s no longer looking at you, but at the fire again. 

“I don’t know why I do it, okay? I just-...I don’t know. Is that a good enough answer for you?” He asks bitterly, picking at one of his fingernails and gnawing his lip. 

“Yes.”

He looks up at you in surprise, but now you’re the one entranced by the dancing flames.

“Are you being facetious?” He asks suspiciously. 

The demon watches in confusion as a small smile plays on your lips and you shake your head, “No, I’m not.”

“Oh.”

When you lift your eyes again, they meet his. 

“It’s okay not to know the answer to something,” You say gently, “It’s okay not having a reason. I was just curious. ‘I don’t know’ is as good an answer as any.”

He says nothing, just darts his eyes away, seeming more unsure than you’ve seen him since coming to Hell. There’s not a single flicker of smug entitlement in his pretty eyes. 

When you stand up, his gaze follows your movement without looking directly at you. 

You wince a little at the ache in your ankle that won’t go away when you put weight on it. You’re not sure when you hurt it, but it feels like it was twisted terribly. 

He doesn’t say a word when you sit next to him. 

“I like fires too.”

The demon finally looks at you. 

“Why?”

You keep your eyes forward, not letting yourself look at him just yet. 

You’re not sure you can handle it. 

“They’ve always been a source of comfort for me. And believe me, I can use all the comfort I‘m able to get in this place.”

He chuckles dryly at that.

A beat of silence passes before you hear him speak up. 

“Why don’t you like it when it’s quiet?” 

You can feel his gaze but don’t turn to look at him. 

“You’re always trying to fill the silence, even if it means just mumbling songs to yourself,” He continues, voice still too soft to sound much like him, “I don’t get it.”

Bringing your hand up to your mouth, you nibble on the tip of your right thumb. 

“Silence reminds me of something I don’t like remembering.”

It only takes a moment for him to respond, “What’s that?”

You give him a side glance, then go back to chewing on your thumbnail nervously. 

“Being alone.”

JK’s mind flits back to when you were in the shed, before you woke up. 

You were talking in your sleep, begging someone not to leave you. 

He gulps. 

“I prefer being alone,” He finally whispers, grabbing a stick from the ground and leaning forward to toss it into the fire. The flames spark a little before calming once more. 

“We don’t-…” 

He turns his head to look at you when you speak. 

“We don’t have to be enemies,” You whisper gently, “We both want something and we need each other to get it.”

JK examines the almost forced numb expression on your face, the light of the fire shining an orange glow across your soft skin.

He blinks slowly, unaware of the gentle pull he feels as he looks at you. 

“I don’t need you,” He says, but his eyes do not move from your face, “I don’t need anyone.”

The demon watches as your eyes become wet with tears, a sad smile on your lips; you’re still not facing him.

“You might not need me,” You finally turn your head to look at him, eyes still full of unshed tears, even so, he can’t stop looking into them, “But I definitely need you.”

The breath gets caught in his chest at your words. 

Don’t overthink it, you idiot. 

Of course she needs you, how else would she get that Flame to help her stupid best friend?

He swallows thickly and looks away, “Whatever, mortal.”

You shift to get more comfortable, pulling your right leg out in front of you. 

A beat of silence passes.

“You’re hurt.”

“Ah, you’ve finally noticed,” You joke, spreading out your arms to display all the injuries thus far, but he doesn’t seem amused. 

“Your ankle.”

“Oh,” You look at it to see it looks a bit swollen. 

“I must have sprained it at some point-... twisted it in the seventh circle or something, it’s not serious-”

“Give me your leg.”

“Listen man,” You hold your hands up, palms splayed out, “You’ve already got two, don’t go and start telling me you need a third, cause I’m generous but not that generous-”

“You’re an idiot,” He snaps, moving forward to snatch your leg and move it into his lap, startling you into speechlessness.

His eyes seem to darken more than usual as he looks at your sore ankle. 

You’re too busy fighting the heat creeping into your cheeks at the cold touch of his fingers that run up and down the slightly swollen skin. 

The last time he did that, it didn’t last long before he was leaning over you, mouth pressed to yours as his hands gently took off your clothes, one piece at a time. 

Your eyes widen and you move to pull your foot back, but he snaps something at you again, you can’t hear what it is though.

Something about not being a fool and sitting still before he knocks you out cold.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath-

“Ah!” You flinch, instinctively reaching down to push him away. 

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” He mumbles, continuing to press around your ankle, waiting for each reaction of pain before nodding with satisfaction and reaching over to tear a chunk off of his silky black shirt. 

“You’re-” You grind your teeth as he ungracefully wraps your ankle and foot with the piece of torn cloth, tightly, “You’re a jerk.”

The demon scoffs, “Am I not helping you right now?”

You roll your eyes, wincing once more as he ties the makeshift bandage roughly, “Don’t pretend like it isn’t satisfying for you to watch me in pain.”

He glances up, a smirk on his lips, “I never denied that.”

“Ah,” You grunt when he shoves your foot from his lap, “Why’d you do that anyway?”

“Maybe I wanted to hear you scream.”

“Nice try,” You sneer at him, “Why are you bothering to help me?”

“Like you said,” He shrugs, “You have something I want and I can’t get it if you give up. Maybe we don’t need to be enemies right now.”

You say nothing else, just pull your foot close to you, gently touching the silky fabric. 

It feels better already, and will definitely help when you start walking again.

JK makes a sound of disapproval and leans forward, smacking your hand away from your bandaged foot and messing with the knot he had tied. 

Apparently it wasn’t good enough. 

“Don’t be touching it and fucking it up,” He mutters as he tightens it a little more, then proceeds to tuck the small knot into the folds of fabric that are wrapped snugly. 

You swallow thickly as you watch him work quietly, tears building in your eyes when a memory flashes through your mind.

“You’re so clumsy, Apple.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the blush on your cheeks, “It was your idea to race from the waterfall.”

Jungkook laughed, making you look away. 

The red in your cheeks was only because you were hot. 

It was hot out. 

Being only nine years old, you didn’t think of having a crush on your best friend, there were times though, that you felt a little more embarrassed at the way your cheeks reddened when he was being particularly sweet. 

Like after you tripped and fell while racing from the waterfall to the shed and he immediately got on the ground to help you. 

Your ankle was definitely sprained, but as he wrapped it tightly with one of his mother’s large handkerchiefs that he always kept in his pocket, it had already begun to feel better. 

“How do you know it’s the right way?” You asked curiously as you watched him work. 

There was no hint of mocking in your tone, you were genuinely wondering how he knew what to do to make it better. 

“Mother taught me,” Jungkook said, glancing up at you to smile before looking back down at his task, “She said you don’t want it to be too tight, that will cut off your circulation. You don’t want it too loose either though, or it won’t support the injury.”

You smiled, “You sound smart when you talk like that.”

The eleven year old boy rolled his eyes dramatically, “I’m already smart.”

That made you giggle. 

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

He finished tying the messy knot, tucked it into the fabric folds, then looked at you with a sweet smile. 

“What’re best friends for?”

You blink slowly, mentally begging yourself to look away from him. 

It hurts too much. 

The demon bent over in front of you glances up, catching your eye before you turn your head away. He says nothing, just backs away into his previous spot and goes back to messing with his nails.

The fire crackles and snaps. 

Somewhere in the distance, there’s the sound of faint howling. 

The night songs of Hell are nothing like that of Earth’s. 

They’re most especially nothing like where you’ve come from. 

Nothing compares to being up there. 

But when you close your eyes and focus, you can pretend.

“I’m not sure I’ll make it out of here.”

JK glances at you. 

Your eyes are closed, knees tucked up to your chin and arms wrapped around them. 

“I haven’t seen the stars for a long time. I miss them.”

He isn’t sure why you’re telling him this. 

“At times I think maybe I can handle it, but sometimes it’s very hard.”

He stays quiet, listening intently as you list out whatever seems to be on your mind. Mostly silly random little things like worrying you might have ruined your dress, or that your hair will never again be untangled. 

You finally open your eyes, not seeing the way he still looks at you. 

Taking a deep breath, you blow gently on the fire, making the flames dance. 

“Ok, you can take them now,” You whisper. 

JK watches in confusion as you smile at the flames, your eyes traveling up and watching as the smoke carries something off into the sky. 

He doesn’t ask you to clarify what you’ve just done and you don’t offer the answer freely, so the silence begins yet again. 

“What is something that bothers you?” You finally ask, turning to him. 

He raises a brow, then shrugs. 

“I don’t know, why are you asking?”

“You do know, and just answer the question.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, then huffs out a big breath, “Well… Sav is one annoying fuck, that’s for sure.”

You smile, “What else?”

“The predictability of the human race.”

You laugh lightly, “Fair enough.”

He sighs, tilting his head this way and that to stretch his neck, “I despise being caught off guard.”

The demon chuckles humorlessly but doesn’t look at you as he leans back on his hands, “I really fucking hate change, but I also hate when every day is the same.”

You don’t say anything, just watch as he seems to become unaware of your presence or how much he’s letting out as he stares at the fire. 

“I hate being made to feel as if I’m a puppet. Like I don’t make my own decisions. Like I can’t.”

A few moments pass in silence, then you see that he’s begun to realize how vulnerable he was for a minute there. 

“Toss them into the fire.”

“Hm?” He looks at you, black brows furrowed. 

“Everything you said, all the thoughts still in your mind that you won’t let out. Toss it all into the flames.”

“Why-”

“Just trust me.”

He sighs dramatically but does as you say, looking at the fire and squinting. 

“Ok, I did it.”

You scooch closer, something he’s far too aware of when he can feel your warmth even more than the fire’s as you just sit there beside him.

“Now, look.”

He follows your finger as you point to the smoke leaving the tips of the orangey red flames, dancing up into the bloody sky, higher and higher until he can’t see it any longer. 

“Now they’re all gone,” You whisper, face not far from his own when he looks back at you, “You can breathe.”

Against his own will he takes in a shuddering breath, letting it out slowly as you stare into his eyes. 

“I still don’t know what to call you,” He whispers, everything else fading away from his view when you smile. 

“How about Apple?” 

“Apple?” He looks confused, but also very much distracted by still staring at you, “That’s strange,” he mumbles, lost in thought.

Your heart breaks just a little when you hear him utter the name.

His gaze flits between your eyes and lips, unsure where they’re dying to drown in more. 

“You might not need me, but I definitely need you.”

Another shaky breath leaves his lips as he leans in, ready to risk it all just to get one taste of your undoubtedly sweet sweet mouth. 

You want to kiss him too, he can feel it. 

Humans reek of their desires, it’s impossible to miss. 

Your own scent is thick with a heavy sweetness, like a perfume wafting from you each time you look at him.

You’re ruining him.

Maybe Apple fits you after all. 

You gulp when he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Not a single word of disagreement comes from you when he reaches over and pushes your shoulder gently until you’re lying on the dirt, hair splayed out around your head as he crawls over your quivering body. 

It feels almost like you’re shaking from the cold. 

But it’s so hot. 

A stuttered breath coming from you passes over his cheeks as his gaze drags over your face again and again, as if it’s the first and last time he will ever see it. 

“I don’t understand you,” He whispers hoarsely, rough fingers tracing over your cheek and pushing a strand of hair from your face. 

The way your eyes flit between his makes the demon’s chest feel strange. 

Like it’s too tight, too hard to breathe, but also like the way you’re looking at him is the source of his breath. The only way he can continue to breathe at all. 

The fallen angel that fears nothing, is slightly terrified. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, “I don’t understand me half the time either.”

He shakes his head, too confused and scared to snap back with a joke of his own. 

“You are so annoying,” he groans, but despite his clear irritation, his fingers cup your cheek gently, “Please just shut up and fucking kiss me already.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and the look on his face as he leans even closer until his nose touches yours. 

Only seconds later, you can feel the touch of his lips ghosting over yours. 

He’s shaking. 

He hasn’t fully brought his mouth against yours yet. 

Not yet, ____.

Fight it. 

A gasp escapes you as you put a hand to his chest, panting. 

“Stop.”

He freezes, body trembling even more after making himself stop. 

“What?” He chokes out, desperate to close the distance. 

“N-”

You close your eyes.

Not like this, you want to say. 

But you can’t say anything; it’s taking too much strength just to hold him back when you want so badly to do nothing but press your lips to his. You open your eyes at the sound of his soft and confused voice. 

“Why?” The way his eyes look between yours with something close to hurt makes your stomach twist violently. 

“Oh,” he finally whispers, coming to some realization as to why you don’t want him to kiss you until you can’t breathe. Whatever he’s come up with in his brain is not going to be right, but there’s not really anything you can say to fix it. 

The demon moves back, dark hair sticking to his forehead that’s shining with a light sheen of sweat. You see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly and pushes the hair out of his eyes.

“Your best friend,” he mumbles as you close your eyes again.

This is all so messed up.

“You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for him.”

You open your eyes and look at him, still lying on your back as he’s sitting back on his heels, looking at you.

The way he says it sounds bitter, as if he’s jealous. 

Jealous of himself without even realizing it. 

“JK.”

“Are you really going to go back to him?” He asks stiffly. 

“It’s-...complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

His words make you look at him again. 

“What do you mean?” You whisper. 

“What if-” He gulps, running a hand through his hair and now avoiding your gaze, “What if you didn’t go back?”

 “I…don’t understand,” your voice breaks.

JK sighs deeply.

“What don’t you understand?”

“Anything,” you choke out, “I don’t understand anything you’re saying-”

“Stay.”

You sit up, startled at the suggestion. 

“You’re not serious.”

“What makes you think I’d say it if I wasn’t?”

“You-” Your mind is racing, “You hate me-...”

He doesn’t say anything to that. 

He does hate you…

Doesn’t he?

JK swallows.

I hate you. 

I hate you more than I’ve ever hated any useless mortal.

I hate you…because I don’t hate you at all.

He closes his eyes slowly, a horror settling deep inside at the prospect he’s finally come to terms with. What he’s been denying internally for so long.

“Would you?”

You look at him, noticing that he’s still closing his eyes as he speaks softly. 

When you don’t answer, he asks again, “Would you stay…if it weren’t for him?”

“What are you asking me, JK?”

He knows what you’re trying to do. 

You’re not stupid.

You know exactly what he means.

You just want him to say it out loud.

But he can’t. 

Not even you, as much of a hold as you seem to have on him, can make him utter the words.

So, he stands up. 

“Forget it,” he spits, “You’re too fucking obsessed with something you’ll never have. You’d rather waste away and pine than take what’s right in front of you. Who am I to stop you?”

“Just say it,” You speak up as he turns away from you sitting on the ground and looking up at him with those stupidly pretty eyes, “Say it and I’ll answer you.”

“No,” he growls. 

“Say it.”

“Shut up.”

“Why can’t you just say it?!” You cry, smacking a hand against the dirt. 

“Because I can’t!” He whirls around, the look on his face a mixture between rage and longing, “I can’t! I can’t say it and watch you reject me for him!” He flings an arm out as if gesturing to someone who isn’t there.

Your eyes widen slowly. 

He stands there, jaw taught with emotion, eyes swimming with a hidden torture. 

Then you see him begin to morph. 

It starts with the area around him, everything darkening, as if a shadow has been cast over the two of you. His face becomes horribly gaunt, one of his cheeks melting away until you can see the bone of his jaw and some of his teeth. Blood drips from his eyes like tears as black horns grow from his head.

You look on in horror as the rest of him starts to rip apart, as though he was clawed mercilessly, his clothes soon in shreds and skin hanging in bloody gashes, bones sticking out. 

Huge black feathered wings sprout from his back and heavy metal chains appear on his bruised wrists and ankles, weighing him down as he stands there, head dropped low.

You move backwards slowly, tears of paralyzing horror streaming down your cheeks. 

Being with him down here for so long made you forget what he is.

For sin is attractive. 

Until you see its true form. 

“Isn’t he so disgustingly wretched?”

You flinch at the grating voice that keeps coming back, one that does not belong to the demon in front of you. 

It belongs to something far worse.

You can’t plug your ears, you can’t close your eyes. 

All you can do is stare at the mutilated figure in front of you as it shakes, clearly in agonizing torment.

“Stop it,” you manage to choke out, “Leave him alone!”

There’s a deep laugh and you feel a shiver run through you. 

“Oh, he is alone. The poor miserable creature-”

“Get out of here!” You scream at the top of your lungs. 

“This is my territory, little angel,” It hisses, “You get out.”

Your stomach drops. 

Then the shadow looming over you disappears. 

All of the blood and the bone and the terror slowly seep away. Beautiful soft skin fills out over his face and body, the black wings bursting into a cloud of smoke as the chains melt away.

Finally able to move, you jump up and catch him when he falls forward, the weight of him in your arms making a sob rip from your throat as you sink to the ground with him, not letting go.

“JK?” You whimper, brushing the hair from his face as you keep him in your embrace. 

After a few moments, he stirs, eyes fluttering open and looking at you in confusion. 

“What the hell?” He mumbles weakly.

You wipe the tears from your eyes, “Are you okay?”

He sits up, a hand on his head as he looks around. 

“What-” He looks back at you, “What happened? Why are you crying?”

“I-” You swallow the tears wanting to burst out of you. 

He doesn’t remember.

He doesn’t know that you just saw his true form, what he looks like behind the beautiful facade. The agony that weighs him down even though no one else can see it.

“You passed out,” you mumble, sick to your stomach.

He glares at you suspiciously before moving to his feet with a grunt.

“Let’s just keep moving,” he snaps.

Your body is trembling from the horror that is still burned in your brain. 

What happened? What did they do to him?

“Get up, come on!” 

You stand shakily, not looking directly at him. 

If you do, you know you will see it, even in your mind. 

You’re not sure if you’ll be able to look at him again without seeing the blood dripping from his many concealed wounds, the bones sticking out of his skin where he’s been so cruelly broken. 

Your heart feels like it’s been lodged into your throat and your stomach twists terribly as you shuffle after him. 

For once, you welcome the silence.

-

JK rolls his eyes at how slowly you walk behind him.

All he can remember before realizing he was on the ground is shouting at you, admitting how he won’t make himself vulnerable just to be rejected for some idiot human boy that couldn’t care less about you. 

How humiliating. 

It was merely a moment of weakness, it will not happen again. 

He will get you to the Flame, you will promise him your soul, and then you will leave; never to see each other again.

No other possibilities should have ever crossed his mind. 

You will go back to your stupid little friend, fully believing you can save him. 

A nasty smirk curves on the devil’s face at the knowledge that it will not go as you so desperately hope. 

That bastard you are so unwaveringly loyal to will live an eternity of loss and regret, walking the planes of sorrow until he decides to accept his miserable fate in Hell. 

Serves him right for allowing someone he claims to love to suffer for him while he sits idly by. 

Your fate, on the other hand, is a little harder for him to swallow.

It matters not, though. 

It’s your own fault for being so stupidly blinded by love.

JK glances over his shoulder to see you walking along quietly, head hung low as you watch your feet. 

You’re not limping nearly as much as you were.

“We don’t have to be enemies.”

He scoffs. 

Stupid mortal, thinking she can so easily befriend a demon. 

He jerks his neck to the side, a satisfying crack sounding when he does. Then he rubs the place between his neck and shoulder, sighing deeply. 

It’s almost finished. 

He can stand it a little longer. 

As long as he doesn’t say any more stupid shit that he doesn’t mean. 

Idiot. 

_____________

You slow to a stop after sensing that he is no longer far ahead of you. 

Lifting your head, you see him looking down into an enormous funnel going deep into the earth.

It’s similar to the one just outside of the second circle, but about half the size. The first one was far too deep to see into. But when you walk over to stand next to him and look down, you wish you hadn’t. 

You can certainly see into this one. 

There are stairs carved into the side of the giant ditch, leading down a couple hundred feet until you reach the bottom. The bottom is then filled with ten ditches, small bridges separating each one.

In those ditches are untold horrors beyond even your worst imagination. 

You stumble backwards, tripping and falling onto your backside, horror gripping your entire being so viciously that you turn and retch. 

JK closes his eyes at the sound of your hyperventilating from behind him.

“I can’t help you here,” he says quietly, but still loud enough for you to hear him. He sounds almost regretful.

You wipe at your mouth and eyes, “It’s okay,” you whimper tearfully, clasping your hands and praying fervently for the courage to continue, knowing what lies ahead. 

Knowing what you have to do. 

What you will do. 

No matter what. 

“I’ll be alright.”

The demon gulps when a tiny sob leaves your throat. 

You continue to cry a little more, sniffling to yourself as you rock on the ground. 

Finally, he turns to look back at you. 

You’ve cleaned your face up a bit and are currently checking under the blood soaked bandage on your left foot. 

You look up in surprise when he kneels in front of you, holding his hand out. 

In his palm is a strip of silky black cloth. 

You take it slowly, wrapping it around your left foot to match the right, just the way he taught you to when you were little. 

“What’re best friends for?”

You close your eyes and place a hand on your heart to calm it. When you open them again, he’s watching you.

I won’t give up on you, I promise.

I’ll try not to be scared. 

“Are you ready?” He asks gently. 

You nod.

JK holds out a hand, giving you the most genuine smile you’ve seen since coming here when you take it. 

“You know,” he says as he pulls you to your feet, “You’re pretty strong…for a mortal.”

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely, not looking him in the eye. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

When you look at him, you can see several different meanings behind those words. 

Are you sure you want to get that Flame…?

Are you sure you want to go back to your friend, to go on without him…?

If only he knew why you came here. 

If only you could tell him without jeopardizing everything. 

“I’m sure.”

The disappointment is clear for a moment before the emotion is wiped from his face and he nods. 

“Alright then.”

You follow him to the dirt stairs built into the side of the giant crevice. 

“Are you going to leave me?” You ask, staring down into the eighth circle of Hell. 

He examines your face while he stands beside you even as you keep your eyes from looking in his direction. 

“No.”

That’s all he says before starting down the stairs. 

You look after him with a sad smile tugging at your lips. 

Then you follow him. 

_________________________

The screams that reach your ears are on an entirely different level from any circle thus far. 

You keep your eyes glued to your guide’s back, praying that if you are forced to look away, you will have the strength not to give up. 

After reaching the bottom of the steps, you realize that the demon in front of you does not look at the sinners with a sick and twisted smirk as he had done for so long. 

He does not look at them at all. 

His eyes are focused on nothing but straight ahead. 

Chilling cackles echo around the funnel, turning your stomach to rot.

The sound of screaming, the sound of crying, the sound of things you do not want a mental picture of.

It surrounds you like a thick blanket, choking you. 

Your hands shake at your sides as you walk along the first thin bridge behind him, the dirt structure only big enough to go in a single file line, so you can’t be next to him. 

He doesn’t stop to peer into the ditches as he so often would. 

He doesn’t chuckle while listening to the torture being dealt. 

All he does is walk steadily forward. 

As you’re crossing the second bridge, there’s suddenly a burning grasp on your ankle. A surprised scream leaves your throat as you tumble to the ground, shaking while trying to stay on the small bridge. 

Against your better judgment, you turn and look at who grabbed you.

It’s an old man. 

He’s covered in flames, an enraged look on his face as he grabs for you again.

“Get in! Get in! Get in!”

He won’t stop screaming. 

You can’t stop screaming.

Firm hands grasp under your arms and lift you to your feet. 

“Walk, little mortal.”

For the first time, that nickname does not come out of his mouth as an insult. 

You limp away quickly, hyper aware of the skin around your ankle scorched and very clearly melting a bit from the sinner’s touch.

Biting your lip harshly, you will yourself not to look down at the damage. 

Falling to your knees after finally reaching the end of that crossing, you shake violently. 

Don’t look. 

A loud groan passes your lips as you drop your forehead to the ground. 

It’s bad, you know it is. 

You can feel your own skin dripping down your ankle.

“Ah,” you breathe heavily, the dirt blowing up from the ground and into your open mouth. 

His presence is soon tangible, standing right next to you. 

“I’m okay.”

Your voice shakes just as much as your body does. 

“I know,” he responds. 

You climb to your feet, then begin to stumble towards the next bridge. 

The only thing you can do is ignore the sounds of people being struck with weapons again and again as you hurry across. 

As you walk as briskly as you can over the fifth overpass, you suddenly stop short, a hand going to your stomach. 

Your insides twist and turn horribly. 

It only gets worse with each passing second, until you’re crouching on the bridge and wrapping both arms around your midsection. 

It’s worse than when you had typhoid. 

Much much worse. 

You gasp in a breath, face twisted in agony as it feels like your insides are being wrung like a wet towel. Nausea washes over you so suddenly and so violently that you start to throw up right there on the bridge. There is no relief. 

JK stands behind your crouched figure, silent and unable to look at you. 

He cannot help you here. 

It will not lessen until you leave the circle, but the longer you linger over the ditch of the diseased, the worse it will get. 

You seem to realize that, because seconds later you uncurl from yourself to start crawling across the ancient bridge, crying silently the whole way.

When you’re almost to the end, you collapse. 

The pain is too much, you cannot move another inch. 

Rolling over onto your side, you curl up into the fetal position and stare straight ahead. 

“If ever you need me, little one, just say my name and I will come.”

He will come save you. 

The pain can stop.

All it takes is one name. 

A tortured groan leaves your lips as JK walks over and crouches close. 

Your face is a sickly color, drenched in a cold sweat as red splotches decorate your skin. Your eyes are bloodshot, painful sores are littered across your lips and undoubtedly in your mouth.

You flinch when a gentle touch brushes the hair from your face.

Even that hurts. 

“Where is it the worst?”

You blink, the blurry person coming into view. 

You can’t answer, it hurts too bad. 

“You don’t have to talk, just show me.”

You blink again, confused as to why he’s asking this. 

“Where does it hurt the most?”

Finally, you gently tap your abdomen.

The demon nods, “Alright.”

You see the fuzzy image of him looking around before leaning close to you again, “I know you can’t move. But it will only get worse if you stay here.”

You don’t do anything but close your eyes, a pained moan slipping from your bleeding lips. 

JK bites his lip and glances around again. 

When he hears you mumbling something, he leans down. 

“Hm?”

“You want me to give up,” you whisper brokenly, barely getting the words out. 

He doesn’t answer, but the look on his face proves that you’re right. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly, “How could he let you suffer like this?”

There’s a faint smile on your lips at his words. 

“Would-... do it for me,” you croak, blood dripping out of the corner of your mouth from the sores along the insides of your cheeks, the roof of your mouth, and your tongue, “And he’s suffering m-more than I am.” 

The demon watches in astonishment as you squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself onto your stomach so that you can crawl. 

“You asked me how ba-...how badly I want it,” you whisper weakly as you catch your breath, “Do you remember what I said…?”

He sighs as you pull yourself up enough to start moving slowly, red lines still streaking from your mouth. 

“You said you wanted it more than anything.”

“Exactly,” you mumble, more blood dribbling from your lips as you shuffle along the ground. 

You keep your eyes on your fingers as they grip the dirt, curl into it, and pull you further. 

You will drag yourself inch by inch across the eighth circle if that’s what it takes. 

JK stands up, watching you pull yourself slowly, even as nasty hives spread on your arms and legs, as welts appear on your paper thin skin, as you shake uncontrollably. 

He realizes, in horrified bewilderment, that you are not going to stop.

Every single disease known to the human race is taking over your body in its worst form. 

But you are not going to stop. 

It takes many hours. 

Each moment is agonizing beyond description. 

But you make it to the end. 

The second you reach the end of the tenth bridge, you feel hands grab and lift you. You don’t fight it.

You’re in his arms, but you can’t see him. 

You can’t see anything. 

Vision had left you long ago, so did your hearing. 

You swallow, wincing at the soreness in your throat as you lay your head on his shoulder, wrapping your bloody arms around him and tucking your face into his neck. 

JK swallows the lump in his throat as he feels your nose brush against the side of his neck, your shallow breath warming his cold skin. He walks up the stairs that lead out of the eighth circle, carrying you like a child that fell asleep on the couch before bedtime, the sound of tortured screams fading as he goes. 

He knows you can’t hear them anymore anyway.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he mumbles into your hair as he climbs the steps effortlessly. 

-

When you open your eyes, you think you see a star high above you in the ember sky. 

But when you blink, it’s gone. 

Then you realize you can see smoke filling the sky. 

You sit up, groaning at the ache in your muscles. With a look around, you know that your vision has come back. 

The sound of crackling fire confirms that your hearing has come back too.

You turn to see him lying on the ground a few feet from you, looking up at the thick smoke. 

He happens to glance over at you, then sits up quickly after realizing that you’re awake. 

“I’m alright,” you answer the question in his eyes before he can even ask it. 

He shakes his head at you, a disapproving frown on his pretty features. 

“We should keep going,” You’re the one to say it this time as you struggle to your feet, “I don’t have much time.”

He stands up too. 

“Stop.”

“Hm?” You fiddle with your dress, ignoring the dried blood coating much of your skin and the ache in your body, “Stop what?”

He walks over to you, anger and something else you can’t place in his dark eyes. 

“Stop doing this for him.”

“We talked about this,” You say with a shrug, “Several times in fact-”

You jump when he steps closer, daring you to finish. 

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

After a moment of stunned silence, you whisper with uncertainty. 

“JK do you-”

His gaze does not falter. 

“...are you in love with me?”

There’s a clear panic in his eyes and he swallows, then it’s covered up by disgusted rage. 

“What the hell are you talking about? Why would I ever-”

“It’s okay,” You whisper, a small smile on your face as you step closer, “It’s okay.”

He gulps when you touch his cheek with your warm hand, holding it gently before moving up on your tippy toes to place a kiss right on the edge of his mouth, a burning sensation making him gulp when your blood stains his skin. Then you pull away and look at him again. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” He breathes, eyes begging you to have mercy on him.

“It’s okay,” Is all you say. 

His body is trembling slightly as he leans down and touches his forehead to yours, “It’s not.”

“Why?” You hum, one of your hands moving to the nape of his neck to tangle in the hair there. 

“I can’t-...love you.”

“Yes, you can.”

He shakes his head, a choked breath leaving him as he pulls away enough to look in your eyes. 

“You can leave. I’ll bring you back.”

“Hm?” You look beyond confused. 

He grits his teeth, swallowing the horrible lump in his throat as he puts a hand to your bruised cheek, hatred fighting to be seen as so many things swarm his brain.

“You’re free, okay? You need to leave before I change my mind.”

“JK-”

“I’m going to let you go,” he places a finger to your lips, “I’m letting you out of the deal.”

_______________________

a/n: tysm for reading 📚 thoughts always welcome 💖

taglist 1: @butterymin @kookxin @telepathytae @kooliv @highoffbaddecisions @meanum @smitssharon02 @kmpac @ggukkieland @jjanjankook @sugaslittlekookies @hobispriteu1306 @kimchibrat @slowlydeliciousjiminie @screamertannie @i-dont-give-a-fok @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @ohyeahjk @babycandy111 @era-genius @xmochiloverx @sopikooo @jamlessstars @bangtannie7 @nuttykittypainter @geniejunn @ane102 @charlesswife @ashbxnny @veronawrites @jjkw-7 @jinsundor @h-g-bts @justvibingsblog @hyuneyeon @hellbornsworld @hiii-priestess @nuttypizzacat @vidaficrecs @royallyjjk @thvslvt @hoseoksluv89 @moonchilddna @idkjustlovingbts @aurorathi

#jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook demon au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts #bts jungkook #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts reactions #jungkook bts #bts x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts demon au #demon!jungkook #demon!jk

[aziraphales-library]

I *love* any fics where Crowley is hurt incredibly bad and Aziraphale must save him or bring him back to health. I also LOVE fics that delve into trauma or mental health which stripes the characters of their mask and they must rely on someone/each other. Do you have any recommendations for fics that are either, or both? Happy endings are a major must for me, but I am open to any suggestions!

You'll want to check our #crowley whump, #hurt crowley, and #protective aziraphale tags for loads of fics like this. Here are some that may or may not have been recommended before, but mind the tags on all of these!...

Where's My Mind? by ebullience24 (T)

See, the thing is: Crowley is tall. His height had caused a few stares back in the days where the tallest man stood at five foot five. And, because of his height, one might be inclined to describe him as slender with spindly fingers and snake-hips. The pun is never intended on that last one but it stands true nonetheless. And Crowley would be likely to agree with these statements: he is tall and slender and spindly and snake-hipped. But what Crowley would be less likely to agree upon is the statement that he, Anthony J Crowley, is underweight. OR: Crowley has an eating disorder. Trigger Warnings now and at the beginning of each chapter.

Safe Haven by McRaider (T)

When Anthony Crowley stepped back into Aziraphale's life for the first time after eight long years missing, it became exceedingly clear with him came a world of trouble and heartache. But Aziraphale never could say no to his beloved Crowley. Can he help Crowley heal after a failed marriage, a gas-lighting ex-wife with an evil plan?

To Speak the Unspoken by ihamtmus (T)

“Uhhhh… Hi,” Crowley started lamely, scrambling to find a way to explain the situation as quickly as possible. His mind was refusing to work properly, thoughts slow as if doused in oil. He hadn’t really thought about what to say on his way here – he’d been too busy focusing on the getting here part before he would collapse. “I was wondering if I could… If I could maybe die in here, if you don’t mind..?” The expression on Aziraphale’s face changed abruptly, telling him that the angel did, in fact, mind. (In which a mortally wounded demon just wants to get somewhere quiet to die but his Adversary will have none of it. A story of how they both learn just how much they care.)

Death in Love by Aspirina_Effervescente & Cyanidechan (M)

After tempting a composer to fame and success, Crowley is cursed by his wife and tormented by her ghost until the end of his days. Aziraphale would do anything to save him, the only problem is that he doesn't know what's going on and, anyway, the problem could be much more complicated than it seems. Inspired by Giuseppe Tartini’s Sonata “the Devil’s trill”

Drops of Sorrow by EdosianOrchids901 (M)

Ten years after the failed Apocalypse, Crowley is captured by Heaven. Gabriel plans to use him as bait to lure Aziraphale into a fight. Can Crowley survive captivity, and will Aziraphale be able to rescue him without walking into the trap?

A Touch of Heaven by IneffableToreshi (E)

A despondent and defeated Crowley has been through the ringer, moreso even than his roommate, Newt, realizes. After a car accident puts him though a number of surgeries and a temporary - but terrifying - few weeks of blindness, the club owner wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed and refuse to move until things return to normal...or as normal as they'll ever be again. Newt - and his cafe-owning girlfriend, Anathema - have other plans. They think that Crowley just needs some care and pampering, so Anathema schedules him a special, off-hours appointment with a friend of hers who is a rather sought-after masseur. Crowley is hesitant and stubborn, but Aziraphale's soothing voice and comforting nature soon win him over, in more ways than one...

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #hurt/comfort #crowley whump #hurt crowley #protective aziraphale #crowley has ptsd #mind the tags #mod d

[leilani-lily]

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 10)

The giant chapter won by a landslide 𓁹‿𓁹

9k later. Absolutely wild to me, but here we are (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

I guess it's fitting as we just hit chapter 10!! Double digits lets gooooo~! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

And this also concludes the "Black Market" storyline, so that feels like a good enough reason for this chapter to be super DUPER long >ᴗ<

Also huge thank you to everyone who's been leaving such lovely comments for me ;;w;; I read every single one and try to respond every time (I'm actually behind on a few so if you're waiting I apologize! I'll address them tonight!!) But keep 'em coming if you can! I adore getting anything, even if it's just a single emoji or one word ꨄ

Alright, enough chatter. Let's get into the nitty gritty >ω>

SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You are fully pampered by your deer friend after a harrowing adventure... Word Count: 9k

Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first thing your murky mind picked up on was soft clattering.

Eyelids as heavy as led, you had a hard time opening your eyes; so you opted to keep them shut as you could feel your mind slowly coming back to consciousness. 

The next thing you picked up was a mix of smells. There was something in the air that had a chemical like scent, strong and potent that made your nose wrinkle. But there was something else behind the strong synthetic smell. Something like rain, earth, and nature; crisp and clean and oh so soothing.

The final thing you noticed was feeling as if you were laying on a cloud. Your fingers twitched back to life, and the silky satin that practically slipped through your touch had caught you off guard. And whatever pillow your head was resting on was plump and soft, cradling your skull so tenderly. 

You laid there in pure bliss for a moment, you mind still groggy from such a deep sleep and just happy to be somewhere that felt so comfy. But as you felt your head sink even further into the bed, a thought crossed your mind.

You didn’t own silk sheets.

Eyes still closed, your brows furrowed.

Your room didn’t smell like this.

You slowly force your eyes open, the world around you still a blur as your eyes adjust. As your body shuffled under the buttery sheets, another scent rose from the pillows and entered your senses. It was something you were so familiar with, and yet, in that moment you couldn’t pin it down. The smell of bourbon, coffee and cedarwood. It took a moment for your dull mind to connect the dots, but eventually you could feel your eyes widen when it finally hit you.

“Comfortable, my dear~?”

And speak of the devil.

You scramble to sit up, but your body immediately screamed in protest, chest aching and limbs sore. You audibly gasped in agony, not understanding why your body was in such excruciating pain. Your head began to swim, and you could feel your upper body swaying precariously. Before your torso even had the chance to fall back, you heard the shuffle of static as clawed hands reached out and caught you, one around your back and one cradling your head. Too absorbed in the pain, you didn’t even notice the long tendrils of shadows behind you, stacking and fluffing up the pillows against the headboard. 

“Careful, little songbird,” Alastor softly scolded. A deep chuckle accompanied his next line, “It’s not quite time for you to leave the nest~”

You let out a pathetic whimper of despair as you felt yourself being slowly lowered, but this time your upper body felt more elevated on the bed below you, allowing you to have a better view of your surroundings. Finally adjusted back to the mattress, Alastors arms slipped out from underneath you, and for a brief moment, as his warmth slipped away, you wished that he hadn’t. 

God, why was your body aching like this? Why was your head pounding against your skull? Even more so, what was this burning sensation you felt all over your chest? You run a weary hand over your face and flinch back as your fingers traced over your cheek, hissing at the tenderness. 

And then it all came flooding back.

A large paw backhanding you, being pinned down and gasping for air, dragged against the harsh pavement and tearing your skin open.

And worst of all. That horrifying image of silver claws slashing your chest.

Your mind reeled with the rush of memories and everything that had happened, like some harrowing nightmare you had just woken up to. But you knew it was all real, you could feel it with every bruise, scrape, and sore muscle. You look down to your hands and shudder upon seeing them still stained red with blood. Most likely a mix of your own and that Dobermans.

Fuzzy memories flashed before your eyes; the sound of his screams, the glimmer of your hair pin, the adrenaline pumping through your heart. You honestly didn’t remember much after seeing the skinny HellHound step out from the shadows with his gun. But you knew in your heart what had happened; what you had done. Something so horrific, you had vowed never to do it again.

But they were going to kill you, amongst other things to you… And they were going to kill Alastor. 

You couldn’t live with yourself if you had let him get hurt.

You attempted to take a grounding breath of air, this flood of horrible memories making you lightheaded, but winced as your lungs attempted to expand. Your chest felt tight and heavy, like you were being constricted. You feared to look down; look at the mess that was left behind after the battle. But you had to know what you were dealing with. So with some hesitation, you finally lift the silk sheet and peek down at your body. 

The first thing you noticed was three long gashes stretched across your torso from the bottom of your stomach to the top of your collarbone. But to your relief, they seemed to be already sewn shut, little stitches of what appeared to be neon green thread closing your deep wounds, the blood already cleaned off of sanitized skin. 

But the second thing…

Your eyes widened to dinner plates upon realizing you were practically naked in Alastor’s bed, save for your underwear… Which wasn’t the same pair you were wearing earlier. 

A choked cough escaped your lungs, suddenly scrambling to pull the sheets tight around your bare body and your cheeks burning red. Alastor, who had been shuffling around in the first aid kit beside him, didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes lazily drifted back up to you. You looked back at him, mortified, and to this Alastor simply cocked an eyebrow. You tried to take a deep, calming breath.

“Alastor…” you warned, “Where the fuck are my clothes?”

The deer demon sitting by his bed blinked for a moment, his eyes eventually going back to his previous task. Though his eyebrows furrowed as he replied with a tight smile. 

“Hm. Not even a thank you for the craftsmanship I did? Those stitches are some of my best work…”

“ALASTOR.”

“Oh please, y/n, do be rational.” Alastor huffed, cocking an eyebrow at you. “All of your garments were in ruin; they had to be disposed of. Besides,” he gestured his hand to your torso, “I needed access to stitch your wounds to prevent further blood loss. Would you have preferred that I let you bleed out?”

You both stared at each other for a good minute before it all became too much. You groaned in embarrassment, bringing the sheets up to cover your face and secretly wanting the bed to swallow you whole. You knew deep down he was right; as always. And you truly were grateful for his care. But still… You imagined him working over you, your chest bare and exposed as his hands brushed up against your skin, fingers dangerously close and skillfully sewing.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you once again whined in defeat, fully bringing the blanket over your head and vowing never to leave your fortress. You heard a mix of a sigh and a chuckle from beyond the sheets, static shuffling in the background. 

“Such dramatics. Makes me think you’ve been taking lessons from our Arachnid fellow~”

A clawed hand grasped the top of the blanket, and after meeting some resistance from you, pulled it down so only your head was visible again, your hair now slightly disheveled. Alastor's expression had softened from annoyed to calm as he shook his head at you.

“I can assure you,” he mused, “that you should not worry over such things. I do not perceive people in such a way. The body is simply a machine of flesh and bone to fulfill the duties of the mind, nothing more.” He placed a hand on your cloth-covered knee, making you peek up at him tentatively, “You can trust me on that my dear.”

You could tell how sincere he was about this, his eyes never left yours as he spoke. And of course, you knew he would never put himself in this kind of situationship unless it was absolutely necessary. He was too much of a true gentleman. You could feel your heartbeat start to calm after his reassurance, and you give a little embarrassed nod to acknowledge him. 

Nevertheless, you still felt a bit too exposed sitting here in just your panties, and only a thin sheet of silk to cover you. 

“... I want a shirt at least.” you mumbled, looking down to avoid his gaze. Alastor straightened up in his chair and blinked.

“I don’t see the point my dear…” he said blankly, eye twitching. “I’ve already seen everything. Besides, you are already covered enough to-!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed, trying to hold back your own irritation. “I would just feel better if I had an extra layer. Please.”

The Overlord glared at you a moment longer before sighing and rising to his feet. He promptly began to unbutton his jacket, making your face fall open like a deer in the headlights. Before you could accuse him of anything, he rolled the blazer off his shoulders and flung it at your head. His smell laced in his jacket immediately overtook your senses, and you had to hold back the urge to bury your face in it. You didn’t dare to pull it down past your cheeks; you didn’t want him seeing just how red you were underneath.

Alastor stood before you in a red vest adorning the similar pinstripes that were on his jacket, his vest hugging his frame perfectly as if tailored just for his torso. The demon’s smile was tight and sharp, clearly annoyed as his ears flattened against his head and he straightened his undershirt. The long sleeved blouse was a crisp white, flaring out ever so slightly near his elbows and wrists. You were so grateful to be hiding behind his jacket at this very moment. You had never seen Alastor without his blazer on, so this was all very new to you. Soon enough his head turned back to you, and you immediately averted your gaze back to his face; heaven forbid he caught you gawking. 

He placed his hands on his hips, looking at you expectantly with a cocked eyebrow and smile tense. You could feel yourself begin to sweat under his deep gaze and eventually dropped your own.

“T-turn around…” you mumble, you grip on his jacket tightening. You heard the sound of a microphone screeching. 

“Of all the-” Alastor sighed heavily, his tone clearly beyond annoyed, “I’ve already seen-!”

“GOD DAMNIT ALASTOR JUST DO IT!!”

You didn’t even realize what you had done until you heard a soft ‘fwump’ sound from across the room. Alastors static waves immediately hushed, and you instantly knew you had fucked up. You lowered your outstretched arm and immediately hid under his blanket and jacket, not even daring to look up. 

Cause you knew, if you did, you’d find one of his pillows that you threw at him had comically flattened over Alastor’s face, eventually flopping to the ground with a final ‘womph’.

You couldn’t tell what was happening outside of your little fortress; the silence was practically deafening. But eventually, you saw the lights flicker as radio waves shuffled through the air sharply. You could feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the sudden increase of electricity buzzing through the air. The bed was practically vibrating. But after a period of time, the lights stopped flickering, and the radio buzzing became dull and back to its usual tone. Still too chickenshit to emerge, you heard him stomp around the bed with some soft clattering. 

“I am going to get some hot water to clean your wounds,” you heard him growl, “Do not, by any means, put my jacket on fully. I still need access to your arms.” You heard more shuffling, and soon his footsteps pound away and towards the bathroom door. 

“Simply drape it over your body, since heaven forbid I catch another glimpse at your naked form.” his last sentence was dripping with sarcasm. 

And even though you were beyond embarrassed, you couldn’t help the nervous snort escape your lips at his tone. He was so done with your bullshit, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. You knew you were being ridiculous at this point given there really was no point in covering up. And the fact that you had whacked the Radio Demon with a pillow…

You buried your head deeper in Alastor’s jacket, muffling your soft awkward giggles as the sheets you were under jiggled along with your shoulders. There was a pause before you heard an irritated sigh, heeled boots retreating into the bathroom and the sound of water running moments later.

You continued to tee-hee under the sheets, eventually catching your breath and emerging from your cocoon, still clutching the blazer close. You quickly glanced back towards the bathroom, and realizing you still had a couple seconds, brought the clothing up to your nose and inhaled deeply. 

It was just like his pillow, but much stronger, and even had a sweaty, musky smell to it. You realized you probably looked like an absolute freak at this moment; who the Hell goes around smelling their friend’s clothes?? But this scent had become such a comfort, you were reminded of happier times. Like the moments when he’d lean in to whisper gossip into your ear during hotel meetings, when he purposely got too close in your bubble to annoy you and crack a terrible joke, or when he danced with you that one day. You were always at your happiest when you were with him.

You sighed contently as you draped the jacket over your torso, thankfully it being long enough to cover you right down to your mid thighs. You pulled the silk sheet back up over you just in time to hear a soft knock on the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Am I allowed back into my own room?” Alastor called out dryly. You chuckled a moment before confirming, and soon Alastor emerged, face still cross, no doubt still fuming over the previous incident. He carried a large bowl filled with bubbly, steaming water in both hands and had a small towel draped over his shoulder. He came to the bedside and placed the bowl down on the nightstand before turning back around to the first aid kit. And you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your throat once his backside was to you. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

Immediately, Alastor’s ears flattened on his head, turning only his head so you could see the profile of his face as he glared at you. 

“ ₩ Ⱨ ₳ ₮ ” 

You snap out of your gaze and lock eyes with him, brain quickly trying to come up with an excuse. 

“Nothing! Nothing, I just…” With a quick smile, you go to grab your shoulder and rotate it around a bit. “I moved funny and felt a pang in my joint. That’s all.”

You continue to try and dazzle him with your smile, to which he glowered at you before turning his attention back to the first aid kit. You felt your muscles relax, relieved he had bought your little white lie. Because you knew if you had spoken the truth, you’d never get to see it again.

See the adorable, soft, fluffy, black and red tail poking out from his tailbone.

You focus back on it and basically have to bite your tongue to stop from squealing. It didn’t even occur to you that he might even have one, but of course it made sense that he did. He was a deer demon after all, many animalistic demons here had just the like. But of course when he wore his jacket it was covered up. You were fairly certain it was designed as such so it helped him keep up appearances. It's hard to be terrified of an Overlord with a cute, little fuzzy tail. 

God. How badly you wanted to touch it; similar to his ears looking so downey and full. But of course, you snapped out of your daydream once Alastor turned back to you, a box of bandaids in hand and his tail disappearing behind his back. You had to hold back your pout, but you were at least grateful you even got the chance to see it. You had the feeling not many did. 

“Now, my dear,” Alastor spoke up, taking the towel from his shoulder and soaking it in the hot water, “Since your main injury has finally been tended to, I’d like to continue my medical procedure before I was so rudely interrupted.” His eyes narrowed into angry slits at you, and you knew he was referring to what happened earlier. You desperately tried to bite back your smile, but couldn’t help your shaking shoulders as you nodded your head.

“Yes.” you softly giggle, “Yes of course. Thank you Alastor.” 

The Radio Demon’s nose wrinkled up in disgust at you before he gave a final sigh, turning back to the bowl and wringing out the excess water in the towel. 

“Honestly… All of this nonsense…” he huffed, genuinely looking confused and slightly irritated, “I don’t understand all the fuss over this type of matter…” Alastor held his hand out to you expectantly, and it took you a moment to realize before you reached out. He carefully held your wrist in one hand, his other holding the warm towel and rubbing your arm. Whatever bloodstains that had soaked into your skin were slowly coming off, and that was more of a relief than you had imagined.

“Even Miss Morningstar had a similar reaction to yours when I first began undressing you.” Alastor continued, carefully turning your arm over and wiping away more blood, “Wild little firecracker, that girl. Nearly singed my jacket and everything…” His eyes tapered into angry slits, yet his words made you perk up.

“Charlie? … Oh God, she knows?” 

“Hmmm. Unfortunately.” Alastor sighed, his grin tight. He dipped the now bloodied cloth into the bowl and squeezed before returning to your arm, “And after her banshee screeches of terror, it wasn’t long before everyone else found out and came rushing over.” His eyelid began to twitch in annoyance, but you felt your skin prickle. Everyone… came rushing over? For you?

“Alastor… what exactly happened while I was unconscious?”

The deer demon rolled his eyes, making you think the event was troubling for him. He turned your wrist over in his hand, giving your forearm an inspection. 

“Must we really talk about such matters?” he grumbled, eyes narrowing angrily at your wrists as  bruises were slowly revealed underneath the blood, “It’s all in the past, and I’d much rather focus on tending to you.”

He had said it so matter of factly, it made your cheeks warm for a moment. Still, a part of you wanted to fill in the gaps as to what happened. And more selfishly, you wanted to hear what the others' reactions were.

“Please Al,” you urged, “I need to know.”

He took a moment to look up and lock eyes with you, eyes flickering over your pitiful face. Finally, he huffed out a sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat before lifting your hand back up to his face, carefully taking each individual finger and rubbing it between the towel to get into the nooks and crannies of your digits. 

“When you passed out, I immediately transported us to my room,” he began, eyes never leaving his work, “I knew I needed to work quickly to tend to the gashes on your chest; the blood loss was becoming dangerously fatal. So, I laid you on the bed and did what any medical professional would have done: began to undress you.” 

You knew he was literally just trying to save your life, but still, you felt your face grow hot at the thought of Alastor taking your dress off. The deer demon continued.

“Unfortunately, I was in the most precarious position when Miss Morningstar decided to waltz in.” Alastor’s eyelid twitched angrily as he set the towel back in the bowl, reaching now for a bottle of ointment and squeezing some cream into his hand. 

“I was in the midst of reaching behind to take off your…” his eyes flicked away awkwardly, “brassiere, when our little Princess of Hell came in unbenounced. She later claimed she wanted to ask me a question; as to why she didn’t think to knock, I will never know…” Alastor sighed through his nose before gently taking your arm and dabbing the ointment on your various cuts and bruises scattered on your hand and arm.

“Of course,” he scowled, “looking back I can understand where her fury came from. Seeing the infamous Radio Demon lurched over your unconscious, barely dressed form; both of us soaked in blood… I’m sure it was quite a sight.” Surprisingly, he let out a chuckle as you just watched him horrified.

“Ironically, all Hell broke loose.” he sighed, explaining the next portion as if he was bored, “She screamed at me, I tried to explain, she shot fire at me, I dodged. At some point I finally managed to get through to her amidst the blaze and explain the situation. Once she had calmed down, she immediately dropped her fury and rushed to your side, shedding tears over your injuries and blabbering her apologies to me.” Alastor rolled his eyes, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest at the thought of Charlie crying for you. It made your own eyes start to get a little misty.

“It wasn’t long before everyone else began pounding at the door, having heard the ruckus and coming to aid their precious Princess… No one coming to my aid mind you.” he grunted, “Charlie, wanting to save face, threw the sheets over you for cover before the riled crew bust down the door. And honestly my dear, you know how much I love dramatics, but this…” he gave you a deadpan look for a moment before rolling his eyes, making a giggle escape your lips. His smile widened as he finished rubbing the last bits of cream into your skin before reaching for the box of bandaids.

“I had never seen this camaraderie of sinners so riled up before,” he confided, taking a bandaid out of the box and unwrapping it with his sharp claws, “The moment they saw you in bed, then looked at me covered in blood, I was sure they all wanted me dead.” he paused a second before adding, “Well, other than Nifty. I’m sure she just wanted to clean my soiled clothes when she tried to jump me.” The imagery of Nifty attempting to tackle Alastor made you smile.

“Thankfully,” the Overlord breathed, gently sticking the bandaid over one of your larger cuts, “Miss Morningstar stepped in and explained everything before anyone could lay a finger on me. Which is probably for the best…” His smile got dangerous, a mischievous glint in his eye, “Because if I had my way, they wouldn’t have any fingers left at all.”

You gasped and shot Alastor a dirty glare, making him shift his eyes over to you. He gave a quick shrug of his shoulders before reaching for the bandaids again.

“And then, of course, the waterworks began.” Alastor said wearily, as if the thought of emotions exhausted him, “The Snake was nearly beside himself, blubbering almost as hard as Charlie was. Vaggie sat beside you on the bed like a worried mother hen. Even our little Sourpuss seemed upset over it all. And of course, our dear Nifty tried licking up the blood on your face in an attempt to clean it.” Alastor looked off in the distance fondly at the memory, meanwhile your nose wrinkled in surprise and slight disgust. 

“Our little arachnid friend was especially distraught,” Alastor continued, his face slowly hardening, “He immediately ran to your side and held your hand. He kept going back and forth between comforting you, then scolding me for allowing such things to happen…” you couldn’t help but notice Alastor’s eyebrows furrowing at his last statement, his grin extra tight on his face. Was he feeling… guilty? You were just about to address it until Alastor kept talking, his expression once again soft and rather bored looking.

“Given that you still needed stitches, I managed to convince everyone to leave so I could have space to work.” He stuck another bandaid on one of your cuts, “Charlie was quick to action, ordering everyone around to grab whatever materials I needed. First aid, ice, towels, fresh clothes, and so on. I allowed the girls access to the room so they could help you change into fresh underwear while I prepared my medical supplies.” Alastor took your arm once more and meticulously inspected it, turning it over in his hands to ensure every inch was clean and addressed. 

“Then finally, I was able to dismiss everyone from my quarters. I’m sure they’re all nervously pacing in the lobby as we speak.” he shook his head before gently setting your arm on the bed and ending the story. The Radio Demon took a moment to stretch before standing up once more, taking the bowl and bandaids and moving to the other side of the bed.

You sat there dumbfounded, taking in all the information and feeling yourself getting emotional. They were so quick to protect you, so quick to mourn what you had been through, so quick to take care and provide for you...

Alastor rounded the mattress and set the soapy water down on the bedside table, not expecting to turn back to you with big, watery droplets dripping down your face. He couldn’t help the tiny curl of his lips. Startled by your reaction? Yes. 

Surprised? 

No. Not at all. 

He hummed to himself, taking the washcloth out from the bowl and giving it a quick squeeze before lifting your other arm.

“You have quite the village behind you my dear,” he mused, carefully wiping your forearm. You blinked back your tears and turned to him, taking a moment to watch him scrub you clean. He was entirely focused on you, brows slightly furrowed as he removed the blood, eyes flicking over your skin and taking note of every scratch and bruise that was revealed. He was so serious about it all, taking his time to ensure you were taken care of and personally tending to every wound he could find. Your heart swelled deep within your chest, and before you think, you twist your wrist around in his grasp and lock fingers with his. Alastor’s eyes widened in shock, head wiping up to look at you.

“I really do,” you breathed, eyes still misty but grin beaming, “And I'm so grateful for all of them.” You give his hand a squeeze, leaning in closer and never breaking eye contact. 

“Especially for you. I am so so grateful for you, Alastor. Thank you.” 

The deer demon looked up at you, his whole face wide and smile threatening to waver. There was a gentle pause as you both watched each other, your hand gently grasping his and tenderly rubbing your thumb over his knuckle. Eventually, Alastor blinked back his shock, face furrowing as he unlaced your fingers with his and took your wrist in his hand.

“There’s nothing to thank, my dear.” he mumbled, continuing to rub your arm with the soapy water, “Just doing what any gentleman should.”

Your grin widened by his sudden shift, not at all put off by his dismissive response. He didn’t handle genuine affection well, and that was ok. It just made you more determined than ever to be that person for him; to slowly chip away at those walls he had built up around his heart. Alastor placed the cloth back into the bowl, once again reaching for the ointment now that your arm was perfectly clean. He was being so attentive; you couldn’t help it. You had to say it.

“Your mother would be so proud.”

Alastor paused only briefly as he was squeezing the ointment onto his fingers. But he was quick to recover, snapping the lid shut and carefully pulling your arm closer to dab the cream onto your wounds. He said nothing in return, remaining quiet and looking down as he rubbed the balm into your skin.

But you did notice his ear flicker. 

And that was all the confirmation you needed. 

Alastor continued his tending, the room falling into a peaceful silence as his static hummed softly in the background. He finished your other arm, slicking bandages when needed and returning to the bathroom to refresh the water bowl. You took a moment to admire his work on your arms and couldn’t help the smile creep up your face. The thought of Alastor taking care of you… It was honestly something that seemed so sweet and intimate, and certainly not anything the Radio Demon himself would do. An Overlord nursing a lowly sinner? Unthinkable. Yet here you were, wrapped up in his silk sheets and being doted on as if you were a queen. 

You heard soft jazz beginning to play in the bathroom, and soon Alastor emerged with a bowl of fresh, sudsy water. He rounds the mattress and positions himself at the end of the bed, causing you to raise an eyebrow at his new location. It wasn’t until the deer demon started lifting the blankets by your feet that you subconsciously flinched back. Of course, Alastor noticed, his eyes locking with yours immediately.

“I noticed earlier you had quite a few scrapes on your legs,” he explained, his voice surprisingly calm, “It would be wise to let me examine them.”

You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling your shoulders begin to relax. You give a quick nod, and Alastor lifts the sheets up, uncovering your legs right up until the base of your hips, tucking the sheets in a way so your lap and torso was still fully covered. Alastor took in the state of your lower limbs, and his brows furrowed angrily at the sight. Similar to your arms, they were in such an abused state… It made his blood boil to see you like this. 

He immediately sat down and took one of your legs in his, resting your foot on his thigh as he began to clean up the dirt and dried blood. You had to hold in a gasp at the feeling of his fingers brushing over your calf and thigh. You weren't accustomed to the idea of someone touching your leg in such a way, especially the Radio Demon of all people. As nice as the warm towel was, you still felt a smidge uncomfortable by this circumstance. Of course, nothing got past Alastor.

“Relax my dear,” he mused, not breaking concentration from his work, “Your muscles are far too tense right now.” He stopped for a moment, eyes dazing out in front of him as if a thought came to mind. In an instant, he returned the cloth back to the bowl and snapped his fingers, a bottle of lotion popping into his hand. He was quick to apply it to his hands, and what he did next almost floored you.

Long fingers gently began to knead over your calf, pinching and pressing in such a lovely way your heart almost leapt out of your throat. He ran his hands and fingers gently up and down your leg, being wary around any open sores or bruises, but massaging your muscles deeply. Whatever tension you had immediately melted away, his claws surprisingly delicate as he rubbed the tissue. Your head immediately flopped back down on your pillow, eyes closed in bliss as a deep, staticy chuckle rang out by your feet. After working your leg, he moved down to your foot and began massaging your arch and sole. You audibly let out a sigh of relief, it felt so damn good.

“Alastor,” you breathed dreamily, “Where the Hell did you learn to do this and who do I owe my first born to?” Another chortle came from the foot of the bed.

“Entirely self taught darling~” you heard him muse, “My dear mother was always on her feet, working long hours and coming home simply exhausted. As a boy I’d often try and help alleviate the pain whenever I could, so nightly massages became routine. It wasn’t much, but it put my mother in better spirits, so that was what mattered to me.”

You felt your heart practically melt, you were so touched by his words. She really was everything to him; what an amazing relationship to have. You try to imagine Alastor as a little boy, dancing with his mother, helping her around the house, tending to her when she was weary. Truly a momma’s boy right to the end. 

“Your mom sounds absolutely incredible.” you smile, voice soft and gentle. “I wish I could’ve met her…”

Alastor didn’t respond right away, continuing to rub away at your foot as jazz played softly in the background. You assumed the conversation had ended and you were content with letting your mind drift. But at the last minute, you heard a thoughtful hum come from the end of the bed.

“As do I mon passereau… As do I.”

He treated your legs in a similar fashion to your arms; wiping them clean of dirt and blood, applying ointment to help sooth your open wounds, and applying bandages wherever there were particularly large cuts and scrapes. You let out a happy sigh when he started to massage the other leg as well, earning another amused snicker from your friend. The jazz hummed softly in the background as Alastor worked away, being attentive as always and focusing on his tasks while you relaxed blissfully. You were more than happy to let your body sink into the bed, never feeling so cherished in your entire life. The minutes trickled by, your mind getting sleepy after such a relaxing pampering. The only thing that would make this perfect is if you had a warm beverage to sip on.

………….

“Oh my God ALASTOR!” You practically leapt up from the bed, nearly kicking the poor man right on the chin as your feet flew up. The radio came to a screeching halt as Alastor jumped back to avoid getting socked in the jaw. He whipped his head up to you, his eyes glowing red as he snarled at you. But you ignored him, your eyes looking around the room frantically.

“My bag!” you whine, “Did you happen to grab my bag before we left??” 

You couldn’t believe you had almost forgotten. That damn siphon was the whole fucking reason all of this had happened! That and your stupidity for leaving Alastor’s side, but you were going to scold yourself for that later. For now, you needed to know it was ok and totally not lost somewhere in the streets of the city. 

Alastor’s lip twitched, shooting you a most hateful glare. He took a deep, calming breath through his nose before exhaling slowly. Face now softer, other than his furrowed brows and lidded eyes, he stood up and walked away without another word. You watched him nervously as he walked to the nightstand, but felt your heart bloom when he pulled your bag out from the blindspot beside the table. 

“I simply do not understand why you were so desperate for me to grab this for you,” he sneered, tossing the plastic bag onto the bed, “There were much more pressing matters at stake, surely whatever you purchased couldn’t have been that important.”

You ignored his angry tone, grabbing the bag with relief, “I can’t believe you understood what I said in the alley!” you laughed, taking the box out of the bag and beginning to open it. Your heart was racing with joy, but a part of you was filled with dread. You had dropped it before you were attacked, and now you were praying it didn’t get damaged in the fall. The thought of going through all that for a gift that was broken before you had a chance to give it to him? That would be tragic.  

You felt an unusual electric buzz shift in the air as you picked away at the lid of the package. 

“Pardon my confusion,” Alastor spoke, his eyes flickering over the box in your hands, “but I was under the impression you left to shop for new clothes...” His eyes snapped up to you, lifting his hand to point a claw at the box, “This does not look like clothing to me.”

Oops.

You look up briefly and give him a sheepish smile, before focusing back on your task, fingers finally opening the box. “Ah. Right, well…” you could feel yourself start to sweat, “I may or may not have… told the whole truth about-!”

“So you lied to me.” Alastor was fully glaring at you, the radio shuffling and fizzing dangerously.  His smile was taut and eyes cold, eyelid twitching; but you couldn’t see him, too busy focused on digging around the bubble wrap.

“I mean,” you mumbled embarrassingly, “Technically I did, yes, but-!”

“But. What. Y/n.” Alastor growled, his fingers scrunching into tight fists, eyes flashing crimson red, “First you attempt to go off on your own when I explicitly told you not to, and now I come to discover the reason you left was under false terms?”

Still unaware of Alastor’s current state, you manage to uncover the siphon just enough to peek at it. After gently shuffling it around with your finger, you felt your shoulders relax as a relieved smile broke out on your face.

“Oh thank God,” you breathe, more to yourself than to Alastor, “It didn’t break… I was-!”

Alastor’s hands slammed on the bed on either side of you, making you jump up at the sound. Too focused on the gift in your lap, you didn’t realize he had crawled up on the bed with you,  leaning over your body and kneeling over your legs. You shrinked back in fear as the lights flickered, his static buzzing and the room growing cold. His horns were fully extended, but his head was bent forward, his hair covering his expression. 

“You had almost died y/n.” his voice was uncomfortably calm, but you could tell his tone was deeper, darker and sharper than usual. His head slowly rose so you could just see his glowing eyes peek out from his bangs. His eyes were a raging scarlet with sharp, black dial pupils. His fingers curled up into tight fists, clutching the sheets beneath him. 

“Do you not fully understand that?” he continued, eyes narrowing into furious slits, “If it weren’t for me you’d still be bleeding out in that fucking alley way.” his eyes were practically burning you, his stare was so intense, so enraged; you were shivering under his hateful gaze. You would almost prefer it if he yelled at you, screamed and kicked and went on a rampage. But the chiling, silent fury he had… it scared you more. You had to look away, it was too much. But that didn’t stop Alastor. 

“I thought you to be smarter than this.” he seethed, lifting his head up more and showing his sharp, tight smile, yellowed teeth almost as bright as his eyes in this darkened room. His eyes snapped to the box in your lap and immediately he reached down and took it out of your shaking hands. He inspected it for a moment, the anger emanating from him soon growing as he looked back up to you. He then waggled it in front of you tauntingly, his tone growing more aggressive and frenzied. 

“Was this really worth risking your life for?” he sneered, his head tilting so much it caused his neck to snap as he leaned in closer, “Do you not realize how much your life is worth to these fools in this damn hotel? How much it means to-!” 

He immediately stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening for a moment. The air was heavy for a solid second before his face scrunched up in fury and his pupils focusing down at the package in his grasp. 

“Well then, dearest,” he spat the last word out, the pet name sounding more like an insult than anything. In an instant he sat up, kneeling over your legs and claws pulling the bubble wrapped object out of the box. His eyes flicked back up to you, to which you still looked away, before peeling the wrapping off of the mysterious item.

“Let’s take a look at what possessed you to risk life and limb, shall we~?”

Stripping the foreign object of its confines, the Radio Demon felt his face widen once the item was revealed. Almost instantly, the radio buzzing silenced, the lights flicked back to normal, and the room became deathly silent. The air was still as Alastor looked down at the siphon, something that brought a wave of memories along with it just at the mere sight. Could it really be…? A hesitant claw slowly reached down and thumbed the smooth glass, eyes dumbly blinking back to normal and his horns slowly shrank. 

There was a heavy pause as Alastor processed the sudden turn of events. But eventually, he managed to slowly lift his head back up to you.

And the sight before him made his stomach churn. 

Big salty tears streamed down your face, your hands scrunched in balls around his jacket that you held up tight to your face. Your eyes were downcast and not daring to look up at him. 

You felt so stupid for crying, but you couldn’t help it. He had never been this angry towards you. Sure you had pissed him off before, but those were under different, more sillier circumstances. He had actually hurt your feelings this time, and what made it worse was that you knew he was right. You knew your actions had not only caused you harm, but had hurt everyone, even Alastor given his reactions. His facial expressions throughout the whole treatment was enough proof, along with the tender aftercare. And the rage that flowed from him just now; clearly the thought of you dying had affected him more than he intended to let on. For fuck sakes, Alastor almost died because of your stupid mistake. You felt your shoulders start to shake. 

“I-I know you were still trying to b-brew the perfect cup,” you start to hiccup under your breath, your voice coming out in shaky warbles, “I-I just wanted to h-help… I d-didn’t mean t-to…” 

You started fully sobbing, burning your face in Alastor’s jacket and unable to stop your tears. 

Alastor didn’t dare to breathe, thinking if he did it might make you blow away into dust with how fragile you were. Usually seeing someone looking so pitiful brought him such delight. But this… This felt wrong. Not from you. Not his little songbird. He had never seen you so upset before, and it was unsettling. You were nothing but a joy around the hotel and its staff, and as much as he hated to admit it, a joy to him. Like a moth to a flame, you were that beacon that brought together wayward souls and made them feel better. And he had snuffed that. 

Your pain was his fault, and for the first time in nearly a decade, he didn’t wish it to be so.

“Don’t cry my dear,” he spoke softly, unsure what to say or do with his hands, “I see now that I was… wrong in my accusations.” He swallowed dryly, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. How does someone attempt to comfort a person in distress? He couldn’t remember the last time he was in such a position, not since he descended at the very least…

“But you’re not wrong.” You sob, voice becoming more frantic, “It w-was stupid for me to go off on my own; if you weren’t th-there I would have died!” your misty eyes widened in horror as the previous events came spiraling back into your mind. “God, I almost died… And you… You almost d-died because of me.” A new wave of tears came flooding through, guilt clawing through your chest and making you hyperventilate. Alastor stiffened at your down spiral, eyes flicking over you nervously. 

“Y/n, it’s alright.” He gently put the siphon down on the bed, raising his hands in a defensive state as if attempting to tame a wild animal. “True, things got… disorderly back there, but we’re no longer in any danger.” A thought popped into his mind and his face brightened slightly, “Also, keep in mind that you also saved my life earlier today. You were practically on death’s door and yet you still risked everything to come to my aid. Such an honorable deed can’t go unnoticed.” He gave you a calming smile, surely convinced that his words would help make you feel better. But your breathing simply became more erratic, too absorbed in your own thoughts to comprehend his.

“B-but all of this was my fault! What I did, the t-trouble I caused… You should hate me after all of this!” You felt like your heart was being crushed after that last sentence, the thought not once occurring to you until this very moment. Would he even want to be your friend anymore after all of this? 

You grasped onto your scalp as your head began to pound, feeling yourself begin to shut down with panic. Your breathing became labored as you shut your eyes tight, your whole body still aching with pain, yet it felt like nothing compared to the dark thoughts swirling in your mind. The reality of everything that had happened was too much. You felt yourself sinking into a dark place, and you were ready to let it consume you…

Until you felt clawed hands gently cup your cheeks, warm and gentle and so familiar. They urged you to lift your head, but you were scared. You didn’t want to look, didn’t dare to meet him in the eye and see his hateful face again. But so tired with tears, you allow your head to be lifted, eyes red and stinging with hurt. Siphon aside on the bed and already forgotten, Alastor’s face leaned in close to yours, watching over your face with sad, furrowed brows and eyes unable to meet yours. 

“Please stop crying,” he whispered, his voice soft and the radio filter barely audible. “I... I can’t stand to see you like this…” His pupils dared to flick up at you as his thumb gently wiped away your tears, desperate to do something, anything, to make you stop. You sat there frozen for a moment, shocked by his actions and sentiment. You had never seen the Radio Demon looking so… vulnerable. It shocked you enough to snap you from your hyperventilating, but in a way, just made your heart break even more. Eventually, his comforting touch made you melt into his hands, tears still pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so sorry Al,” you blubber, your own hands reaching out to hold onto his wrists for support, “It’s all my f-fault… I’m s-so so sorry…” Alastor softly began to hush you, pulling your face closer to his so you were only inches away from each other. A soft, albeit hesitant chuckle escaped from his lips.

“I should’ve known you'd do something so reckless for the sake of a kind gesture,” he mused, but his expression became serious again as his gaze went back to your face, “Reguardless, you shouldn’t apologize for doing something so thoughtful…” He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else, his eyes flickering away as if hesitant. After a pause, he finally spoke: “If anything, I should be the one apologizing-!”

Immediately you flinched back, aghast by his words. Alastor? Apologizing? You never thought you’d live to see the day. Plus he had nothing to apologize for?! Alastor, still holding your face, recognized your expression and continued before you could interrupt him again.

“Let me finish.” he cocked an eyebrow, his grin threatening to spread in amusement before becoming somber again, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you earlier. And I definitely shouldn’t have let you venture on your own in the market, your injuries are my fault.” his eyes flicked to your hands and you noticed his slight grimace, “I promised you my protection… and I failed you. And for that I am sorry.”

Your lower lip trembled at his words. Alastor wasn’t the type to apologize for his actions (or lack of in certain circumstances). So for him to actually respect you enough to say such things… It was flooring. And completely heartwarming. 

Your breathing had slowly calmed, no longer hyperventilating, but still sniffling in his hands. Alastor softly began to hush you, his electricity buzzing quietly in the background. He wiped your tears away gently with his thumb, making your heart feel like it was going to burst. He was being so kind, so caring…

“... Does this m-mean we’re still friends?” you croak, terrified of his answer. To your relief, Alastor immediately pulled your head closer, pressing his forehead up against yours and running his thumbs tenderly over your soft cheeks and wiping away the new teardrops that formed. A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

“Oh, my darling,” he breathed, “No matter how many times you may get on my nerves, it’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me~” his scarlet pupils were locked on yours, unwavering as if looking right into your soul. 

You were whimpering under his hands, feeling yourself sink into him and the relief that he wasn’t going to leave you. You blink back your final tears and close your eyes, happy to just rest your forehead against his and live in this bittersweet moment. Alastor didn’t seem to move away either, subconsciously squeezing your one uninjured cheek like a little stress toy, which made your lips curl into a soft smile. Your body finally calmed, you matched your breathing pattern with his, helping to ground you. Your hands still grasping his wrists, you slowly trace your thumb over his skin in a comforting motion. You felt the familiar muted burn of where the ‘X’ on his forehead would be against your own, something that you were slowly getting accustomed to feeling since meeting him. The room fell silent as you both sat on the bed, minds equally wandering with flickers of thoughts, but also just content to just be in each other’s presence. 

After a peaceful couple of minutes, Alastor nudged your head a bit with his own before pulling away, pushing off his straddling position over you and opting to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, torso still turned to your direction. His hands softly trailed away from your face, but one lightly trailed down your arm until it was holding your hand. 

“I’m flattered that you went to such lengths to get me something so wonderful,” he smiled, eyes looking over at the siphon before returning to you. Like the many ways he had done before, he lifted it up close to his face, looking down at it for a moment before focusing back on your face. 

“It’s something I will treasure for as long as I breathe… Thank you, mon passereau~”

He bowed his head and closed his eyes, bringing your hand up closer. You sighed happily, closing your eyes with relief that it had all worked out, and fully expecting to soon feel that familiar warmth of his forehead against the back of your hand.

But when you felt a warm pair of lips press down instead, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. 

He pressed your hand up to his mouth, warm and soft, eyes closed but a soft expression on his face. The delicate kiss against your skin caused a shiver to zip up your spine, your heart hammering in your chest harder than ever before. 

He’s kissing you. He’s kissing you?? He's kissing you. Do friends kiss each other? Wait, why are you thinking about that. Focus y/n. It’s just on the hand. A friendly kiss on the hand. People do that. Gentlemen do that. Alastor’s a gentleman. This is normal. This is fine. Everything is fine.

His lips slowly parted from your hand, face hovering over your skin and looking up at you with lowered lids and grin wide. His pupils flickered across your burning cheeks, his cheshire grin spreading devilishly before locking on your eyes. As your heart slowly calmed down, you eventually huffed a sigh through your nose, shaking your head in defeat but smiling all the same. 

You give his hand a quick squeeze of affection before lifting your hand out of his grasp and cupping his face delicately. Looking at him endearingly, you stroke your thumb carefully over his face, causing the Radio Demon to cock an eyebrow but not saying anything. 

And just as he was beginning to relax under your touch, you squish his cheeks and gently, playfully, shove his face away from you.

And the deep rumbling laughter that came from his chest was like music to your ears.  “That’s my girl,” he chuckled, eyes wrinkled with happiness, “Now my dear, why don't I show you what quality coffee tastes like~?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

FIRST PREVIOUS NEXT (Coming soon)

My beautiful does and bucks: @saccharine-nectarine / @doowopshewop / @mysterypotatoink / @wendds / @crispybelieverworld

@raicomme / @letshavedeernnertogether/ @sirens-and-moonflowers / @from-nobody-to-nightmare / @iheartalastor

((EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL SINNERS!! TYSM!! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ ))

#leilani-lily #alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #oh deer #alastor the radio demon

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Becoming the Storm: First Wave

Author's note: I got distracted from Ashes and broken lamps by this idea, but I have to follow the dopamine. Also yes I did this instead of sleep and no I couldn't think of anything better than this dorky title.Word count:4008

Tags: Isekai, dark humor, death mentioned, stalked by a fruit, voice of all things, grifting Kaido, getting a natural high, spiritual experience, no use of (y/n) y'all get named a card game like the tobbi roppo, double agent, corpse scene

It had been exactly thirty seconds since Truck-kun had so kindly knocked your ass into another world. It had not taken you long to realize you had been isekai’d in the middle of Kaido’s strategy table in the middle of a meeting between Kaido and his lead performers. The four large men were looking at your sprawled figure, too in awe to speak. You let your head fall back onto the hard surface below and sighed, “Alright, kill me just get it over with.”

It took a few moments for one of them to speak.

“Not yet, I have a few questions first,” Kaido mumbled, still coming to terms with the fact that he just watched a human fall out of a floating orb of blue light.

This was the last thing you needed today and were eager to either go to bed or the forever box. You groaned, “I don’t know how I got here, last thing I remember was getting hit by a truck walking my ass home from a run to the liquor store.” Lifting the bag of vodka, which miraculously was not in a million pointy pieces.

Kaido grumbled, “Hmm now there's only more questions.”

His response made anger swell and writhe in your chest. “Damn it Kaido are you gonna kill me or what?” You curse. When the horned man shook his head, you scrambled to your feet and grumbled, “Fine I’ll do it myself,” as you made your way over to a nearby window.

Kaido nodded at King, wordlessly telling him to apprehend you, and the next thing you knew you were hanging upside down from King’s fist. You briefly squirmed indignantly before going limp and yielding to Kaido’s wishes, “Alright if you’re gonna interrogate me then I’m gonna need a cup and some ice because I will not be doing this sober. And some snacks, I’m starving.”

After Kaido moved the conversation to one of the banquet halls, he had food and drinks served before he started his questioning. Unfortunately, each answer led to only more questions; what was a truck, why he had never heard of such a thing, where were you from? You had to explain the universe of ten dimensions of string theory to them at one point.

King, who you had thought had not listened to a word you said, asked, “If you are from an alternate universe, then how did you know our names without having to be told?”

This is when you realized the possible consequences if they found out about the manga. One wrong word could get Luffy, or any of the important characters killed, or screw up the story. You needed to know exactly where in the timeline you were at now. But you couldn’t remember the ages of the men present, you only knew Yamato’s age. Now cognizant of how carefully you must tread, you start to question them, “Before I answer that, how old is Yamato?”

“That brat is… Sixteen?” Kaido mumbled, only to be corrected by King, “Seventeen.” The men watched you stare at the floor deep in thought.

That meant Luffy was around seven at present, and he had no control over his devil fruit if he had consumed it yet. But it meant he was safely hidden away and protected at the moment. You turned your gaze to Kaido eyeing him cautiously, if you were smart you could spin this in your favor. Kaido was a powerful man with copious resources, and he wanted to become the pirate king. Now that you were here in this world and had nothing to lose, it meant you didn’t have to wait every week for chapter updates to learn the truth of the poneglyphs or will of D. So Kaido would be a most convent benefactor to help you reach your goal, it’s not like he’s an innocent person you’d be taking advantage of. Plus if you got enough power you could help the people of Wano, and be an asset to Lady Hiyori and Denjiro later on.

“There’s a comic about this world in my own.” You admit, needing to be careful because there was no way these seasoned pirates would not sniff out any lies a scalawag like yourself would tell. It was best to tell the truth, but be cryptic about it and not tell the whole truth.

Kaido roared, “Worororo! So your people tell stories about us?” Slapping his knee, clearly assuming he was the main character. Queen and Jack who seemed to be tickled and plagued by a similar inference, joined in their Captain’s laughter. King, who was less than pleased with that possibility, you also got a distinct impression that he was suspicious of you. Finding it wisest not to dwell on King, you stared at Kaido, waiting for him to regain his composure, gleefully looking forward to bursting their bubble. When they finally calmed down, you replied, “You’re in it, but you’re not the main character.” This moment was paramount in getting Kaido to help you.

King sneered, “If not someone as accomplished and fearsome as Kaido-san is not the main character, then who is?”

Time to cast the bait too tantalizing for any of them to resist. You took a sip from your glass, and matter-of-factly uttered, “It’s about Joy Boy’s journey to change the world.”

Your words brought heavy and sober silence over the room, that nearly broke your composure. All four men were in varying flavors of disbelief, but the only person’s feelings who mattered were Kaido’s. He started at you blankly, ignoring the cacophony of slander and rambling from his subordinates. Kaido held up a hand to silence them and asked, “Why should I believe you?”

You took a deep breath before starting to rattle off almost everything you knew about him. “You’re from the Vodka Kingdom, you became a soldier by the time you were ten. The King tried to draft you into the Marines, but you escaped and proceeded to get captured by them whenever you were hungry. Until one day Whitebeard, then Edward Newgate told you Rocks wanted to chat, and you joined his crew. Where you met and befriended Linlin, who tricked you into eating your devil fruit after Garp and Roger defeated the crew at God Valley. Then you started to build your crew, starting with King who you met a Punk Hazard.” Needing to pause to regain your breath, before continuing, “Also, your favorite food is alcohol and your birthday is May 1st. ”

Also, your favorite food is alcohol and your birthday is May first.

“Worororo!! You even know my birthday and favorite food! How about his?” Kaido replied, pointing at King.

“December first and flying fish sashimi. Queen’s is July thirteenth and Oshiruko. Jack’s birthday is September twenty-eighth and his favorite food is elephant meat steak while his least favorite is grilled cactus. Do you need more or are we good?”

King was the quickest to react, lunging at you to snatch you up, but was stopped by Kaido smacking him over the head with his club. While the Lunarian groaned, Kaido huffed, “You’re going to tell me everything about Joyboy.”

“If I did that then you would wreck the story, and if you want to fight him at his full power then I’m going to need you to just trust me.”

Kaido’s eyes narrowed, and you fought to keep your composure as your stomach rolled and writhed like a business of ferrets had replaced your guts and spine. “If you can’t tell me anything then what use are you to me?”

“Well one, I know about the poneglyphs including the locations of at least ten out of the thirty poneglyphs. They’re the ones that Joyboy finds along on his journey because they’re what leads him to Wano. So we can only take prints, and once we have them I can learn about linguistics and work on deciphering them.” You explain, intentionally leaving out the Red Poneglyph on Zou and the secret ones in Wano.

“...does that nine include the ones Linlin has?”

“And the one you have or will have, and the location of one of them is up in the air right now. And then one of them might not exist.” You admit, “But I know a bunch of other stuff ….. While I can’t tell you, I can however act on it on your behalf you would just need to give me some level of authority.”

Kaido pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, drawing everyone’s attention to him. And after a painful minute of waiting he announced, “You will join my crew as our Poneglyph researcher and advisor. I understand that we will need to comply with you even if we don’t understand, I guess I’ll have you working under King since he’s the one I can trust not to let his pride or stubbornness. But know this, if you are lying to me I will have King make you regret being born.” His voice was steady and stern, but it filled you with relief. “You start work tomorrow, in the meantime.”

“I already regret my birth, but thank you, sir,” You joked, remembering to give a small bow before finishing, “I look forward to starting my new job.”

“Also from now on you’re called Klondike. Now someone will take you to one of the guest rooms.”

After being given a room morning couldn’t come fast enough for you, not only were you finally going to get to see a poneglyph in person, but because sleep was eluding you. For the last two hours misty whispers seeped through the door, indistinct voices uttering nothing you could decipher. You had passed the noise off as some sort of background noise, but once you had settled down to bed the voices grew louder. This combined with the sheer massive scale of your new environment and the inky darkness that filled the void space in the room made you jumpy. It felt like hundreds of ghastly pale fingers of specters unknown were scribbling toward you on the other side of the wood that nonetheless beckoned you to follow them. You had never fully grasped how haunting Onigashima was until now, the only thing you felt you could do was to hide under the plush duvet on your futon.

The next thing you knew someone was shaking you awake, and the room was bright as shit. You squinted against the blinding light and looked over to see a strange woman glaring down at you with disdain.

“It’s almost ten in the morning, do you intend to keep Kaido waiting forever stupid?” She sneered, “Hurry and get dressed, the governor-general is waiting for you in the western hall.”

You stretched your whole body, and groaned, “ I don’t have any other clothes, fuck I’m going to have to get a whole new wardrobe.”

The strange woman kicked you in the ribs and snarled at you to get up, and proceeded to grumble about her other responsibilities as she led you to the breakfast hall. Where Kaido was chatting with Maria over the empty plates that once held copious amounts of food. The Ogre whipped his head in your direction when your arrival was announced, and he boomed, “There you are, Klondike, you slept through breakfast.”

He seemed to be in a good mood, or at least better than you had left him last night. You smiled at him, bowed, and replied, “I did not mean to make you wait, have never had to wake up on my own before. I shall endeavor to do better in the future.”

Nodding in approval he held a hand out to Black Maria and introduced her, “This is Black Maria, she is one of the Toppi Roppo. She will be the one responsible for your needs.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Black Maria.” You mumbled and bowed, before standing straight up and using your hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight pouring in through the open doors.

She put on a sweet smile that did nothing to hide the murderous look in her eyes as she cooed, “The pleasure is yours entirely. You look dreadful poor thing.”

It was amusing to you that she seemed to hate you even though she just met you, leaving you wondering who had said what. While your money was on King you nodded respectfully to Maria and mumbled, “I had a rough night, I was kept up by some people talking down the hall, and it seems like I overindulged last night, my head is pounding and this light hurts my eyes. But I look forward to working with you.”

Kaido not caring for formalities, interrupted, “That’s odd you were the only one in that wing last night and the rooms are soundproof…. Are those the same clothes from yesterday?”

You awkwardly tugged at the hem of your shirt to see just how wrinkled it had gotten and chuckled, “Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t able to bring anything with me when I came, besides the vodka and my bag.”

He looked over at Maria, making her smile morph into dread, “I thought I asked you to make sure they have new clothing to wear.”

Maria gave a pointed look at the woman who woke you and said, “ I was wondering the same thing, why are they wearing day-old clothes, Yumi?”

The woman cooly stated that she had eyeballed your measurements, and passed it along to another made who was searching for spares for you to wear. Maria seemed annoyed at the woman before turning to Kaido and sighed, “I trust Yumi’s skills, her maid however has a penchant for getting lost. I’ll have the Marys go look for her. In the meantime why don’t we let the poor dear eat, and then have them change before going to see King?”

Kaido nodded, “ Sadly there’s not much left, you have to move faster around here if you want food. Help yourself to anything you can find.”

You laughed, “It seems so, but I rarely eat breakfast. I’m a bit of a night owl, so I’m not usually awake at this time,” looking around at the hall which looked like a whirlwind of piranhas had blown through. There was food on the floor, walls, and ceiling but none was left on any of the porcelain serving platters. Except for one bowl that seemed untouched, it was piled high with an assortment of fresh fruit. The bright red apple on top looked particularly good and had your mouth watering. You sat in front of the bowl, gave thanks for the food, and snatched the apple up.

Much to your displeasure, the apple started to morph the moment you touched it; turning lumpy, and swells of stormy grey and bright yellow swirled to the skin of the fruit. Your breakfast had turned into a devil fruit in the open view of everyone in the room. From the looks on their faces, this was something people in this world would consider a miracle. However, for you it was disappointing and annoying, you had wanted that apple. Kaido called for someone to bring the devil fruit encyclopedia to him at once, and knowing he’d want it, and asking for it would be a fruitless effort, you threw him the fruit. He turned it over in his hands, studying it as you searched for an acceptable substitute that would disappoint you the least. You were having trouble about whether or not you wanted the Kiwi or the peach, as you were pulled away by maids who were to change your clothes for you.

When you returned thirty minutes later, bathed, groomed, and in a fresh kimono, Kaido was surrounded by the lead performers and tobi roppo. They poured over a few books and compared your former apple to the pictures in said books. Spotting the bowl of fruit had been knocked over and the kiwi was squished flat, you went and picked up the peach. You glanced over at the fruit in Kaido’s hand, still mad it was no longer an apple. With a sigh, you were about to take a bite of the inferior peach, but a cacophony of gasps from the pirates in the corner of the room, made you halt your actions. When you opened your eyes they were all gawking at you in awe, tired of this nonsense you grumbled, “What now?”

Kaido mutely held up the fruit in his hand, which had returned to being a regular apple. Hoping it wasn’t so, you looked at your ‘meal’ to see your peach had mutated in a similar manner that your apple had. You threw it to Sasaki and picked up another only for the same swirls and colors to take the form of the fruit in your hand. After repeating this process with every fruit in the bowl you chucked the last one full force across the room and shrieked in frustration.

“Someone’s cranky,” King murmured.

“You can have the damn thing as long as you bring me something to eat that isn’t fruit.” You growled.

Thirty minutes later you had a belly full of food and the pirates had gone through all of their books and announced that they had no idea what fruit was determined to have you as its user. You lounged back on a pillow and watched as they discussed who was to eat the fruit. One thing they were all in agreement about was you were sure s shit not going to be the one to eat it. Not that you had any objections, the fact that you had no idea what it would do to you once you ate it was enough to dissuade you from eating it. Being someone that had always grown bored easily you requested to be escorted to Kaido’s Poneglyph. Kaido and King decided that the devil fruit at hand was more important so you were left with Yumi’s maid to take you. And true to Maria’s word, she had gotten both of you lost in five minutes.

The girl, Ai, was young, barely fourteen, and clearly out of her depth so you found it hard to be mad at her. She had been apologizing profusely ever since she realized she had gotten you two lost. There was a fear in her eyes that led you to believe she had faced severe punishment for such small mistakes in the past. It took you a few minutes to coax her into calming down.

“ I’m sorry, it’s just this place is so big and I’ve only been here for a month.” She explained.

You patted her on the back, and replied, “It’ll be okay, I can hear some people talking in that direction, why don’t we follow them and ask for directions?”

“I don’t hear anything, are…. Are you okay?” Ai asked, cocking her eyebrow at you and nervously rung the fabric of her kimono in her hands.

You shrugged, “what do we have to lose? We’re already lost.” The girl deflated and nodded, electing to follow you around winding halls and down eerie stairs until you reached for the handle of a door in the skull dome’s second basement. Ai grabbed your hand and blurted, “I don’t think we’re allowed in that room!... There’s this big cube thing in there, I don’t know what it is, but they kill people for going there without permission.”

You took her hand and assured her, “ It’s called a poneglyph, and studying it is why I’m here. So I’m going in, but if you stay out here, we’re more likely to be found since most people are not allowed in this room. Plus if I’m not allowed in here, then I’ll be the one to get punished.” She nodded and waited outside the door while you tried to contain your excitement before you opened the door.

The Poneglyph was magnificent, and much larger than you had imagined. The smooth stone appeared almost outplace above the ocean's surface. Even in the dim torchlight, it looked like a chunk of the ocean depths t had spawned in the wrong spot. Its presence was so calm, still, and weighty. Your reverence was interrupted by Ai gently pushing you into the room and closing the door behind you. Now alone with the Poneglyph, the whispers coaxed you closer, and before you knew it you were now only an arm’s length away. It was almost as if you were not in control of your body as your fingers pulled your arm toward it. The moment your skin made contact with it, the whispers cleared words. “The truth about the chasm of the past lies enshrined in the skull's golden right eye, where it waits and watches the ocean as it flies to strike out at the sky”

Your first thought went directly to the Poneglyph in the belfry of Shandora, then to the fact that this meant you had the Voice of all things like Roger and Momonosuke. Euphoric delirium and delightful disbelief fizzled inside of you. The rush of it left you breathless. But it all came crashing down when the door behind you flew open. Kaido marched in carrying a charred corpse in his hand. His inner circle followed somberly in behind him, each one of them looking grim. Kaido chucked the body at your feet, where it crumbled on impact. “He died almost immediately after he ate the fruit. A gust of wind came out of nowhere and knocked him into the riptide. I want to see if you can make another.” As King placed a bag of apples at your feet and you, still reeling from your experience with hearing the poneglyph stared at him not absorbing a damn thing going on.

Kaido waited a minute, sensing some about you was off, but not seeing anything visibly wrong with you. He pulled his head back, cocking an eyebrow at you as he asked, “Are you okay? What happened?”

Your back hit the poneglyph, you slid down to the floor, and panted, “Yeah, just gimme a minute I’m a little lightheaded from all the excitement. Uh, I can try, but I promise nothing.” The apple you reached for turned into the mysterious devil fruit pursuing you. “ Just leave the bag of fruit here, maybe if you tell me when someone eats it I can finally enjoy an apple.”

A sadistic glint ignited in King’s eye and he leaned over to Kaido to comment, “We know so little about devil fruits, it could be possible any fruit they’ve eaten could become a devil fruit in their stomach after a user dies. I’ll bet it’ll happen sooner or later because we have a moderately high … turnover rate.” Kaido furrowed his brow and forbid you from consuming any fruit before turning to leave.

“Wait, sir! Instead of coming all the way down here next time, why don’t you send your fastest crew member to fetch the apples for you?” You called out, knowing full well that it was King. Who practically swelled with anger at your suggestion, even his feathers puff up and the muscles in his wings clench. It would have been cute if he weren’t capable of ripping off your head. Queen snickering at him brought King damn close to popping a button off his jacket. So you added, “Also this is an excellent opportunity to gather data and test hypotheses about devil fruits, I hope one of you has at least been writing stuff down.”

Queen swore and ran off to his lab yelling his request for Kaido to wait until he’s brought some equipment up to pick a new test subject. After watching Queen waddle run down the hall Kaido rumbled, “Yeah I’m not waiting for him.”

You nodded and replied, “Wise choice, he’s like genuinely the worst.” Engendering laughing snort to erupt from King, who pretended like it had not happened when you grinned up at him.

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#one piece #one piece x reader #king the wildfire #king the conflagration #king the conflagration x reader #queen the plague #jack the drought #kaido #beast pirates #animal kingdom pirates #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #6/11/23 #no beta we die like men

[chaninfused]

The Altar of Angels | Lee Minho

◤“If the jester wanted to play, then the Prince of the Underworld would happily oblige.” In which a mafia heir seeks the aid of a wildcard to upturn his court. ◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. Chapter five from the ‘dead men don’t speak’ series. Enemies to worse enemies (seriously, there’s not a shred of affection between them, only toxicity). Action and angst. Descriptions of violence, death, blood, and injury. Usage of vulgar language. ◤Word count: 3.3K ◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction and do not reflect the idols' true characters. Please do not take my content without my consent. Masterlist. ◤From the author: I'm sorry for the long pause! It took me longer than expected to get back into the groove of writing, but we're back, and I wish you happy reading!

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The Prince of the Underworld had learned many lessons at thirteen. Most notable was the revelation that his life was merely a game of cards. Every person had their pre-assigned place in the deck, and he played them all with a serpent’s ease and a devil’s grin.

A restless mastermind, Minho survived by being in control, and it seemed that his guest was keenly aware of that fact.

He glanced at his silver watch. Seven minutes past the meeting time. He’d known that this alliance was never going to be peaceful when he sent that invitation.

Still, he was patient. Two could play this game if his valued guest so desired.

Ten minutes.

He was sure it was on cue when the doors swung open right then and his guest strode in, that infamous burgundy coat billowing around her, her entourage of one man tailing behind her. She was all too relaxed when she met his gaze, faux apology leaving her lips, “My, what a maze this place is!”

The legs of the chair opposite to him screeched against the floor, but she didn’t seem to care as she flopped onto the leathery cushions, tossing a familiar envelope his way.

“So,” her eyes didn’t crinkle when she smiled, “Do spill. Where did you find the spine to summon me like one of your lackeys?”

Straight to the point, huh?

Minho wanted to laugh. She was just as he’d expected.

A Joker card.

Unruly, unpredictable, and incredibly special. If the jester wanted to play, then the Prince of the Underworld would happily oblige.

“I believe our meeting was supposed to happen at eleven. Seeing as to how it’s ten past that now, I think I’ll be taking my leave,” Minho remarked coolly, barely rising from his seat when the air next to his ear whistled as a bullet tore through.  

“Stay put, will you?”

He mentally cursed at his body for freezing involuntarily. Of course she’d be the type of madwoman to shoot at him in a room full of his men. Any closer, and it would have been his brain matter splattered on the pristine walls alongside the imbedded bullet.

“I did have to make a long journey here, so make it worthwhile, your highness.”

Her mockery didn’t go unnoticed, though the real mockery was the desperation that made him ignore that address and hold her cold gaze. He didn’t know if it was stupidity or confidence that made her and her second so nonchalant despite the guns aimed at them for the transgression.

Minho remained standing. “I’m not fond of tardy people, miss Y/n.”

“And I don’t like to be ordered around, but I guess we can’t all have it our way,” she twirled her handgun lazily, eyes and words sharp.  

Touché.

Minho supposed this made the two of them even, so he decided to let it go, motioning for his guards to lower their arms as he reclaimed his seat.

“I called you here because I would like to propose an alliance between us,” he began once he had settled.

“And what purpose would that serve exactly?”

“My uncle has been running Taunt to the ground lately,” he leaned back into the leather chair, voice dropping, “I think it’s time he fell.”

“Not interested in your intra-organization power struggles,” she shrugged in immediate dismissal. “Besides, it seems to me you’re forgetting the agents Taunt had planted to assassinate me and the Right Claw two weeks ago.”

“That is precisely why this alliance benefits both you and me,” Minho stressed. “My uncle was reckless enough to attack you and spur the Shadow Front’s wrath—against my express advice, I’ll have you know. I want him and his moronic execs gone before my organization is destroyed, and I’m sure you want payback for the hospital.”

She glanced at her second in command, an unspoken exchange flitting between them, before pointing out, “And you think associating yourself with the Shadow Front is gonna fly with the rest of your people?”

Of course it wouldn’t fly. The animosity between Taunt and the Shadow Front was as ancient as the sun and the moon, but the Seraph’s Ring was becoming impatient.

“I don’t plan to associate myself with the Shadow Front,” he corrected, “I’m associating myself with Shiver."

The Six Claws were the highest-ranking individuals in the Shadow Front, and their power allowed them to create their own divisions or even found their own sub-organizations, so long as they answered to their Boss at the end of the day.

Shiver was one such sub-organization, belonging to none other than the Left Claw who sat across from him, murmuring to herself, “I see.”

“Well… I do agree that the executives should perish,” she finally said, and Minho nodded, “And I won’t stand in your way when the time comes. Do we have a deal, then?”

The room held its breath, and then she laughed, “Sure. I’ll kill your boss for you.”

Minho exhaled.

He had done it. The King of Diamonds would finally topple.

“But what do I get out of this?” her question shattered his moment of triumph.

Eyes sparkling with amusement, she rested her elbow against the armrest of her chair and propped her head against her palm. “It isn’t like I actually need your permission to take revenge if I wanted to.”

But of course, Minho wasn’t so naive.

“I’ll give you free access to Port Three for a year.”

“Two years.”

She hadn’t missed a beat, still boring into him with those unnervingly bright eyes as though nothing in this world could ever be worth taking seriously. Her drawl dripped with poison, “Two years or I make a beeline out of here to your uncle’s office and tell him about his little traitor of a nephew.”

Right.

Port Three was under Minho’s control, and the charges he collected from it were only a small portion of his fortune. He could afford to relinquish control temporarily.

“Fine,” he yielded, perfectly composed, and that same grin stretched her lips again, not quite reaching her eyes.

“Nice doing business with you.”

Hatred was a mistress of many faces, and Minho was familiar with all of them. The Left Claw smiled and her second was expressionless, but Minho saw it.

Those two despised him to their very cores.

It mattered to him none.

He had his flimsy alliance and he finally had her.

A Joker card to add to his collection.

•⭓•

Minho wasn’t born a prince.

He’d been nothing one day, and then he was the chosen son of one of the most powerful men in the underworld, the closest thing to royalty among criminals.

And it was only right that the King’s son be raised a Prince. Blessed, untouchable, divine, he could have the very sky that you were now captivated by in his palms if he so wished.

“Haunting, isn’t it?” he remarked as he approached the balustrade where you stood with your second, so still as if meditating. The stars were invisible tonight, but the moon was a bleeding orb of light and terrifyingly close. It had a presence that sent a shiver down his spine, as though it were an omen. A promise of bloodshed.

“That’s not the word I’d use,” you scoffed, turning away from the balustrade to face him. You wore an altered version of your notorious coat, sharply cut to suit the party, and a displeased frown. “Let’s get this over with already.”

You didn’t care to wait for his response before stalking toward the grand doors, and Minho caught up to you with ease. The two of you walking in together would be a statement, and it would create just the kind of fuss needed to ruffle his uncle’s feathers.

More than that, actually. It would set the King of Diamonds’ metaphorical plumage on fire, and the thought of that almost made Minho dizzy with excitement.

The sea of dark suits seemed to still, conversation dying and voices falling into a hush upon your entrance into the hall. He stifled a victorious smirk at the scene.

It worked like a charm.

Every gaze was a spear that directed at you, and Minho felt it then, a gaze hotter and sharper than the rest. The Cardinal Ring, fuming with betrayal and unbridled rage.

They all recognized that deep, reddish color—the Joker card at his side.

You paid them no mind, marching through a crowd that parted for you almost naturally, and Minho matched your pace until your path collided with his uncle and his three executives, huddling close to one another as though to intimidate the two of you.

“You have some nerve, Minho,” his uncle all but spat at him, his name sounding like a curse from his lips.

He only smiled cordially, coldly, in response. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir.”

His uncle seethed silently, snapping his eyes to glare at you. Minho knew he wouldn’t make a scene with him so publicly, but you were a known enemy, so you weren’t spared when he jeered at you, “What, that one-eyed brute finally bored you? Cozying up to your enemies for some excitement?”

You didn’t so much as blink at his provocations. Lips pressed into a flat line, you leveled him with a look so unamused that it stilled the air. Only your second in command expressed any semblance of agitation, a lone vein twitching in his jaw.

Han Jisung was his name. A Jack card, so loyal to his boss.

Silence yawned between the two of you, a depthless canyon, so thoroughly uncomfortable it caused Minho’s skin to prickle. It felt like hours, though realistically, he knew it was a mere few seconds before his uncle scoffed a swear under his breath and turned away with his posse.

You watched them disappear into the crowd for good measure and then faced the direction you had come from. “Let’s go, Han.”

“You’re leaving?” Minho was a little surprised, and you gave him a withering glare.

“I only came here to piss off your uncle, and we’ve done that. Your company doesn’t interest me otherwise. Goodbye."

Minho could only watch as your burgundy coat melted into the mass of black suits. He might’ve been offended at your curt dismissal, and maybe he should’ve, but Minho found the grace in his heart to forgive you.

After all, the Joker, the harbinger of chaos, had but a single instinct driving their every action.

Bloodlust.

He would entertain your antics because as long as he wielded your insatiable craving for bloodshed, you were practically dancing in his palms.

•⭓•

Kings were made to fall.

Minho also learned that at thirteen, when he cradled his father’s cold body in his arms. The King of Spades, he’d later dubbed him. Mighty, boundless. Fallible.

The current boss, his uncle, was also a King and so were his executives. It was a fitting assessment because he had to fall too, for the sake of Taunt’s survival.

That was why Minho considered himself a perfect ‘one’. An Ace. He would only rise, like an angel outstretching a hand for the salvation of humanity.

Blessed, untouchable, divine.

His faction was thus aptly named the Seraph’s Ring, and they had become ravenous beasts praying on his uncle’s downfall.

The doors of the meeting room burst open when Minho charged in, quipping without a drop of lightheartedness, “What’s this? A secret club meeting?”

The stunned faces of his uncle and his three executives greeted him. The Cardinal Ring looked as though they had been caught red-handed.

“I wonder, did our invite get lost in the mail?” Minho sneered as he ambled in, followed by the two other executives who constituted his faction.

Sitting at the head of the long table, Taunt’s boss hissed, “You have no right to sit at this table after sleeping with the shadow bastards.”

What a vulgar mouth.

“I slept with nobody," Minho deadpanned as he dropped into his usual seat. "Your problem has always been that you’re severely short-sighted.”

One of the Cardinal executives slammed a fist against the table, features contorting in anger. “You arrogant little—”

“I learned something interesting.”

Minho savored the small victory of their silence at his announcement. They were all the same at the end of the day.

Vultures.

“Those shadow bastards have quite the deal to close with Six-Six,” he wielded the foreign organization’s name like weapon and saw the executives' eyes darken in response. “Three hundred million dollars or something along those lines.”

“I hear the Claws will be in attendance too,” Minho leaned back, triumphant when he met his uncle’s hungry gaze, “Doesn’t that excite you, uncle?”

“So this was your play all along?” his boss huffed his surprise.

“I’m not as airheaded as you think I am.”

Once again, Minho had played a flawless hand. He could practically see the schemes brewing in his uncle’s head.

“Two weeks from now. Two in the afternoon,” he smiled, drinking in his sweet, sweet greed. “I’m sure Six-Six doesn’t care who meets them at the West Port.”

Foolishness was the downfall of all Kings.

•⭓•

The rusty aluminum ceiling of warehouse 5B would be the last thing Taunt's boss would see. What fine taste you had.

Mino’s gaze roved over the space and the abandoned containers lining its walls. “And you’re sure no one will interrupt us here?”

“Yeah,” you said behind him. “Just make sure your boss shows his face.”

“He will.”

That man was a slave to his greed. Minho was more than glad to pull his leash into this trap.

“And the execs?” you asked.

“They’ll likely stay behind. Wouldn’t want to dim his spotlight.”

 “Right.”

You were as riveted by the plan as one would be by an ant crossing the pavement. It ticked him off, just barely.

“You’re awfully relaxed,” Minho commented as you strolled past him.

“What, haven’t killed a man before?” you paused to side-eye him. “No wonder you sought outside help.”

“Hey.”

“Or wait, there was that cruise incident last year, right?”

His blood chilled. Too late did he notice the sly grin on your lips. He’d basically confirmed your claim with his silence.   

Damn it.

“How did you know about that?” Minho demanded. He had ensured that the coverup was flawless, that it could never be traced back to him.

So how—

“A little fox whispers to me.” you shrugged, resuming your aimless walk. “Anyway, let’s go over your sob story again.”

That fox must have been your informant, and quite the skilled one. Minho bit back his frustration. It didn’t seem like you planned to use the information against him anyway.

“You purposefully fed me wrong information and made me lead the boss here. You then ambushed us and killed him as revenge,” he recited.

“Exactly! I betrayed you,” you lamented mockingly. “Poor Prince of the Underworld.”

Poor Joker card, he thought in response.

The hatred in your gaze never shied from the light, but it was pointless. No matter how much you fought him, you would never be able to truly betray him.

For only he held the cards in this game.

•⭓•

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

There was blood on the ground, seeping from bodies long still, pooling until it appeared like an extension of your burgundy coat. Four bodies, crumpled unceremoniously, and you stood in the midst of the carnage like a Reaper. 

This wasn’t the place the two of you had agreed on. These weren’t the victims the two of you had agreed on.

“What the fuck did you do?” the shout tore from Minho’s lungs, blistering and painful, colliding with your back which you still gave to him.

He saw your shoulders raise and drop.

“I told you they had to perish.”

“You killed them all!” a roar sounded from somewhere seemingly outside his body. Minho couldn’t tell, couldn’t think.

They were dead. They were all dead.

He stumbled and his legs gave out, splattering him in the blood of the executives of the Cardinal Ring when his knees met the ground.

This wasn’t my plan. This wasn’t my play.

You half turned toward him, that smile of utter distaste on your lips. Pity burned in your eyes. “It’s personal, don’t feel too bad.”

Personal? His stomach twisted and threatened to empty itself out on the ground. Minho’s assessments were never wrong. The Joker card was bloodthirsty, and that thirst was easy to control. It should’ve made the finest tool out of you.

So why—

His hands moved before he could process the thought, his instincts taking over.

A wildcard ruins the entire deck.

His gun was warm in his hands, and he aimed it at your head.

You can’t continue to exist, Joker.  

He might have been too late in realizing it, but he saw it now. You were a threat Minho couldn’t afford to ignore.

There was a step before he felt the barrel of a gun press against his temple.

“Wanna test my reaction time?” Jisung’s voice was void of humor and he ordered, “Drop the gun.”

It was futile. The moment Minho’s finger twitched on the trigger, his life would be snuffed out. He likely wouldn’t even see you fall before that. His resolve splintered and cracked, and his aim fell lower and lower until his weapon clattered on the bloody ground.

Jisung kicked the gun away instantly, and Minho felt a scream clawing its way through his throat.

But it was barely a whisper that left his lips, “Why…”

He wanted his uncle dead, yes, but not his executives. As much as he despised the Cardinal Ring, he needed its members alive to keep Taunt stable. There was no way he could avoid a revolt now.

His father’s kingdom. His family.

Taunt would destroy itself, and you would dance over its grave.

“You ruined everything,” he spat, hoping the words stung as he glared at your relaxed form. There was no hint of violence on your person. Your hair was undisturbed and your coat was pristine. No bruise nor blood marred your skin. There was only light in your gaze.

Blessed, untouchable, divine.

Corrupt.

“And who’s to blame for that?” you wondered aloud. “You were the one who led me right into your den, or did you forget that already?”

Minho had done just that. He even promised not to stand in your way.

A mistake so terrible, it would haunt him for the remainder of his days.

His distress must’ve shown because you frowned, disappointed, disgusted, even, “You’re still incredibly boring—”

An explosion shook the earth below you, deafening, and you immediately looked to your second. Alert with your gun ready for attack, you uttered a single word of command, “Han.”

He moved wordlessly, a specter drifting over the corpses as he made his way toward the shabby window of this warehouse. A few seconds later, he declared in the suffocating silence of the explosion’s aftermath, “It came from 5B.”

Minho’s heart sputtered. He didn’t remember setting up any bombs there, and judging from the grim shift in your expression, you didn’t either.   

“Didn’t he say he would be scouting the area?” you asked, and your second answered as he returned to your side, “He did, yes.”

“Well, then. I guess I’m glad I took his advice and changed locations,” you shrugged after a moment’s thought, stuffing your hands in your coat pockets and beginning to make your way to the exit. “Let’s hope we don’t meet again, Prince of the Underworld.”

Minho didn’t have the spirit to bite back. He had become a plummeting angel, his wings torn and his halo dimmed. He grappled with the realization that perhaps he’d been wrong all along.

Alone, surrounded by the corpses of his arrogance, Minho screamed until his mind’s pandemonium ceased.

Maybe Kings weren’t the only ones made to fall.

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Thank you for reading this far! We're nearing the plot's apex, so a lot of answers will be revealed in the upcoming few chapters. I would love to hear your thoughts! A reblog and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I hope you have a spectacular day, and I'll see you next week for chapter six! ♡

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #lee minho #lee minho imagines #lee know imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee minho scenarios #minho scenarios #stray kids x reader #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #stray kids x you #lee minho x you #minho x you #stray kids x y/n #lee minho x y/n #minho x y/n #stray kids fanfic #lee minho fanfic #minho fanfic #skz imagines #skz x reader #lee know x you #skz fanfic #lee know #minho imagines #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #source: chaninfused

[amberlynnmurdock]

Blind Faith

Chapter 6: A Deal with the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt, Foggy, and Karen take you out to Josie's. Your night always ends with Daredevil.

Warnings for this chapter: very mild smut at the end, sorry to leave you guys hanging, LOL.

A/N: I love writing Foggy Nelson. That is all.

TAG LIST (please let me know if I missed you/you'd like to be tagged!): @starry-night-20 @sumsytee @queerqueenlynn

Chapter 5 here

credit to gif owner!

 Hell’s Kitchen

Nelson & Murdock was an interesting law firm to work at. There was no rhyme or reason to the things they did or the way they operated, but you adapted fairly quickly to the revolving door of clients and how to speak to them. For now, Karen had you complete intake forms with everyone who came in. Greet them, ask them why they’re here, things like that. You enjoyed it a lot. 

“Thank you so much, Ms. Cruz,” you squeezed the elderly woman’s arm. “I’ll get your case details in our system and set up a meeting with either Mr. Nelson or Mr. Murdock.”

The older woman smiled at you graciously. “Gracias, señorita.” 

You stood up from your chair and walked over to Karen who fervently typed away at her computer. 

“Okay, all ten of the clients waiting are now ready to be inputted into the system,” you told her, holding a stack of manila folders and a clipboard. Karen looked up from her desk surprised. 

“Really?! You are amazing!” Karen exclaimed. You blushed and smiled at her, appreciating her praise. “I’ll have to get you your own laptop so you can learn how the system works. Seriously, how did you get through all of them without any issues?” 

You shrugged, “good old speaking like a human. I was never good with a customer service voice. It’s all about the approach, you know?” 

“Yes!” Karen smiled. “I’m so happy you’re here. I know Foggy and Matt are, too.” 

You smiled in return. You believed her, that she and Foggy were happy you were here. Matt, on the other hand, was a little strange. You didn’t want to make any assumptions, and you tried to be understanding. But he was very quiet around you, and never really tried to make any conversation like Karen and Foggy did. You found yourself going to them for questions first before you ever had to ask Matt something, which rarely happened. He was intimidating. The most you ever got out of him was an “excuse me” or “good morning.” Never anything more, never anything less. 

While the other two were very bright and bubbly, Matt seemed to always be in his own world. He didn’t join in any conversations you had with them, and he never offered help as Foggy did. You didn’t mind; you were just worried it might have been you he didn’t like. Then again, he was blind, so you knew his world was very different from your own. You didn’t let it get to you, and you just accepted that he was more guarded than the others. 

Karen flipped through the pages of clients you had just interviewed. Her brows were furrowed—her mind was going a million miles a minute. 

“Looks like this pile will be handled by Matt and this one, Foggy. Looks like Matt’s the winner today,” she realized. “I’ll give these to Foggy and run it by him. You can talk to Matt about his cases.” 

“Oh, uh, you sure? I…,” you trailed off, unsure what it was you were trying to object to. Your gaze fell toward Matt’s office. He was at his desk, brows furrowed with focus as his fingers ran over braille. 

Karen looked at you knowingly. “I know Matt’s quiet, but trust me, it’s not you. He’s just a little bit more focused at work. Not that we’re all not focused, but his focus is a little different.” 

You nodded, “I understand. I’ll run these cases by him.” 

“Let me know if you need anything, alright?” 

I need a drink, you thought. “Okay.” 

You turned on your heel and held the manilla folders in your hands, bracing yourself. You took a deep breath and walked to Matt’s office door, and knocked on it gently. 

“Come in,” he called out. 

You slowly opened the door and walked inside, gently shutting it behind you. 

“It’s me, __,” you announced slightly awkwardly. Matt smiled a little, behind his dark red glasses. 

“I know,” he replied, “I can recognize voices.” 

“Oh,” you said, nodding your head. Damn it, he can’t see a nod. “I—well, Karen said I should run by these new clients with you. I don’t know what she meant by it, but she said you’re the winner today.” 

“Hmm,” Matt hummed. “Means most of the cases are intentional torts. Please, sit,” he said in a friendly tone. Slightly caught off guard by his kindness, you sat in the chair in front of his desk. This conversation is the most you’ve spoken with Matt ever since you started just a few weeks ago. A memory popped into your head. You had shared an awkward encounter with Matt as he was leaving work one day—you asked if he needed help closing up anything but he was in a rush, and barely replied to you as he rushed out the door. 

“So, the first person I spoke with, Anna Campbell, has a claim her neighbor is taking pictures of her in her house…uh…” you flipped through the pages and cleared your throat. “Negligent employer case…assault outside of a club that may have been intentional and not a random crime of opportunity…” You read through the rest of the clients you just spoke with and watched Matt carefully for any reaction. He sat like a statue, with his brows scrunched and lips slightly pressed together, as he listened to you. His hands were together, fingers interlocked. You continued to speak. 

“Ms. Marisol Cruz. She was such a sweet woman. I feel really bad for her. She’s in a terrible apartment complex, with a high criminal element, and the landlord won’t listen or do anything about it. There are kids in the place, and she’s worried about them,” you explained Ms. Cruz’s story in more detail to Matt, since you felt a little more compassionate to her. You probably weren’t supposed to, but you couldn’t help it. “Her landlord says he needs proof of the element, or he won’t do anything. And she’s a frail woman, and she can’t do anything.”  

Matt stayed quiet for a moment longer. 

“Thank you, __,” Matt said after a bit. You smiled. 

You placed the files on his desk. 

“Oh,” you said, startling yourself, “you probably need these translated to braille. I’ll transfer them with the printer.” 

Matt smiled and stood up from his desk. His hands rested on his waist. Maybe the reason why you were so intimidated by Matt was because of how handsome you found him. His dress shirt fit snugly on his body, and the rare moments you did catch his smile, made your heart flutter more than you’d like to admit. 

“I appreciate that,” he cooly said. 

“Okay well, I’ll get on that now.” You turned to exit his office, but he called your name rather softly. 

“Just—just a word of advice,” he began to say, “I know it may be easy to feel more compassionate for some cases more than others. That can be a good thing. But it can also be dangerous. Don’t take the work home with you, is what I’m trying to say.” 

You considered his words for a moment and nodded in understanding. 

“I won’t,” you replied, “I promise.” 

He smiled lightly before sitting back down again. You left his office.

⣿⣿⣿⣿

After a busy afternoon at Nelson & Murdock, you found yourself in the conference room, transferring all the files you had today into the system they used. You were focused as you input all the information, listening to music as you did. Suddenly, Foggy came into the room. 

“There she is, the superstar client coordinator!” Foggy announced with a clap. You pulled your headphone out of your ear and smiled at him. Foggy had a way of radiating warmth and vibrant energy—you loved working with him. “I heard you got through everyone pretty quickly.” 

“I did!” you said, “it was quite enjoyable. I like talking to people and listening to them.” 

“That’s good. Great! Well, I came in here because, it’s six o’clock, Friday night, and you’re still working,” Foggy analyzed, rubbing his chin. “Aren’t you crazy kids supposed to be getting in all sorts of trouble?” 

You laughed, and then Karen came into the room. 

“She’s not a crazy kid, Foggy,” she defended, “she’s a bright, intelligent young woman who is bound to do great things in life.” You smiled at Karen. 

“I know, I know. But seriously, you’re still working?!” 

You shrugged, “I’m waiting for the okay to go home! Besides, I don’t want to leave anything unfinished.”

“Well, you've been doing so well. We wanted to show our thanks in the only way we know how—Josie’s!” Foggy raised a finger in the air. 

“Josie’s?” You questioned.

“It's a dive bar in the Kitchen we like to go to,” Karen explained. “We’d love to take you out and celebrate. Of course, if you don’t already have plans.” 

The only plan you could think of involved a man in a black mask and your rooftop—but you didn’t say that. 

“I don’t have any plans, actually,” you answered, straightening up a bit. “I’d love to join you guys at Josie’s!” You leaped at the opportunity to get to know Karen and Foggy more. And—Matt just walked in. 

“I’m heading out,” Matt said, in his usual serious tone. You hated how your heartbeat picked up at the sight of him, with his cane in his hand and bag on his shoulder. Part of you was disappointed he wouldn’t join you at Josie’s. 

“Oh, come on, Matt,” Foggy sighed. “You owe us one! Last time, you promised next time. You’re coming out, buddy!” 

“Yeah, come on, we’re taking __ out!” Karen added. You pressed your lips together, awaiting his response. Matt sheepishly smiled. 

“Alright,” he reluctantly agreed, after a short while. 

“Atta boy,” Foggy patted his back. You began to clean up your workspace as Foggy and Karen left the room. Matt lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame. You watched him carefully as you gathered your things. You went to the bathroom to fix your appearance. Your hair was still styled, more or less, when you curled it this morning. You straightened your button-down white shirt that was tucked into your black slacks. You sprayed on your marshmallow-scented perfume and decided this was as good as it was going to get. 

Exiting the bathroom, Matt still stood in the doorway but now Foggy and Karen joined him; they were waiting for you. 

“Ready,” you stated.

“Huzzah!” Foggy exclaimed. 

⣿⣿⣿⣿

Josie’s

Josie’s wasn’t too far from the office. You stayed walking with Karen while Foggy and Matt walked slightly ahead, Matt holding onto Foggy’s elbow as his cane tapped in front of him. When you saw the buzzing red light that read JOSIE’S in the window, it was obvious you reached the destination. 

“Before we enter, we must knight __ for this is her first time at Josie’s, which is a special event, indeed,” Foggy spoke in a British accent. Matt laughed, flashing the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on him. It made sense: if there was one person who could crack him open, it was Foggy Nelson. You had a feeling tonight you’d learn about their history. 

After Foggy “knighted” you, he opened the door and you were immediately met with an intense smell of smoke, old wood, and sweat. Pool cues clacked and barstools groaned from years of being sat on. Someone spilled a pitcher of beer on the floor. It was overwhelmingly hot and stuffy in here—you rolled up your sleeves. 

“Welcome to Josie’s,” Karen smiled cheerfully. “What do you drink?” 

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment. “I’ll try a martini. Three olives.” 

“I don't know about that,” Foggy said, “the olives part. I would hold the olives.” 

“Alrighty, a martini, hold the olives.” 

“And what kind of shots do we want?” 

“…tequila?” You suggested. Foggy groaned. 

“Let’s see if I still got it. Four shots of tequila, please!” 

Foggy and Karen lingered by the bar, getting an older woman’s attention, whom you assumed was Josie. She had brown and gray hair and a slightly suspicious look. You stood holding your bag, looking around the place. Matt was so quiet, you didn’t realize he was standing next to you. 

“Should we find a spot to sit while they order?” You suggested casually. Matt turned his head in your direction, nodding slightly. 

“Lead the way,” he said. You mirrored what Foggy did earlier when he offered his arm for Matt to hold. You gently touched Matt’s arm with your elbow. You couldn’t tell if he was startled, but he was quite hesitant. However, he did latch gently to your elbow as if you were a piece of paper, and you walked him over to a table in the middle of the bar, close to the wall. He reached his hands out for the table and felt for it as he placed his briefcase on the chair. You wrapped the strap of your bag on your chair and sat a seat away from him, intentionally. 

“I’m sure this isn’t what you’re used to,” Matt suddenly spoke, trying to initiate conversation. You looked at him amused. 

“What do you mean?” You smiled. 

“I—,” he stuttered a bit, “I just mean kids your age probably go out to fancier clubs than this.” 

“I’m not a kid,” you gently corrected. “I may be fresh out of college but I’m sure I’m not that much younger than you guys.” 

“Sorry,” he said. “You’re right.” 

“And you’d be surprised…I can enjoy a dive bar every now and then. I actually think I like them better than what my friends and I are used to. You can at least have conversations at places like this.” 

“Then, why don’t you go to them more often?” 

“Whatever the majority vote is. I never luck out.” 

Suddenly, Foggy came with a tray of drinks while Karen carried over the shots. Foggy lined the drinks and shots up and returned the tray. Karen found her seat next to Matt while Foggy sat next to you. 

“To Nelson and Murdock’s newest and brightest!” Foggy cheered. Everyone took their shots. You felt the tequila burn down your throat as you grimaced. It was like no other tequila you had before. And you’ve had plenty. 

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed when he saw your reaction, “Josie’s got the hard stuff.” 

“Is that even tequila? It tasted like straight-up poison,” you shook your head. “Let’s get another round.” 

Foggy laughed, “I may not be able to keep up, but I’m up for the challenge!” 

⣿⣿⣿⣿

For some reason, spending time with Karen, Foggy, and Matt felt like you were being officially christened into their work group—you were officially a part of Nelson & Murdock. You wanted to pace yourself since you were with your bosses, but Foggy insisted on more shots and drinks—something you found hard to say “no” to. 

You learned that Matt and Foggy met at law school. Columbia, no less. Your dream school. Foggy promised he’d write you a stellar letter of recommendation when the time came. Matt agreed as well, to your surprise. 

“Really?” You asked. “You guys would do that for me?” 

“Of course, Young Padawan,” Foggy said in a Yoda voice. You laughed. “In all seriousness though, you’d kill it at Columbia. Right, Matt?” 

“Right,” Matt agreed, almost immediately. You were thankful he couldn’t see your blush, and everyone else was too drunk to notice. 

As the night went on, Foggy and Karen got up to dance and then challenged other bar-goers to a round of pool. Matt sat in his corner, his hand wrapped around a cold beer. At this point in the night, you ditched your button-down shirt and only wore your undershirt.

Although he was quiet, his presence was anything but. It was like he had some sort of force field around him; the closer you sat next to him, the more prone you were to be sucked into it. You made no attempts to get yourself away. You pretended to be engaged in watching Foggy and Karen play pool, shouting whenever Foggy hit a striped ball. 

Part of you wanted to join them, but the other part wanted to stay next to Matt. Maybe tonight was the icebreaker you needed to figure out why he was so different around you compared to everyone else. 

“Would you like another beer? I’ll go get another round,” you offered. 

“Oh uh, yes, please.” 

When you came back from the bar, you placed the beer in front of Matt and sat in the chair next to him. You clinked your glass on his. 

“Cheers,” you said quietly. 

Matt offered a small smile. “Cheers,” he returned. 

You glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 9 o’clock already. If you were home, you’d probably be getting ready to see Mike. You worried about missing him tonight. At least, you kept the burner phone he gave you in your bag. He’s only a call away but for emergencies. Pushing the thought away, you tried to be more present. Karen hit a striped ball and high-fived Foggy. The two men they were playing looked slightly disappointed in how good your bosses were doing. More people had filtered into Josie’s and it only grew more stuffy. 

“Thank you for the time you’ve put in with us,” suddenly Matt spoke. “It doesn’t go unnoticed, as you can see. Especially with Karen. I know she’s really happy with you here.” 

“I’m just as grateful for the opportunity,” you shrugged, feeling a warmth spread in your chest at his comment. On second thought, maybe the tequila was finally catching up to you. 

“Did you have any other places you were looking at?” 

“A few, but no one got back to me. I suppose getting a job at a firm in the city is harder than it looks." 

“Even Foggy and I struggled for a bit. We had a job at Landman & Zack lined up, but we ended up going on our own way. You’ll end up just where you’re supposed to be,” Matt said in a bit of a reminiscent way. You softened at his words. 

“You and Foggy seem like you’ve been through a lot together,” you observed, “it wasn’t always easy, was it?” 

Matt paused for a moment, and tilted his head—something you noticed over the past few weeks working with him. As if he was really considering your words and thinking of a way to respond. 

“It wasn’t,” he agreed, after a little while, “but if the people stay with you through the tough times, you know it was worth it. Or, you find a reason to make it worth it—for them.” 

You hummed in response. 

Matt took a sip of his beer. He listened as you got up from your seat to join Karen and Foggy after they called for you. 

⣿⣿⣿⣿

It was strange for him to talk to you like this in a public setting—as Matt Murdock, your boss, and not as “Mike”, your savior, as you called him. When you left your seat, he heard something ruffle in your bag—the phone he’d given you for emergencies. Good. She keeps it on her. 

He’d been avoiding you at the office and he knew you picked up on it after a few days. It was for the better, he thought. The more distance he kept from you there, the less likely it would be you’d put two and two together—if you could. It was to be cautious and to make sure his secret stayed a secret. You stayed his secret. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, perhaps it was lying, perhaps that was all true. Even if Matt wanted to reveal who he really was to you, there’s no guessing how you’d react. To put it simply, Matt dug himself even deeper the day Karen said she’d hire you and he didn’t make any effort to convince her to not. 

And the more he saw you at night, the more he couldn’t stay away. God, you were all-consuming to him. He found his new altar and it was your lips. His prayer, your name. Whatever the affair was, his new religion. It was cliche to say, but it was true: it felt so right with you. So right, and perfect, and whenever something so good falls into Matt Murdock’s lap, he always finds a way to convince himself he’s undeserving of it. He wants to be with you. He wants to keep you. But things are just so chaotically fucked up now, now that you work with him and he has to lie to you every day like he doesn’t want to pin you against the wall in his office and kiss your entire body. 

Matt clenched his jaw uncomfortably, pushing the thought away. That’s another reason why he must avoid you; to avoid thinking like this at work. It was hard enough that you were there. 

Being with you during the day was interesting. You were so different professionally, so polite and smart. Thoughtful, he decided. Nothing like the girl he came to see at night, who didn’t hold back a bite and wasn’t afraid of confrontation. He liked that girl just as much as the version he got at the office, though. It was like he was with two different people—and then he thought that he was basically playing two different people with you, too. Except, he realizes his unfair advantage. 

At the office, you were subtle with your actions—careful and alert. How you went out of your way to make sure documents were translated to braille for him, how you took your time with each client in the waiting room…yes, of course, Matt listened to you when you were with them. He always did. And quite frankly, he was impressed with how you carried yourself. Putting his feelings aside for you, and what it was that you shared, he truly thought you were a good employee—a promising future attorney. 

But God, was it hard to pretend to not know what your lips felt like. How hard it is for him to pretend he couldn’t care less when really, you’re all he cares about these days. 

And here you were, coming by his side again, and he has to put on the facade all over again—another mask, he thought ironically, to pretend around you. For the first time ever, he felt a heavy weight press on his heart. No, this wasn’t fair to you at all. 

“Hey, Matt,” you called for him, and he decided he loved to hear you call him by his real name. Your voice was lighter than it was before, actually lighter than it has been at the office, whenever you spoke to him. Maybe a night like tonight at Josie’s needed to happen—so Matt could feel more comfortable around you as Matt. He felt a wall crumbling inside him.  

“Yeah?” He answered. 

“We’re going to take one more round of shots and then step outside for fresh air. Are you in?” 

Matt smiled. 

“Yeah. I’m in.”

⣿⣿⣿⣿

12 AM 

Foggy hailed a cab for you to get home. You managed to get inside your apartment to find it empty, with nothing but a half-filled bottle of tequila on the counter and red solo cups. Your friends went out again, but you didn’t care. You were on cloud nine after tonight, having the best time with your new co-workers, and feeling better that maybe the one you were afraid of really liked you after all. 

And then, you thought of him. Mike. 

Would he be up there? It didn’t hurt to try… 

Before you stumbled up the steps to the roof, you changed into something a little more comfortable. Sweat shorts and a tank top. 

Now that summer was in full effect, nights remained humid. Your tank top stuck to the sweat on your skin. What were the chances of him actually coming tonight? 

Apparently, very likely. As you turned the corner, you jumped to see him already waiting for you, dressed in his usual black outfit—face covered. 

“Jesus,” You exclaimed and held your hand to your heart. 

“Language,” Mike said smugly as he stepped into the light. You smiled. 

“Don’t get all righteous on me now,” you teased, “I believe you are way past that.” 

Mike snaked a strong arm around your waist and pulled you into him. He kissed you softly and slowly—different from the way he normally kisses you, which was more ravenous in nature. You matched his nature, and placed your hands on either side of his face, holding him steady as you kissed. 

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. 

“You’re quiet again,” you breathed. “Why?” 

“You make me feel calm,” he told you. The way his lips moved when he spoke was mesmerizing, inviting you to kiss him again. You did. You teased your tongue on his bottom lip. Mike groaned faintly. 

“Calm isn’t something I’m used to,” Mike continued, chasing your lips with a kiss. “And when I feel something I’m not used to, but that I like, those things tend to slip from my grasp just as I got a good hold on them.” 

You contemplated his words for a moment and realized what he meant. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you truthfully said. “I…like what we have.” 

“But,” Mike guided, knowing you had more to say. 

“But… most people in affairs know who exactly they’re dealing with.” 

Mike turned his masked face away from you. You knew that was the only answer you’d get. 

“Not yet,” he spoke quietly, “I can’t reveal myself yet.” 

“But why? You think I’ll think you’re ugly?” You laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but you realized you even failed yourself. The more you got in deeper with Mike, the more it hurt, knowing this was all you’d get out of him: late nights on your rooftop, kisses you’d never experienced with anyone else—feelings you didn’t know you could feel so intensely that it felt like your mind suffocated with thoughts of him. Him. You didn’t even know who he was. But he had you in the palm of his hand. 

“Do you want to stop? With this, with me?” He asked ardently. 

“What kind of question is that? No, I don’t want to stop seeing you,” you argued. “Do you want to stop?” 

“No,” he replied almost instantly. “But we should reach an agreement on this. You have to be okay with me not being ready to reveal myself. And you have to know that my not revealing myself has nothing to do with how I feel about you and how much I trust you.” 

“How do you feel about me?” You couldn’t help but ask him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. 

“Like I’ve never felt for anyone before,” Mike whispered and kissed you, deeply, slowly again. “Just give me the time I need.” 

“Okay,” you agreed. “You’ve got a deal. As long as you keep coming to me.” 

“I’ll never stop,” Mike promised. 

You ran your hands along his strong torso. You could feel the sweat under his shirt. You slid your hands under his shirt and felt his skin—soft, and… scarred. You gasped as your fingers traced along a gash, that’s since healed. You felt another one on his rib cage and another on his chest. You gasped again. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s from another life.” 

“That’s… scary,” you said in a small voice. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he told you gently. “It’s different these days.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I expected to see you one night and you didn’t come…”

“I’ll always come to you,” Mike stated. “Until there comes a day you don’t want me to.” 

“That day will never come, I can assure you that.” 

He kissed you more and ran his fingers through your hair, tugging a little so your neck was revealed to him. You shivered as he kissed along your neck, slowly, antagonizing. You ran your fingers along his back and closed your eyes. 

You didn’t want your nights to be anything but this. 

You lifted your left leg and he grabbed it to wrap around his waist, holding your back to steady you. He gently laid you on the ground. 

“Can I…take this off?” He asked, gesturing to your shorts. You laughed. 

“Will someone see us?” 

“No one will see us. They might hear you though.” 

“Take them off.” 

Mike slowly pulled your shorts and underwear off, and you were completely exposed to him in a dark corner of your roof. You wished you brought a blanket. Mike began to kiss your inner thighs, slowly, reaching closer up to your legs and your wetness. You let your mind drift off, thinking of the deal you’d just made with him. You weren’t completely truthful about being okay with not knowing who he is. But your connection and feelings for him were stronger than your fears of what could happen—you’d teach yourself to be okay with it. 

But your discomfort was quickly replaced with euphoria when you felt his lips kiss your sex, and his tongue began to lap at your wetness slowly and then urgently. You sighed blissfully, closing your eyes. You suddenly couldn’t care less about your worries. 

#i love toxic matt murdock #dont worry he'll get better lol #but also reader needs to be stronger #LOL #matt murdock x reader #blind faith #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil fanfic #daredevil smut #charlie cox #charlie cox x reader #foggy nelson #karen page #the defenders #she hulk #matt murdock #marvel #mcu #alright that's all i got for tags idk what else

[bloompompom]

Trending Now! Beloved, international pop sensation was spotted getting hot and heavy with the lead vocalist of Devil's Paradise, Eren Jaeger, at an after-party, sparking rumors of a secret fling. The unlikely couple has yet to comment publicly on the status of their relationship, but their scandal-worthy PDA alone implies they must know each other very well. 

Ha! That couldn’t be any further from the truth.

♡ pairings: rockstar!eren jaeger x popstar!female reader, eren jaeger x historia reiss ♡ content: ~8k word count. enemies-to-lovers, explicit language, alcohol, tobacco, pet names, reader discretion advised. ♡ previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

★ Chapter Two ★

It turns out that a fake relationship calls for just as much work as a real one.

Your life had been consumed by music for as long as you could remember—even longer than that, actually.

Your father was big in the music industry. You were talking big, big. Icon status. His band toured and filled stadiums across the country, ten times over, well before you were born. And once you were, he brought you along for the ride. He’d show you off on stage before your little eyes could even fathom what a crowd was, announcing to the world that he had a good feeling about you—what a strange thing to say about a child. But he wanted you to be a star, just like him, so a star was what you became.

Yes, for all intents and purposes, you were a nepo baby. You were sure, to outsiders, it’d seem like you were complaining about nothing. Here you were in your penthouse apartment, fresh from the bath with soaps costing more than some people make in a week, wrapped in a robe costing more than some people make in a month, lounged on a sofa costing more than some people make in a year. What could you possibly complain about?

Besides the fact that you paid for it with your soul, selling every aspect of your life away. Apparently, even down to who you can and cannot drunkenly make out with at a party.

Speaking of that, your argument with your dad didn’t seem to fix anything. Neither did Pieck’s, though you’d bet she handled her’s more rationally. You were surprised she couldn’t win him over, considering he always valued her opinion more, but even she wasn’t capable of such a feat.

But just like that pep talk you gave yourself in the mirror, you believed it was worth it. 

You were never one to keep a diary, at least, not in the stereotypical sense. Your journals were filled with lyrics that served the same purpose. Every thought, even those that made your stomach sick and left your head in ruins, could be metamorphosed into something as beautiful as poetry. Really, it was poetry, kept on ruled and folded pages. Jotted down, crossed out, and rewritten over and over in messy, middle-of-the-night handwriting.

Those lyrics never met the radio or any streaming services. They were never even given the chance to meet a microphone. They were stuffed away in the depths of your closet. You didn’t have time to write anymore. You were too busy singing to backtracks, churning out song after song, written with no other purpose than to top the charts. 

You thought you’d age out of your dad’s grasp one day, but his reach was far greater than you had anticipated. You were his project—you know, since his first one failed. 

When your dad decided to release his first solo album, it was a flop. Not quite a fall-flat-on-your-face flop, but it was damn near close. He never outrightly named it to be the reason, but when he told you that passion projects were a waste of time, it wasn’t difficult to piece it together.

Your dad promised you the dream of stardom, and that was what you got. But whether it was his dream or yours was yet to be determined. If it were up to you, it would be just you, your poetry, and a guitar—if you could get the hang of it. 

But no, you were generic. 

Most of what you knew about Eren was what anyone could find from an online search because there was no way you would go and talk about yourselves over coffee. Member of Devil’s Paradise. Occupation: singer. Birthday: March 30th. He was two years older than you.

Then came the rabbit hole. A deep and descending spiral. You started with live performances, then stumbled upon some recent interviews. That was always how hate-watching began, wasn’t it? Your blood boiled as you watched Eren play it up for the cameras. Laughing at the right times, sprinkling in a charismatic smile here and there, even if you thought it made him look like a villain.

It seemed like he could get away with anything so long as he desired it. Write the songs he wanted, screw up his lyrics if he felt like it. Hell, he could have kicked his feet up on that conference table if he wanted to, you were sure of it. All the while, you couldn’t even defend yourself with Pieck stepping on your toes—literally. 

You couldn’t say it enough: Eren infuriated you, ceaselessly so. But somehow, buried deep within you, you could admit the band—that he was a force to be reckoned with. Not that you’d ever say that aloud, of course.

Eren’s presence was eye-catching. He knew how to use every last bit of the stage as if he owned it. But so did the rest of the band. Even Connie—stuck behind his drumset but far from hidden. The smirk on his face was everpresent as he attempted different tricks with his drumsticks, unexpectedly nailing every one of them. 

But what stood out to you the most was the energy between Mikasa and Eren. It was electric. Always in tune with one another. As you watched, you noticed a twinge of guilt when you thought about calling their band shitty—but only because of Mikasa! Either way, it didn’t matter; you planned to take the feeling to the grave.

Mikasa actually found you on Instagram a few days after that god-forsaken meeting. Word must have traveled fast. The two of you exchanged phone numbers because she insisted on calling you.

She answered the phone after only a ring. Before you could say a word, she was already apologizing for everything that happened that night, as if it were somehow her fault. She had no reason to feel responsible; you could make your own decision. You told her that, too.

“Honestly, it didn’t even cross my mind that you’d be interested in each other, but I should have known he’d try something,” Mikasa said.

You were quick to correct her. “We’re definitely not interested in each other. We were just drunk.”

“Right. Sorry.”

 Mikasa ended the call by telling you to look at the bright side—the two of you would see more of each other. You feigned excitement not because you didn’t like her but because you only heard the underlying implication. You would have to see more of Eren, too.

Your PR team was adamant about keeping up appearances, desperate to clear things up as if it were a blip on your permanent record. You and Eren were ordered to paint the pretty picture of having been in a happy and committed relationship for the last two months. Don’t forget: they had your image to protect. It was one they spent years crafting. 

You had them clutching at their pearls at the mere thought of you—gasp!—having drunken sexual relations with a man you had just met. 

To think, all of this hubbub, and for what? You didn’t even get laid.

According to them, two months meant you had to drive home the honeymooners, lucky-in-love thing. Googly eyes and all. Anything to snuff out the salacious rumors before executive Mustache died of an aneurysm.

Think of those pictures they plaster on the front of magazines. Those candid couples wearing their absolute best because they coincidentally were papped on their way to the gym. That was what your team of publicists expected of you—on Mondays, that is. Saturdays were for strolling together. To where? Anywhere, they’d say! Ugh. 

It was so very quaint, wasn’t it? As if your schedule wasn’t already crammed enough.

Since the after-party, the most time you spent with Eren was the first (and only) time you went to dinner together. Petra wanted to ensure the paparazzi caught ‘the shot,’ as she called it. Aka, a photograph of Eren feeding you a bite of food.

By the way, Petra was the nervous redhead who rambled at you during the meeting. She was one of Devil’s Paradise’s publicists—specifically, Eren’s. 

She turned out to be less flighty than you thought, at least when the higher-ups weren’t around. You would maybe even say you liked her for no other reason than she was the only one who treated you like a person. Enough that she’d throw in a ‘Hey, this is pretty weird, right?’ now and again. 

That didn’t stop her from dreaming up these ridiculous, borderline-fantastical ideas, like feeding each other goat cheese crostinis, dumbly giggling when Eren would miss your mouth and use his thumb to swipe your lips clean.

Spoiler alert: that never happened. And the paparazzi never snapped ‘the shot’ because you weren’t interested in having Eren feed you anything. Luckily for you, he shared the sentiment. 

What a challenge it was—pretending you had eyes for someone you couldn’t bear to spend an hour with. It was a big ask for both of you. You were singers, not actors. And what was supposed to be a romantic dinner probably appeared more like you were fighting, and not the kind that looked like a lovers’ quarrel. 

To be fair, there was a very small chance it was your fault this time. Just maybe you picked the wrong dinner conversation. But hey, he was the one who brought up his ex-girlfriend first.

Keeping your voice low, you asked him about Historia Reiss. Though the restaurant was dim and not exceptionally crowded, you were only out because you were supposed to be spotted together. The last thing you wanted was to become the jealous, obsessive girlfriend. You were just curious, that was all.

But Eren only said they broke up six months ago, another tidbit you could have found on Google.

“Someone’s down bad,” you poked lightly, even cracking a smile so people would think you were enjoying each other’s company. Pieck would be so proud.

When he didn’t humor it, you stifled the nasty face you wanted to make and asked, “Why’d she break up with you? Because you’re a dick?”

“Yeah, probably,” Eren deadpanned. He didn’t look up as he spoke but bitterly forked around his plate.

That was where the conversation ended. Any and all conversation, for that matter. Talk about awkward. You remembered texting Pieck under the table in a fury, telling her you would never do this again, even if it meant she’d have to lie about your whereabouts to your father.

After only two weeks, you had to tap out. No more cutesy coffee dates, no candlelit dinners, and you’d certainly be escorting yourself to the gym from now on. But Pieck could only cover you for so long before she had to call out your avoidant tendencies.

It felt like interrupting your days had become her new favorite pastime. Still in your robe, though you had left the bath over an hour ago, you lazed on the couch. Convinced everything was peachy, you thoughtlessly answered Pieck’s call with a chipper, “What’s up?”

No pleasantries were exchanged. The first words out of her mouth were, “Do you know how many days it’s been since you and Eren were last seen together?”

Her voice was far too accusing for such a pleasant day. It wasn’t even noon. She spoke so fast that you weren’t positive you heard her right. Why would you count such a silly thing?

You replied tentatively, “Um, no.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You’re so weird for keeping track of that.”

“It’s literally my job,” she told you like she had many times before. 

Yes, Pieck’s official title was manager, but she was second-in-command. Or as you liked to call it, your babysitter. While the title of personal assistant felt demeaning to give to your best friend, you couldn’t help but think ‘manager’ had gone to her head.

She continued, “Your relationship can’t consist of leaving heart and flame emojis on each other’s photos.” Why not? “You’re taking him to Sasha’s party.”

You flung upright so fast that you were surprised you didn’t fly off the sofa. “Like hell I am!”

If you opened a dictionary and flipped the pages to the word ‘influencer,’ you’d bet there would be a picture of Sasha Braus. In every sense of the word, she was an influencer. She was bubbly, a bit outlandish, and like a magnet whenever she walked into a room. You wouldn’t say she invited you to her party because you were friends, more like she invited you because you were, well, you. 

She announced she was working on expanding her brand, starting with everyone’s favorite breakout product: eyeshadow palettes.

The launch party was on Saturday—two days away. You had known about it for some time now, but you conveniently kept it a secret that Sasha included a plus one to your invitation. You were actually looking forward to the event up until now. 

You spewed every reason as to why this was a horrible idea, rattling away like a bad defense attorney. ‘Eren won’t go’ and ‘Actually, I think I’m coming down with the flu.’ Then came the good old-fashioned begging. 

She let you wear yourself out before hitting you with, “It’s already been arranged. Sasha sent you a plus one, and I’ve spoken with Levi.” Damn it. “Oh, and Petra will be going with you to ensure you’re both on your best behavior. We don’t want a repeat of dinner.”

There was that line again. Best behavior.

You were about to end the call right there, but you decided to hear her out after she apologized. She tried to cheer you up, too, but it was a blatant attempt at reminding you not to shoot the messenger. So then you hung up on her. She’d surely scorn you for acting so childish later.

♡ ♡ ♡

“I don’t know why you’re being such a little bitch about it. Just look at her—she’s smokin’ hot.”

Connie had put one of your music videos on the flat screen during their break from practice. It must have been set to autoplay because that was ten minutes ago and you were still going. He appeared to be the only one watching, sprawled out on the couch with his hands tucked behind his head. He only tore his eyes from the screen to see what Eren had to say.

Eren leaned against the wall, paying more attention to his phone than Connie as he tried to drone out both him and your grating voice. “She’s the one that’s a b—”

“Don’t,” Mikasa interjected. Eren finally glanced up, and Mikasa caught the dreadful look in his eye. “Besides, you didn’t seem to think so when you met her.”

The bite in her tone caught Jean’s attention. He straightened out, sat a bit higher in his seat, and let a wry smile take hold of his face. “Yeah, you’re only saying that because she didn’t want to sleep with you. Let me guess, you said something—probably in your usual douchey fashion—and pissed her off.”

Eren’s eyes flitted from Mikasa to Jean. Only for a second, but with the silence, it was enough to pull a dry chuckle from Jean as he concluded, “Looks like I’m right.”

Connie rolled onto his stomach, eyes wide and interested. He might as well have been kicking his feet in the air like the little gossip he was. “Man, you had the perfect shot and fuckin’ blew it. I wouldn’t have, if it were me. To think I was this close—”

“You called her a stray,” Eren reminded.

Connie cocked a brow at him. “Oh, yeah? And what did you call her?”

Eren didn’t answer that. He pushed himself off the wall and shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’m going to get lunch.”

He didn’t want to give Connie the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him, but his dodginess alone was enough for Connie. He looked pleased with himself as he snickered, “What? You’re not gonna offer to get us any?”

“No,” Eren replied. He was too abrupt about it, what with the way he hastily grabbed his keys and wallet. He chose to ignore Connie’s and Jean’s giggling and whispering on his way out. 

It might not always seem like it—especially right now—but the four members of Devil’s Paradise were best friends. As thick as thieves since the tender age of fifteen. But if you asked any of them, they’d say it has felt even longer than that.

The band had humble beginnings, practicing in Jean’s parents’ garage instead of the unimaginable studio they had now. It took nearly a decade of work, but they finally ‘made it,’ as people liked to say. 

Their careers really kicked off a little over a year ago. In Eren’s eyes, it was practically overnight. Now he couldn’t even grab lunch without getting recognized. It had only gotten worse since they snagged a nomination at the upcoming alternative music awards.

Devil’s Paradise was nominated for the best album of the year. Mikasa had incessantly reminded Eren of it every day since—as if he could possibly forget. One minute she’d list all the people they should thank during their acceptance speech, then the next thing Eren knew, she’d grip at the roots of her hair and spout nonsense like, ‘We shouldn’t even bother going. We’re just going to embarrass ourselves.’ There was nothing they could do but wait for the reading of that fateful envelope, but even she was starting to make Eren antsy.

Even so, Eren liked seeing Mikasa like this. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her so excited over something. Whenever she talked about winning, she looked just like she did when they were kids.

Mikasa was like a sister to Eren. They grew up side-by-side, quite literally. Their parents were next-door neighbors, fating Eren and Mikasa to become best friends before they had even left the womb.

Back then, there was no band. There was only Eren and his guitar, Mikasa and her bass, and their out-of-tune strumming as they attempted to teach themselves how to play. Everything only started to fall into place once they hit high school—when they met Jean and Connie.

Mikasa overheard the duo talking in the cafeteria line. Connie was complaining about getting his brand-new drumsticks confiscated during biology class. ‘Who knew it’s against the rules to drum on the dissection trays?’ And the rest was history—almost.

There were a few kinks they had to iron out, of course. One could imagine the bickering that ensued when they tried to come up with a name, but it only became a brawl once Jean and Eren both wanted to lay claim to the role of guitarist. It only fell to Jean because his singing was subpar, and that was putting it lightly.

But to this day, Mikasa and Eren were still the heart and soul of the band, just like they were back in their parents’ basement or at their school’s talent show or wherever else they found themselves. Eren wrote the lyrics, as always, but he still needed Mikasa’s hand to fine-tune the music.

That was why it was all the more difficult when the two of them butted heads. It was like everything surrounding the band came to a screeching halt. ‘Mom and Dad are fighting,’ Connie would whine. This time was no exception. 

Not surprisingly, their most recent argument involved you. Mikasa genuinely felt bad that you were cornered into this position. Really, she pitied both of you, but she favored you only because she knew Eren could be a dick. The friendlier the two of you became, the more she felt trapped in the middle. And it certainly didn’t help that you and Eren were equally stubborn.

Mikasa suggested Eren should be nicer to you if he wanted this situation to be as painless as possible. She told him you were a good person—that he shouldn’t let his stupid pride get in the way of getting to know you. Eren said she didn’t get it.

Sure, Eren played it cool when you first asked him about the arrangement, but it wasn’t as though he was particularly thrilled about it. He just knew better than to act like a spoiled brat and throw a tantrum over it. Shame on him for getting involved with such a diva. Lesson learned.

Flashback to the morning following the after-party: Eren woke up in Historia’s bed. His eyes opened, and he just sort of stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the horrible writhing in his gut. He attributed it to his hangover.

The feeling didn’t go away by the time his phone started ringing, loudly. He sifted through the sheets before it could wake Historia, but he struggled to find it. It rang a second time, and she let out a whimper of a groan. Wearing nothing but the bedsheet, she reached as far as she could without falling off the bed to fetch Eren’s phone. She tossed it to him—at him—without looking. 

He missed that call, too. Both of which were from Levi. 

Historia rolled over, looking at him with her cheek smushed against her pillow. “Last night catching up with you already?”

Expectedly, Eren’s phone rang a third time. He watched momentarily before replying, “Yeah, I think so.”

Eren, along with you and the rest of the band, had to sign non-disclosure agreements regarding the phony relationship. Both your teams took the matter entirely too seriously, so Eren couldn’t tell Historia about any of it. He figured he could sort that out later.

It had all become such a massive headache for him. He was relieved to have a moment to himself, even if it was limited to the thirty minutes it’d take him to get lunch.

But as it turned out, he couldn’t even get that because, speak of the devil, your name popped up on his phone screen.

Eren was going to let it go to voicemail, but he heard Mikasa in his head—yes, that happened from time to time. To him, the truly painless option would be to ignore the call, but he decided to answer at the last second.

He clicked the button for speakerphone before saying, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” you said before giving your name.

Eren thought you sounded curt, especially since you were the one barging in on his day, but then again, he was learning you were always like that. “I know. Levi put your number in my phone.”

“It’s really hard to hear you.”

“I’m driving. Hold on.” Eren fumbled to turn off speakerphone. He dropped his phone and, in the hassle, the driver behind him laid on their horn. Frustrated, Eren jammed his phone between his shoulder and ear. “What do you want?”

Eren heard your scoff before you replied, “I’m guessing Levi told you about the party this weekend.” He only made a small grunt of acknowledgment, more focused on turning left at a busy intersection. “People will probably want to talk to us.”

“God forbid,” Eren snarked.

“You know what I’m trying to say! I just think we should, like, rehearse or something—I don’t know.”

Your voice tapered off there at the end, almost nervously. Eren imagined you chewing on your nail in thought on the other end of the line. “You’re really stressin’ about this for no reason, aren’t you?”

“I’m only stressed because I don’t want you to make me look dumb,” you retorted. You were getting mad; Eren could hear it even in the thick silence between you. “I don’t have any time tomorrow, so you have to come by my place as soon as you can.”

“Today? Listen, we don’t need to rehearse anything. I’m supposed to be at practice right now, anyway. I only answered because I’m getting lunch—”

“Great. Bring me something. Whatever you’re having.”

“I’m not—”

“Tell Levi to text you my address.”

And that was that.

When you hung up, Eren chucked his phone into the passenger seat. Stopped at a red light, he rubbed his eyes like he could relieve the tension behind them, cursing under his breath. 

Thirty minutes. He couldn’t even have thirty fucking minutes to himself.

By the time Eren arrived at your apartment, you had finally dressed and made yourself semi-presentable—at least, you weren’t in your robe anymore.

In that time, you decided to ring Pieck. You tried to earn a few brownie points by telling her you invited Eren over to prep for Saturday, but she only told you to post a picture or else it ‘didn’t happen.’

For a split second, you thought you had opened your door to a stranger. You nearly slammed it in Eren’s face when you saw him in a ratty, old baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses too bulky for his face. You figured that was the point, though—to hide his face beyond recognition. Not enough to stop a die-hard fan, but it did the job.

Eren removed the ‘disguise’ once he was inside, setting down his hat and glasses on your entryway table. He tugged on the tie that kept his hair loosely held back, grumbling as he shook it out. “I hate having my hair up.”

“I don’t know. I think it makes you look less scruffy,” you said. You intended it as a dig, but in some way, shape, or form, it didn’t come across as such. You played it off by taking the brown bag from Eren and leading him to your kitchen. “What did you get?”

“Sushi.”

“Sounds good,” you hummed. You set the bag on the counter, plopping on the stool as you pointed across the room. “Chopsticks are in that drawer.”

It was a pleasant surprise that Eren actually listened—less so when he started opening every drawer but the one he needed. You were about to repeat yourself when the receipt stapled to the bag caught your attention. 

“Jeff?” you questioned.

Eren finally found the chopsticks. He didn’t sit at the counter but stood opposite you on the far side of the island. “What? You don’t use a fake name?”

“No, I do,” you said. “It’s just that Jeff isn’t very believable. You don’t look anything like a Jeff.”

He turned the bag around so you could no longer see the receipt. He muttered, as always, when he said, “I wasn’t thinking that hard when I put it down,” as he pulled out your food. Two identical boxes, one placed in front of you. 

You thought on it, just for a moment as you cracked open the plastic lid, then said, “I think you look more like a Dylan.”

“Dylan?” He actually sounded a bit offended by it, causing you to chuckle.

Not that you expected him to, but Eren never asked if you liked what he ordered for you. It was good, but out of sheer pettiness—come on! He couldn’t even give you the common courtesy of asking—you decided not to compliment his taste in sushi. 

You could only compare the time you spent with Eren to a strange dance. A dance neither of you could master. You were cursed with two left feet, awkwardly side-stepping and stomping on each other’s toes again and again. Because of it, there seemed to be an underlying, mutual understanding that neither of you wanted to chit-chat. And that was the only reason lunch wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

But eventually, you had to talk. There was a purpose to this little meet-up—one greater than hoping the paparazzi snap you canoodling on a park bench. If there wasn't, you wouldn’t have invited him over in the first place. 

There were small but specific details that you’d need to iron out if you and Eren had any hope of making a convincing couple. It worked in your favor that you’d only been seeing each other for two months (wink, wink). There was no pressure to memorize every fun fact and finish each other’s sentences. No one would expect that of the couple so madly in love that they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves for even a second—that didn’t leave too much room for getting to know each other, did it?

But there was just one crucial and absolutely inevitable question you’d hear time and time again. 

“They’re going to ask us how we met,” you said. It was the first break in silence, making you the loser of this invisible game between you.

You set down your chopsticks and placed your chin on the heel of your hand. After a thoughtful pause, you said, “Well, you obviously asked me out first.” That grabbed Eren’s attention. He glared at you, about to interrupt, so you jumped in. “After sliding into my DMs, perhaps?”

“Wait a second.”

“Telling me how pretty I am and that you’d just love to get to know me over a drink.” There was an airiness about you the more you played it up.

“I wouldn’t do—”

“And when you met me in person—” You mawkishly clasped your hands together. “—it was like love at first sight.”

Eren appeared more bored than usual, something you didn’t think was possible. “Finished yet?”

What a mood killer.

“Someone can’t take a joke,” you complained, dropping your hands to the cold marble. “Do you have a better idea? Because I don’t know where we would have casually bumped into each other.”

“At an after-party,” Eren answered smartly. 

You frowned. Frankly, you were not looking to craft some elaborate story. The less convoluted, the better. You needed a tale dull enough that reporters would cruise on by rather than nitpick you apart. Something that even Eren couldn’t mess up. 

“Besides the last part, you DMing me the most obvious route,” you said. “It’s practically un-fuck-up-able.”

“That’s not a word.”

This was going nowhere. You conceded to your phone, something to distract you, while you tried to unclench your teeth.

“Embellish it however you want, I don’t care, but we’re sticking with my story. And while we’re at it—” A benefit of inviting Eren over rather than arranging a meeting was that with no one else around—no Petra, no Pieck who’d undoubtedly call you a bitch—you finally had the liberty to demand, “I’m going to need a few things from you. Don’t give me that look.” 

Behind the speckle of hatred in your eyes, there was a dash of desperation, a subtle plead to hear you out. It annoyed Eren because it reminded him of Mikasa again. 

He sighed reluctantly. “Fine. Let’s hear ‘em.”

You straightened out like you were ready to make your presenting argument. “First, when this whole thing is over, I’m dumping you. Not the other way around, and definitely nothing mutual.” You pointed your chopsticks toward Eren’s takeout. “Are you going to finish that?”

He slid the container away from you, which was enough of an answer. “Is your pride seriously that important to you?”

He was one to talk. 

“Think of it this way,” you started, a crude smile pulling at your lips. “I’m sure if you come crawling back to Historia all heartbroken, she’ll be more than happy to lick your wounds.”

He didn’t seem to appreciate the dating advice but let you continue with your rules.

“Speaking of Historia, I won’t stop you from getting back with her because, truthfully, I’m not all that interested in what or who you do in private. Just don’t get caught with her in public.” It was a fair stipulation—more than fair. “Can you at least promise me that?”

He gruffed a noncommittal, “Whatever.”

“No, you have to swear,” you asserted. For emphasis, you stuck out your pinky. Eren gave you that look again, but you didn’t back down. “I take this very seriously.”

Apparently, that was deserving of another (exaggerated) sigh from him, but he linked his pinky finger with yours anyway. “Fine. I promise.”

A small victory, but it was a step in the right direction, nonetheless. And for once, you were the smug one. “Thank you.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Saturday rolled around faster than you wanted. Funny how it always worked like that—how dreaded events always came sooner than the enjoyable ones. 

You spent your Friday in the recording studio—usually one of your longer days, but even an afternoon stuck inside didn’t slow down time.

Next thing you knew, you were stiff and slumped in front of the mirror, wiggly with anxiety, as your face was poked and prodded.

“Babes, you have to stay still for me,” your makeup artist urged, her voice still as sweet as the first time she reminded you. You quietly apologized, trying not to move.

You hadn’t had a day to yourself since the after-party. And even that was a few measly hours. If you weren’t recording, then you were practicing for upcoming studio sessions—warm-ups, vocal lessons, everything. And if it wasn’t practice, then you were on tour. 

This was supposed to be your downtime. Your scheduled, well-deserved downtime that you now had to spend latched to your insufferable fake boyfriend. 

Eren, Eren, Eren. He was all anyone wanted to talk about these days. It was as if you lived your entire life without knowing of his existence, only to wake up one morning to discover he was the name on everyone’s tongue. You couldn’t catch a break from reality even when you shut your eyes in the makeup chair—a not-so-subtle hint you weren’t up for conversation while you were being fussed over. No, this evening’s styling team was far too invested in your love life, despite it being none of their business. 

The woman finishing your makeup was so surprised to learn you and Eren were ‘an item,’ as she coined it. She gushed about it as she warmed and patted concealer on your under eyes. It didn’t help your nervous blinking. 

Was this really how they’d react if you were to seriously date someone?

“Yeah. It’s—uh, it’s new-ish,” was all you could get out. 

Every one of your answers was short. They didn’t seem to notice, so captivated by the sound of their own voices that they didn’t hear the nervousness in yours. 

The woman styling your hair had this glint in her eye from the moment she saw you. You fixed on her smile, all teeth, in the mirror’s reflection until she confessed she was a massive Devil’s Paradise fan. She had their album cover set as the lock screen on her phone. She even showed it to you. 

At some point in the conversation, she said, “I mean, you’ve seen him on stage, right? The guy’s sex on legs.”

Less of a Devil’s Paradise fan and more of an Eren Jaeger fan, wouldn’t you say?

To you, it was merely background noise—you weren’t even positive she was talking to you—but it earned her a smack on the arm from your makeup artist.

“Obviously she’s seen him on stage. That’s her boyfriend.”

She put extra emphasis on that word. The b-word.

You supposed it was rather bold of her, wasn’t it? One would think she’d have the common sense to not say that around someone’s significant other—if it were a real relationship, of course. 

The truth of the matter was that you’d bet she knew more about Eren than you did. You hadn’t even seen him perform outside of the ten minutes you stumbled upon online while she had seen him live in concert (she told you twice).

It was all so stupid and weird and sort of hilarious. How your makeup artist ran to defend a relationship that didn’t exist, how your hair stylist fidgeted with embarrassment over a comment you couldn’t care less about. You almost wanted to belly laugh. 

If only they knew. 

The sun was almost set by the time your car parked, its orange crest melting over the tops of palms. The breeze was crisp for the first time in weeks, enough that you had tucked yourself into the corner of the backseat for warmth. Your sheer-in-all-the-right-places dress wasn’t cutting it. 

Like a real couple, you and Eren arrived together. Petra, too, sat between you. She sounded just as enthusiastic as she did during your first meeting, like she believed she could magically brighten the damp mood.

There was a short walk to the venue, and the three of you were escorted there by security. Petra spent the first half of it scolding Eren because he didn’t hold the car door open for you. ‘What was I supposed to do? Someone opened it for us.’  You didn’t say it, but he had a point. Even so, that didn’t stop her.

You were beginning to think she had read one too many romance novels when you heard her whispering to Eren, her voice no greater than a hiss as she demanded him to give you his jacket. No, not just give it to you but put it on you. 

This was the part where Eren would agree, and Petra would insert a collective awe from the crowd if she could. 

Eren vetoed the idea immediately. He didn’t slow or look back at either of you when he said, “No way. She’s a big girl, she can handle it.”

His major attitude had you and Petra stopped dead in your tracks, both of you gasping an offended, “Eren!” 

Look, it wasn’t like you wanted his jacket—the leather would clash with your outfit—but did he seriously need to act like going out of his way for you was torture?

Petra hurried to catch up with him. “Need I remind you that you have an audience?”

She was right. Outside the entrance was a swarm of cameras and phones, every one directed at whoever was locked in their crossfire next. 

Eren didn’t mask his hesitancy well. It was written across his face as he forked over the jacket, unwilling to lay it over your shoulders. Out of spite, you beamed at him as though he had done it correctly. An expression so endearing that anyone looking in would undoubtedly find it sweet, but Eren knew better than that. He saw right through the facade, clicking his teeth at you before turning away. 

You slung on the jacket one arm after another, and instantly, the scent of it—of Eren—made your stomach clench. You were brought back to that night. The same warm scent that tickled your nose, just without the stench of alcohol. Whatever arrogance you clung to a second ago had now slipped through your manicured fingers. 

Before you stepped inside, Eren’s hand took hold of your wrist and tugged you aside. Rightfully, you were caught off guard. As you opened your mouth to ask why he thought he could manhandle you like that, he shoved a hand into his jacket’s pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. 

You were sure he only wanted you for the cigarettes. Even more sure that he most likely wanted you to skitter along now, but you hung around to ask, “You smoke?”

“No. I quit two years ago,” Eren answered. Then he placed a cigarette between his lips, sparking the end with a lighter he pulled from his back pocket.

“That doesn’t look like quitting two years ago.”

He took a short drag. On his exhale, he said, “Stress cigarettes don’t count.”

Stop the presses. This just in: Eren Jaeger was capable of experiencing human emotion.

Jokes aside, getting worked up over such a contrived event didn’t seem to fit the vibe he had going on. He certainly didn’t look worried, staring out at the road as he puffed his cigarette like you weren’t even there.

You swallowed the scoff you wanted to let out. He had some audacity to mock you for wanting to rehearse the other day when he was as unnerved as you.

Eren cleared his throat, and it shook you from the thought. You pointed out, “That can’t be good for your voice.”

“Good thing I could retire tomorrow if I felt like it,” he said dryly. 

You couldn’t hold it in this time; you snorted derisively and handed back his jacket. “I’ll see you inside.”

Petra’s voice trailed after you as you headed inside, but you weren’t the one signing her checks, so she stayed behind with Eren. Finally, you had a moment to yourself, even if you were surrounded by hundreds of others.

The place was packed already, dolled up in retro pastels. Femininity dialed up to an eleven. Imagine the slumber party of your cotton candy dreams—glossy lips, feathery pillow fights, and bottle girls draped in silk nighties. It was gaudy, in your face, and pure camp. You didn’t expect anything less.

A hostess escorted you to your booth, toward the very back of the club. On your way, Sasha spotted you, bouncing over in her satin set and slippers. She looked adorable and perfectly on theme, down to the fluffy eyemask perched on her pony-tailed head. It was hard to hear her over the bass thrumming in your ears, but she swore she would come and find you later. 

It didn’t take long to realize your lunch with Eren was nothing more than just that—lunch. Wasted time you’d never get back no matter how much you enjoyed the sushi. Outside of some photos here or there, dropping a few hints about your new single, and smushing your face with Sasha’s for that article-worthy photo-op, no one batted at you and Eren, together, even if he did stick out like a sore thumb. 

“Never thought I’d be at one of these,” Eren said as he sat at your side, leaving an awkward foot of space between you.

“You’re welcome for the free exposure.”

You glanced over at him. He looked too big for the booth. It didn't help that the contrast of his deep hair—his clothes even darker, from his jacket to the toe of his boot—was stark against the white plush.

Without missing a beat, he quipped, “It’s not free if I have to follow you around all night.”

“There are worst things.” You gritted your teeth into a smile to disguise that you were throwing snide comments back and forth like daggers. “You know, like being followed around by you all night.”

“That right?” It was a challenge. You saw it in his eyes, whatever it was, and you didn’t like it. “Well, it’s a good thing you came anyway. You could use something to cover that huge zit on your forehead.”

He was boyish and crass as he said it, flustering you. You couldn’t even begin to explain how stupid he sounded—that eyeshadow wouldn’t cover a pimple—because he probably wouldn’t get it.

You slapped a hand over your blemish and hissed, “I should tell my makeup team you said that because, apparently, they’re fans of yours for some unbeknownst reason.”

You were nothing more than an irritation to him, a fly buzzing in his ear; you could sense it. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Aren’t you going to offer to bring me one?” you cooed. It was laced with acid though you wore the same soft-eyed expression as before, when he handed you his jacket. 

You reminded Eren of Connie. And he was about to blow you off just the same when a better idea popped into his head—a little something to entertain himself during this snooze fest of an evening. A reward for playing along, if you will (you wouldn’t). 

What? It wasn’t his fault that it was incredibly easy to get under your skin. 

“Sure,” he replied, but he didn’t leave your side. He left a lengthy pause between you, sliding closer to place a hand on your thigh. He angled closer to you, like he wanted to sell the happy couple schtick, but he had on a cat-like grin. “For a kiss on the cheek.”

You folded your arms tightly, your entire being on lock. “No.”

“C’mon. It’ll look like we’re fighting if you don’t.” He still wore that wicked smile as he pestered you with a cocked head. “Your face is scrunched up. Everyone will think you’re mad.”

That’s because I am mad. You wished you could shout it out loud, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. From the corner of your eye, through the crowds and flouncy servers, Petra was looking—no, staring—at you. She looked concerned, like she was about to race over to you, so you forced another smile. If this kept up, there was no doubt in your mind you’d leave the party with a broken tooth.

“Fine,” you agreed, but only to get him away from you. Eren’s hand was still on your leg. He grazed over the exposed skin, just once, so it didn’t qualify as a caress, but it still knotted your stomach like earlier. 

You pecked his cheek. The skin under your eyes started to burn. “I’ll have a vodka soda. Two limes. Now go away.”

“Right away, angel.” He was too pleased with himself. 

“Don’t call me that.”

Across the way, Petra shot you a corny double thumbs-up, as if that meant anything. You acknowledged her with another painted smile, hoping Eren could hurry up with that much-needed drink. 

He hadn’t returned by the time Sasha found you, as promised. You missed the conversational crutch of having a drink in hand, but luckily, she appeared to be drunk enough for the both of you.

She took a heavy seat next to you, sitting closer than Eren dared. Her knee brushed against yours, and she spoke to you with gin-stained breath. Like everyone else, she was shocked to learn about you and Eren, and you entertained her no differently.

‘Yes, it’s new.’

‘Oh, yeah. He’s just great.’

‘Only two months, yep.’

You should have been ashamed of how little attention you offered her, but wasn’t there anything better to talk about? Really, if you had a dollar for every time someone mentioned Devil’s Paradise, you, like Eren, could retire tomorrow. Tonight, actually. So fast that you could run laps around his retirement—if you wanted to make it a competition, which you weren’t above. 

But unlike the others, Sasha didn’t sound like just another fangirl. She spoke as though she knew them well, and it felt like treading water trying to keep up with her because, in reality, you knew close to nothing about these people. Any of them. Especially Jean and Connie who, as it turned out, were surprisingly good friends with Sasha. Who would have thought? 

She leaned into you, real close. The type of closeness that excited you, like she was about to start a soap-box confessional.

“They’re really good guys,” she said. She said it knowingly, too. The slur in her speech disappeared; the haziness about her features faded. Suddenly, she was stone-cold sober. It felt like she was letting you in on something.

“Look, this thing—” She waved her hand flippantly, referencing the sexy babydoll (can those words be put together?) fantasy surrounding you. “It isn’t me. If it were up to me, I would have been happy to enjoy my launch from my bed, downing an entire pizza all by myself.”

You weren’t sure why she was telling you this or what she meant. But if she, like you, could see through the bullshit—

“But it’s all in good fun, right? And who doesn’t love fun?” Sasha raised her glass high, no longer whispering but slipping back to her drunk, ditzy persona. Just in time for Eren to return.

They said hello, they hugged, and then Sasha offered one last glance, like she could see straight through you—the two of you. But it wasn’t malicious; it was sympathetic. 

If there truly was a bright side to this—Mikasa said there always was—then perhaps it was that you’d end up with two genuine friendships. Fingers crossed.

♡ taglist: @daisynik7 @bejewelledd @lifesuckssomuchtbh @vanessani @intimacywithceline @6sakusa @softjaegerhours @akvrae @sundazedm1 @bomjug @rinshoe @sunasbunnie @okaystopwhore @lem-hhn @brooks-lin @writing2live @ichinosejager13 @littlemochi @sveetnn @elliesbabygirl @sugurunicorn @utahimeow @batafuraikisu @arendizzle @blushblossomsblog @conniesbbymama @wonupuppy @drugzforyou @wtfiswrongwithme1 @str4wberrylover @pompompurjin @bingbongbingbongsblog @josukesss @my-wide-open-eyes @vlsquuu @0bruise @dudaoosstuff please let me know if i missed you or you'd like to be added/removed!

*additionally, i noticed some of the tags weren't working properly. if yours didn't work and you'd like it to, check your settings and see if it allows your blog to appear in search results. i promise, i so badly want to tag you, but i think my brain will melt if i keep trying. hopefully i’ll sort it out next time!

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader

[violettaskies]

To Share A Kiss The Devil Has Known

(ch. 2)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x you // Eddie Munson x f!reader // perv!Eddie Munson x innocent!reader

Genre: romance, mild smut, Catholic trauma, religious trauma, friends to lovers, slow burn

Notes: thank you for all the support on the first part! there is one more chapter after this one (three in total) // Eddie is kinda pervy lol // he’s kinda dark but also not // i tried to write him to be as much of a consent king as possible // honestly, you can just read this without reading the first ch lol but that would help with tiny details!

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // talks of religion, reader's parents are religious, light manipulation, pillow humping, humping, first times, dacryphilia, corruption kink, praise kink, masturbation // please let me know if there should be more added, thank you!

ao3 // chapter one // chapter three // masterlist // series masterlist

-:-:-:-:-

To say Eddie was ecstatic as he drove to your home, is an understatement. He had driven you there countless times after school or the rare late-night tutoring sessions, but he has never gone inside. There was never a reason to. Especially since you both were often only together during school hours and only meeting each other during weekends on the rare occasion you didn’t have a church obligation. 

How he longed to enter the holy house he passed by every few nights to see if you were still awake late into the evening after he finished band rehearsal. Eddie wondered what it is that you did when the light was on, but your shadow was nowhere near the desk next to the bedroom window. 

Little did he know, today was the day he would find out. 

“You seem a little too excited to work on an English project, Eddie,” you said once you noticed that you weren’t the only one in the car who was jittering in their seat. 

“Oh, I’m dreading the work, believe me,” he chuckled. “What I am excited for is the fact that I’m going into your sanctuary for the first time. Now I can find out your dirty little secrets.”

The raspiness in his both scared and excited you. “Hm?” You looked at him for the first time with wide eyes and a shaky voice. 

“Does this mean we get to go into your room too?” Eddie teased. 

“My room? N-no, we can’t go in there.” Inviting the muse of your sins into your home was one thing, going into your room would only make you feel God’s wrath ten-fold. 

“Oooh, she is hiding something, isn’t she?” Eddie wound you up again, keeping one hand on the steering wheel while the other tried to tickle your leg — you backed away again. 

You ignored his teasing, speaking to him in a barely audible whisper: “we’ll work in the basement where my father’s study is. He won’t be using it today since it’s Monday and it’s his day off.”

“Will you tell me what���s bothering you before we head in?” The Dealer said with a pout as he parked in your driveway. “Was it something a person did? Something I did?” If his perverted ways were caught, he wanted to find out now. “You promised you’d tell me, you never break your promises.”

The guilt was eating you up now. Lying, sinning, breaking commandments, and now you’re on the path to breaking promises. If you were alone right now, you would cry; instead, one tear escaped your eyes. 

“I promise, it’s nothing,” the lie came easily this time. “Let’s head inside, please, Eddie.” 

“Alright,” he didn’t want to admit just how beautiful you looked while you cried. 

Once Eddie had opened the passenger for you and let you lead the way into the house, both of your hearts were beating quickly. It became clear that the two of you were nervous about one thing or another – but, there was one consistent anxious thought: your parents were home. 

As you attempted to unlock the front door with shaky hands, the keys rattling a bit louder than what a normal person would be doing, Eddie whispered in your ear.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, no need to worry,” his voice was husky, resonating through your body with every syllable, and his hot breath on your skin since he pushed your hair to the side without you noticing. It was hard to recognize things with everything going on in your head; so much so, that you didn’t get the opportunity to twist the lock correctly as you turned your head quickly to face him. 

Just then, the door opened, key still in the hole and your hand on the handle — leading you to trip slightly at the door frame. “Darling, you’re home early,” your mother’s sweet, but very confused, voice greeted you at the entrance. 

“Sorry I called earlier saying I would be home late, but then the library was full so we couldn’t work there,” you said meekly whilst taking a step away from Eddie to rid your figures of the compromising position you were just in. 

“Come inside, and tell me who your friend is,” the sheer nervousness in her voice was comedic. Your mother knew exactly who this was. Why you allowed him into this Catholic home, she’ll never understand. 

“W-well this is Eddie, he’s the one whose locker is right next to mine,” you stated, looking over at the boy who was nervous in front of you for the first time in your friendship. He must have felt you glance over at him, since Eddie tilted his head up to mouth: ‘you talk about me?’ before winking in your direction. The smiles that appeared on both of your nervous faces went away quickly. 

A loud cough shocked you, making you two break eye contact, and jump slightly at the sound as you were taking your shoes off. “Munson?”

“Yes, sir.” There were times Eddie hated his last name when older people used it — since they would automatically think of his father. 

“What are you doing in my house?” The anger in your own father’s voice was frightening. Yes, he told you to stay away from Eddie. But Eddie was always nice to you, always sweet and caring; never did you see him commit sins in front of you, so you thought. 

“We were assigned on a project together,” you cut off your own conflicted thoughts. “It’s due Wednesday. However, tomorrow we’re both busy so we wanted to finish it tonight,” the leg-bouncing came back again. “May we please use the basement, dad? You have lots of books in there we could—"

“No,” there was a fire in your father’s eyes that intensified your freight as he began a staredown with your project partner. The man was mad — the first time his daughter brought a friend home and it’s a boy, Eddie Munson for that matter. The boy was known around town for committing the sinful acts of the Devil. Now you’re asking to spend the entire night with him, alone in a dark room? Over his dead body.  

Your mother came to the rescue to ease the tension, “of course you can, I’ll even bring down snacks, and dinner too, since we were planning on ordering take-out tonight anyways.” She looked over at your father with threatening eyes, trying to make him notice that his daughter was on the verge of tears in front of a guest.

“That’s alright, I can take care of—”

“Oh, she’ll be taking care of me alright,” Eddie said in your father’s direction with a sinister smirk, then looked to your mother sweetly. “But, I don’t mean to intrude. I can grab dinner on my way home.”

“Nonsense, you two head downstairs and I’ll bring some water and the strawberries that were new at the store today.”

Eddie couldn’t help but notice the sweet similarities between you and your mother. On the other hand, he really loved pissing off your dad — if all the old man could see was the spawn of Satan, then Eddie was going to give it to him.

“Thank you, ma’am. Now, why don’t you lead the way, Angel?” he said while casually placing a hand on your shoulder, then leading a trail to your neck to loop his fingers through your silver chain. Eddie made sure that he glanced in your father’s direction, when you slightly whimpered at the tug and looked up at the long-haired man. 

“S-sure, it’s this way. See you guys later then,” you were a stuttering mess, trying to speak to your parents while guiding Eddie through your house. 

The only thing you hoped was that once you were alone with Eddie again, your mind would focus on the work; not the intensifying feeling of guilt which made your heart and legs ache. 

-:-:-:-:-

Once the backpacks were on the floor next to the sofa, the contents of your pencil case spread out on the large table your father had in the basement, and a lined sheet of paper with a brainstorm of scratches all over it — the project was well on its way to be completed. At first, since Eddie barely cracked the book open, you two needed to read the assigned chapter. He mentioned that he wouldn’t be able to focus unless you took turns reading it aloud, so that’s what you did. At one point, your mother came down and set some fruit on the coffee table, where you would take a bite of a strawberry whenever you were not reading a page — Eddie did the same thing. 

In truth, he was barely listening to the story, only staring at how your lips became more plump and pink as each paragraph was read. The Dealer hoped that you wouldn’t notice how he inches closer to you on the couch slowly. So that by the time the final page was finished, your knees were touching. 

“Such a pretty voice,” Eddie teased when you stopped reading, nearly whispering it in your ear. Now you started to tense up again. 

“Yours is nicer, I guess it’s because of all your Dungeons & Dragons games,” you awkwardly giggle whilst moving to the left. 

“Maybe you should play one day, but I don’t think you want more of the Devil inside of you,” he chuckled to himself, not realizing how the words made your heart drop. 

“W-what do you mean by that?” your eyes went wide with guilt as you responded. 

“Oh, you know,” Eddie elongated the final syllable momentarily. “I can tell you’re keeping secrets from me. You said it was nothing someone else or I did that’s bothering you. That must mean it’s something you did, huh?” 

His curiousity was always something you enjoyed, it led to your imagination to grow in return. But now, this tendency of his was only making you more nervous if he found out what you did.

You wouldn’t be his good girl anymore.

“We should work on the project now,” you said sternly, ignoring his question. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He flashed his signature smile and wink, then stretched his body from the couch. Then with a tap to your shoulder, you followed him to the large table. 

After three hours, the report itself was done. Mainly you did the majority of the analysis while you asked Eddie what he thought about your points. Luckily, his creativity ran wild so you could just build on what he would say to make his profound words sound professional. Then, as you two were grabbing construction paper and poster board from your mother’s craft stash in the basement, she came down to give you both a simple take-out container of Chinese food. 

Truly, she had been checking up on you two every half-hour. Even going as far as taking you to the side to whisper: “don’t do anything unjust or sinful with that boy. He has a reputation and your father is just beside himself with fear as to what the Munson-child will do to you.” Although she had been the polite host to Eddie, she was always the Catholic housewife who cared more about people’s virtue than anything else. 

Not that your mother had anything to worry about tonight. Thus far, you were so focused on the task at hand that you barely had any unsavoury thoughts about your friend. Like how when Eddie would put his chin on your shoulder as you wrote down what he would say in your ear, making sure that he rubbed your back as he was doing so. You didn’t recognize that whenever you responded to him with a ‘yeah,’ it came out in a whimper sometimes. Even when The Dealer had gone on a tangent explaining something, and he flailed his arms in the air, only to land them on the table — leaning forward and stared intensely into your eyes; you barely noticed how your thighs squeezed together at the tingling feeling between. 

But Eddie noticed, he noticed everything and was loving it. He knew that the project would take your mind off of what was bothering you, so he went back to his regularly scheduled programming. This time though, instead of your sweet smiles and giggles to his antics — you were biting your lip, crossing your legs tightly, and blushing while you laughed. As you two ate dinner at the coffee table while sitting on the floor, Eddie couldn’t help but glance down at the skin of your thighs peaking through the bottom of your skirt; especially how you didn’t fix it like you usually do. Something really was going on with you today. 

“Do you wanna play some music while we work on the presentation part? What type of music does your dad have in here anyways?” Eddie asked while eyeing you suspiciously and eating an egg roll. He was going to try and make you talk about something other than school for the first time in four hours. 

“A lot of gospel music.”

“Seriously?” He looked at you with wide eyes and an even wider smile of disbelief. 

“Yes, he likes listening to that type of stuff, I do too,” you said defensively.

The man walks up to your father’s record player and the shelf of records that are lined up behind it. You were right. “Not even The Beatles or The Rolling Stones? Your old man probably has something.” 

“I’ve never heard him listen to that before. Your uncle has them though, right? We listened to them when I tutored you last year. Those songs were really nice to listen to.” You stood next to him and as he graced his fingers on the spines of the cardboard cases. 

“That’s right, my smart girl.” Eddie groaned and chose one of the records that mentioned it was only instrumentals. It would be better than nothing, so he gave it to you to start playing. “We should put this on, because I’m sure that any of this Christian music will make me burn up,” he emphasized his words by pretending to be burned with holy water, like in the movies. “I’m a sinner, baby,” he chokes out. 

He was just joking around, you knew that. But you stood there with the record in your hand, frozen in place for a moment, before quietly saying: “I think we should finish up this presentation, Eddie.” Then passed the vinyl back to him to input in the record player. You quickly walked to the large table with your silver crucifix between your fingers, while Eddie stood with gears turning in his head. 

That was it. 

Just from mentioning the word ‘sin’ and you were shaking with a fear he has never seen from you since that one time Eddie showed you his tattoo of a demon. Only this time, your fear looked like it traumatized you. 

What could have happened to make you feel this way? Did you sin and your Catholic guilt was eating you up? — the questions plagued his mind as he went over to your fidgeting figure sitting at the work table again. 

-:-:-:-:-

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Eddie and yourself were almost done with the presentation. Whichever teacher in the staff room thought that this project could be done in two days was probably delusional. It took you two almost nine hours to do the bare minimum. Alas, as you and Eddie stood at the table, adding paint and construction paper to the biggest piece of poster board your mom hoarded, it was close to the finish line. While there were instances where your guilt would reappear more often now than before dinner — your mind was still focused on the project.

That was until your father’s voice echoed through the basement’s halls for the first time tonight. He stood at the stairs, still being able to see you and Eddie nearly climbing the table to finish the poster. Still, there was fire in his eyes. 

“Are you two almost finished, yet? It’s pretty late and you both have school in the morning,” he said sternly, but only staring down the young Munson. 

“Almost, dad, we just need to wait for this to dry up and practice the presentation with it,” your voice was quiet as your eyes went from your father’s crossed arms to Eddie’s sinister smile. 

“When will you be going home, Munson?” 

“Oh I don't know, whenever she finishes,” he knew that your father understood the innuendo; however, you stood there tilting your head in confusion. 

Your father scoffs loudly before giving Eddie one last threatening look, then turns to you. “Wrap it up whenever you can. I’m heading to bed, but your mother will be upstairs, so no dilly dallying.” You’re pretty sure that comment was meant for the boy standing with horrible posture next to you, but it still registered as a threat in your head.

“Goodnight, dad,” you nodded, looking up at him with big eyes as he began to walk up the stairs. But, a slightly taunting voice made your father stop in his tracks. 

“Sweet dreams, we’ll be having lots of fun down here,” Eddie said with his smile getting wider with each word. You thought he was just trying to make your father laugh a bit before leaving — with a sarcastic tone towards the school project. But it looks like the scoff your father made, indicated that it didn’t go through; in actuality, your father could see the new innuendo the young man was doing, but decided not to be the overbearing father for once. 

As his steps became fainter, you looked towards Eddie who was now putting a cigarette in his mouth, “what did you mean? When you said, ‘whenever she finishes.’?” you asked. He tried his best not to let his lips curl upwards at his joy of seeing you so innocent to the sexual joke.

“U-uhh nothing.” 

“Good, because. I’m not doing all this work all on my own, we’ve been doing this as partners this whole time. Let’s finish together.” The amount of times he has imagined your voice saying those last three words in his ears was unfathomable — he would memorize this snippet for the rest of his life. Eddie was so enthralled by your words that he didn’t notice that you took the cigarette out of his mouth and was speaking to him again. “You can’t smoke that in here.”

“Your old man smokes.” 

“That’s different, he only smokes cigars and they smell nicer.”

“Tell me where they are and I’ll have my first one tonight,” he winked at you with a smile. 

In an instant, he took the stick back from your fingers and placed it between his lips again. “Eddie, I don’t want you getting in trouble,” you sighed in defeat. “Do you promise to finish the title on the poster while I write up the script on cards, if I let you finish that one cigarette?”

“You could always share it with me so I can finish it faster,” he teased. “Or do you not want to give in to the Devil’s temptation again?”

“A-again?” you stuttered.

Eddie stayed silent for a moment, lighting his cigarette then picked up the letter cut outs to start applying glue on them. “You feel guilty for something, don’t you? Did you sin, sweet girl? You’ve been dodging the topic all day and the only time I was able to read the thoughts behind your eyes was when I brought up the word ‘sin,’ you’re even shaking now just like you did a couple hours ago.” 

He was speaking so nonchalantly. You couldn’t take your eyes away from Eddie’s fingers as they move quickly on the paper, then up to his lips to hold the stick between them. Guilt was eating you up quickly now. No matter how long it subsided, it always came back. Now, even more so since the muse of your sins is starting to figure you out. But then, you remembered: “f-fine, I mentioned that I would tell you after we finished, so m-maybe I’ll be ready t-to tell you then.”

“Looks like you better finish up those cards fast, because I’m ready to hear it all, baby.”

This was it. 

The beginning of your end. 

As you let Eddie use the table, you moved over to the couch, wanting to be far away from him for a little while. Trying to calm your nerves, think of the words to say, whether you would tell him the truth or not, theorizing what he would think of you if you did decide to confess: they were all reasons to stay apart. Especially so The Dealer didn’t see your shaky hands finish up the cue cards. 

Eddie is going to hate me — the words repeated in your head every few moments. You were his sweet girl, the one who read the Bible as often as he read the Lord of the Rings books, the one who needed him to explain dirty jokes to you that people said around school. You weren’t supposed to unknowingly sin for weeks on end with his voice being the imaginary guide to help you find the most relief. After hearing condemnation from your friend at Bible study and your beloved priest right afterwards, you weren’t so sure how your heart would take seeing Eddie’s disgust with you. At this rate, the cue cards were going to be ineligible when you two needed to glance down at them on Wednesday. 

Even from a few feet away, Eddie swears he could hear the gears turning in your head, alongside the continuous pattern of leg shaking. He felt bad, truly. You were always one to be so kind to everyone, so giving and polite. That no matter how much he wanted to know the dirty little secret that was causing you so much pain, what he really wanted to do was just take it all away. Eddie hoped that if you did decide to tell him the truth, that you would feel better afterwards. But, you wouldn’t be able to tell him anything clearly if you were full of anxiety. So he lit another cigarette, making sure you were still busy writing on cue cards with furrowed brows, and walked towards your father’s record player. The selection was absurd, but the soft instrumentals might help soothe your soul. 

In a way, The Dealer regrets teasing you so much about it. You were fine when you were distracted by the project, but now that it was almost over and you were amping yourself up to confess something – you looked like you were about to cry like you did this morning. It was both cute and caused a strain in his heart. Eddie thought back to seeing you first thing this morning and how much has happened to lead up to this point, as he sets a new record to play then jumps on the couch next to you. 

“Almost done, princess?”

“Y-yeah, this is the last card. But it’s messy since my hand hurts and I’m sleepy,” you try to lie a bit to see if he would mention you should sleep instead of having a basement confessional.

The lying was coming to you easily, you really were trying to hide something from him, Eddie thought. “Well then, I would call this an extremely successful night. We’re gonna ace this.”

“Hopefully, weren’t you failing this class because of the last test?”

“Yes, but now because of you, my little Angel, I’m gonna get my grades up,” he winked at you as he continued inhaling cigarette smoke and exhaling it behind him. 

“Please don’t call me that,” you said, putting down the cue cards on the table and then squeezing the fabric of your skirt out of sheer nervousness.

The way your heart was beating out of your chest was hurting you. It felt the same way yesterday when you walked to the confessional at church — and that didn’t turn out so well. So why would it be any different if you tell someone else your sins?

“You’ve been hot and cold all day. If it’s a serious problem and you don't want to tell me about it then maybe you should tell your parents.” 

You were so entranced by your own beating heart that you didn’t notice that Eddie put out his cigarette and sat right next to you in the middle of the couch, while you were leaning slightly on the left arm. 

“I couldn’t possibly tell them, Eddie. I’m already too scared to tell you,” you gasped with tears welling up in your eyes. 

He cautiously reached an arm around you, unsure if you would accept it or not — now that you weren’t distracted by the project, Eddie feared the aching feeling that occurred whenever you pulled away from him throughout the day. This time though, you welcomed it as he started to stroke your skin with this thumb. “It’s probably not as bad as you think it is. Hell, I’ve probably done a lot worse in the past three days,” Eddie chuckled in your ear. 

“Do you like sinning, Eddie?” It’s now or never, you decided to blurt out part of the thoughts lingering in your head. 

“What?”

“The things you do, the things you’re known for. My parents say it’s a form of sinning. But that doesn’t make you a bad person.”

You said your words nearly into his chest, as you went to face him but didn’t have the courage to look him in the eye. Eddie thought it was endearing, “do you think I’m a bad person?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know your answer though. 

“No,” you exclaimed. “Not at all. It’s just— 

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t need to—” he tried to cut you off, but your quiet voice took over the room. 

“If sinning is so bad, then why does it feel so good?” You finally said aloud the questions that were haunting you. “Why are you still the nicest person I know, when everyone else says that you could be a bad influence on me?”  you looked up at Eddie now, shivering at how close he was to your face. 

“On Sunday, I saw you walk out of the church,” things were starting to click. 

“I went to confession that day and —”

You sobbed, not being able to contain the conflicting emotions you were feeling. The guilt of your sins, and how you wanted nothing more than to do it again.

You’re going to Hell. This confessional is just going to seal it. 

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. But it may make you feel better.” On the other hand, Eddie wants nothing more than to know your sins, and figure out why you wanted to keep it a secret from him. 

Judging by the way you’re continuously clenching your thighs together, he has an idea what it could be. 

“I shouldn’t,” you say nervously. Just then, Eddie unwraps his arm around you and you whimper at the lost comforting feeling. He kneels in front of you instead. His touch never left you though: placing a trail from your shoulder, to your back, then down your right arm to ultimately grasp your hands. As he held both your hands in one of his, the other stroked your thigh lightly before joining all four of your hands together. 

 You didn’t want to admit that it felt really good. 

“Trust me, anything you did that’s making you feel guilty, everyone else has probably done a million times worse,” Eddie said with a grin. 

“Promise not to tell?”

“Promise,” he tried to soothe your shaking legs by pressing his arm down on your thighs momentarily.

“A-and you won’t judge me?” You try to confirm it. 

“Never.”

You quiet your sobs for a moment, not even breathing, in order to hear if your mother had started getting ready for bed. She has, since the television in the living room was turned off and there were no sounds of footsteps in the kitchen. So you look at Eddie again, tears still escaping your eyes. 

Although he loves the vision of you shedding tears in his arms, he wipes some away with his sleeve. Then places his hand back down to your left thigh, stroking it slowly to try and calm you down. It works, but at the exact same time, it doesn’t. The town nominated the man in front of you as a pawn to Satan — and to you, he was just as bad as the snake in the garden of Eden. He’s the reason why you’re in this predicament. It’s his hands, lips, and tongue that you picture every night as you sin without guilt. Well, until this weekend. 

“Sometimes when I go to bed, it’s hard for me to fall asleep because there’s something bothering me. Like my body doesn’t want to sleep until I t-take care of it.” You try your best to not stutter as you whisper the genesis of your guilt. Eddie knows exactly where the words are leading to. It takes every ounce of strength in his body not to push you too hard for his perverted agenda. 

“What bothers you?” He asks while stroking your clenched hands with his left hand’s thumb. While the fingers on his right are circling your thigh in tiny patterns, inching closer to the hem of your skirt, but never going past it. 

“Everything,” you croak out. “Like I needed a massage on every inch of my skin.”

Eddie chooses his next words carefully, trying to get you to say what he wants to hear: the confession. “If massaging your back and neck makes you feel this guilty, I could always do it for you,” he smiles with a small chuckle, causing you to follow. 

“That’s not –”

“Then tell me,” he said through a smile. 

You clench your legs together out of nervousness. Only to notice that Eddie had placed his fingers atop the middle of your thighs, right where they met. Your thighs had accidentally squished the calloused digits – nearly causing you to want to whimper, but you spoke instead. 

“U-uhm, well,” you paused, “at night when I can’t sleep, there’s no need to massage my neck because that’s not the place that’s bothering me the most. It’s m-my–” Eddie’s eyes widen to urge you to continue.

“Remember, I promised not to judge you,” he says while stroking the skin of your hands in his. But you let your left hand leave the warmth, and moved it slowly to the silver crucifix at your neck. After a moment you made a trail down to the side of your hip — too afraid to point at the other spot that ached more. 

“Here, right here.” The way you bite your lip makes you think it’s about to draw blood. “I feel like I need to move my hips back and forth. S-so I do.” 

Eddie smiles, he’s getting there. It will only take a few more seconds until he hears the full confession, he can feel it. “That’s it, sweetheart? That’s not so bad, I’ve heard and done worse, trust me,” The Dealer says, trying to emit a competitive spirit within you to see if that will push you over the edge.

“No, the part that makes it a sin were my thoughts and what I did to them. You see, I–”

“There we go,” Eddie begins to massage between your clenched legs to try and pry them open so he could start stroking upon your inner thighs. Your body lets him before your mind has the opportunity to tell you otherwise. Your thighs are only an inch apart, but it’s enough room for Eddie to tease the sensitive skin.

“I get a pillow and put it between my legs. At first, I thought that maybe my muscles were stiff so that’s why I did it, honest,” you quietly exclaim to prove your innocent initial thoughts. 

“Don’t worry, babygirl,” he lifts the hand that’s holding yours and kisses your knuckles sweetly. The action makes you whimper. “Pillows are soft, they’re nice. I don’t see any sinning yet though,” he says deeply as a response to your story and both of your bodies tonight. 

“Then, I started to move my hips slowly because the rest of my body felt stiff. So I did, and it felt really n-nice,” you continue your story while barely looking him in the eye, but still following the movements of his hand on your thigh. “I kept going and going until I rolled over onto my stomach to get the ache from my muscles to go away from another angle.”

Eddie knew exactly what you were doing, and he prayed for the first time in a while to keep his hardness hidden from your beautifully tear-filled eyes. “Now that, my darling, is dirty. Tell me more.” If he wasn’t able to do anything with you tonight then at least he was going to memorize this story to replay in his imagination later. 

“The Devil took over me, the priest said the other day. He didn’t hear anything from me after what I just told you. But he was right, Eddie. My body moved on its own. There was this throbbing feeling that kept getting stronger.”

“Where was it doing that?” He asked with feign-innocence in his voice. He knew what you were going to say next, so Eddie lifted your skirt slightly so his fingers could make their way closer to your core. 

“You’re close to it now,” you can’t even say it out loud, so you squeeze his left hand out of nervousness – hoping that what you said is enough to satiate his curiosity. 

Eddie chuckles a bit at your innocence. “Oh, right here,” he places his right hand over your skirt now, laying it above your mound so you could get the picture. You nod hesitantly before he continues. “Did the throbbing feel good though?” he teases you with the question, and you nod again. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Y-yes, Eddie, it felt so good. At one point it was so strong, then it would go away.” There was a sense of sadness in your eyes as you pouted. “But, then I would do it again until I was sleepy.” 

His hand that’s holding yours, lets go for the first time so that he can hold your face with both hands.

Damn the Church for making you feel that way about your pleasure. If he had the chance, he would show you every single way the human body could reach its climax. That would be a real miracle that would make him believe in God. 

“So this is what has put you in such a mood for two days, huh? The words your priest has told you stuck in your head.” He wipes away the abundance of tears from your face so that you stop involuntarily swallowing the remnants of your emotions. 

“Well, it started Saturday, after Bible study. I was talking to my friend about it to see if she knew what I was talking about. She gasped so loud and told me it was sinning because of how I did it to myself and didn’t stop.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” he tried to ease your tension.

“But, Eddie,” you exclaimed a little too loudly. He even placed a finger on your lips to hush your tone— scared that you would wake your father up. “She is right. I did that every single day for weeks and weeks. With different things too. Like my stuffed panda, different pillows on my bed, and that towel you let me keep –” 

You’re not completely sure why you were confessing more to Eddie than you did to your own priest. Let alone confess one part about him. But it felt nice to get everything off your chest tonight.

“Look at me, making my cameo in your dirty fantasy,” he giggles before placing a kiss to the side of your mouth. It made you blush to feel his soft lips on your skin, you craved more. “What I’m understanding is that you haven’t been able to do this activity for three days now?” you nodded at the question, too scared to respond vocally because you might let some more slip. 

Eddie took a moment to think about what to say next. This was more difficult than writing a song or doing a math test. Plus, if the strain on his jeans was any indication of how badly he yearned to help you, then the dam was about to burst. 

Every single day for weeks and weeks, the words repeated in his head. 

That means every time he has sat next to you in fourth period, every time you talked to him at his locker, or whenever you sat with his club at lunch — Eddie was talking to an innocent Angel who masturbates and brings herself to multiple orgasms every night without even realizing it. If the man had known, he would’ve invited himself over earlier so he could assist you in your beautiful fantasy. Maybe so that you didn’t need to use his towel to get yourself off, but him instead. 

He continued, “why don’t I help you? That would make it better, won’t it?”

“B-but, that means you’re sinning too,” you squeak out quietly. Not sure if the tears still running down your face are from relief, guilt, or both. 

“I already always do,” he says with a smile. The Dealer keeps one hand on your face while the other places a trail of featherlight touches from your neck to the tops of your thighs. Once it’s there, he massages circles, causing you to rub them together unintentionally. “And you said it was a sin because you did it to yourself. What if I helped you and did all the work? That’s a loophole since this pretty little pussy you have won’t need to do anything.”

Hearing the word out loud made you shiver. Eddie had said it in a way that made you throb in the same way you did all those nights prior. “When you put it that way –”

“We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. Seriously, this can stop any time whenever you hear the Angel on your shoulder scream at you.”

“I have something else to confess, Eddie.” One of your hands met up with his at your thigh, stroking the veins on his hands that you imagined so often. “You’re my Devil: the only thing that crosses my mind when I sin, tempting me to do so much more,” the words spill out of your mouth quickly, since you feel comfortable enough with this confessional with him — he deserves to know what you’re thinking of. 

“Oh my God,” Eddie groans, squeezing your thigh and rutting against the couch so he could relieve some tension of his hardening member. He really thought he was going to be doing all the seduction tonight, but he was oh so wrong.

“Why do my sins make me feel so good, if they’re so bad?” you pause at the question you've asked about for the second time tonight . “If I’m damned like they say I am, then that means I’m going to Hell,” the quiet voice that emits from your throat is full of guilt and nervousness. 

“Then let's be damned and burn in Hell together, baby. You’re gonna love it,” Eddie says. 

Your Devil, your vessel of temptation, the one person who made you cross the line from being pure to the second-biggest sinner you know — leans forward to capture your lips with his, and oh how you loved it. 

-:-:-:-:-

taglist: @bbyhargrove // @delightfulwinnerdiplomatpalace // @littlemrsmunson // @lolalanaie

#eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female character #Eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson x innocent!reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie munson x innocent!reader #friends to lovers #dacryphilia #slight dubcon #nothing too crazy tho #ST fics #ST fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #ST #Catholic!reader #catholic trauma #religious trauma #Eddie munson x Catholic!reader #Eddie munson x religious!reader #my fics #my writing #best friend!eddie

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Everybody Hurts

Chapter 10

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.

18+ Only for eventual smut

Next chapter: 11/01

Word Count: 6.5K

Masterlist

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

“Got any big plans this weekend?” queried Leslie as the two of you headed out of the school on Friday afternoon. 

You had stayed behind for about a half an hour to finish up your lesson plans, really not wanting to have to do them over the weekend again. The whole Lance and Charlie situation had eaten up most of your planning time the whole week and you were not looking forward to that meeting on Monday. You’d spoken with Principal Washington that morning and he was going to sit in to ensure the meeting stayed civil. That at least gave you just a bit of comfort. 

“No. No big plans,” you answered, holding open the door for Leslie, stepping out into the warm sunshine. You may have let your kids have an extra ten minutes of recess today because it was just too beautiful not to and you needed that extra ten minutes. This was the time of year when you relished every ounce of perfect weather, your body breathing a sigh of relief that dark, gloomy days of winter were behind you for now. “I am thinking of grabbing Chinese tonight and maybe renting a couple of movies. If the weather stays like this, I’ll probably work in my garden some more. Maybe I’ll even get to the hardware store and start the work to give my front porch a fresh coat of paint.”

The thought cheered you and you needed something to cheer you up after the debacle that roller skating had become. By the time you came back off the rink, Eddie was gone. Dustin told you he said he’d had enough of skating and taken off. You had allowed yourself to feel guilty for only a brief moment before you remembered it wasn’t your fault. 

If he was insistent on being so miserable all the time then that was on him. You had allowed him to occupy too much of your brain space for too long. You were done worrying about what he thought of you, done trying to get him to be your friend, hell to just be okay with you existing in the same space as him. You didn’t have to get along with Eddie Munson to spend time with the rest of the group. You would just avoid each other. He didn’t have to speak to you. You would have plenty of other people to converse with, far more enjoyable people.

“Really? You’re planning to work on your weekend off? Girl, I have no plans other than relaxing. This week has been hell.”

“That it has,” you grumbled. “But when else am I going to get anything done around my house? Besides, keeping busy keeps my mind off things. It’s therapeutic for me to work with my hands.”

“Well, you know what they say. Idle hands are the devil’s playground. Oh my god. Speaking of the devil…holy shit, what is Eddie Munson doing here?”

Leslie’s words took a minute to register in your brain. Eddie? This could not be happening. Not just as you were convincing yourself to stop obsessing over the man. The last thing you needed was him showing up and sending you straight down the rabbit hole again. You’d promised yourself that you were going to stay away from him, to keep as much distance between you as you could. That was going to be hard to do if he kept showing up at your work. You’d taken enough of his shit and you were done with it.

You glanced over to find him just as he’d been the other day, leaning back against the side of his van, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, looking like he belonged there. Looking like he hadn’t been an absolute dick to you last night. Like this was just a normal occurrence, him showing up at your work, waiting for you to come out. Absolutely not. You were not going to do this again. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” you blurted to Leslie, quickly hurrying over to the bike rack, your shoes tapping across the pavement, trying to get out of there before he had a chance to notice you. If you could just get on your bike, pedal out of the parking lot, maybe he would think he’d missed you and just leave.

“Uh…okay, see you Monday,” Leslie replied in confusion, narrowing her eyes toward Eddie’s form as she made her way to her car, her steps clicking just a little quicker as if she were frightened. 

The sight of your coworker rushing away like Eddie was the bogeyman caused your hackles to rise before you reminded yourself that you weren't caring about him anymore. It wasn’t your battle to fight. It wasn’t your business what anyone in this town thought of him. He’d made it very clear what he thought of you.

You pulled your bike out and were just hopping on when a hand caught your arm. Your eyes shot up even though you already knew who it was, the knowledge sending your body into panic mode as your shoulders and chest tightened. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You fought to control your breathing and maintain calm but the very presence of him was like a tsunami of stress and tension, your entire body reacting to him.

“Hey, what are you doing? Didn’t you see me standing over there?” Eddie inquired, his look one of curiosity and confusion. 

“Yeah, I did,” you snapped simply, grabbing onto your handlebars, placing one foot on the pedal, ready to take off. How could he look at you like nothing happened? How could he stand here like he was surprised that you were trying to get away, that you were ignoring him? Why was he even here? Was he really that dense or did he just not see anything wrong with his actions?

“Whoa, hey.” A forced laugh rose from his chest, fake and grating, letting you know that he was not that dense. He knew exactly why you didn’t want to talk to him, his eyes wide and anxious. “You’re not just gonna take off, are you?”

Your teeth gritted with tension, your hands gripping the handlebars painfully, feeling as if you were a rubber band that had been pulled so tight it was about to snap. He’d stretched you to your limit and your control was fraying. You were going to lose your shit all over him in this parking lot if he didn’t walk away.

“Why in the hell are you here?” you managed, inhaling through your nose, your eyes focused ahead of you, scared that if you looked at him you would start screaming. As teachers came strolling out of the building, eager for two days of freedom, you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t have all of your co-workers thinking you were some kind of lunatic. That gossip would spread through the school like wildfire. Hell, it would probably spread through the town before the weekend was out. The new teacher in Hawkins was completely certifiable. Nobody would want you to teach their children after that.

“I thought we could go to the junkyard to look at parts for the car,” he explained, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world, and it only infuriated you more how casual he could be after being so vicious last night. “Remember? I called you on Wednesday and told you about it.”

This seemed to be the routine the two of you were setting up. He’d be a total asshole and then he’d show up and want to talk to you like nothing had happened, like you were friends. Just brush it all under the rug and move along until it inevitably happened again. Because it would. Of that you had no doubt. It was only a matter of time before he decided something about you pissed him off. It was an incessant merry-go-round of moodiness where you always wound up in the same place and you were done with it. You were beyond ready to get off this ride. 

“You have got to be shitting me,” you growled harshly. “Just…no. No.”

“What do you mean no?” he scoffed with a snort, his head tossing back, sending those dark waves swaying.

“I mean no, Eddie. N-O. It’s a fairly simple word, only two letters. Did you somehow miss all that shit I said to you last night?” you demanded. 

“What? You mean after I fell? That was just…it was nothing. Look, we were both just annoyed and we got grouchy. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I forgive you, okay?”

“You forgive me? You forgive me!” you screamed, not even caring who heard you anymore. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re the asshole and you’re forgiving me? It is a big deal! It’s a big fucking deal, okay? You are absolutely the most annoying human being I have ever met and that is saying something because I was married to an absolute jerk. I’m done! I’m beyond done with your bullshit.”

Eddie’s arms folded over his chest, his stance widening as if he were preparing to challenge you. His tongue ran along the corner of his mouth, “Then how are you going to get your car fixed, Prom Queen? If you don’t go with me then I don’t have the parts. If I don’t have the parts, you don’t have a ride.”

“Have somebody else work on it. Hell, I’ll have it towed to a shop a couple towns over and pay for the damn labor. I don’t care as long as it means I don’t have to spend one more goddamn minute of my life with your miserable ass!”

A loud snort sent waves of anger racing under your skin, “Good luck with that, princess. You take it anywhere else and you won’t be able to afford to get it fixed. They’ll take advantage of you the minute they see the pretty teacher in the tight sweater walk in. Enjoy walking to work once winter hits, sweetheart because you won’t have wheels.”

“I did it this past winter and I can do it again if I have to,” you stated, refusing to back down. The last thing you needed after the mess your divorce had been was to dive into another complicated situation. He might be beautiful. He might be sexy. Hell, he might be the most attractive man you’d ever laid eyes on but the stress that came along with him was not worth it. 

“Suit yourself. I was doing you a favor,” he huffed, stepping back, holding his arms out wide. “You think you’d be a little more appreciative when someone offers you free labor. Guess you are the little stuck up bitch I thought you were from the moment I saw you at the lake.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed. “You have no idea who I am. You’ve never even bothered to find out.”

Your feet slammed down on the pedals, flying away from him as fast as you could so he couldn’t see the tears that were already blurring your vision. 

___________________________________________________________

You sat on the floor of your living room, cartons of the Chinese food you’d grabbed sitting on the coffee table in front of you. You spooned out some rice and then some almond boneless chicken onto your plate. Grabbing an egg roll, you took a large bite, wishing for the familiar comfort food to fill the gaping void within you. The sweet and savory combination filled your mouth but it brought no joy. You could not shake the feeling of dismay and agitation you felt after your confrontation with Eddie this afternoon. 

You’d tried to let it go. You came home and did a load of laundry, cleaned the house from top to bottom, all the things you usually put off because you were bone tired by Friday afternoon. But today you’d needed to be busy, your body tense with unsettled energy.  None of it had helped, not even the three mile bike ride round trip to pick up the food had stopped your brain from going round and round, picking apart every single moment of your encounter. 

Eddie obviously had baggage. Hell, it sounded like he had an entire luggage set, possibly a U-haul’s worth that he was dragging behind him everywhere he went. It sounded as if the man had been through some of the most awful shit imaginable and you felt for him, you really did, but it wasn’t your job to save him. And it didn’t excuse him treating you like garbage. You couldn’t even manage to be his friend. What in the world had Steve been thinking, throwing around the word love? Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.

You took a deep swig of the extra large glass of wine you’d poured yourself, wishing you could just make him go away but you couldn’t. Your brain insisted on keeping him in the forefront. What was it about him that wouldn’t let you rest? That had you in some kind of chokehold? No, it wasn’t your job to save him but you found that you really wished you could even though he was so rude to you. You wanted to be the one. You wanted to see those eyes melt, that smile that lit up his whole face, and you wanted it to be for you. Shit, you were even more messed up than you’d thought, pining for some guy who was clearly not interested.

You picked up the movies you’d grabbed from Family Video before you stopped at the Chinese place. You’d grabbed The Craft, Scream, and Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Juliet was out for now. You couldn’t stomach the thought of a romance right now. It had seemed like a good idea at the time because even though it was a romance, it was tragic but tragic was the definition of your life currently. Even with the two of them dying in the end, you did not feel up for gushy words and goo-goo eyes. 

Gushy words and goo-goo eyes were not in your near future and that was okay. Alone seemed okay. Alone was probably what you needed right now anyway. Sure, you and Cam had been split up for a year but the ink on the divorce papers was barely dry. Getting into any relationship right now was a horrible idea, something you shouldn’t even be considering. Maybe you would just embrace the inevitable turn your life was going to take, go down to the shelter, adopt a handful of cats, and become the crazy single lady you were destined to become anyway. 

A knock at the door startled you. You jumped as your wine sloshed over the side of your glass. 

“Shit!” you exclaimed, grabbing a paper towel, mopping at the front of your shirt. Damn. At least you’d gone with the white instead of the red tonight or your shirt would be a goner.

Sighing, you tossed the paper towel down onto the coffee table and made your way to the door, annoyed with whoever decided to interrupt your quiet evening to sulk. You weren't in the mood to be good company for anyone. Pulling open the door, your eyes went wide, an audible squeak releasing from your lips when you found Eddie standing on your front porch, a brown paper bag in his hands. 

He clearly mistook your surprise for annoyance because he stepped back, holding the bag up in front of him as if it were a white flag of surrender. You could not wrap your brain around Eddie Munson, the guy who’d just a few hours ago called you a stuck up bitch, standing on your porch. What in the hell was he doing here? Had he not gotten the message? What was with this guy?

“Look, I know I was a dick and if you don’t want to talk to me, then fine. I get it. You’d have every right to but I…” His spare hand ran over his face as he groaned. “I can be a total asshole sometimes. Okay? I know that and I don’t mean to be. I just get so damn mad sometimes. It’s…forget it. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I didn’t know if you’d eaten or anything and Max said you liked the BLT at the diner so I brought you one.”

You stared at him silently, your eyes going down to the bag and then back up to his face, your brain racing to catch up to the words coming out of his mouth, trying to make sense of what was happening right now.

“You brought me food?”

“Yeah…I mean, you do eat, right?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his face, looking at you as if he were talking to a bomb that could go off at any moment.

“Obviously I eat. Is this your idea of an apology?”

“Well, yeah,” shrugged Eddie. “I was a jerk and I’m trying to make up for it.”

“Have you ever considered just saying you’re sorry? I find that works really well. You know, actually admitting that you feel bad because you were wrong?” you demanded, your confidence returning as your anger returned, remembering the nasty words spat from his mouth in the school parking lot. 

“Oh come on. I bought you food. Doesn’t that count?”

“Not really,” you insisted, folding your arms, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe. You turned your head, gesturing to your coffee table covered in cartons. “Besides, I already have Chinese food so I’m all set for dinner but thanks.”

You grabbed the door, moving to close it, done with this conversation. This guy was insufferable. He couldn’t even manage a real apology. Before you fully closed it, his hand shot out, pushing back, resisting. 

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m sorry, alright?” he groaned, those brown eyes beseeching you to accept it, to not make this worse for him than it already was. “I’m sorry I was a dick. I shouldn’t have called you a bitch.”

“Damn. That looked so painful for you,” you teased with a smirk, impressed but also unable to help yourself from torturing him just a bit. 

“It really was so please don’t make me do it again,” Eddie pleaded but the muscles in his face relaxed, his mouth cracking into a smile that was like a beam of light breaking through a suffocating darkness. “Anyway, I’ll just leave this with you.” He held the bag out in front of him. “Maybe you can have it for lunch tomorrow or something. Sorry about bringing you food you didn’t need.”

“Wow. Two sorries from you in a matter of a few minutes. I’m impressed.” You glanced back at your coffee table, the ridiculous amount of food you’d ordered just like you always did when you got Chinese. 

You were suddenly overcome with the desire to not spend the night alone wallowing. You didn’t just want to not be alone, you specifically wanted Eddie to stay. It was so stupid. You knew it was stupid but suddenly you found you couldn’t bear the thought of him just walking away even if you might be playing with fire when his mood shifted once again. Maybe you were setting yourself up for pain but you found yourself willing to get burned if it meant spending time with him. 

You cleared your throat, filled with uncertainty at the prospect of being rejected by him, your words wavering as you spoke, “Actually, I ordered way too much food. I am never going to be able to eat all that. You’re welcome to share with me. I mean, if you haven’t eaten dinner yet.” 

Eddie suddenly looked like a deer in headlights, his expression twisting into surprise. His eyebrows raised, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, clearly stunned by your offer and you instantly wished you could take it back. You just wanted to reach out and pull the words back into your mouth. Of course he didn’t want to join you. He was probably just trying to make nice for the sake of the group, trying to make sure he didn’t get told off by his friends again for being a jerk to you. That didn’t mean he wanted to willingly spend time with you. 

“You know what? Forget it,” you backtracked, shaking your head, a forced laugh that was both awkward and far too loud bursting from you. “You probably grabbed something at the diner, right? I’m sure you don’t want to spend your Friday night hanging…”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupted, nodding. His lips pursed together in a pout that had your knees wobbling. “Yeah, I would, actually. I love Chinese. I didn’t get anything at the diner. I was kind of in a rush because I didn’t really want to bring you cold food. Cold food doesn’t seem like a great apology. I mean, no one wants to eat cold fries. I mean, I have eaten cold fries because you’ll eat anything when you’re stoned, you know? Jesus Christ.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Shutting up now. Anyway, yeah…I mean, if you’re not taking the offer back then yeah, I would like to share your Chinese food.”

“Okay. I mean, no, I’m not taking my offer back,” you laughed, stepping back and waving your arm toward the living room. “Come on in.”

Eddie stepped inside, his eyes moving around the small space as he walked, roaming over the kitchen that was in such need of a complete renovation and the living room, the photographs you had displayed on the walls. He stopped, examining a picture of you with your parents and your sister from when you went to Yellowstone National Park when you were nine. 

“This you?” he questioned with a wry smile, his finger pointing at you in your brown bell bottoms and a garishly bright orange tunic with yellow flowers. 

“Yeah, that’s me. My mom was really into seventies fashion if you couldn’t tell from all of our outfits. Pictures of me from two until about eleven all have highly questionable fashion choices.”

Eddie chuckled, “You don’t want to see my pictures then. In fourth grade my Uncle got me a denim jacket and pants for pictures with a plaid collared shirt. It’s…unfortunate.” He made his way down the line, pausing and tapping on a picture from six years ago, you at twenty-four, rocking ripped jeans, a flannel, and dark make-up. “Damn. Teach is looking all badass.”

“Nirvana concert in Chicago,” you told him with a quiet laugh. “My best friend…well, my ex best friend and I went. That was 1990, I think. We had the most amazing few days. The concert was epic, something I will never forget but we also did all the touristy crap in Chicago. We saw the Bean, ate deep dish pizza, and hit up Old Navy Pier. We went out dancing and drinking and stumbled back to the hotel at three in the morning. We used to do shit like that all the time. She was my concert partner, my adventure buddy. At least she used to be.”

“Is she the one that…?” he trailed off as if he couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words, surprising you with his tact when so many other times he hadn’t cared if what he’d said bothered you. 

You shrugged, “Yep. My best friend since sophomore year. I didn’t think anything could ever change our friendship but walking in on her bouncing on top of your husband kind of changes things.”

“Damn. That’s really messed up. Like, the lowest of the low. What kind of friend does that shit?”

“They claimed it just kind of happened and they never meant for it to. Then once I figured out it wasn’t a one time thing, they said they never wanted to hurt me but they just hadn’t been able to deny their feelings for each other. Usual cheater bullshit speak.”

“So, they weren’t just fucking?”

“Oh no,” you snorted, gesturing for him to follow you to the food. You sat down on the floor and Eddie followed suit, his knee brushing against yours, the tiny contact creating a ripple effect through your entire body that quickly turned into a tidal wave of desire. “She’s living with him in my house. Well, I guess it’s not my house anymore. Nothing is mine anymore. He got the house, all the furniture, my car, the dog…Cam made sure he took absolutely everything he could before he was officially done with me like he was the one who had something to be spiteful about.”

“Jesus. Sounds like a real asshole. Your dog, too?” Eddie’s eyes melted, just the way you’d hoped for them to, sweet ooey gooey brown that seeped right into your soul, warming it, coating it in a sticky barrier that was keeping the bad things away. 

“Yep. My sweet Marley is now with Cam and Cassie.”

“Didn’t you fight him?”

You watched as Eddie grabbed an egg roll and took a bite, those full lips wrapping around the crispy dough. Jesus, his lips were perfect, like two plush pillows you wanted to sink into. He chewed, his eyebrows lifting, reminding you that he was waiting for an answer. You straightened up, leaning back against the couch. 

 “Oh, uh…well, I tried. I fought him for months but I’m a teacher and he’s a real estate agent. He sells big money homes, like six figure homes. I couldn’t afford the kind of lawyer that he could afford. It just kept going on and on, meeting after meeting. Every single time we’d come together and I would make a demand, he would counter it. I just got so tired of fighting. I got sick of having to deal with him all the time. Seeing him was…painful and awful and nasty. We could not be in the same room without saying the most hateful things. I just wanted it over, you know? I felt like I was stuck…just standing in one spot, like someone hit the pause button on my life and I wanted to fast forward to the part where it got good again. Hell, where anything happened again. So, I just signed the papers and let him have everything. That’s why I don’t have a car. I barely had anything when I moved. Once I made a down payment on this place, there wasn’t much left over. I had to save for a while. Hence walking to work in the freezing cold.”

“What an asshole,” Eddie said again, brushing his hands together, crumbs flying off and onto the table and floor. “Shit. Sorry about that.” He began to wipe his hand across the table, attempting to collect them.

You laughed, “It’s fine. I’ll just wipe it down and vacuum later. Don’t worry about it.”

“So, you caught them and then you left and they just shacked up together? And then after he was the dick who blew up your marriage, he left you with nothing?”

“Pretty much. Except they didn’t start shacking up together until a couple of months ago. They tried to claim that when I caught them it was the first time but I knew better. Turned out they’d been sleeping together behind my back for a year. I found some charges that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.” Your lips pressed together and you looked down at your hands. “Pretty stupid to not realize your husband and best friend are screwing around, huh?”

Then his fingers were on your chin, lifting it, forcing you to look into those eyes and your heart was going to propel forcefully from your chest and spill messily all over him. It was the most casual touch and yet the most intimate. It was causing emotions to stir within you that you would rather push back down but it was futile. No matter how many times you told yourself to forget this man, to not let him affect you, your body and your heart had other ideas. 

His adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat as he swallowed, his eyes flicking down to your lips so quickly that you wondered if you’d just imagined it. You could have because you wanted it badly, wanted him to kiss you, wanted him to replace every touch, every thought of Cam. To record over it the way you used to record over your VHS tapes. Erase the bad, wipe it from existence as if it had never happened, new footage of something better, something good.

“You’re not stupid. That ex of yours is the one who’s stupid,” Eddie stated, his thumb coasting just under your bottom lip. You had to fight the urge to wrap your lips around it and pull it into your mouth. What in the hell was happening to you? “That ex best friend of yours is stupid. They both did something horrible and they lost you. That’s got to be the dumbest thing they could have ever done.”

Your breath caught in your throat, feeling as if you were on the edge of your seat. Was something about to happen? Adrenaline and anticipation coursed through you as Eddie’s face tilted down toward yours. His eyes moved to your mouth and this time you were certain it did because it wasn’t a fleeting glance. They lingered. 

“Eddie…” you breathed, terrified to move, terrified of what was about to happen while also being terrified of what would happen if it did. 

Those earth-toned eyes moved back up to yours, widening slightly as if just realizing what he was doing. He released your chin, clearing his throat as he leaned back. Your heart fell when he scooted just the slightest bit further away from you. He grabbed onto a carton of food, spooning some onto a plate. 

“Anyway, yeah, what total assholes,” he muttered, shaking his head, his gaze now completely focused on his plate. 

What in the hell was it about you that stopped him? The way he’d been looking at you, it sure seemed like he was interested but if he was then why did he stop himself? You hadn’t stopped him. You didn’t think you’d given any indication that you didn’t want it. You were certain you wouldn’t have been able to stop him even if you wanted to. Your body wanted this. Did he just get caught up in the moment and then remember it was you? The girl he only tolerated for his friends sake? Maybe he wasn’t into you like that. 

“Umm…well, I picked up some movies and I was going to watch one while I ate if you wanted to watch with me,” you offered, attempting to salvage some of your bruised pride after his obvious reconsideration of kissing you. 

“Sure, what did you get?” he asked, still purposefully not looking at you, only making the knot in your stomach twist that much worse. Definitely not interested. Jesus, you were an idiot.

“Romeo and Juliet, The Craft, and Scream.”

“Oh! Scream, definitely. I meant to get to the theater to see that but I never did.”

“Yeah, me neither. Kind of unheard of for a horror movie to make it out of the theater without me seeing it,” you commented, rising from the couch to pop the VHS into the player before sitting back down. 

You immediately started focusing on your food but that knot in your stomach was making it hard to actually want to eat anything anymore so you gave up. Placing your hands on the couch, you pushed yourself up and onto it, wanting some more space between you and Eddie. A barrier between what you wanted and what he clearly did not, a safe space where the two wouldn’t meet, where you wouldn’t humiliate yourself. 

“You like horror movies?” he inquired, following you up and onto the couch but about as far as he could be from you, sitting all the way in the opposite corner, only cementing your belief that he wasn’t interested in more than just hanging out. 

“Oh yeah. I love them. I don’t know if there’s a horror movie out there that I haven’t seen. Cassie loved them too so she always went with me. That’s probably why I haven’t seen it yet. Cam couldn’t stand being scared. Her and I always did all the spooky stuff together, movies, haunted houses, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like Cam’s a bit of a pussy on top of being an asshole,” snorted Eddie with a roll of his eyes. “So, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“My favorite? Well…I am pretty partial to the original Halloween,” you answered. “You can’t do much better than the actual bogeyman, the embodiment of true evil. Some of the sequels not so much though.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. That third one was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen.”

“Season of the Witch? Yeah, could have done without that one. The entire plotline did not make any sense at all. Michael Myers wasn’t even in it. Like, what was the point? Honestly, if it wouldn’t have been called Halloween, I might have felt differently. It wasn’t an awful movie but it wasn’t at all what I expected. I know they said it was supposed to be an original movie, different movies all based on Halloween and Carpenter didn’t plan on continuing Michael Myers but how could you not? What about you?”

“Nightmare on Elm Street,” Eddie stated without hesitation. “Nothing beats Freddy Krueger. The man can kill you in your dreams. There’s no escaping his claw glove. That’s a real monster, man, one that can get you anywhere without even having to really touch you… can get you even in your own mind…” 

He paused, his body stilling, eyes glazing over with that haunted look again as if he was witnessing some horror within his mind that you couldn’t see. Instinctually you reached out, placing your hand on his arm and he jumped, coming back to reality. He looked down at where your skin touched and pulled his arm back from you quickly, his spine straightening. 

“Sorry. Uh…yeah, so anyway, I was thinking if you didn’t have plans tomorrow we could go to the junkyard and look for those parts for your car. It shouldn’t take too long. I won’t take up your whole Saturday but then I can start getting to work on it for you, possibly even have you behind the wheel within a couple weeks.”

“Oh…” You tried to calm the excitement that bubbled up within you at the thought of spending a day with Eddie, reminding yourself that it wasn’t what you hoped it to be. Hanging out together didn’t mean to him what it meant to you. You were going to have to get the hell over this one-sided attraction. 

“I mean, we can do it another time if you’re busy. You got big plans with Harrington or something?” he questioned, looking at you from under those ridiculously long lashes, those full lips pressed together.

“Steve? Why would I have plans with Steve?” you asked, flabbergasted by the sudden question. What was it with him and Steve? Why did he keep asking you questions about him? 

His tongue teased at the corner of his mouth, something you noticed was fairly common for him, like a nervous habit. Just like playing with his rings and as if he knew what you were thinking, there he went, twirling one of the chunky pieces of jewelry around his finger. He shrugged one shoulder.

“I don’t know. It kind of seems like maybe you two have a thing?”

“A thing?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you two seem like maybe you like each other or something.”

“Me and Steve?” you laughed. The irony of it was just too funny. If he only knew how wrong he was. You’d probably be better off if you were into Steve but no, your brain couldn’t possibly make the smart decision. That would be too easy. “Where did you get that idea?”

Eddie’s fingers grabbed onto a chunk of hair, bringing it over his mouth. “Well…you guys looked pretty cozy at the bonfire and on the couch at Nancy and Jonathan’s. You were chatting all close at the roller rink the other night. I mean, to the casual observer, it would appear maybe you two were a thing. He is your type, isn’t he?”

“And what exactly do you think my type is?” you challenged, folding your arms over your chest as you stared him down. 

“Oh no. I’m not going there. I will not be sticking my foot in my big mouth again,” chuckled Eddie, shaking his head. “No way. Anything I say is just going to piss you off.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s always getting pissed at me.”

“Am not,” he scoffed, blowing a raspberry at you. 

You gasped, lifting one of the throw pillows and whacking him in the stomach. He threw his head back, that laugh that was like the most beautiful song rumbling out of him and you couldn’t help the pleasure you felt at knowing you’d caused it. It brought you more elation than you cared to admit that you could bring joy to this man who was so damn serious and surly all the time.

“Bullshit! You run hot and cold constantly. One minute I think maybe you like me and then the next it’s like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me.”

“Not true. I do like you.” Eddie’s eyebrows suddenly shot up his forehead and he began tripping over his words, appearing flustered. “I mean, like you’re cool, you know.” He shrugged. “You’re fun…to hang out with, like friends. We’re friends, right?”

“I don’t know. Are we?” you asked, genuinely wondering. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, eyes rolling up to the ceiling and then back to you with a sigh. “I think we are. I mean, we’ve just had dinner together and we’re watching a movie. And not because we’re hanging with the group. We’re just hanging out, me and you. That’s friends stuff, right? That’s what friends do.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning back against the armrest, pulling your knees into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your legs, propping your chin on top as you considered him. “Yeah, that’s what friends do.”

A pang of disappointment sounded in your chest at your own words. You couldn’t deny that you’d hoped he felt something more between you, that the brief hope you’d had that he thought about you differently was true. But he clearly didn’t so you tried to push those feelings away, focusing on the positive. At least he considered you a friend. After all, wasn’t that what you’d been trying for from the beginning? Just to be friends with him, just to get along?

“But I am free tomorrow to look for parts,” you said, bringing them back to the original question he’d asked. 

“Cool,” he said simply, a small smile on his face, the two of you turning your heads to the television as the previews finished and the movie began. 

Chapter 11

Taglist

@tlclick73 @bebe07011 @eddiesguitarskills @witchwolflea @nailbatanddungeon @emilyslutface @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @corrodedcoffincumslut @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @katethetank

#eddie munson #eddie the banished #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x femreader #eddie munson smut #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson lives #max mayfield #hawkins #ongoing #fluff #angst #smut and fluff #fluff and angst #enemies to friends to lovers #post divorce #falling in love #second chances #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #jonathan byers

[lovepotionsandlust]

All Of The Ways We Differ

This is my first ever fic I have written. this will be MULTIPLE parts. *please note this is an AU* Not proof read

no use of Y/N

no warnings for the first chapter

enjoy!

“Explliarmus!” you watched as Harry’s wand flew from his hand. For your first try at the disarming spell, you were shocked how well it had worked. You were late to join “Dumbledore’s Army,” making you the newest member. You could not stop the nerves of feeling behind everyone’s progress. “Well done!” shouted a student whose name you were yet to be aware of. As you strode away from the center of the room, enjoying the praise from your peers, you joined your group of friends.

“Fred Weasley,” he said, extending his right hand to you. Looking up at him, you reached out, shaking his large hand. From his right stepped out his identical twin.

“Now Freddie, don’t take all of the star students’ attention.”

 He bumped shoulders with his brother making more room for himself.

 “George Weasley at your service” you couldn’t help smiling up at the red headed twins.

 “I wouldn’t call myself the star by any means but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“it’s about time you three met,” interrupted Ginny, your best friend. “I’ve only told you about her a million times.”

“ah so you’re the infamous twins I have heard so much about” you chuckled up at them.

“so what brought you to join the big boys?” they asked in unison.

Rasing your hand, showing the back of it. Still red and irritated, “I shall not speak disrespectfully to my superiors.” You mocked Umbridge’s voice. “after she decided to insult my work in class, I promptly asked if her hairstyle was some form of curse we would be learning about in the upcoming chapters.” You smiled to yourself, still staring down at your hand. “Was well worth it though, the look on her face was a thing of dreams.”

Shooting your eyes at the twins, both looking amused. “absolutely brilliant if you ask me! We were thinking of slipping her some puking pastels in her tea, they are an invention of ours.”

Your interest peaked, you had to know more. As you stood taking in all of the information regarding the skiving snack boxes, their deliciously devious contents. “here, consider me a founding member, and remember who supported you at the beginning.” You handed them each ten galleons.

Right then and there Fred knew he had fallen, and fallen hard.

***

Every meeting since then, you had always held Freds attention. Frequently catching him watching you in the mirrored walls when your back was to him. Typically ignoring it, “he’s just watching you because you’re a fast learner, don’t think too much about it.” Today you decided to stick your tongue out at him, letting him know he was caught. Quickly straightening himself up, his face turned a darker red color than his bright hair. George leaned over to whisper something in his ear in your general direction. Whatever he had to say clearly upset him as he gave his shoulder a quick shove. Leaving George to walk away looking far too smug.

 You turned walking your way to Ginny, noticing the expression on her face.

“Now what is that face about Gin?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? You clearly have caught my brother’s attention” she tilted her head in Freds direction. “he was so busy trying to impress you with his patronus charm, that he sent it flying  into the back of Nevilles head.”

“Yeah, bloody hurt too. If I didn’t have a hard enough time remembering things, now I have a head injury to worry about.” Neville exclaimed joining the conversation.

Rolling your eyes, shaking your head, you did your best to hide the blush that had risen to your cheeks.

“You both have gone mad, he has got most of the sixth years wrapped around his finger-“

“Well, your finger is the only one he is wrapped around. All he can ever do at home now is ask about you. Speak of the devil, look who’s coming.”

You could feel his approach from behind you. Ginny leaned in closer adding.

“At this rate we will be in-laws before the semester is through.”

“you keep pestering me and I will send Goyle a love potion with your name on it.”

With this she put her hands up in surrender stepping back, “hey, I have always wanted a sister.”

You stepped forward at her causing her to turn around, exiting the room. A throat clearing behind you caught your attention. Turning on your heel, there Fred was, standing much closer to you than you had expected. Catching you off guard you stumbled backwards slightly, he reached out catching your hand helping you find your balance. Both of you blushing, avoiding each other’s eye contact.

“Sorry about that, I just wanted to come to with you a happy Christmas.” He smiled down at you in a way that made your knees feel as if they were going to give out.

“Thanks Freddie, Happy Christmas to you as well.”

“Going to visit your family I trust?”

“Not this year actually, ill be staying at the castle. My family is traveling around Europe visiting relatives from all over the country. They won’t return for quite some time after either. With O.W.L.s quickly approaching, figured it would be best to stay behind to catch up on my potions preparations.”

“Well, now if I knew you were staying behind, I would have signed up to stay as well. Percy, Bill and Charlie, all cannot make it home this year. Should be a quiet day at the burrow.”

“don’t you worry about little ol’ me. There is always trouble somewhere that I can find myself in the center of.”

A low chuckle left him, as if without thinking he replied “That’s my girl” with a grin.

Your eyebrows raised at him, biting back a smile.

“Oh- uh- I just meant- um” he stammered.

You watched as he tried to back his way out of the corner, he had just put himself in.

“For the biggest prankster in Hogwarts history, I really thought you would be quicker to get yourself out of trouble Weasley.” Without breaking eye contact, you slid your bag over your shoulder.

“I hope you have a very merry Christmas Freddie.”

Without another word shared, you exited the room. Attempting to hide the amusement on your face. Fred watched you intently as you exited into the large hallway, rejoining your friends.

George joined his side “ugh, I missed her! Did you at least wish her a Happy Christmas from me?”

Without moving his attention from you, he leaned closer to George, “ do you remember how much trouble I had got in for turning moms knitting needles into snakes last summer?"

“How could I forget? She wouldn’t let me out of the house either for fear you were lying to her to get out of the house. Wait- why?”

Fred nodded in your direction “that one over there is more trouble for me than that, I assure you.”

***

***

As the campus refilled with student, you could not help but feel eager to see Freddie again. Too many nights to count over the last week you had found yourself in the astronomy tower yearning for his company. Classes roared back up with the looming O.W.L. examinations nearing closer. Sitting in the library you could not focus on your text books, your mind often wandering. You were so distracted you didn’t even notice Ginny join your table. Your name being called pulled you from your day dream.

“Lost in the clouds again?” she teased.

“just cant seem to keep my feet on the ground, nothing out of the ordinary. Did you enjoy your break Gin?”

“well, I tried to, but most of the time I was being harassed. Do you want to know by who?” she smirked up at you.

“Yes, absolutely I do.” You thought. Keeping your eyes on your textbook, afraid she would read your facial expressions too easily. “oh, here we go again, I do not want to hear your theories- “

She promptly interrupted “Fred would not stop pestering me regarding what you were talking to me about before break. He overheard my comment about wanting a sister. You should have seen his face when I told him that we were discussing your schoolgirl crush for Ron. He turned just about the same shade of red as you have now.”

You crumpled up a near piece of paper and threw it at her.

“You did not!”

“Well what else was I supposed to tell him?”

You hid your face in your hands with a sigh.

“tell me you’re joking you did NOT tell him-“ you looked around your surroundings quieting your tone, “that I fancied Ron of all people.”

Pushing your arm gently, prompting you to remove your hands, your eyes flashed up at her.

“well would you have preferred I told him the truth about who has caught your eye?”

There was no point in trying to lie to her at this point.

“you open your mouth and I will tell Harry about that dream, in which I swore never to repeat”

She placed her hand over her heart dramatically. “you wouldn’t!”

Smiling back at her, you waited a moment acting as if you were dep in thought.

“but you promised!”

Pure embarrassment and panic flushed over her expression.

“you’re right Gin, I wouldn’t. even thinking about having to repeat that depravity and I’m feeling ill. Have been doing my best to forget it since you told me about it.” You placed your hand over your mouth pretending to fight back vomit.

“you and Fred are perfect for each other, you know that? Glad to see you finally admit that you do in fact fancy him, don’t think I missed that.” Swiftly you kicked her under the table.

“Now it is your turn to promise to keep things between us Gin.”

She extended her pinky to you, interlocking them in a promise the way you would as a child.

***

Days had passed since your conversation with Ginny in the library. No practice sessions took place in the room of requirement as everyone prepared for the O.W.Ls. Tensions continued to build as Umbridge had really supped her retaliation against the students and now the staff. With her rules prohibiting students of opposing genders to interact in the halls, your chances of spending time with Fred any time soon were dwindling.

As students sat quietly in the rows of desks that now lined the great hall, the only sounds to be heard were the quick movements of quills and the swinging of the pendulum. That was until a fizz and pop noise caught everyones attention. Before you knew what was happening, Fred and George were flying through the air above you. Throwing more fireworks than you had ever seen. You could not keep your eyes off of him. The loud cheers of the fellow students gave him the courage he needed to make a move. Swiftly he flew down to you slowing only for a moment to leave a kiss on your cheek. Turning to wink at you as he returned to his brothers side. Ginny grabbed your hand pulling you closer, the smile on your face could not be removed with the cruciatus curse. Between the twins antics and the sound of Umbridge screaming as she ran, the previous months of stress seemed to melt away. As a large dragon made of fireworks chased her out of the room, all of the students followed. Chasing after the twins as they entered the courtyard, a large “W” filled the sky in shimmering colors. As they were out of eye sight, something else caught your attention. A small paper bird flying near your side. You extended your hand allowing it to land softly in your hand. Noticing the ink bleeding through from the other side, you quickly opened the parchment.

“tomorrow 6pm

3 brooksticks

Back booth

Don’t be late xx

Freddie”

#fred weasley #george weasley #george weasley imagine #fred weasley imagine #fred weasly x reader #george weasly x reader #weasley twins

[neon-junkie]

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.1

Summary: "Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats," accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you're one of that ten percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Scents, Knotting, Creampies, slightly A/B/O, Tags to be added.

Word count: 1.5k

[Chapter 2]

Notes: I've had this series in my drafts for a while. I keep adding to it here and there, and I figured I should start to post *something*. Not going to lie, I purely had myself in mind when writing this. I've been tired of trying to write for an audience, and instead, I'm just writing what I want to read. I also miss writing smut-centered fics, so let's scratch all of those itches at once!!

For context: Your heat is vaguely based off the heat cycles that you see in animals. Once a year, your species goes through a heat cycle, where you have a high physical urge to mate. These can last 1-2 months, depending on if/when you mate. I took a lot of inspiration from the sex pollen trope, kinda "fuck or die" but without the death. Just a lot of pain/discomfort. It's a craving, your body NEEDS to fuck or else you're going to get nasty about it. Very nasty. The lads won't be happy with your attitude, but how can they turn down such a pretty and desperate thing?

Chapter 1 - And here we are...

"I should not be doing this."

"I should certainly not be doing this."

"I understand that I am assisting you, but this? This is going to get me reported, shamed, decommissioned and-"

"Tech, please!" you whine. "Stop thinking out loud. I'm only going to report you if you hold back from what you're doing!"

Tech slams his hips forward, coming to a halt. "I apologise," he mutters, and tightens his grasp on your hips before returning to a brutal pace.

How did it come to this? On your knees, your elbows propped up on the Marauder's pilot chair - Tech's chair, in fact. Speaking of the devil, he's also on his knees behind you, with his cock slamming into your slick cunt.

Tech is 'assisting' you through your heat. Yes, because you're no standard species. The galaxy has a vast variety of beings out there, but "less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats," accord to Tech and his research.

He had noticed that something was off with you recently - a slight temper, recklessness, lack of sleep - not to mention that you smell. Like, you really stink, so much so that even Wrecker has pointed out that, "you're getting as bad as me!"

And Hunter, poor Hunter, has kept his distance from you. Neither of you have commented on it, almost like a silent, mutual agreement. The poor man has heightened senses, and you can't tell if your scent is driving him the good or bad kind of crazy.

At least your scent is tolerable, a sweet, yet sweaty lingering flavour. Tech had begun silently researching after noticing that your 'new behaviour' had stuck around for a few days, with no intention of disappearing, which brought him to a series of detailed articles about ruts and mating.

Well, the articles weren't about your species specifically, seeing as there was little to be found on that topic, but it gave Tech more than enough to understand what your body is currently going through.

You're horny, to put it blankly. You're pent-up, frustrated, and desperate to be filled.

The Batch had left for a supply run, leaving you and Tech behind to guard (and repair) the ship, which gave him the perfect opportunity to speak to you alone. He began explaining how he has done some research, and "somewhat understands the difficult time you are going through. Perhaps I can assist you in some way?"

Tech said that line with the intention of giving you medical assistance, supplements or whatever, but the pathetic whine that you let out caused his cock to harden, even more so when you shifted your thighs together and innocently asked, "are you suggesting that you can satisfy my natural urges, Tech?"

Back to the present. Tech's eyes drift to the side when he notices a light flashing on his datapad, resting on the co-pilot's seat. "The others are on their way back," he informs you through gritted teeth.

"But we've barely started!" you whine, knowing that your urges will be lingering for the next month. Minimum.

"And we'll find other opportunities to satisfy you, General," Tech comments. He notices the way that your cunt twitches around his length at that word alone - General - because you are his superior, after all.

This is all so complicated, a desirably defective Clone Trooper mating with his Jedi General for the simple purpose of assisting her during her natural urges. Insane, and incredible.

There's a silent and mutual agreement to keep this matter private, seeing as it would... complicate everything. But Tech had already let some information slip when Crosshair caught him researching ruts. "Do I dare ask?" Crosshair had pried, but it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Another hard slam of Tech's hips causes you to let out a heavy moan, and with it, your upper body practically collapses on the pilot's chair. You're fucked out, debauched, yet still craving more. "Where shall I finish?" Tech sputters behind you.

"Inside," is all you can whimper.

Tech's hips come to a halt, "I may be willing to assist you during your heat, but I am not willing to impregnate you," he comments with a raised finger.

Peering over your shoulder, you explain, "I can't interbreed."

"Oh," Tech blankly sighs, and his finger softens before returning to your hip. "In that case, I'll happily finish inside," he cheerfully smiles.

And with that, he's slamming into you again, his brows furrowing from the pure intensity of it all. It doesn't take much for you to climax, just a few messy rubs on your clit, and you're cumming on Tech's cock with a series of pathetic moans escaping your lips.

Tech practically explodes, his mind fogging up at the sensation of your cunt gripping the life out of him. You're milking that poor man, and all he can do is fold over and rest his forehead on your back, panting heavily as he waits for you to relax and release your death grip on his cock.

"I..." Tech begins, and licks his lips as he straightens his back. "I assume the males of your species have the ability to knot?" Tech observes.

"What gave it away?" you sarcastically reply, and attempt to relax your muscles, allowing Tech to escape.

Tech lets out a pained, "ah!" as he slips his cock out, then tucks his poor little trooper away. "I'll certainly need to get used to that sensation," Tech casually states.

"Did it... hurt?" you ask, and begin cleaning yourself up, tucking your Jedi robes back into place.

"Not at all, but I am particularly sore," Tech replies as he offers you a hand, pulling you up to your feet. You watch as he clasps his codpiece back into place, followed by correcting a few pieces of armour that have drifted astray during his wild turn of events. You needed urgent care, and Tech didn't see much point in removing his armour when he's simply providing assistance.

There's a moment of silence, an awkward pause, and Tech breaks it by nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he states, "feel free to ask for assistance when you next need it."

"Oh..." you stutter. "Yeah, thank you, Tech."

Like the fool that you are, you push up onto tiptoes to plant a light kiss on Tech's lips, before making your way through the Marauder, ready to splash your face with cold water in the refresher.

Everything happened so fast. You were painfully aroused, and ate Tech up like a three-course meal. Your hormonal urge has been filled, but from experience, you know that this is only a temporary fix. Hopefully, before you know it, your yearly rut will be over, and you'll be back for to your standard, witty self.

As for now, you'll need to tolerate it, and redeem your Tech voucher whenever the time is right.

After coming to your senses in the confinement of the refresher, you shimmy out to find that the others have returned, shopping bags in hand. "You look tired," Echo comments as soon as he locks eyes with you, and you're unsure if that's a statement or an insult.

"That's what happens when you spend the afternoon doing repairs," you sarcastically reply, and Echo rewards you with an eye roll.

Wrecker is quick to drag your attention away as he begins going through the fascinating new foods that he's brought, all thanks to your Republic credits. You're starved, hungrier than usual during your troubled times, and before you can pick out a treat and tuck in, somebody else pulls your attention away.

"Here-" Hunter interrupts. He chucks a small prescription bottle at you, the tablets rattling as they come into contact with your hand, and you rotate the bottle to read its label. "For your... new problem," Hunter explains before heading down the ship, obviously trying to keep his distance, even more so seeing as he can't simply hand the tablets over to you.

Wrecker can be heard sniffing the air, and proudly comments, "you don't stink any more!"

How innocent he is, unaware that you've been given assistance to your 'medical problem.' "Yeah," you say with a soft laugh. "Scrubbed extra hard in the refresher this morning."

"I still think your problem is stress related..." Wrecker begins, and waffles on about his thoughts and opinions on the matter. All the while, your eyes gloss over the label, the cure to your problems sitting in the palm of your hand. Yet, your mind is asking the same silly question over and over.

Why don't you want to take these pills?

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