#*fumbles with papers in panic*

[pangur-and-grim]

this lesbian keeps flirting with me in my creative writing class, and I'm fumbling it. she told me I didn't have to get sheets from the front of the class today, and that we could sit beside each other and share, but I said "no 😡 I want my own sheets."

and then one of the hand-outs was a poem she wrote about sexually dominating a woman into eating her out. LADS, did I need my own sheets that badly??

[sboochi]

okay but Arthur and Merlin canonically existed in the GO universe! we know this! in the S1 historical montage, during the medieval vignette, Aziraphale describes himself as "Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round". they hung out!

There's gonna be a flashback in part 4, so things will make *a bit* more sense!

Aziraphale remembers Arthur ofc, he asks Crowley if it's really him because he's so shocked!

Arthur, on the other hand, is having the weirdest day of his life and isn't used to Aziraphale in modern clothes! Give him a minute and he'll recognize him too lol

(And!! Canonically Crowley was the Black Knight, who did appear in Merlin, so that's another thing to unpack soon!)

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[champagnefountains]

LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

CHAPTER II - Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Previous chapter: [x] Word Count: 3.4k+ words (unedited). Genre/other tags: Angst with some fluff. Jealousy. Fem pronouns used. Warnings: Swearing. Self-deprecation. Manipulation (on Alastor's part).

It had been nearly over a week since you and Lucifer last talked – it had also been a week since Lucifer was last seen around in the hotel. Angel, being the gossiper he was, relayed everything that had transpired between you two to the others the following day. Seeing the sensitive and sad shell of a person you were left in, everyone remained cautious and had started walking on eggshells around you. Of course, you were quick to pick up on that, as embarrassing as it all was (minus Alastor, who continued on with his usual theatrics and mischief). 

Charlie in particular was the most concerned out of them all, since this was her dad we were talking about. She knew with certainty that he was confining himself in the castle to distract himself from what happened – likely something involving his rubber-ducky obsession – instead of facing the problem head on. It was his pride that sometimes got in the way of his better judgement.

Not only that, but Charlie clearly saw the massive toll it took on you. If you weren’t distracting yourself with work or doing something related to the hotel, you would lock yourself away in your room, only coming out to quickly grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. Charlie even made efforts to strike many conversations with you from time to time, but was either excused or was only given one-worded responses. She knew not to take your dismissive behaviour to heart, but she couldn’t help but fret over you.  

So it came as an absolute surprise when out of nowhere, Charlie received a call from her father. She messily scrambled for her phone on her desk, fumbling and nearly dropping it in the process before violently tapping on the small screen. “H-Hello?! Dad, hey!” She answers a bit too enthusiastically while nervously combing her hair with a free hand. “Uh, hey Charlie!” Lucifer stiffly greets from the other line, “I just…um, thought I’d give a call to, uh, see how everyone’s going at the hotel!” The Princess noted how much hoarser his voice was than usual, but decided not to comment on it aloud. 

“Well, y’know how it is! It’s been busy and lively as always–everyone’s been working really hard and all,” she answers vaguely, nervously chuckling. “Err, yeah! Right. That’s a–that’s a relief to hear. Yep,” he hums. There was a brief, awkward pause that ensued soon after, the both of them not knowing what to say next. The whole exchange was becoming increasingly painful that Charlie resisted the urge to pull her hair. She then clears her throat. “H-How about you, dad? What’ve you been up to? You’ve been gone for a couple or so days,” Charlie finally musters, “are…are you doing alright?” 

“Me? Oh yeah, psh! I just got, erm…a lot of things going on at the moment. It’s not so easy being the big boss of hell after all! Got a lot of important things to do! Plus, I’ve got heaps of paperwork to do for the hotel. You should know how tedious that is,” He says, adding an exaggerated groan. 

The princess furrows her brows. “Oh, that’s…strange. ’Cause I could’ve sworn you left all the papers here…y’know, the ones you told me to revise over?” Charlie replies, side-eyeing the said documents stacked neatly on her desk. A startled yelp escapes his throat. “O-Oh...did I?” He stammers.

Charlie couldn’t help but wince at the evident panic that began to set in as she listened to her father make incomprehensible noises from the other line. It was a poor attempt in reasoning, which ultimately became useless in the end. Lucifer let out a long sigh, caught red-handed. “Oh, who the hell am I kidding? You guys probably already know what happened–which by the way, Charlie, you shouldn’t be lying to me about!” He pointedly remarks. 

“I-I’m sorry, dad! It’s just…I’m really worried about you,” she reasons, before shortly adding, “...The both of you.” 

There was a small pause. “...How is she, by the way?” He then asks quietly. Charlie nervously tugs her bottom lip with her fangs. “Well, she’s keeping herself busy. Constantly, as a matter of fact. And I know she’s trying hard to convince us all that she’s holding up okay, but…she doesn’t look too good, dad. She seems really upset.”

A shaky exhale sounded from his end. “I…I really am hopeless, aren’t I?” He mumbles defeatedly. Even though she couldn’t see him, she could picture him burying his face in his hands. The image caused Charlie’s eyes to soften. “Dad, no. It’s not too late. You still have a chance to make things right,” Charlie gently encourages through the speaker, “you just need to talk to each other–”

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, a bright, blazing portal manifests from thin air – from it, emerges Lucifer himself who appeared extremely dishevelled, effectively catching Charlie off guard. 

“But, hun, y-you don’t understand! I messed up big time!” He exclaims, tugging on his unkempt hair as he aimlessly paced around her office. “I-I mean, look at me! I’m a fucking mess and a coward! Why would she ever think to take me back after what I did!?” He chuckles humourlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “I-It’s like no matter how many times I try to redeem and convince myself that everything’s finally going right in my life, I just continue to fuck myself over and over again. And it’s just– ugh! It’s pathetic! I’m fucking pathetic!” 

Charlie’s chest tightened considerably as she watched her father self-destruct before her. Strands of his golden hair were sticking out here and there, his dress-shirt tousled, and his eyes were glossed over and red, from both a lack of sleep and crying. He looked utterly devastated. Chucking her phone away, she immediately sped towards and enveloped Lucifer in her arms, who immediately broke down into heavy sobs. Seeing him like this brought tears to her own eyes, but she firmly told herself to be the stronger person in this situation, for his sake. 

“Hey, hey. Dad, listen to me, okay? Everyone deserves a second chance. You of all people should know–you were the one who taught me that, remember?” Charlie rubbed his back soothingly, trying to ease the jumpiness of his shoulders. “And that also applies to you. I…I know you’ve been through a lot, especially with mum…” She couldn’t help the way her frown deepened as she spoke, “...and I miss her too. I miss her a lot. But…I think it’s finally time for you to move on. It’s been years, dad. You deserve to be happy and you’re allowed to be in love again.” 

“[Name]’s an amazing person, and there’s no doubt about that. She’s proved that more than many times already. I’m certain that once things ease over and you guys finally talk things through, everything will turn out okay; she’s very understanding and kind like that. You’ll both be okay.” Charlie gently pulls Lucifer away and with the sleeve of her blazer, she wipes his damp, reddened cheeks. “I know for a fact that she loves and cares about you deeply – we can all see it as clear as day. You…you love her too, don’t you, dad?” 

For a brief moment’s contemplation, Lucifer suddenly recalled the times you spent together, from your initial meeting to now. He had always thought you were a strong and independent soul, with the way you carried yourself. You just had something about you that naturally drew in those around you, including himself. When Lucifer got to know you in a deeper level, he was enthralled by how kind and understanding you were – you were always there to listen to his many tales and endless nonsense; you would always seem genuinely interested in his rubber-duck-esque inventions, offering some input and critiquing his creations; and you would always be so, so supportive of all his plans and ideas, no matter how extraordinary they all seemed.

If he hadn't known any better, Lucifer would've thought you were an actual angel. You were the saviour that wore off the darkness in troubling times, and the one who pulled him out of the void that Lilith had left him in. That and more, as you continuously gave him a real reason to remain hopeful. You were proof personified, that he was able to open his heart once more, and to love again.

“I-I do, I really do,” Lucifer affirms in a heartbeat. Charlie smiles warmly, relieved by his answer, “then that’s all you need to say.” At that moment, Lucifer's chest swelled in overwhelming pride for his daughter, knowing that despite not being as present in her life until recently, she grew up to be the good and strong-willed person he had hoped for.

“O-Oh, jeez. Since when did you grow up so big? I should be the one comforting you,” He tearfully jokes, sniffling whilst returning her smile, “but thank you, Charlie. Really. I’m…I-I really am grateful to call you my daughter.” The two royalties then shared a heart-felt moment and a bone-crushing hug, with the King's heart being filled with a new-found determination. Because, just as he always says: The show must go on. 

Earlier on:

On the other side of the building, you were drowning yourself in your own self-despair as you overlooked the balcony by the front entrance of the hotel. Your eyes lazily scanned the new hotel patrons below, who were engaging in some trust exercises led by Vaggie, who came in to cover you just moments ago. Every once in a while, you couldn’t help but glance at your phone, silently hoping to receive some sort of notification from Lucifer, or even an inkling of his whereabouts. But you received nothing, which only fuelled your growing anxiety.

You felt awful leaving the way you did that night, especially after dumping so much onto Lucifer. You felt like you were being completely selfish, and had cornered him into making a big decision. And because of that, your relationship was on the line. You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing angrily at your face.

Little did you know however, that you had some company lurking nearby, watching you in silent amusement. 

“Now, don’t you look as miserable as ever?” Alastor mockingly chimes in, stepping out from the shadows to make his presence known and joins you by the balcony. You roll your eyes at the deer-demon before turning your head the other direction. “Yeah, and what about it?” You scoff, leaning in to rest your arms against the rails, “Can’t you go bother someone else, Alastor? I’m certainly not in the mood right now.”  

“Why, I wouldn’t be a good hotelier if I left a dear co-worker of mine so down in the slumps!” To your dismay, Alastor reappears in front of you, obstructing your field of view, "And might I add, it's not healthy for you to be all cooped up in your room all the time – stay there any longer, and it can do silly, little things to your head!" He emphasises his point as he spins a finger in a circular motion by his temple. You shot him an irritated look, slowly growing fed up by his prodding. 

"Listen, I don't need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do. I’m more than capable of deciding that on my own,” you growl, straightening up to cross your arms firmly against your chest. “Hm...no, I don’t think so!” Alastor hums, shaking his head disapprovingly, “The unfortunate affair that took place in your courtship with the King has left you in such a vulnerable, and problematic state. And I’m sure you’ve taken note of how everyone’s been acting around you – constantly walking on their tiptoes in fear of setting you off on a hissy-fit. You’ve caused them to worry a lot about you, dear. Poor ol’ Charlie, especially.” 

You open your mouth to retort back, but nothing came out. A strong pang of guilt struck you as his words began to sink in. Seeing this, Alastor’s grin widened a faction as he stepped forward and levelled himself with you, now facing you eye-to-eye. “And as the executive producer of this fine establishment, might I critique that your behaviour is affecting our team’s morale and performance…and we mustn’t have that now, should we? Especially not since we’ve all been more preoccupied recently with our guests!” He…had a fair point, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t…know…” Your voice began to trail off, shoulders slumping in realisation of how selfish and contemptuous you’ve been acting this whole week. You recalled the fretful expressions of your friends and your dismissive attitude towards them. “I-I didn’t mean to make everyone worry…” you quietly say. Alastor’s words only made you feel immensely worse about the whole situation, leaving you sniffling on the spot. 

“Now, now. As long as you realise your mistakes, then you shall be forgiven,” he coos, softly patting the tuft of your head. At that, you couldn’t help but send a doubtful glance his way. “W-wait a minute…why do you care all of a sudden? What exactly are you playing at?” You suspiciously question as you rub at your eyes. 

“Oh, how you wound me, dear! Why must you always question any act of kindness I display? Is it really that hard to believe?” He adverts, evidently feigning hurt. You deadpan. “Yes, it is,” you reply almost instantly. Alastor chortles at your bluntness, “Haha! You’re quite a work of art, aren't you, dear? Now, let’s go out for a walk, shall we?” 

Before you could’ve processed what he had said, Alastor had already spun you around, pulling you with him as you both headed down a flight of stairs. “Wha–Alastor, where are we–where the heck are you taking me?” You asked, trying to keep up with his long strides so as to not trip down the stairs. “Hm? Did I not already specify? It looks like your brooding has impacted your hearing, dear. That’s a shame,” he slyly comments, now dragging you towards the entrance, “We’re both going for a walk around town, it’ll help clear that cloudy head of yours!” 

“Hold on-Stop! Just what makes you think I’d agree to go out with you?” You shoot back, retracting your arm from his hold and stopping metres behind him. Alastor sharply turns around and pulls out a wrinkled, yellow piece of paper out of thin air. Your eyes dart towards the sheet, seeing a familiar hand-writing across the page. 

“Why, I just knew you were going to question me – you're so predictable. But might I add, we’re not going out without purpose! No, no! Our lovely Charlie has composed a list and requested we fetch a couple items in town!” Stepping forward, you swiftly snatched the paper from his clawed hand and briefly scanned the list, noting that it largely consisted of decorations and party items. “She wanted to organise a heart-warming celebration for the wayward souls here who have accomplished some milestones on their journey to redemption! An anniversary ceremony of sorts, if you will,” Alastor explains, lightly patting the non-existing dust off of his suit.

“But couldn’t you just…I don’t know, teleport the things here?” You blatantly ask, raising a brow at him. You knew he was more than capable of doing such minuscule tasks within a span of seconds. “And waste such a beautiful day outside? Now, why would I even consider doing that?” Alastor states matter-of-factly, “And like I said, the short trip will help clear your troubled mind! Consider it a gesture of compassion from yours truly.” 

There was clearly something off about all this but you couldn’t see any reason for an ulterior motive. It was just…simply a manager looking out for the well-being of his work-colleagues, as uncharacteristic and off-putting as it sounded out loud. Already exhausted, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to question his actions any further.

“You’re really not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?” You ask. Seeing the way Alastor’s grin widened had you sighing in defeat. “Shall we then?” Alastor questions, offering an arm out to you. Rolling your eyes, you loop one of your arms through and follow him out the hotel. ‘A small walk wouldn’t hurt…’ you think to yourself as the doors shut behind you. 

Currently:

Lucifer tiredly dragged himself to his designated room in the hotel, to rest for a while and take a much needed bath as per Charlie’s advice. He gave himself a lengthy pep-talk in front of the mirror as he brushed his teeth, deciding to approach you tonight to finally talk and clear things out. Yes, he was absolutely terrified about the possibility of things going south during the confrontation, but he didn’t think he could handle another second being without you. And he needed to make that loud and clear. 

After putting on an outfit and neatly slicking his hair back, Lucifer looked at his reflection once more in the bedside mirror, inspecting himself up and down to flatten any remaining creases of his clothing. But it wasn't until his gaze landed on his left hand that he tensed up. Peering down, he brought his hand into view to inspect the very wedding band that caused it all. With a shaky sigh, Lucifer slowly pulled the ring off of his finger. He took a moment to examine it, eyes filled with sentiment before kneeling down to open his bedside drawer, where its designated ring-box sat. The moment he encased the ring in its box and locked it away in his drawer, it felt like a breath of fresh air. To his own surprise, Lucifer found himself tearfully laughing – he felt...genuinely happy. Proud, even. It was at this very moment that he felt like he was finally ready to move forward.

After patting the stray tears away from his face, Lucifer slowly made his way down to the front lobby. There, Charlie and Vaggie were talking amongst themselves by the lounge area, whilst Angel and Cherri chuckled away by the bar, with Husk tending to their beverages. The King didn’t give an inkling of care as to where Alastor had gone, and he was certain that Nifty was hiding somewhere in the small crevices of the hotel, cleaning away. All in all, there was no sight of you whatsoever, visibly disappointing him. 

Seeing his approaching form, Charlie waved his father over towards them. “Hey, dad. Are you feeling a bit better now?” She asks with a comforting smile. “Yeah, totally. Thanks, dear,” he says, patting her shoulder affectionately before turning his attention towards her partner. “Hey! How’s it going, Maggie? I’ve heard you’ve been working real hard lately, huh? Good on yah!” He commends, playfully nudging the said demon. “Oh, um…it’s–it’s Vaggie, sir. And uh, thanks,” she nervously chuckles, rubbing her arm. “Mhm, yeah…that’s–that’s great,” Lucifer distractedly hums, all the while scanning around the room. Noticing this, Vaggie shared a worried look with Charlie. 

“Erm, dad, she’s not here at the moment if that’s what you’re wondering,” Charlie starts, alerting her father. “Oh? Well, is she up in one of the guest rooms?” Lucifer asked, gesturing upstairs with a thumb. To his confusion, Charlie appeared somewhat nervous, her hands fidgeting with her suit. “Uh, no, she’s actually not in the hotel at the moment,” Vaggie steps in, “she’s been out doing a couple of errands for us.” Lucifer raised a brow at the slight edginess in her tone, eyes darting back and forth between the two girls. “...Um, alright. What the heck is going on right now?" He asks, pointing an accusatory finger at them both, "You guys are acting sketchy as fuck. Are you...are you guys hiding something from me?" He narrows his eyes. Charlie sucks in a breath, brows pinching together, “Well...dad, t-the thing is–” 

“She’s out with Smiles right now!” Angel suddenly intervened, calling out from the other side of the room, and causing Charlie to cower and duck behind Vaggie. Lucifer felt his shoulders grow rigid. “She’s…what now?” He dangerously asks, glaring at the arachnid. Before Lucifer trudged towards the direction of the bar, the front doors of the hotel abruptly flew open. He felt the vein in his neck nearly burst at the sound of your laughter interlacing itself with that god-awful, irritating radio feedback. What a wild coincidence.

As Lucifer turned around, his eyes nearly flew out of his head as he saw how close you were with Alastor, arms basically locked together. The radio-demon was quick to meet eyes with the King, and out of spite, Alastor flashed him the biggest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.

“Oh, fuck no!”

Chapter III - Finale [x]

Thank you for reading!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Nurture.

Paring: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation Of Nursle.

Word Count: 11.0k.

TW: Dub/Con, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Imprisonment, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Semi-Public Sex, Forced Marriage, Panic Attacks/Disassociation, Mentions of Stalking, and Nonchronological Timelines. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Three]

You were never supposed to meet Geto Suguru.

It’d been a misstep in the never-ending trudge that was the cosmic timeline; a mistake on behalf of the universe that left you on the doorstep of his temple, glancing between the rustic entryway and the scrap of paper one of your student’s mothers had slipped into your hand a few weeks prior. “They should be able to help with your little problem,” she’d explained with a wink, a knowing glance towards your stiff shoulders, the dark bags under your eyes. “One visit, and you’ll feel like a teenager again.”

You’d smiled politely and told her that you’d give it a try and shoved her note into a drawer below your desk to be swiftly forgotten. You went to a doctor, then a chiropractor, then a psychologist, then briefly considered making an appointment with a fortune teller before finally relenting and deciding that you were, in fact, desperate enough for a miracle healer. It took three trains, two taxis, and more than a handful of helpful strangers, but you’d arrived at the messily scrawled address in one piece. You could still turn around, try your luck with another specialist, another bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills – sane solutions that sane people fell back on when they encountered problems that sane people had. You could go back to your flat, your ever-growing pile of ungraded tests, and pretend you’d never been here at all. You could do the thing that crazy, desperate people didn’t do, and you could leave.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and crossed into the entryway.

An attendant caught you as soon as you’d stepped inside. He was male, middle-aged, wearing the most strained, plastered-on smile you’d ever seen as he bowed his head to you. After a moment of nervous delay, you returned the gesture. “I—Uh, a friend of mine pointed me in your direction,” you stuttered out, doing your best to speak through your anxiety. “She said your head priest could…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Thankfully, the attendant cut in before you could make yourself look like a complete moron. “Geto-sama?” Impossibly, his smile widened even further. “You’ve come to the right place - he’s a truly miraculous healer. He’s seeing another poor, suffering soul at the moment, but you’re free to wait outside of his sanctuary.”

With a quick nod and a few words of thanks, you were swiftly taken to and abandoned in a small sitting room that, you could only guess, led into the innermost shrine. You sunk into a remarkably uncomfortable wooden chair and managed to sit still for all of three seconds before looking for your next distraction. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find.

Two girls sat on the other side of the room; sisters, you guessed, if not twins. One (Mimiko – it’d still be a few days before you learned her name) was perched on the edge of a chair identical to your own while the other (Nanako) sat cross-legged on the floor between her legs, fiddling with a hand-held console as her sister tried and failed to braid her hair. You couldn’t help yourself – a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watched Mimiko clumsily fumble with the messily divided strands of hair, her frustration written clearly across her expression. You’d always been comfortable around kids, as much as you never wanted to have your own. You didn’t know much about healing priests or mystic illnesses, but you knew how to handle a struggling seven-year-old.

When she looked away from her work, seeming to notice you for the first time, you offered her a bright smile, a quick wave. “Having a hard time?” you asked, gesturing towards her messy handiwork. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’d like.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, a quick look shared with her sister. “I understand if you don’t trust my credentials, but…” You fished out a few spare hair-ties out of your pocket: bright pink and adorned with equally garish bows, the color and design enough to make Nanako’s eyes light up. One of your more absent-minded students tended to forget hers, and you’d gotten into the habit of carrying a healthy stockpile on her behalf. “I did bring my own supplies.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself dutifully combing out Mimiko’s hair while Nanako admired her new pigtails. They seemed reluctant to talk to you, but you did your best to make polite conversation – well, as much as you could with two stand-offish grade schoolers. “Are you two waiting for someone?”

Mimiko pursed her lips, but Nanako wasn’t so shy. “Our dad,” she filled in, the kind of pride only an idealistic child could have for a parent heavy in her voice. “He hates monkeys.”

“Oh.” You did your best to sound surprised, rather than confused. “Does he work for the temple?”

“Mhm – he’s really strong, and super important.” She waited for you to num in acknowledgement, then went on. “You’re here to see him, right? He can definitely help you, if you are.”

Your hands faltered, a lock of Mimiko’s hair slipping out of your loose hold. “Your father’s… the head priest?”

Nanako nodded enthusiastically, and for the first time, Mimiko chimed in, “He’ll probably get rid of your creepy friend.”

This time, you stopped moving entirely. “I’m sorry, my friend?”

Mimiko glanced over her shoulder, moved to speak, but the screen door leading into the shrine slid open before she could answer you. It wasn’t an attendant, this time, but a man in monk’s garb with hair that reached past his shoulders and a grin less strained but just as artificial as that of his attendants. Geto Suguru, although it’d still be some time before you knew to call him that.

His dark eyes found you first, before moving to his daughters. “Girls,” he started, tone more playful than chiding. “Are you bothering my guests?”

The twins exchanged a long, weighty look before Nanako pushed herself to her feet and hurried to her father’s side. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he leaned down, letting her whisper something into his ear as you rushed to finish Mimiko’s braid. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was enough to earn a pair of pursed lips from Suguru, a languid shake of his head. Without responding to her, he straightened his back, already ushering you inside. You took a deep breath, then followed him into the shrine.

He made no attempt to put on a show of false hospitality. Wordlessly, he left you loitering in the center of the very empty, very large room while he stepped onto a raised platform and collapsed onto his side, propping his elbow on a cushioned, stand-alone armrest. This time, when he sighed, it seemed to be out of a more genuine exhaustion, his eyes falling shut briefly as he propped his chin on his fist and brought his free hand to his temples. “I have to apologize for my daughters. If I could watch them constantly, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He opened his eyes, and instantly, you felt the full weight of his stare. If it hadn’t been a feeling you were so used to, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down your spine. “Now, how can I be of service to you?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, lately. There’s been this weight on my back, like—”

“Like you’re being watched?”

He spoke confidently, as if answering a question he’d written himself. With your hands clenched into fists at your sides, you nodded. Suguru’s head lulled to the side, his smile taking on a satisfied lilt. “I thought so. Tell me – have you had any scorned lovers in the past? Boyfriends, fiancés, that type of thing?”

“A stalker,” you admitted. “But, he passed a few months ago. There was an accident, and—”

This time, he cut you off with a snap of his fingers. It was brief, barely a flash of movement, but you caught something in the corner of your eye – an amorphous shape perched above your right shoulder, a thousand eyes spotted across its baggy skin and a hundred curling tentacles wrapped around your arms, your chest, your stomach. You shut your eyes, winced, and when you opened them again, the creature was gone and Suguru held a small, pitch-black marble between his thumb and forefinger. He took a second to evaluate it before letting out an approving hum and bringing the marble to his lips, swallowing it whole. In your shock, it didn’t even occur to you to look away.

“These things tend to linger.” It was a meager explanation, but you accepted it whole-heartedly. For the first time in months, you were able to straighten your back, to drop your shoulders, to stand up without a single part of you crying out in protest. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so relieved.

“Thank you,” you nearly gasped, bowing at the waist. “Oh my god, I— I don’t have much money, but—”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask for compensation. Consider this—” A click of his tongue, a roll of his wrist. “—a favor between friends. The most I could ask for is a little of your time, in return.”

You would’ve given him your first-born child, if he’d asked for it. “Of course, anything. I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“It’s just— I’ve been trying to find a tutor for my daughters for the longest time, and they already seem fond of you.” For the first time since you’d stepped into his shrine, he sat up, facing you directly. “I understand that you’re a teacher?”

You left the temple a few minutes later, a new number programmed into your phone and a smile brighter than anything you’d worn in years painted across your lips.

~

You moved in with Satoru the same day he met Himari – as much being told to shove everything you couldn’t live without in a bag because you wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment could be called moving. You would’ve fought it more, but he’d been holding your daughter, and you couldn’t take that kind of risk with her. Not again.

Time seemed to pass in slow, thick clumps. Hours would pass in the blink of an eye and seconds would drag on and on and on until you couldn’t stand the idea of pretending you cared, anymore. A nursery was thrown together in one of Satoru’s guestrooms. When you mentioned that you’d never slept so far from her, Satoru cooed and kissed your cheek.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I’ve got enough monitors to last ‘till she’s eighteen. And, no offense, they’re a little more reliable than what you’ve been using.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want her sharing a room with us.”

Something pricked at the back of your throat. “I could sleep in here, with—”

“Nope.” He was kind enough to shut you down before you could so much as start to get your hopes up. “Honestly, she should count herself lucky I’m willing to share at all.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you closed your eyes, and when you found the strength to open them again, the world was dark and your body was cold.

~

Once the novelty wore off, you fell into a steady routine. Once or twice a week, you’d make the trip to Suguru’s temple and do your best to drill seven years’ worth of public education into Mimiko and Nanako while their father saw his unfortunate visitors. They were smart girls, even if they were more interested in your love life than multiplication tables, and when you thought about Suguru had done for you, you couldn’t say you minded spending a few hours of your weekend in a scenic, rural temple surrounded by Suguru’s (sometimes off-putting, but never unpleasant) congregation.

It took two months before you saw Suguru’s composure slip. It’d been a mistake – an accident on your part as much as it was on his – but you hadn’t thought of it in such fatalistic terms in the moment.

You kept your hands in your pockets as you wandered through the temple’s courtyard, stretching your legs while the girls finished a worksheet on long division (chosen by Nanako over English contractions, much to Mimiko’s protest). Idly, eager to give them as much time as you could, you made your way around the inner sanctum’s perimeter, rounding a sharp corner before abruptly coming to a stop.

Geto sat on the edge of the raised porch, eyes closed and his shoulder braced against the side of a support beam. You moved to flee, to apologize for interrupting his meditation, but you noticed his hunched posture, his slightly parted lips, and let out a breath of a laugh, your panic fading into pity.

Ah, the poor thing.

He was so tired, he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

As little as you’d expected to see a grown man sleeping in public, you weren’t surprised. Suguru was always running himself ragged; either hosting guests or holding sermons or running errands on the temple’s behalf, always coming back with a certain weight to his steps and an off-kilter quirk to his smile. With a sigh, you kneeled next to him and after a moment of hesitation, shrugged off your coat, taking care not to wake him as you draped it over his shoulders. Immediately, he relaxed – an ounce of the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he slumped into himself. You’d considered waking him up, but decided against it. Your own months of sleepless nights and never-ending days were still fresh in your memory. You didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on a few precious minutes of much-needed rest.

You heard a screen door slide open, a high-pitched voice call your name from the other side of the temple. You pushed yourself to your feet, but paused, spared another glance toward Suguru. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing to do, you didn’t give yourself time to think better of it before brushing his bangs away from his face and pressing a kiss into his forehead – the kind of kiss you’d give to one of your students in the wake of scraped knees and playground arguments. When he failed to stir, you pulled back and crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to keep yourself warm as you started back to where his girls were waiting for you.

~

Satoru was at your door as soon as the bell rang.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you must’ve known he wouldn’t give up old patterns so easily. He loitered in the hallway while your hyper-active students filtered out, slipped inside as the last of the stranglers did their best not to gawk at the inhumanely tall stranger with unnaturally white hair. By the time he crossed the threshold, you and Megumi were the only ones left, the latter dutifully waiting for his daily busy work at the corner of your desk.

Satoru acknowledged him with a click of his tongue, a quick ruffle to Megumi’s hair before he moved onto you. “There’s my pretty girl,” he half-said, half-sung as he slung an arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest. “Had you on my mind all day. Couldn’t stop wishin’ I had your pretty ti—”

You cleared your throat into your hand, nodding pointedly towards Megumi. Satoru’s grin faltered, then collapsed into a pursed-lipped frown. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb dug into your shoulder, his cruel eyes flickering to you over the dark lenses of his glasses. You didn’t need any further instruction. If Suguru taught you anything, it’d been how to get rid of unwanted company.

“Megumi.” You waved him toward you, and despite the mix of distrust and exasperation written clearly across his expression, he stepped forward. Still, you braced yourself before going on. As little as you wanted to associate him with Satoru, to blame him for what Satoru did to you, you hadn’t been able to meet his eyes all day. Whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help but think about Himari, and whenever you thought about Himari—

“You usually walk home with Tsumiki today, right?” He didn’t, but you couldn’t think of a better excuse. Lately, it was all you could do to put one word in front of another, let alone actually manage to clear away enough of the thick, buzzing static clouding your mind to form an intelligent thought. “You should really get going, before she starts to think you left without her.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. He mumbled something just a breath below audible, and you forced yourself to smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “He’s… He’s gross, and weird, and you shouldn’t talk to him.”

If he’d been any other kid, if Satoru had been any other adult, you might’ve laughed, chided him for speaking so rudely about his elders. Instead, you only sighed, your smile faltering as you brought a hand to his shoulder. “We’re just going to have a little chat, that’s all. I promise, I’ll be just fine when we see each other tomorrow.” You paused, lowered your voice into something playfully conspiratorial. “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty weird too. Thanks for looking out for me.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. After tossing one more glare in Satoru’s direction, he trudged out of your classroom, letting the door slam behind him. You didn’t have time to feel relief or dread or much of anything before Satoru was on top of you – his knee planted between your thighs, one of his hands groping at your waist while the other caught your chin, holding you in place while his lips crashed into yours, the kiss mess and open-mouthed and desperate. “The brat’s annoying,” he muttered, as he pulled away. “But I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from. If you’d been my teacher, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself from bending you over your desk ‘n earning a little extra credit.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. You couldn’t stop yourself from buckling forward, but Satoru had already moved on, found his way to the side of your neck. “Please, don’t talk about my students like—”

Your voice gave out as he bit down – burying his teeth in your throat in less of a love-bite and more of an effort to eat you alive. You barely managed to stop yourself from crying out, but panic quickly swallowed whatever pain you might’ve felt. It’d leave a mark, one you wouldn’t be able to hide, not completely. Against your will, your mind flashed to Megumi and, if you’d been just a little weaker, you might’ve collapsed, passed out while Satoru lapped the blood now trickling down your throat. If you’d been just a little luckier, you might’ve fallen apart entirely.

Your hands shot to his hair, and Satoru let out a throaty groan. His hands fell to your thighs, and before you could so much as think to struggle, you were laid across your desk, folders and worksheets pushed aside in favor of trapping your body underneath his. “Always wanted to do this,” he muttered into your shoulder, already pulling your skirt to your waist. “Might have to go into teaching, too – just so you can return the favor.”

He might’ve gone on, but you were done listening.

You would have to request a change of classroom, tomorrow morning.

~

Nanako returned your coat to you a week later, rolling on the balls of her feet and grinning from ear to ear.

You saw Suguru more often, after that.

Granted, not too often, and never for very long. He was still a busy man, and most of your interactions were limited to minute-long conversations as you found each other heading in the same direction, a few niceties exchanged as you dropped Nanako and Mimiko off at the door of his shrine. He never struck you as overly guarded, but you could count the number of times you’d heard him speak about himself on a single hand. If it hadn’t been for his girls, you probably would never have learned his given name.

Winter had begun its swift and relentless approach, and you found yourself standing outside of the temple’s gates, watching the sun slip below the horizon and debating if it would be worth it to cough up the cash for a taxi, rather than dragging yourself through the labyrinth that was public transportation in the dark. As you checked your phone for the dozenth time, you caught a flash of movement in your peripheral and glanced up only to find Suguru – changed out of his monk’s garb and into a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants that made him look more like an exhausted college student than the head of his own temple. He nodded to you by way of greeting, and you flashed him a smile. “Waiting for someone?”

“Something like that.” You looked back to your phone and sighed. “I might have to make our next session a little earlier. I forgot how dark it could get and, well, you know what it’s like in the city.”

You withered, but Suguru only brightened. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to—”

“Please, (Y/n).” You could see why he had such a dedicated congregation. When he spoke, it was impossible not to listen. “Just think of it as a favor between friends.”

You wanted to refuse, to tell him not to waste his time, but a streetlamp buzzed to life somewhere above you and the last trace of your resolve crumbled. A few minutes later, you were in the back of a sleek, black car – Suguru sitting next to you and his driver hidden behind a tinted partition. More time than you would’ve liked passed in tense silence before you, more motivated by discomfort than gratitude, broke the quiet. “I was surprised when I found out Nanako and Mimiko were homeschooled.” Before he could respond, you realized how it must’ve sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just—you’re always so busy, and they’re such bright girls. I’m sure that, if you ever did want to get them enrolled, they’d do very well. It’d free up a lot of your time, too.”

You thought you saw him wince, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. By the time you turned to face him properly, his expression was unreadable – his lips pulled into a thin line and his dark eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he admitted, before letting an airy sigh. “But… I made a lot of bad choices, when I first took them in. The were a bad situation, and I was young and stupid, and I— I think I might’ve fucked things up. For them, at least. I probably would’ve ended up in the same place eventually.” Another sigh, a lengthy pause. When he went on, his tone was heavier, his usual confidence greatly diminished, if not absent entirely. “…you don’t think I made a mistake, do you?”

You took a second to think, letting your eyes fall to your lap. “I don’t,” you said, finally. “The girls seem happy, and you’re providing for them. They won’t have normal lives, but—” You hummed, shrugged. “Who does?”

He seemed to relax, the harsh edges of his expression dulling. His eyes shifted to you. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all, shaking your head with a slight smile. “Consider it,” You let your tone dip into something teasing and secretive, raising your chin the way he tended to when talking to guests and members of his congregation. “a favor between friends.”

Your showmanship earned a dry chuckle, a softened gaze. After a long beat, he asked, “Would you mind if I, uh…” He trailed off, tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. You’d assumed he was in his mid-twenties, but he must’ve been younger – he was acting like a teenager. “Go ahead, Suguru.”

Despite your reassurance, he stalled for a few seconds before, more than a little stiltedly, bending at his waist and resting his head gingerly on your lap. It was an awkward position, the back of the car too cramped for him to lay down properly, but his eyes fell shut and after the initial shock faded, you could only smile, raising a hand and combing your fingers idly through his hair. When you pulled the elastic band holding his half-bun together out of place, letting his hair fall loose over your thighs, he didn’t protest, only going that much more limp on top of you.

You two stayed that way for the rest of the trip; his head in your lap, your finger carding through his hair, the only noise that of traffic and the occasional muted hum when your attention started to drift. It was only when his driver pulled onto the curb in front of your complex that Suguru raised his head, blinking himself back into consciousness. You turned to let yourself out, only to feel him take up one of your hands – his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before you felt him cup your cheek, before you felt his mouth against yours.

The kiss was gentle but warm, shallow but lingering. He held you there, his lips barely yours, for a second, then another, before you snapped out of it and pulled away – your disgust as immediate as it was it was self-concentrated. If Suguru felt the same way, he hid it well. You could only make out the slightest trace of hurt in the down-turned corners of his parted lips.

He started to say something, but you were already rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Suguru. You’re a sweet kid, but I’m—” You forced yourself to laugh, the noise jolting and strained. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“Exactly.” You shook your head, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been more clear about, I don’t know,” You gestured vaguely. “—everything. And I should really—”

Again, you moved to leave, and again, he stopped you. This time, he caught you by the wrist. “I’m not a kid.” You tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. You felt something in your forearm begin to ache. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Absolutely not.” You pried the door open and jerked away from him just in time to stumble out of his car and onto the pavement. You saw his posture straighten, his body tense as if he was going to try to lunge at you, but mercifully, he must’ve thought better of it. His anger was, instead, focused entirely into his unblinking stare, and you did your best to speak in spite of the way his eyes burnt into your chest. “I… I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other, for a while. Tell the girls I’m out of town, and—” You swallowed, dryly. “—I think you should get some rest, Suguru. You need it.”

As awful as it made you feel, you slammed the door shut before he could respond. He didn’t try to chase you, but his car hadn’t moved by the time you made it to your flat. With your doors locked and your blinds pulled shut, you watched it until, hours after midnight, you nodded off.

He was gone when you woke up, and you could only hope he’d be mature enough to mind his distance.

~

Satoru’s face was buried between your thighs when you heard his phone ring, his hands curled around your thighs and your body perched on the edge of one of his rarely used marble counters. You would’ve missed it entirely if you’d been a little closer to the edge, if he’d been just a little nosier as he moaned and grunted into your cunt, but you weren’t, and he wasn’t, and the sound of that melodic dial-tone cut through the haze like a knife through fog (relatively ineffective, but still violent enough to draw attention). You straightened as much as you could, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, gently. “Satoru, I think—”

“It’s not important,” he muttered against your thigh, drawing back just far enough to be audible. “’s probably just the kids. They said they were coming over, but—” He flashed you a smile, bright eyes catching the light. “They can wait ‘till we’re done. I can’t just leave my pretty girl unsatisfied.”

Immediately, the haze stiffened and shattered into a panic-inducing, heart-racing clarity. You straightened, cursed under your breath, but Satoru tongue was already lapping over your soaked slit, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as he all-but worshipped your pussy. This time, you didn’t tug, but pulled – doing what little you could to pry him off of you, but all you earned was a throaty whine, his fingertips dug that much deeper into the plush of your ass. His tongue bullied its way past your clenching entrance, curling and thrusting, and it took everything you had not to snap your thighs shut around his head, not to give him what he wanted. “Satoru,” you spat, using the same tone you’d put on for a misbehaving student. “S-stop.”

It was more of an instinct than a decision, more of a reflex than a choice, but either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With his eyes blearily focused on your expression, his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, he fucked you open with his tongue until your toes were curling, your legs twitching, your vision burning pure white in a way that made you wish you could give up on sight altogether. He nursed you through your climax until the last of your energy was spent before pushing himself to his feet and slamming his mouth into yours – his teeth cutting into your lips and your taste heavy on his tongue. By the time he pulled away, you were panting and he was wearing that awful, careless grin. You never thought you’d miss Suguru’s calculated smile, and yet.

And yet.

You didn’t have time to be angry. The kids came first – a thought that, if you’d given yourself a chance to linger on it, would’ve been more of a cause for concern. “Go clean yourself up, I’ll take care of the kitchen. Call them back as soon as you’re finished.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, with a dreamy sigh. “It’s hot in a, like, ‘put me over your knee and spank me’ way, y’know?”

Your only response was a quick shake of your head, a repulsed curl of your lips. Satoru only laughed, pecking your cheek and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “They’ll love you. Megumi likes to act shy, but he can’t shut up about you. Tsumiki’ll just be ecstatic to have a baby sister,” he mumbled into your throat. “You wouldn’t break their hearts, would you?”

It might’ve hurt less, if there hadn’t already been two little girls somewhere in Japan who knew that you absolutely would.

~

You called Suguru from the curb in front of your flat, your head in your hands and tears streaming openly down your cheeks. He let it ring once, twice, before answering. You could practically hear the smile in his voice, practically feel the smugness in his tone. “I thought we weren’t talking, dear?”

You swallowed back another ragged sob. “It’s back.”

He was there within the hour – alone, this time, no girls and no driver. You stayed where you were as he let himself into your flat, returning only a few minutes later with a thoughtful hum and a thin frown playing on his lips. “It’s rare, but it does happen,” he started, as he sat down next to you. He was dressed in street clothes, rather than his monk’s garb. Somehow, that only made it more difficult to look at him. “Particularly restless spirits can lie dormant before reappearing stronger and more attached to their living host. A standard exorcism might no longer be enough to banish it.”

You felt something heavy and pointed drop into the pit of your stomach. Calling it 'stronger' was an understatement – you couldn’t believe something so massive, something so awful had ever been attached to you. When you let your mind wander, you could still see its dripping, pitch-black arms writhing over the walls and ceiling of your bedroom, still feel its countless eyes burning into you – a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than it’d been when Suguru had first sent it away. You buckled at the waist, burying your face in your knees, and Suguru rested a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles into your shoulder. You were thankful for the comfort, even if it would’ve taken you another few weeks to completely forget the feeling of his hand around your wrist. “Can you…” You cringed, shrunk into yourself. “Can you help?”

“Oh, absolutely.” If he’d been just a little more cocky, he would’ve been purring. “But I’m afraid it’ll cost you more than a favor, this time.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know.” His hand went still, settling on your shoulder. “But I need you to give me something, this time.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything,” you repeated, with all the desperation of a sinner laid bare before the altar. “Please, Suguru. Anything.”

“I need an heir.”

You could practically feel your heart split open and shatter inside of you. “…an heir?”

“For the sake of my congregation,” he said, like that explained anything. “We’ll have to get married first, of course. You’ll be taken care of until the child’s born, and then, you’ll be free to go.” His hand fell to your own, squeezing gently. “Or to stay with us, if that’s what you prefer.”

Any other time, the idea alone would’ve been enough to make you sick. Any other day, you would’ve told him that he could have anything, anything but that.

But, in the moment, all you could seem to think about was your flat and the monster inside of it. You felt yourself nod and, before you could take it back, heard Suguru laugh, felt his lips against your temple. “You’re making the right choice,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. “I love you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it back.

~

Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep in the guest room turned makeshift nursery. Megumi had been slow to warm, quick to hear Satoru introduce you as his ‘one and only’ and assume the worst (which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly wrong), but Tsumiki hadn’t been so stand-offish, and ultimately, whatever concerns an eight year old could have for your safety crumbled under his sister’s desire to fawn over your newborn. You were glad. You didn’t want him to worry about you. That was a mistake you’d made with Nanako and Mimiko. You’d let Suguru give them a reason to care if you left, and then, you’d left.

Your gaze drifted to Himari. She’d always loved attention (a trait you could only assume she’d inherited from her father), and she’d spent most of the afternoon and the entire evening basking in Tsumiki and Megumi’s adoration. Currently, she was sitting in your lap, giggling and clapping her hands together as you idly bounced her on your knee. The sight alone was enough to make your heart soar – any thoughts of Satoru and his wards fading into the background as you leaned forward and peppered her tiny face with kisses. It was a miracle that you loved her at all, let alone as much as you did. Pregnancy hadn’t been kind to you, and it wasn’t until the moment she was born that you could stand to think of yourself as a mother of a child, rather than just the incubator to a cultist’s pipedream. You’d never wanted children, but now that you had one, you couldn’t imagine letting anything in the world take her away from you.

Maybe, if he’d been a little kinder to her, if he hadn’t already had two daughters to spoil and adore, you might’ve been able to justify loving Himari less than you did, might’ve been able to leave her in his care when you pried a window open and fled in the middle of the night. He’d never been cruel to her, but no part of you believed that he wouldn’t have been if she’d failed to do what she’d been made for – if your love for her hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side. Even if you hadn’t loved her at all, you still would’ve taken her with you. No child deserved to be left in the care of a monster like Suguru.

You choose, deliberately, to only think about Himari, to tell yourself that you only ever had to think about Himari. You couldn’t afford to break your own heart a second time.

Choosing not to think about Megumi and Tsumiki proved more difficult.

~

It was a courthouse wedding, the ceremony little more than a few signatures and a hesitant ‘congratulations’ from the officiant. Suguru’s assistant – a blonde woman who looked at you with equal parts sympathy and disgust – acted as the witness. Suguru explained that, after your first child was born, there would be a more elaborate ceremony, something with rings and dresses and flowers that the girls could participate in. You were too dissociated to point out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything after the child was born, let alone something that would leave you that much more bound to him.

You expected him to take you back to your flat, or the villa on the outskirts of the city you’d visited a handful of times when he couldn’t meet you at his temple, but instead, you found yourself standing in front of one of the tallest, brightest hotels you’d ever seen. “It is a special occasion,” he said, as you stared blankly at the entrance. “I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t spoil my wife now and then, right?”

“Please,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” His smile was giddier than you’d ever seen it, amusement heavy in his voice. “Let me give you a hand.”

The interior was no less agonizing than the exterior. You could feel a hundred pairs of eyes burning into you as you hung off Surugu’s arm, your own legs too weak to be trusted to support you. Rather than relief, dread coiled in the pit of your stomach as he led you to your room – a suite on the highest floor. You considered, briefly, trying to tell him that you were afraid of heights, but decided against it. Even in your own head, it sounded too childish to be believable, and you couldn’t imagine dragging this out for a second longer than it absolutely had to be.

You stepped into the room and were immediately reminded that Suguru had been the one to make the arrangements. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice on a velvet-cushioned ottoman. Bouquets of roses and their disembodied petals had been carefully spread across every possible surface – painting the room with misshapen splotches of bright red. A colorless atrocity of white silk and lace had been laid across the king-sized bed. You got close enough to recognize it for what it was (bridal lingerie, veil and all) before turning away and collapsing onto the foot of the bed, your vision blurry and your heart racing.

You felt your mouth go dry, your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to speak. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the silence. “Am I—” A pause, a distraught glance towards the monstrosity. “Am I supposed to wear that?”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous,” he admitted, stepping in front of you. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee, taking your hands in his. “I’ll be gentle, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.” He brought the underside of your wrist to his lips. “I love you.”

You couldn’t be sure what it was. How sincere he sounded, maybe, or how young he looked kneeling in front of you, away from his temple and out of his costume. He kissed the back of your hand, and a ragged sob tore past your lips, all the tears you hadn’t been able to shed during the ceremony suddenly beading in the corners of your eyes. As you tried to keep them at bay with your free hand, Suguru’s smile wavered, and for the first time that you’d seen, fell away completely.

He posed the question softly, carefully. You wished he would’ve been just a little more eager to break you. At least, then, you could’ve hated him for it. “…you really don’t want to do this, do you?”

There was no point trying to lie. You shook your head and watched as Suguru deflated. His eyes had always been dark, but in that moment, you could’ve sworn they’d never seen any light at all.

Before you could brace yourself, his mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise. You tasted blood, felt his tongue rake over yours; whatever gentleness he’d promised to show you little more than a distant fantasy. As his mouth moved against yours, his hand slipped under your dress – two fingers dragging over your slit through your panties before his thumb found your clit through the thin material and he pushed a rough, impulsive pattern into the sensitive bud. You shrunk into yourself, your hands finding their way to his chest before you could stop yourself from trying to push him away, but Suguru didn’t seem to care, to notice. Your panties were torn away entirely, and like a man possessed, he fell back to his knees between your open legs and started to devour you whole.

Your thighs were pulled onto his shoulders, his hands curled around your hips as the flat of his tongue laved over your slit, teasing the entrance of your pussy and flicking over your clit. He alternated between tracing vague figure-eights into your cunt and lapping up the slick starting to drip from your poor, confused pussy – your exhausted body eager to accept any affection Suguru had to show you, if you could even call what he was forcing onto your affection. You tried to reach for him, to pull him away from, but you failed to so much as make contact before he let out a near-violent snarl, calloused fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh as he pulled you that much closer, hauling your ass off the bed and leaving you on your back, your arms crossed over your face and your ankles crossed over his back. You sobbed openly, now, but your disparate cries were interrupted by cracked whimpers and half-swallowed mewls – little, pathetic sounds you didn’t have the strength to suppress. Suguru didn’t stop. Honestly, you would’ve been surprised if he could hear you at all over the sound of his own heady panting, of his tongue fucking into your now-soaked cunt.

You almost regretted not taking him back to your flat that first night – when he kissed you like you were the most delicate thing in the world. If you’d given in right away, he might’ve had the self-restraint to hold back. Or, to try to, at least.

One of his hands left your waist, falling low enough for the pad of his thumb to press into your clit. Messily, roughly, he toyed with the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue thrust shallowly into your cunt, curling and splitting apart the hot, clenching walls of your pussy. You felt a deep, full-chested moan reverberate up the length of your spine, and that was enough to leave you tumbling over the edge, to leave your thighs clenching around his head as you came undone on his tongue. He ate you out through the aftershocks, but didn’t stop - fucking you open with his tongue until you’d stumbled through another climax, then another, a mix of slick and saliva soon coating his chin and staining the sheets below you. By the time he pulled away, you were crying not from despair, but overstimulation; pangs of pure heat searing your nerves and leaving your cunt aching for reprieve. You were only vaguely aware of the mattress dipping beside you, of his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you for what felt like the hundredth time. As his lips pressed into yours, you decided that, if tonight was the last time you ever had to kiss someone, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not when compared to the alternative.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and then again as he pulled away, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your voice felt like something you were no longer entitled to use; a vague concept that’d been placed at an inconceivable distance by some cruel deity. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Suguru bare his teeth in frustration. Your dress wasn’t so much removed as it was torn away from you, and you couldn’t help but wither without it. Modesty could only count so much when you could still see your arousal coating his lips, but still, it hurt.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you into the center of the bed and haphazardly dragged his shirt over his head. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d seen his bare arms plenty of times, watched him lift Nanako and Mimiko clean off the ground without so much as a trace of strain, and yet, something inside of you still curled up and died as your eyes raked over his sculpted chest, the corded muscle that seemed to cover every inch of him. More out of shock than anything, you moved to sit up, to put some distance between yourself and a man who looked like he could’ve torn your head off your shoulders on a whim, but he was quick to stop you, to press a palm into your chest and force you back onto the bed. With his other hand, he dragged his pants down just far enough to free his cock and, instantly, whatever desolation you might’ve felt at the sight of his bare chest was multiplied ten-fold.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until you moved to speak, your voice shaking and small. “That’s not going to—”

“It will.” That authority – that tone of absolute control – was back in full force. Still, you couldn’t seem to make yourself believe him. “I won’t stop until it does.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as he dragged his swollen, leaking tip over your pussy – the flushed head catching on your abused clit and drawing an airy whimper past your lips. He was, by far, the biggest man you’d ever seen, let alone slept with. As if that wasn’t enough, he was already harder than you knew someone could be – thick, pearly beads dripping from his tip and down his shaft, his more prominent veins almost pulsing as he aligned with your entrance. Even his balls were fucking huge.

Fit for a breeder, something vicious and awful whispered into the back of your mind. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t disagree.

Your eyes darted to his expression and met his, already blearily focused on you. You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was stolen away from you as his hips bucked forward and he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

You’d been right, when you’d tried to stop him.

He was going to kill you.

Already, he was too much. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his cock threatened to tear you apart. Suguru let out a raspy groan, his head falling forward and he drew back, pulling out of you until only his head remained in your pussy only to snap his hip and bury himself that much deeper, only to stretch you that much further. “See?” One his hands fell to your lower stomach, the heel of his palm pressing into the soft flesh like he could feel the outline of his cock. He might’ve been able to. You were too scared to check. “You’re a perfect fit.”

There was another grunt, another breathy groan as he fell into an unsteady pace – every thrust brutal and back-breaking. His hands found their way to the headboard, curling around its upper edge as he fucked into you. He didn’t so much find the right spot as find a way to hit every spot constantly, his cock filling your pussy to the brim, leaving you desperately trying to clench down around him to no avail. A high-pitched whine – fractured and pathetic – tore past your lips, and Suguru let out an airy chuckle. “Not gonna be able to get enough of this.” His pubic bone scraped against your clit and you threw your head back, your back arching off of the mattress. Your sensitivity was rewarded with another laugh, a hand brought down just to grope idly at your chest. “I can’t let you out of my sight, from now own. I think I’ll lose my mind if I have to go a day without feeling this perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

It was hard to think, let alone piece two words together. Still, you managed to spit something out, fighting to speak above the sound of skin against skin, hips against hips. “B-but, you said— the baby—”

“Fuck the baby. This—” He slapped your clit, his touch harsh enough to make you cry out. “—is all mine.”

A hand around your throat, a new brutality to his thrusts. His grip wasn’t tight, he wasn’t choking you, and yet, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything other than his cock and the feeling of your cunt being split open around it. “You’re mine.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded relieved. “And you always will be.”

Meeting Suguru had been a mistake. Asking for his help had been a mistake. Agreeing to this terrible deal had been a mistake.

But, cumming around his cock as that final possessive sentiment trickled past his lips was the biggest mistake you’d ever made or ever would make, again.

Your cunt clamped down around him – a vice around his cock. With your fists balled around satin sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, your body convulsed underneath his, your pussy doing everything in its limited power to milk him dry. You heard Suguru curse under his breath, his hips pushing flush against yours as something thick and searing flooded into your cunt. What little managed to leak out around the base of his cock was caught with two fingers and forced back in; no drop wasted.

With a heavy exhale, Suguru dipped lower, his lips grazing over your cheek, then the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes, letting yourself deflate. It was over. No matter how you might’ve felt, no matter how much you might’ve wanted to crawl out of your skin, it was ov—

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out of you, only to push back in; his rough, punishing pace only made slightly more bearably by the weight of his orgasm.

The next morning, you’d wake up to Suguru’s arm around your waist and a pregnancy test on the bedside table. It’d be too early to tell, but you wouldn’t bother to so much as open the box. Nothing could’ve kept Suguru from trying again, and again, and again in the days to follow.

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be sure if he ever stopped.

~

“How long is this supposed to last?”

Megumi and Tsumiki were walking a few yards ahead of you, stopping to stare into every other shop window before running ahead, and Himari was currently tucked against Satoru’s chest, occupying herself with a thorough (albeit, mostly oral) investigation of the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t cook and Satoru refused to do much of anything before noon, so the only choice left was to chase after promises of crepe trucks and cafes. Your question earned a hum, a glance toward you, but not much more. As little as you liked about Satoru, you were thankful he had such an even temper. Suguru was never so slow to react.

“Forever, preferably,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “Or until I die, at least – sorcerers have a pretty high mortality rate. I’m the best at what I do, but even the strongest ant gets crushed eventually.” He paused, pressed a quick kiss into the top of Himari’s head. “I’ll make sure to leave a big trust fund, though. You’re gonna be living off your daddy for a long, long time.”

You let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to pretend you care about her. I know you’re only doing this because of him.”

If he’d denied it immediately, you wouldn’t have believed him. If he’d sworn that Suguru had nothing to do with it, if he’d dropped to his knees in front of you, if he’d told you that he loved you, you wouldn’t have believed him. But, in the end, he only pursed his lips, his head lulling to the side as he considered it. “At first, yeah,” he admitted, tracing patterns into Himari’s back. “I heard that he’d gotten with someone and… I got curious. I guess I was a little jealous.” He paused, his tone abrupt going light and sheepish. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, in retrospect – making the brats go to your school and following you around and all. I just wanted to see what kind of person could make Suguru go soft, but then I saw how you were with the little princess—” He lifted Himari above his head, grinning up at her while she spouted happy gibberish. “—and fell for you, head over heels. All I could think about was gathering you both up in my arms and takin’ you home.”

“You make us sound like stray animals.”

“I mean, you kind of are, right?” You jutted your elbow into his side, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay, you’re runaways. I didn’t know you were so pedantic, (Y/n).”

 He slotted Himari against his hip, his attention momentarily falling away from her as he shot a quick, teasing smile in your direction. “I like you.” His voice was soft, dull – like he was saying something you didn’t already know. Like he was giving something away. “And I want you to stick around.”

“I’m sure Suguru would’ve said the same thing.”

“I’m not like Suguru.” He found your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Ahead of you, Tsumiki turned on her heel and waved excitedly. She’d picked a café (presumably with minimal input from Megumi); a picturesque little spot with a sun-speckled patio and overgrown garden boxes. Satoru’s hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, and just this time, you didn’t bother trying to pull away.

~

The man on his knees in front of you was older – his hair receding and dotted with grey. A salaryman, you guessed, judging by his wrinkled suit, the ink stains on his sleeves. You couldn’t see his expression, not with his forehead pressed against the floor of Suguru’s sanctuary, but you could hear the pain in his voice as he pled for Suguru’s help, see the slight tremble in his shoulders. You didn’t have to assume the cause of his distress.

You couldn’t be sure when you started to see the spirits – or, the curses, you mean. It must’ve been around the end of the first trimester; your little glimpses at crooked monsters and mangled beasts solidifying into full, unrelenting exposure. Suguru suggested (after he’d finished celebrating what he would, later on, refer to as the best day of his life) that it might be a symptom of the pregnancy, that carrying a sorcerer’s child may’ve triggered some pocket of laden cursed energy buried inside of you, but you couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of cosmic punishment, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what you were being punished for.

It had to be a punishment, though. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be watching a small swarm of winged, imp-like creatures bite and scratch at the cowering salaryman, each swipe of their claws and nip of their pointed teeth enough to leave ragged, bloody stripes in his arms, his back. You felt bile rise into the back of your throat, but forced yourself not to shut your eyes, to keep your expression one of unbothered neutrality. Suguru would help him, just like he helped you.

As if by way of encouragement, you let your nails scrape over his scalp. After you started showing, the only job Suguru deemed you capable of was that of his new headrest. He took care of everything else – petitioning for maternity leave, moving you out of your flat and into the villa he shared with his girls, rewriting every little aspect of your life to better the role you’d inhabit for the next nine months: his pregnant wife. Currently, he was on his side, on leg bent at the knee and his head propped on your thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’d cringed at the idea, at first, but Suguru insisted that it wouldn’t be an issue. The perks of leading your own cult, you guessed. No one could challenge his authority when he was the only authority they could possibly look to.

After a moment longer than you would’ve liked, Suguru cut off the salaryman’s incoherent rambling with a slight hum. Immediately, the salaryman fell silent, and Suguru let his head lull to the side, leaning into your palm. “Manami,” he started, addressing his assistant. She’d been called in shortly after the salaryman made his entrance. “How long has it been since our honored sponsor’s last donation?”

She glanced toward her tablet. “It’ll be five months this week.”

The salaryman scrambled to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, my store went out of business, and I—”

The corner of Suguru’s lips quirked downward. The entirety of the swarm descended onto the salaryman before you could so much as flinch away.

To say they tore him apart would be an understatement. One second, he was there, bowing in front of you, and the next, little more scraps of fabric and disembodied viscera decorated the floor of the sanctuary. Suguru snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the creatures vanished – leaving behind only gore and the thick stench of copper hanging in the stagnant air. Your hand stilled in Suguru’s hair. You might’ve passed out, if you’d been able to process what you’d just watched.

Suguru took notice of your distress quickly. That, or he just wanted to bask in his kill more privately. “If I could be alone with my wife for a moment, Manami.”

Her eyes flickered to you, lingering for a moment before she bowed her head. “Of course, Geto-sama. I’ll fetch someone to clean up this mess.”

Once she was gone, Suguru rolled onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut. “These fucking monkeys,” he sighed, with a shake of his head. “I swear, they’ll be the death of me. They can’t even seem to die without causing more trouble than they’re worth.”

“You can control them?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

“The spirits.” And then again, with more urgency, “You can control them?”

His exasperation was swiftly replaced with self-satisfaction so potent, you could nearly taste it. “Would you expect anything less from me? Only a handful are strong enough to be helpful, but even pests can be put to good use.”

You felt like an idiot for asking. You felt like an idiot for having to ask, but you just couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “My spirit. The one I came to you for.” It felt like your tongue was coated in salt and ask. “Was he one of the stronger spirits?”

A beat lapsed in silence, then another.

Finally, Suguru let out a long, raspy exhale and brought a hand to your stomach. “I hope it’s a girl,” he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “I hope she looks just like you.”

You took a single, stilted breath.

When you met your daughter a few months later, impossibly tiny and infinitely lovable and so agonizingly helpless, it would almost be a relief to see Suguru’s face staring back at you.

~

“She has your eyes.”

You heard his voice before you saw his face, but you would’ve known Suguru from aura alone. You froze in the doorway of the unlit nursery, searching for him in the darkness, but Suguru didn’t make himself hard to find.

“Not the color, but the shape.” He was standing next to the cradle, a soft smile painted across his lips and your daughter in his arms. She was sleeping, and you were thankful for it. You’d kept Himari away from him as much as you’d been able to in the weeks leading up to your escape, but even their minimal exposure had seemed crushing, at the time. Above all else, you never wanted your daughter to be able to recognize her father’s face. “Oh, but she must have my temperament. I’ve heard she rarely cries, even with nuisances like Satoru around.”

You’d left your phone in the living room. Satoru wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but maybe, if you screamed, someone would hear you. Maybe, you’d be able to run while Suguru tore them apart, limb by limb.

In the end, it was all you could do to make yourself speak – your voice thin and prone to catching in your throat. “Get out of my apartment.”

“But this isn’t your apartment, is it?” With a quiet, hushing sound, he lowered Himari back into her cradle and turned to face you. “Honestly, if I’d known you were just going to run into another man’s arms, I would’ve been more careful with you. I wonder if you’ll feel more loyal to your husband with a chain around your neck.”

“You manipulated me. You made me have a ba—”

“I loved you.” He cut you off with all the delicacy of a rusty knife sawing through flesh. “I do love you, even if I’m starting to question how much of it you deserve.”

He stepped forward. You wanted to turn away from him, to run, but your body was uncooperative, too rigid to do anything more than shake as he came to stand in front of you. “Can you say it back to me? Just this once.” He brought a hand to your cheek. “I’ll forgive you for everything, if you do.”

You tried to. Not for him, but for your daughter – made expendable by her failure to keep you bound to Suguru. You tried to, but all that slipped past your parted lips was a wordless cry, torn and anguished and far from what he’d asked for.

“No?” He feigned disappointment, letting out an airy sigh. “I guess that’s to be expected.”

He took a deep breath, then rested his head against the dip of your shoulder. His hand fell to your stomach as he spoke into your skin.

“Maybe, after we have our second, you’ll change your mind.”

[solxamber]

do you think you could write about a white rabbit reader like how did with wild cat? as in the white rabbit from alice in wonderland— who’s more of a polite anxious mess trying to follow the queens strict rules but is kind of bad at it. possibly shy or on the quieter side like a rabbit beastman would probably be, considering most of the beastmens personalities align with their animal counterparts behavior. and for some reason most of the beastmen we see, or even the merpeople, are all predator animals so i would love to see their interactions with a prey animal. for the first time ever, leona would actually be scientifically correct in calling the reader an herbivore. they would also be the only beastman who’s not sorted into savanaclaw i imagine. in canonical alice in wonderland, or at least a majority of its interpretations, the white rabbit is considered a neutral, somewhat villain leaning character. he works for the queen but he’s never outright evil, if anything he’s kind of a coward as he is initially terrified of alice. so i can see reader being mostly benevolent and a little bit of a scaredy cat who’s still relatively friendly. thank you

White Rabbit! Reader x Everyone

Thank you for the request <3 I hope you like it

Character: All NRC + Staff + Rollo, Neige

Riddle Rosehearts:

You’re always on edge around Riddle, frantically trying to follow the Queen's rules and his. But you trip over your own feet so often that Riddle ends up scolding you almost every day.

"Rule 76: No running in the halls!" Riddle huffs as you scramble past him, dropping a handful of papers as you trip over your own shoes.

You fumble around, trying to gather the papers while stammering an apology, eyes wide and twitching like a startled rabbit. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to—oh no! Rule 17: Never drop important documents...”

Riddle looks ready to blow up, but when you shoot him those big, panicked eyes, he exhales sharply through his nose, the lecture stuck in his throat. "Just… get it together!" he mutters, turning on his heel, clearly flustered. “How am I supposed to enforce rules when you look like you're going to faint every time I open my mouth?!”

In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’d be so strict if he knew you were working for the "Queen." But you don't have the nerve to tell him that, so you just nod and awkwardly salute.

Trey Clover:

You never quite relax around Trey, even though he's the calmest person in Heartslabyul. Every time you’re near him, you’re just waiting for the moment when he’ll ask you to do something scary, like taste one of his experimental dishes or—worse—eat cake in front of Riddle. The idea makes your ears droop.

"Hey, you okay?" Trey asks when he notices you standing stiffly by the kitchen door. He’s got flour on his apron and a knife in hand, chopping fruit with easy precision.

You jump at the sound of his voice and nearly knock over a stack of plates. "I-I’m fine!" you squeak, standing even straighter like you’re in the Queen’s court.

Trey chuckles softly. "You know, I’m not going to bite. Unless I’m making rabbit stew." He winks.

Your eyes widen in horror, ears trembling. "R-rabbit stew?!"

He laughs, holding up his hands. "I'm kidding! Kidding!" Trey seems to find your reactions endlessly amusing, always leaning in with a gentle smile. "But if you need help relaxing, just say the word. Maybe we can make some tea. No pressure."

But all you hear is "pressure," and you feel like you're about to combust.

Cater Diamond:

Cater thinks you're the cutest thing on two legs, especially when you're in a flustered state. Which, unfortunately for you, is almost all the time.

“Yo, lil’ bunny!” Cater calls out as he sidles up to you in the hall, phone in hand. You’re mid-panic about how you’re going to explain to Riddle why your shoes are untied, your tie is crooked, and you accidentally skipped breakfast because you were too nervous to eat.

You freeze, giving Cater a look like a deer in headlights—or rather, a rabbit in a snare. “D-don’t call me that,” you mumble, ears twitching furiously. “R-Riddle might hear…”

Cater just grins, pulling out his phone to snap a quick selfie of your panicked expression. “You’ve gotta chill! It’s like, the 5th time today you’ve looked like you're on trial.”

You flinch. On trial?! That’s even worse! “I-I can’t relax! W-what if I break a rule?!”

Cater just pats your head, ruffling your hair. "Well, I think you're doing just fine! Plus, it makes for great content. Smile, #bunnyfails!"

You want to disappear into the ground. But Cater just keeps snapping pics and laughing.

Ace Trappola:

Ace treats you like an adorable walking ball of stress that’s just begging to be messed with. And who is Ace if not a professional button-pusher?

"Hey! Rabbit!" Ace shouts across the Heartslabyul gardens one day, and you nearly jump out of your skin, spilling tea all over yourself.

“E-Excuse me?!” you sputter, face burning as you frantically blot at the stain on your uniform.

Ace saunters over with a grin on his face. "Oh, sorry. Did I startle you? You’re just so jumpy—like, literally! It’s hilarious!"

"I-I’m not jumpy!" you insist, but your trembling hands betray you as you fumble with your napkin, accidentally knocking the sugar bowl off the table.

Ace bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. "Dude, you’re killing me! I swear, every time I’m around, it’s like watching a sitcom! *This* is quality entertainment!"

You huff, glaring at him, ears drooping. "I’m not entertainment."

Ace just gives you a thumbs-up. "Sure you are. And the best part is, you do it all for free!"

Deuce Spade:

Deuce wants to help. He really does. But every time he sees you looking like you’re two seconds from a meltdown, he panics even harder than you do.

"W-whoa! Are you okay?!" Deuce exclaims when he finds you frantically digging through your bag, trying to find the Queen’s latest decree—or was it Riddle’s study notes? You can't remember because you’re too stressed.

"I-I lost the thing! You know, the thing!" you gasp out, waving your arms wildly.

Deuce pales. "Oh no, that’s bad! I-I can help! What thing?!”

"I DON’T KNOW!" you cry, at the peak of panic now.

Deuce stares at you for a second, eyes wide. Then he also starts scrambling around. "Okay, okay! We can find it! Stay calm! Well—not calm, but calmer!"

You both end up running in circles until Trey finds you and asks, deadpan, “What exactly are you two looking for?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Um…” Deuce rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I... kind of forgot.”

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona knows exactly how to push your buttons—and he does so with as little effort as possible. For someone so calm and lazy, he seems to get a real kick out of watching you squirm.

“Oi, herbivore,” Leona drawls from his usual spot under the shade of a tree. You freeze, clutching your bag tighter as you glance nervously in his direction. “Why are you sneaking around like a prey animal? Oh, wait—you are one.”

You flinch and stammer, “I-I’m not sneaking, I’m just, um... minding my own business?”

Leona smirks, lazily cracking open one eye to look at you. “If you ‘mind your business’ any harder, you’re gonna trip over your own feet.”

You gulp, taking a step back, but he’s not done with you. “Maybe if you tried relaxing for once, you wouldn’t be so jittery.”

“I-I can’t help it!” you squeak, nearly tripping as you scuttle away, ears twitching furiously. “I have to follow the rules!”

Leona watches you run off, chuckling lowly to himself. “Rules, huh? Just don’t drop dead from the stress, or I’ll have to carry your sorry hide out of here.”

You spend the next week worrying that he’s going to jump out of nowhere and pounce on you—but of course, that’s way too much effort for Leona.

Ruggie Bucchi:

Ruggie sees you as someone who’s just begging to be teased, and he has no qualms about taking full advantage of your easily flustered nature.

One day, while you’re doing your best to stay out of trouble, Ruggie sneaks up behind you, flashing that mischievous grin of his. “Hey there, Bunny! Need some help with that?”

You yelp and nearly leap out of your skin, sending your stack of papers flying in every direction. “R-Ruggie! You startled me!”

Ruggie snickers as he helps you gather up the papers. “Aw, c’mon, I didn’t mean to. You’re just too easy, y’know? Makes me wanna mess with you a little.”

You pout, ears drooping. “W-well, it’s not very nice...”

He shrugs, still grinning. “What can I say? It’s in my nature. But I guess I’ll help you out, just this once.” He leans in closer and lowers his voice, adding, “Don’t expect it for free, though.”

Your face goes pale. “Wh-what do you want?”

Ruggie chuckles. “Relax, I’m just teasing! For now, anyway.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you clutching your papers and wondering if every beastman in Savanaclaw has it out for you.

Jack Howl:

Jack feels a sense of duty to protect you. Even though he thinks you’re a little too skittish for your own good, he respects how hard you try to follow the rules—even when you trip over them.

“Hey, wait up,” Jack calls after you one day as you’re hurrying across campus. You turn to see him jogging over, looking concerned.

“O-oh! Jack! I-I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” you ask nervously, already panicking that you might have broken some rule.

Jack frowns, crossing his arms. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Why do you always assume you did?”

You blink up at him, ears twitching. “I-I’m just worried I’ll mess up...”

Jack sighs, shaking his head. “You’re too hard on yourself. Look, if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll step in. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really? You’d do that?”

Jack nods firmly. “Of course. You’ve got a good heart, even if you’re a bit jumpy. Someone’s gotta look out for you.”

You smile up at him, feeling a little more reassured. But before you can thank him, you trip over your own feet and fall forward—right into Jack’s arms.

He catches you easily, looking down at you with a raised brow. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You blush furiously, scrambling to right yourself. “S-sorry! I-I didn’t mean to...”

Jack just chuckles softly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back, Bunny.”

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul sees your anxiety as an untapped market. He’s confident he could help soothe your nerves—with a little contract, of course.

One day, while you’re quietly minding your own business in the Mostro Lounge, Azul slips into the seat across from you with his signature grin. “Ah, my dear friend. You seem rather... tense.”

You freeze in place, blinking rapidly. “O-oh! N-no, I’m just... trying to follow the rules.”

Azul’s eyes gleam behind his glasses. “Why don’t I offer you a deal? I can help alleviate some of that stress of yours. All it would take is a small favor in return...”

Your ears twitch nervously. “U-um... I-I’m not sure...”

Azul leans closer, lowering his voice to a silky whisper. “Imagine it—no more anxiety, no more worries about breaking the rules. All you’d have to do is sign here...”

You nearly pass out from the pressure, eyes darting around the lounge as if looking for an escape. “I-I think I’m fine! Really! Thank you!”

Azul chuckles darkly as you bolt from the lounge. He watches you go with a sigh. “Ah, such potential... But I suppose it’s not every day I encounter a rabbit so determined to resist.”

Jade Leech:

Jade finds your anxious behavior endlessly fascinating. He’s not one to outright tease—he prefers subtlety—but he enjoys watching you squirm in his presence.

One afternoon, you’re frantically trying to fix a mistake in your homework when Jade appears behind you without a sound. “Oh my, is everything alright?”

You yelp, almost knocking over your ink bottle. “J-Jade! You startled me!”

Jade smiles pleasantly, though you can see a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I apologize. I simply couldn’t help but notice how... flustered you seemed.”

You try to calm your racing heart. “I-I’m just trying to finish this assignment...”

Jade leans over your shoulder, examining your work. “Ah, I see. Perhaps I could offer some assistance? Though I must admit, it is rather... amusing to watch you at times.”

You flush, ears twitching in embarrassment. “A-amusing?”

Jade chuckles softly, standing upright again. “Indeed. You’re quite endearing in your own way.”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but you nod meekly. “T-thank you... I think?”

Floyd Leech:

Floyd loves messing with you. It’s as simple as that. Your reactions are priceless, and he never misses an opportunity to make you jump out of your skin.

“Bunnyyyyy!” Floyd calls out, voice echoing through the hall as he chases after you. You speed up, desperately trying to get away, but Floyd is faster, his long legs catching up in no time.

He grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around with a grin. “Gotcha!”

You practically shriek. “F-Floyd! I-I wasn’t—”

Floyd cackles, bending down to look you in the eyes. “You’re always so jumpy, Bunny. It’s fun chasing you! Makes me wanna squeeze you even more.”

You tremble under his intense gaze, feeling like a mouse caught by a cat. “P-please don’t squeeze too hard...”

Floyd laughs again and ruffles your hair. “No promises! But you’re too funny to squish all at once. Guess I’ll just have to keep playing with you!”

You manage a weak smile, trying not to collapse from sheer anxiety. “G-great...”

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim is oblivious to your constant anxiety and thinks you’re just really shy. He goes out of his way to befriend you, always offering kind words and gifts to make you feel welcome.

One day, Kalim approaches you with a beaming smile, holding out a brightly wrapped gift. “Hey, I got this for you!”

Your ears twitch in surprise. “F-for me? Why?”

Kalim laughs cheerfully. “Why not? You’re my friend! And you always look so nervous, I thought this might cheer you up!”

You blink down at the gift, overwhelmed by his kindness. “I-I don’t know what to say...”

Kalim grins wider. “No need to say anything! Just know that if you ever feel anxious, I’m here for you, okay?”

His sunny demeanor is so contagious that you can’t help but smile back. “Th-thank you, Kalim. That means a lot...”

Kalim claps you on the back with a laugh, nearly knocking you off your feet. “No worries! We’re friends, after all!”

Jamil Viper:

Jamil is mildly exasperated by your anxious nature. He already has his hands full with Kalim, so dealing with you on top of that feels like another babysitting job. Still, he does his best to help you out when Kalim inevitably ropes you into their social circle.

One day, you’re standing awkwardly at the edge of a party, trying to blend into the wallpaper when Jamil approaches you with a sigh. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

You glance at him nervously. “I-I don’t want to cause any trouble...”

Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not causing trouble. Just... relax a little, okay? You don’t have to be so anxious all the time.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “I-I don’t know how...”

Jamil sighs again, crossing his arms. “Well, just... follow Kalim’s lead, I guess. He doesn’t worry about anything.”

You look over at Kalim, who’s dancing on a table and laughing without a care in the world. “Easier said than done...”

Jamil gives you a tired look. “Tell me about it.”

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil is very much like the Queen you serve—strict, elegant, and entirely intimidating. Which means every time you’re around him, you end up feeling like you’re going to pass out from sheer anxiety.

“Why are you slouching like that?” Vil snaps, noticing you trying to fade into the background during a Pomefiore meeting. He points a perfectly manicured finger at you, expression sharp. “Posture is important, darling.”

You immediately stand straighter, ears trembling slightly. “I-I’m sorry, Vil! I didn’t mean to—"

“Hmm,” Vil tilts his head, examining you with a critical eye. “I swear, being around you is like trying to train an anxious little bunny. How am I supposed to shape you into anything presentable if you’re always two seconds away from fainting?”

“I-I promise to do better!” you stammer, sweating bullets.

Vil sighs dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… try not to look like prey when you’re in front of an audience, alright? We can’t have Pomefiore’s image ruined because someone mistook you for their lunch.”

You nod furiously, completely unsure how you’re supposed to accomplish that but determined to try.

Rook Hunt:

Rook finds you utterly fascinating, like a rare creature he’s determined to observe in its natural habitat. Which is to say, he’s always popping up out of nowhere and scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Mon lapin!” Rook exclaims from behind you, and you jump about three feet in the air, ears standing straight up.

“R-Rook! Please don’t do that!” you gasp, clutching your chest as you try to calm your racing heart.

Rook just smiles at you, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah, but I cannot help it! The way you react—so pure, so genuine, like a rabbit hearing a twig snap in the forest! It’s magnifique!”

You gulp, ears slowly drooping back down. “I-I don’t think being compared to prey is exactly a compliment…”

“But of course it is!” Rook insists, stepping closer and giving you a dazzling grin. “You are a creature of instinct, always alert, always prepared to flee! There is beauty in that, mon ami. And I, as your loyal huntsman, will ensure no harm befalls you.”

You smile nervously, unsure if that’s comforting or even scarier. “T-that’s… good to know?”

Rook’s eyes sparkle, as if he’s just found his next great challenge. “Ah, but one day, I hope to see you without fear, to see the calm, serene smile of a rabbit at rest. What a glorious sight that would be!”

You have no idea how to respond to that, so you just nod, deciding it’s better not to question Rook’s eccentricity.

Epel Felmier:

Epel thinks you’re kind of cool, actually. You’re nervous all the time, yeah, but you’re also from a strict background and work under pressure constantly. He respects that. Which means he’s decided that you’re his unofficial partner in surviving Vil’s tyranny.

“Hey, c’mon, you don’t need to be that scared of Vil,” Epel says one day, nudging your side as the two of you scrub cauldrons in the alchemy lab. “Sure, he’s scary, but if you just stand up to him once, he’ll back off… probably.”

You glance at Epel, eyes wide. “S-stand up to Vil?! Are you crazy?! I can’t do that! He’ll turn me into a newt or—o-or make me into some kind of fashionable accessory!”

Epel chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, he ain’t that bad. You just gotta show him you’ve got guts. Or at least, like, fake it.”

You swallow hard, ears drooping. “F-faking it sounds risky… What if he notices?”

Epel grins, giving you a thumbs-up. “Then we run. Fast. Like the prey animals we are.”

You blink at him, half-horrified, half-impressed. “You… consider yourself a prey animal?”

Epel shrugs. “Sometimes, yeah. I mean, what else am I gonna do against Vil? Might as well embrace it. Besides, you’re good at dodgin’ people, right? We can make it work.”

You stare at him, processing his words, then sigh in resignation. “I guess we’re in this together then…”

Epel pats your shoulder with a grin. “That’s the spirit! We’re gonna make it through this, bunny style.”

You still have no idea what “bunny style” entails, but you’re willing to trust Epel’s wild plans—for now.

Idia Shroud:

Idia has never related to anyone more in his life. You anxiety is like looking into a jittery, trembling mirror, and for once, Idia is the calm one—relatively speaking.

“W-wait, you have to deliver a message to the Queen?!” Idia whispers, his hair sparking nervously. “That’s like, a total nightmare scenario.”

You nod rapidly, wringing your hands. “Y-yes, but I’m already late, and if I don’t get there soon, it’s off with my head!”

Idia shivers. “No way. I’d rather stay in my room for a thousand years.” He pauses, then adds, “But, um, if you don’t wanna go, maybe… I dunno… we could… not go together?”

You blink at him, your ears twitching at the idea of hiding away instead. “R-really? We can do that?”

He gives you an awkward thumbs-up, his face flushed. “Yeah… like, what’s the worst that could happen? Besides decapitation… but it’s not like anyone would expect me to be brave, right?”

You both glance at Ortho, who’s floating nearby and giving you the biggest, most judgmental sigh he can muster.

“You two need more courage,” Ortho says, shaking his head. “But I’ll help. Let’s make a plan!”

And just like that, your anxiety spirals back into full-on panic.

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho thinks you’re adorable, but he also realizes that you’re a magnet for trouble. So, naturally, he has to make sure you’re safe at all times.

“Good morning!” Ortho beams, floating beside you as you fumble with your basket of letters. “Where are you off to today?”

You twitch slightly, looking over your shoulder. “Oh, um, just delivering some messages… It’s a bit urgent…”

Ortho smiles, activating his sensors. “No problem! I’ll track your location and help with navigation!”

You blink, unsure if you should be relieved or more nervous. “T-track my location?”

Ortho nods cheerfully, a holographic map popping up. “Yup! We can’t have you getting lost in the rose maze again. Remember last time? You were stuck for hours!”

Your ears droop, embarrassed. “I-it’s not my fault everything looks the same…”

“Not to worry!” Ortho reassures. “I’ll make sure you’re in and out in no time! Plus, if you faint from fear, I can carry you.”

The thought of Ortho hauling you over his shoulder while Riddle scolds you is somehow even scarier than getting lost.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus has never met someone so jittery around him—and that’s saying something. He finds it… oddly endearing.

“Good evening, Child of Man,(Hare(?))” Malleus greets, his deep voice echoing through the hallway.

You jump about a foot in the air, your ears standing straight up. “L-Lord Malleus! I-I didn’t see you there!”

Malleus tilts his head, clearly confused. “I was standing right in the middle of the hall.”

You gulp, trying not to show your terror. “S-sorry! I just, um, wasn’t expecting—um—dragons are very quiet, apparently!”

Malleus raises an eyebrow, then smiles, showing just a hint of fang. “I assure you, I have no intention of frightening you.”

You nod rapidly, ears still trembling. “O-of course, Your Highness! I mean, who’s scared? Not me! Totally fine! Super relaxed!”

Malleus chuckles, and the sound is somehow both amused and terrifying. “You truly are quite… peculiar.”

You have no idea if that’s a compliment or an insult, but you nod like it’s the greatest praise in the world. “T-thank you, Lord Malleus.”

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia finds you endlessly amusing. He likes to see just how much he can tease you before you pass out from fright.

“Hello, little rabbit,” Lilia says, appearing out of *nowhere* like he always does.

You squeak, nearly dropping your stack of paperwork. “A-ah! L-Lilia! P-please don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He grins, fangs peeking out. “Oh, but it’s so much fun. You jump every time, like a startled bunny.”

You frown, puffing your cheeks out indignantly, but it only makes you look cuter. “I-I can’t help it! I’m just… easily startled.”

Lilia nods sagely, pretending to consider your words. “Perhaps I should warn you next time? Though that might take away all the fun…”

You gulp, trying to decide if he’s joking or not. “P-please do…”

He laughs, patting your head affectionately. “I make no promises, little one. Just stay on your toes!”

Silver:

Silver finds your constant panic a little concerning, but mostly, it makes him tired just watching you.

You find Silver leaning against a tree, dozing off like usual. “Um, Silver? A-aren’t you supposed to be training?”

Silver blinks awake, giving you a sleepy smile. “Oh, hello. Training? Right, yes, I was. I… took a short rest.”

You fidget, eyes darting around nervously. “W-well, um, I don’t want to interrupt… but could you help me? I think I lost the Queen’s letter again.”

Silver nods slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Of course. But first, you need to breathe. You’re more jittery than the dormouse.”

You force a shaky breath in, nodding. “R-right. Breathe. I can do that.”

Silver gives you a thumbs-up. “Good. Just stay calm. We’ll find it together.”

And then he promptly falls asleep again.

You stare at him, exasperated. “S-Silver?!”

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek is flabbergasted by your lack of composure. It drives him nuts—but also, he thinks you’re kind of adorable, like a helpless bunny.

“YOU!” Sebek bellows, making you flinch so hard you almost trip over yourself. “HOW CAN YOU BE THIS INCOMPETENT?!”

You cringe, clutching your ears. “I-I’m sorry! I’m trying my best, I swear!”

Sebek huffs, crossing his arms. “YOUR BEST IS BARELY ADEQUATE! YOU MUST STRIVE FOR PERFECTION, LIKE LORD MALLEUS!”

You gulp, nodding frantically. “R-right! I’ll… I’ll try harder!”

Sebek looks at your terrified face and sighs, his tone softening just a bit. “FINE, FINE. JUST DON’T MESS UP AGAIN. HERE.”

He hands you the paper you dropped, his ears turning slightly pink. “AND STOP LOOKING SO SCARED. IT’S… DISTRACTING.”

You blink at him, surprised. “D-distracting?”

“YES!” he shouts, clearly flustered. “NOW GO! LORD MALLEUS EXPECTS PERFECTION!”

You scurry away, leaving Sebek to mutter to himself, face flushed. “Such a weak little rabbit…”

Rollo Flamme:

Rollo tries so hard not to be charmed by you, really. He doesn’t like distractions, and you’re the most distracting bunny he’s ever met.

“Are you lost again?” Rollo asks with a sigh, watching as you nervously peek around a corner.

You jump, ears twitching. “O-oh, Rollo! I was just, um… trying to find the courtyard…”

Rollo pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve passed it three times already.”

You fumble with your hands, embarrassment turning your face pink. “I-I was just… making sure it was the right one…”

Rollo looks at your big, earnest eyes and sighs again, softer this time. “You’re hopeless,” he mutters. Then, reluctantly, he reaches for your hand, leading you back the way you came. “Come on. I can’t leave you wandering around all day.”

You follow behind him, ears drooping. “S-sorry…”

Rollo shakes his head, not even looking back. “Just try not to get lost again.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “I-I’ll try.”

Neige LeBlanche:

Neige thinks you’re the cutest thing ever. He’s the kind of person who immediately wants to be friends with you, especially because you look so nervous all the time.

“Hello!” Neige waves, beaming at you from across the way.

You blink, startled. “O-oh, um… hello, Neige…”

Neige practically skips over to you, his smile never faltering. “Are you okay? You look a little lost.”

You nod rapidly, trying not to be intimidated by his energy. “Y-yes, I’m fine! Just a little… um…”

“Aw, don’t worry!” Neige says, giving you an encouraging pat on the back. “You’ve got this! I believe in you!”

You stare at him, completely baffled. “You… you do?”

Neige nods earnestly. “Of course! And if you need any help, just let me know, okay? I’ll be your bunny buddy!”

Your ears twitch at the nickname, and you manage a shaky smile. “O-okay… Thank you, Neige.”

Dire Crowley:

Crowley finds your constant worrying both exhausting and oddly entertaining. He’s never seen anyone so concerned about breaking every single rule.

“Ah, You!” Crowley calls out, catching you just as you’re about to dash off with a stack of paperwork. “Do you have the reports I asked for?”

You freeze, turning to him with wide eyes. “R-reports? Oh no, I—I thought I delivered those to Professor Trein!”

Crowley sighs dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. “Of course, of course. Why must I be surrounded by such incompetent students?”

You fidget, looking down at your feet. “I-I’m sorry, Headmaster… I’ll go get them right away—”

Crowley waves a hand dismissively. “No, no, I suppose it can wait. You do look like you’re about to pass out from all the running.”

Your ears droop, and you mumble, “I-I’m not… I’m just… very busy…”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, do try not to collapse before lunch, won’t you? I can’t have students fainting in my halls.”

You nod, scurrying away. Crowley watches you go, muttering to himself, “Honestly, there's no one more magnanimous than me…”

Divus Crewel:

Crewel is exasperated by your anxious behavior. He wants you to be confident, but instead, you’re always shaking in your boots.

“[Name], if you can’t handle a simple potion assignment, how do you expect to survive in this world?” Crewel says, his tone sharp as he points at your cauldron.

You gulp, ears twitching. “I-I’m sorry, Professor… I just, um, thought I might have put too much wormroot…”

Crewel raises an eyebrow. “Too much? Or not enough? Make up your mind, pup.”

Your eyes widen, and you flinch. “R-right! I-I mean, um, not enough—no, wait…”

Crewel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is hopeless.” Then, with a softer tone, he adds, “Focus. You can do this, but not if you keep second-guessing every move.”

You take a deep breath, nodding. “Y-yes, Professor.”

Crewel watches as you go back to your work, and though he doesn’t say it, there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

Mozus Trein:

Trein is generally strict, but even he can’t bring himself to be too harsh with you. Your anxious nature reminds him of some of his more timid students in the past.

“You’re late to class again,” Trein says, giving you a stern look.

You flinch, clutching your bag close. “I-I’m so sorry, Professor… I got lost in the halls again…”

Trein sighs, shaking his head. “You’ve been here long enough to know the way, haven’t you?”

You nod, ears drooping. “Y-yes, sir… I just… it’s the Queen’s court day, and I was trying to avoid… um…”

Trein raises an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. “Avoid the Queen’s wrath, hm?” He nods, as if understanding completely. “Well, see that it doesn’t happen again. And try to relax. You won’t learn anything if you’re always in a state of panic.”

You bow deeply, almost knocking over your desk in the process. “Y-yes, Professor Trein! Thank you!”

Trein sighs as you scurry to your seat, muttering to himself, “Poor child… so much anxiety…”

Ashton Vargas:

Vargas can’t help but laugh at your feeble attempts at physical activity. You’re about as coordinated as a baby deer—and just as panicked.

“Alright, everyone! Time for a run around the track!” Vargas shouts, blowing his whistle.

You gulp, your ears already drooping at the thought of running. “U-um, Professor Vargas, I’m not sure I’m… physically… capable…”

Vargas claps you on the back, nearly sending you sprawling. “Nonsense! Every beastman’s got it in them! Even you, little bunny!”

You try to protest, but he’s already started the timer. You stumble forward, your legs shaky, and you can hear Vargas laughing from behind.

“Look at that! The rabbit is really running for their life!” Vargas calls out, and the whole class turns to watch you struggle around the track.

You feel your face burn, but you keep running, heart pounding. It’s either run or face Vargas’s motivational speeches again, and honestly, you’re not sure which is worse.

Sam:

Sam loves seeing you in his shop, mostly because you’re so jumpy it’s easy to sneak up on you—unintentionally, of course. He finds your reactions amusing.

“Hello, hello!” Sam calls out as you walk into his shop, and you jump about a foot in the air.

“Ah—M-Mister Sam! I-I didn’t see you there!” you stammer, clutching your chest like your heart might leap out.

Sam laughs, leaning over the counter. “You’re always so jittery, little bunny. Relax! I’ve got just the thing to calm those nerves…” He pulls out a small vial of something labeled “Relaxation Remedy.”

You eye the bottle suspiciously. “Um… t-that’s not… gonna put me to sleep, is it?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not unless you drink the whole bottle, friend.” He winks. “I’m just lookin’ out for ya, y’know?”

You nod, still unsure but grateful. “T-thank you… I’ll, um… take one, I guess…”

Sam smiles, putting the vial in a bag for you. “No problem, little imp. Come back if you need more!”

You nod, scurrying out of the shop. Sam watches you leave, shaking his head with a grin. “That one’s gonna give themselves a heart attack one day…”

Grim:

Grim likes to think he’s the bravest in the group, but even he can see you’re worse off than him in the bravery department. He likes to boss you around, mostly to feel better about himself.

“Oi, bunny!” Grim shouts, jumping onto your desk. “You got my homework done yet?”

You squeak, nearly toppling out of your chair. “Y-your homework?! Grim, I—I can’t keep doing your work for you…”

Grim pouts, waving a paw at you. “Oh, come on! You’re already nervous all the time—what’s a little extra stress, huh?”

You huff, fidgeting with your pen. “G-Grim, I’m already at my limit! I-I’ve got the Queen’s orders, and Riddle’s rules, and now you want me to—”

Grim interrupts, hopping closer and giving you a smug grin. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re a busy bunny. But you know, if you help me, I’ll… uh, protect you from any monsters! Yeah, how about that?”

You blink, considering it. “P-protect me? From monsters?”

Grim nods, puffing out his chest. “Yup! I’m the Great Grim, after all! I’m basically a professional monster hunter.”

You stare at him, unsure, your ears slowly drooping. “I-I guess… that would be helpful…”

Grim smirks, satisfied. “See? I knew you’d come around!” He jumps off your desk, tail flicking with glee. “Alright, I’ll be back later to pick up my homework. Make sure it’s perfect, okay?”

You sigh, watching him strut away. “H-how did I even get myself into this…?”

Grim doesn’t hear you, already daydreaming about what snack he’ll demand from you next. “It’s good to be the boss,” he mutters, chuckling to himself.

You slump in your seat, wondering if there would ever come a day when you’re not running around doing everyone’s bidding. But then again, you think, maybe that’s just the fate of a White Rabbit…

Masterlist

[lovebugism]

King Steve being a dick to shy!reader until he found out she was the one who left a note in his locker and not nancy 🥰

he's less of a dick and more of a dumbass in this but i hope you like it :D — when steve thinks nancy's left a note in his locker, he starts pulling away from you (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort ish but mostly fluff, 0.8k)

You’re not surprised to find Steve in the old chemistry classroom, half-abandoned in the west wing of the school — the two of you often seek sanctuary there, away from the vultures of Hawkins High. No, what’s strange is the note he holds between his hands. And the way he tries to hide it when he sees you.

He shoves the paper into the back pocket of his jeans and rises from the desk he sits on. It screeches and slides slightly back in his fumbling state. He tries to hide his panic with a lopsided grin but wears all the alarm in his eyes.

“Hey, babe…” he wavers.

The door clicks shut behind you. Instead of greeting him with a kiss and a warm embrace, you cross your arms over your chest and cock your hip gently to the side. The softness he’s grown so used to has suddenly hardened. 

“What are you doing?” you wonder plainly.

He stammers. “Uh… Skipping calculus?”

“No, I mean, why are you avoiding me?”

“Avoiding you?” Steve scoffs, forcing out a breathy laugh. He stumbles over himself with words and gestures wildly with his hands. “Why would I— I have no reason to— I’m not avoiding you, okay? That’s crazy.”

His deflecting isn’t reassuring. 

A weird, uncomfy feeling pangs in your chest.

“You’ve been acting weird for three days, Steve. I have to practically hunt you down to find you— and when I do, you act like you don’t even wanna talk to me.”

The pained look scrunching your features makes his stomach ache. He averts his gaze and shrugs. “That’s not true, you know that—”

“You won’t even look at me now,” you murmur, eyes glassy and stinging with distant tears. His gaze darts back up to meet yours again. You shrink inside yourself and shift your weight on your feet. “Do you… Do you wanna break up with me or something? Is that it?”

Steve’s face swirls with confusion, pained and panicked. “What? No!” he exclaims, voice ringing across the quiet lab. “Of course I don’t! Why would you— Why would you even say that?”

“Then what happened?” you agonize. “What’d I do?”

He rushes across the room and gathers your worrying form in his palms, fingers wide and warm on the outsides of your elbows. He ducks his head down so he’s more level with your tinier frame. His features furrow with anguish. “Nothing! You didn’t do anything, okay? I swear. It’s just this— It’s this stupid fucking note.”

Your brows pinch. “What?”

He drops his hand and reaches for the neglected paper in his pocket. The thing is folded four different times and slightly crumpled with how much he’s handled it. He waves it wildly in his hand. “Nancy left me this in my locker a couple days ago, and it just totally freaked me out, you know? I… I don’t know.”

He passes it off to you like he’s been dying to get rid of it.

You unfold the note. The sound of rumpling paper is much louder in the quiet. Steve watches you read it with a pained look on his face — doe eyes flitting across the familiar words and more familiar handwriting. 

Familiar ‘cause you wrote it.

It takes everything in you to bite back the smile pulling at your lips.

“Oh…” you hum instead.

“I didn’t meet her!” Steve blurts. “I swear, I just… I didn’t know how to tell you about it ‘cause I didn’t wanna upset you, you know? And I just kept freaking myself out, and I’m… I’m sorry.” The words catch in his closing throat. He swallows hard and takes a breath. “I don’t like Nancy anymore, okay? I like you. I love you.”

“So you didn’t… You didn’t meet her there?” you wonder aloud despite knowing the answer, waving the paper in your hand. Meet me in the bathroom, it reads, sloppier than your usual cursive because you wrote it against his locker.

“No!”

“Okay. I believe you,” you nod, smiling when he drops his chin to his chest and sighs in relief. “…Wanna know how I know?”

He glances up at you then, peeking at you beneath his lashes. His honey eyes sparkle in a silent answer.

“‘Cause I left you the note,” you confess, scrunching the bridge of your nose. “And I waited for you for half an hour.”

Steve gapes, equal parts confused and embarrassed. “…Oh.”

“Oh,” you parrot with a quiet laugh.

He stammers. “I’m— I— We just… Me and Nancy used to meet there all the time during free period. I guess I just… I thought that—”

“That she came crawling back?” you finish with a teasing glint in your eyes. “Because no one can resist King Steve?”

He meets your mischievous look with a shier smile. “It’s not that,” he mutters.

“I know,” you promise with a gentle sigh. “I’m just teasing.”

You lean further into him, both of you less anxious now than a minute or more ago. Your palms smooth over his chest while his arms curl around your back. “I feel like a total idiot,” he admits with a sheepish chuckle.

“‘Cause you are one,” you quip, sparkling with all the adoration you have for him. “And I love you.”

[ilovemitsuya]

Hello, here to request a lil somethin somethin (since you said you’d kiss anyone who did ;))

I really enjoyed the fic u posted with the sick MC soooo I was thinking abt something with either Sylus or Xavier where MC has a secret sketchbook where she draws pretty portraits of him but then he finds out by chance and how would he react?

muah

sylus x reader

decided to do sylus since I know him a bit better

thank you for requesting ♡

I sat cross legged on the floor in front of Sylus’s room, a sketchbook balanced delicately in my lap.

The scratching of my pencil against the paper was the only sound I could focus on as I sketched the corner of his eye.

I had filled pages and pages of this sketchbook with him. Something I could look at while I was in Linkon away from Sylus.

The door to his room was slightly open, I could still hear his voice, giving orders to someone through his phone. I took this chance to keep drawing his face while he wasn’t looking.

The pages of my sketchbook were filled with these little moments. Moments I stole when he wasn't paying attention. He didn't know, of course. I never intended for him to find out.

Suddenly, I heard his door fling open, making me move in a panic I slammed the sketchbook shut, but my fingers fumbled over the pages. I became clumsy in my rush to hide it.

The door to his room flung open without warning, and I jolted, nearly dropping the sketchbook as my heart leapt into my throat.

I clutched the book to my chest, as though holding it there could somehow make it invisible.

“Oh hey Sylus..”

He was already walking toward me.

"What's this?" His voice was calm, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

He tilted his head slightly, that smirk of his tugging at the corners of his lips. I knew he wasn't going to let it go now.

"Nothing.”I stammered, my hands clutching the sketchbook harder as if I could somehow keep it from him.

His eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous sort of amusement playing across his features as he approached me. Before I could react, he used his evol to snatch the book from my grasp with ease.

"Sylus, give it back!" I reached out instinctively, but it was too late. He held the book out of my reach, flipping it open with a flick of his fingers.

I could only watch. I stood frozen as his eyes scanned the pages.

"You've been drawing me.” he said finally, his voice low but steady. It wasn't a question.

I chuckled nervously after being caught red handed.

“It’s not what it’s looks like. That’s not you.”

“Oh? That’s not me? “ He turned the sketchbook to my direction and showed me an unfinished drawing of him and Mephisto.

“Must be someone else who looks exactly like me and has a crow by his side.”

I swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "I was drawing Mephisto you just got in the way.” That was a stupid thing to say.

“Yeah, whatever you can say to make yourself feel better, Sweetie.”

Sylus moved to the doorway, the sketchbook still in his hands. He kept flipping back and forth through the pages, his eyes scanning each portrait with a sharp gaze, though I couldn't exactly tell what he was thinking.

He closed the book with a quiet snap and looked down at me, that familiar smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"You've captured me rather well.” he said, his tone deceptively casual.

As he stared at the sketchbook cover I took the chance to snatch it away from his grasp.

But then he raised the sketchbook way too high - basically dangling it out of my reach.

“Nice try, Sweetie.”

"Sylus!" I protested, half laughing but also genuinely desperate to get the book back.

He arched a brow, his smirk deepening as he watched me from above. "What? You don't think I'll keep this for myself?"

"You're going to give that back." I said, though the smile tugging at my lips made it hard to sound serious.

I shot to my feet, reaching for the sketchbook, but of course, he held it effortlessly above his head.

Sylus was tall, and he knew exactly how to use it to his advantage. I stood on my toes, stretching my arms as far as they would go. He didn't even have to move. He just stood there, his dark eyes watching me with amusement as I tried in vain to reach it.

He tilted his head, as if he was considering.

"Hmm... I'm not so sure." His voice had that playful edge now, the kind that told me he was fully enjoying my frustration.

"You've been keeping these drawings hidden from me. Perhaps I should keep the sketchbook hidden from you too."

I jumped a little, trying to swipe it from his hand, but he simply raised his arm higher, looking impossibly tall and completely unreachable.

"Not fair.” I huffed.

He chuckled, his deep voice vibrating through the room. "I don't remember agreeing to play fair." His teasing tone made my eye twitch.

"What do I have to do to get it back?"

His gaze softened just a fraction, though his smirk remained.

"You'll have to earn it." he said, lowering his arm slightly, as if teasing me with the possibility that I might reach it.

"I drew those for you.” I pointed out, trying to reason with him, though it was clear he was having too much fun to give in so quickly.

"Which is why I should keep them, don't you think?" He raised the sketchbook just as I lunged for it again, barely missing it by an inch. His smirk deepened yet again.

I let out an exaggerated groan, rubbing my forehead dramatically. "Sylus, please!"

After another beat of silence, he finally relented but not without one final move. He dropped the sketchbook just enough for me to almost grab it, then caught me off guard by wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me close as I stretched out for it. His breath was warm against my ear as he leaned down slightly, the sketchbook still just out of reach.

"If you want it…" he whispered, "ask nicely."

I swallowed, rolling my eyes

"Please?”

He chuckled softly, his grip around my waist loosening just enough to let me slip out of his hold. With a triumphant grin, I snatched the sketchbook from his hand before he could change his mind, holding it close to my chest as if I had won some great victory.

Sylus watched me, his smirk softening into something more amused, more tender.

"Do it again.” he said, with a casual grace.

“Do what again?” I looked up at him confused.

"Keep drawing me."

I stared at him for a moment, trying to process his words. His eyes never leaving mine.

His lips twitched into a small smile. "I’m yours to draw, it seems."

I smiled softly, the tension in my chest easing.

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder.

"Next time," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips, "ask me to sit for you."

Then, with a final glance, he turned and left the room.

I stared at the book in my hands unable to hide the smile spreading across my face.

if you requested already dw! I’ll be uploading your requests soon ♡ tysm

[hotchscoffeecup]

stricken

summary: hotch tries to hide a panic attack from the team. you walk him through it.

pairing: hotch x reader (platonic)

tags: panic attacks, recall to foyet attacking hotch, mentions of knife violence, recall to foyet killing haley

words: 2k

“He kept them alive.” Morgan sighs and throws the file containing photos of the most recent victim in a long string of murders down on the table.

“These stab wounds are precise,” Reid adds. ���He must have extensive knowledge in a medical field; a doctor or a medic, maybe.”

“No,” Emily counters. “This man doesn’t have the confidence to match either of those professions. It would be something that allowed him to blend into the background, where he could observe and hone his skills. He might be a Medical Assistant or Vet Tech.”

“I’ll start cross-referencing work records with clinics, hospitals, and veterinary offices in a twenty mile radius.” Penelope ends the video call and disappears from the wide screen in the conference room, leaving the digital photos of the victims and the crime scenes in full view.

You stare at them, bewildered by the cruelty this unsub inflicts on his victims; the psychological torture he inflicted to coincide with the physical. You click your pen absentmindedly as you pour over the evidence left behind. As you tilt your head, squinting at one of the images, you notice Hotch in your peripheral vision. If you’re not mistaken, you see his hand shaking at his side. You blink and it stops; instead, he flexes his hand open and closed.

The others are talking, exchanging ideas and identifying characteristics to further bulk up the profile. You turn in your chair, brow furrowed as you watch Hotch reach up and loosen his tie.

“Hotch, what do you think?” Morgan asks. The team all turns to look at him and he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Hotch?”

Without looking at anyone in particular Hotch excuses himself, tucking his head and swiftly dipping out of the room.

Morgan arches a brow. “What do you think that’s about?”

“I don’t know,” you say, concern edging into your tone as you push yourself up and out of your chair. “I’m going to go find out.”

As you exit the briefing room, you survey the bullpen and catch a glimpse of his jacket fluttering around a corner. You weave through detectives and uniformed officers, the din of voices, papers shuffling, copiers whirring, and phones ringing echoing throughout the space.

“Excuse me,” you say, maneuvering around three officers chatting by the water cooler.

You turn down the hall you swear you’d seen Hotch disappear into, but all you see is a janitor’s closet at the far end of the corridor.

As you turn around to retrace your steps and search for Hotch, you hear a whoosh of breath. This stops you in your tracks as you strain your ears and turn back towards the closet. Hesitantly, and feeling somewhat foolish, you reach for the handle and open the door.

Your lips part and your heart drops as you identify your Unit Chief braced against a shoddy shelving unit. In the dim light of the single lightbulb illuminating the space, you make out the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to take in a full breath.

Without hesitation, you slink inside and close the door behind you. Fortunately, the space is wide enough to grant you enough room to be in there without it feeling confining.

“Hotch, what’s wrong?” you ask, inclining your head to look up into his eyes. They’re wild, dilated pupils flickering back and forth across your features as he swallows.

“I can’t—” he starts and stops, closing his eyes and scrubbing a hand across his face. “I don’t know why, I just— I can’t breathe. I can’t—”

“Okay,” you say, voice soft but firm. “Hotch, I think you’re having a panic attack.”

His brow pinches as he wrestles with that observation. “A panic attack? No, I don’t— I’m fine. It’s not—”

His hands shake as he reaches for his tie, fingers fumbling with the knot causing them to shake even more.

“Let me help,” you say and telegraph your next moves clearly; reaching forward to completely undo his tie and first button of his shirt.

He releases a heavy sigh and something of a sob escapes his lips. “I’m the, the Unit Chief. I see this stuff every day. I don’t—I’m not—” He swallows hard and looks up at the ceiling, as if there would be some sort of solace to find in the popcorn ceiling tiles.

“I just…I can feel it,” he rasps. “I can feel it.”

“Feel what, Hotch?”

His breathing quickens; coming in short succinct bursts that leave him panting and unable to catch his breath.

“His knife. I can feel it.” He squeezes his eyes shut and a tear leaks down his cheek.

Realization dawns on you then and your heart fractures for your Unit Chief, the pillar of the team; the one who bears the brunt of responsibility to ensure everyone else on the team is okay and ultimately sacrifices himself in the process.

George Foyet. You’d joined the team after this case, but everyone knew the story. He’d incapacitated Hotch inside his own home and stabbed him repeatedly; slowly, and in places that would inflict significant damage, but not kill him. Foyet later would go on to kill Hotch’s ex-wife, Haley. Hotch had been on the phone at the time of it all and heard his wife die. You can’t imagine the turmoil he must have gone through; physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’s no wonder this case would trigger such terrible memories.

“I was alone.” Hotch breathes heavily and clutches an arm around his waist. “I can feel it now. I can—the knife, it was, oh God—” His hand taps rapidly against his leg. When his knees begin to wobble, you’re quick to react when he collapses.

Instinctively, you throw your arms out and thread your arms beneath his as you crash to the floor together, knees slamming into the hardwood as you fall. Hotch sobs into the crook of your neck as he clings to you and you wonder just how long it’s been since anyone has held him. Hesitantly, you shift your weight so you can hold him properly with one arm wrapped around his back while the other cradles his neck. You brush your fingers through his hair and speak grounding words to him.

“You’re safe, Hotch.” You then tell him your exact location and repeat your name to him, reminding him of all that is tangible. You describe the room you’re in, from the arrangement of products on the shelf to the cloying scent of bleach and Windex that lingers in the air. You draw attention to the distant sounds inside the bullpen and instruct him to focus on your voice. “I promise that you’re safe,” you repeat.

“Foyet is dead.”

His grip tightens around you and his tears soak into your blouse.

“He can’t hurt you or anyone else.” You fight to keep your own voice from cracking as you bear witness to your friend’s pain.

“I need you to breathe, Aaron.” His first name feels strange on your tongue, but you need to bring him back. “In for four,” you say and breathe deeply through your nose for four counts, patting Hotch four times on the back to offer a different type of stimulation for him to try and ground himself with through physical touch. “Out for your four,” you say as you release the air in your lungs and pat him four more times on the back.

You continue to model this pattern until you feel him start to relax under you. His breathing continues to shudder, but he’s trying to self-regulate.

“Good, Hotch,” you encourage as he works to regain control. “Keep breathing. You’re safe.”

You continue to pat your hand against his back, acting as a metronome for him to keep time. You find yourself rocking him gently as you do this and eventually he shifts beneath you.

Tentatively, you begin to pull away. You don’t let go of him though, not yet. You want to make sure he has a tether to reality and physical touch can help him remain grounded.

Hotch sniffs and wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. He keeps his eyes downcast and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

Your brow knits together as a wave of utter confusion washes over you. “Hotch,” you say, almost sternly. His eyes flick up to meet yours and you look at him straight on. “Don’t ever apologize for that. In fact, I’m sorry, actually.”

Now it’s his turn to look puzzled. “For what?”

“That you felt like this was something you had to do in private. That you felt like you couldn’t tell one of us.”

Hotch rubs at his eyes. “It’s not that,” he begins. “I’m not supposed to break. I’m the Chief of this Unit. I’m supposed to—”

“That’s bullshit, Hotch.” An exasperated sort of smile crosses your lips then as you realize you never use that kind of language, especially around your boss. “Apologies, Sir, but you know as well as I do that you don’t have to save face for any of us. We’ve all been to hell and back in one way or another. That case out there; the precise stab wounds, keeping the victims alive…it’s exactly what Foyet did to you.”

Hotch bristles, but you continue on.

“The body remembers, Hotch.” You drop your hands to his wrists and squeeze. “You survived the improbable. Your wounds healed and you did the mandated counseling, yes, but you’re still allowed to break down. You’re allowed to have bad days.” You incline your head to meet his gaze head on. “But you can’t shut everyone out. You don’t deserve to suffer alone.”

Hotch nods slowly and takes a full deep breath before meeting your eye. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” you say and you smile when his lips twitch up at the corners. “I know because you taught me that.”

“I remember,” he says, though he doesn’t bring up the unsub that could’ve killed you. It had only been your third week on the team and the case had brought you out to Boise, Idaho. When you’d located the unsub, he’d engaged you in a physical altercation where he’d successfully disarmed you and put you in a chokehold. Oxygen had been effectively cut off from your airway and you were so close to losing consciousness that you’d be dead right now if JJ and Emily hadn’t incapacitated him when they had.

“I was going to quit the team,” you say. “After that case, I didn’t think I had what it takes to be a member of the BAU.”

Hotch’s brow twitches as he relaxes back against the wall. “You never told me that.”

You shrug, “I didn’t have to. When you found me in the break room after hours when I thought everyone else had gone home and talked me down from my own panic attack, I tore up my resignation letter.” You smile then. “The minute we stop feeling, that’s when we can no longer do this job. That empathy is what gives the families hope and keeps our victims alive. When we lose that, we lose our humanity. Never stop feeling. Feel everything, and then feel it again. Talk about it. You’re never alone. We’re a team. We’ll always have one another’s backs.”

“I said all of that?” Hotch asks, both amused and in disbelief.

“It’s what I tell myself every time I feel the strain of this job is getting to be too much, and it helps keep me grounded.”

He tilts his head and laughs to himself. “I should probably write that down.”

You laugh in turn, “You probably should.”

Hotch moves to stand up then, scooping his tie off the ground and offering you a hand as he does so. You take it and allow him to pull you to your feet.

“Thank you,” he says and offers you a genuine smile. “I just hope that these bags under my eyes don’t look puffier than they usually do now.”

You roll your eyes and open your arms to hug him. He chuckles as he embraces you and thanks you once more.

“Don’t ever change, sir.” You rub your hand up and down his back and feel that the tension has completely relaxed out of his posture. “Don't ever change.”

[bryan-writes]

Keepsakes of a hidden heart mammon x reader

Summary: you find a keepsake box hidden under Mammons bed, you find out it’s filled with things that remind him of you <3

Super fluffy, soft mammon, established relationship

Credit to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers :)

Under the gentle flicker of the low-lit room, you found yourself rifling through a small, unassuming box you’d discovered half-hidden under Mammon’s bed. It looked like it had been haphazardly shoved there, but with enough care to keep it safe from the curious eyes of any of his brothers. Immediately interested, you’d pulled it out— completely forgetting about finding your favorite hoodie (of his).

In a house filled with demons and secrets, finding something so personal felt… special. You knew mammon wasn’t one for big gestures, at least not the planned kind. But the box was a testament to something raw and real, with its unpolished appearance and lovingly held keepsakes.

The first item you pulled from the contents was a wrinkled movie ticket. You remembered that night so vividly, the way Mammon had tried to play it cool as he offered to take you out to a movie “just cause he was bored.” But you knew the truth; he’d been fidgeting, sneaking glances, trying to hide the spark in his eyes. It was an action movie— explosions and over-the-top stunts. But halfway through, Mammon’s hand had found yours, fingers fumbling a bit as if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He hadn’t let go until the credits rolled, and was even reluctant to let you go then. Now, as you gently held the ticket in your hands, you realized he had kept it as proof of that little victory, a reminder of the night he dared to hold your hand in the dim light of the theater.

Then there was a small, doodled note with a ridiculous caricature of Lucifer wearing glasses that Mammon had drawn in one of your many free moments in class. It was simple, silly even, but it had been you who had egged him on, whispering ideas as you both laughed quietly in the back of the lecture hall. You hadn’t noticed at the time, but Mammon must have held onto that scrap of notebook paper, like a private joke meant only for the two of you— a memory, immortalized by a poorly sketched Lucifer with eyebrows furrowed and glasses crooked.

”Hey, Y/N!” Mammon’s voice snapped you back to reality, a hint of panic coloring his tone.

Your gaze shot up to see him standing at the door, eyes wide, his cheeks flushed with a shade too bright for his usual demeanor. “What’re ya doin’ with that?” His usual bluster was there, but it sounded thin, like it was more for show than anything else.

You bit your lip, smiling softly. “I… I found this. It’s really cute, Mammon.”

Mammon fumbled, trying to snatch the box back, but you held onto it gently, pulling out a small bracelet made of cheap, colorful beads. It was slightly frayed, as if it had been through a few too many close calls. You remembered it well— Mammon had won it for you at a fair, some human world event he’d dragged you to, insisting he’d win the biggest prize. Instead, he’s managed a small, kitschy beaded bracelet, but the moment he clasped it around your wrist, he’d looked so proud.

“Why… Why do you keep these things?” You asked softly, curiosity and affection mingling in your gaze as you looked at him.

Mammon’s gaze flickered, unsure, like he was debating how much of himself he could afford to let you see. He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but you. “I dunno,” he muttered, voice a bit rougher than usual. “S’just… they mean somethin’, ya know?”

When he finally met your gaze, there was a softness there, a vulnerability you had only ever seen in fleeting moments. He took the bracelet from your hand, rolling the beads gently between his fingers as if recalling the way your eyes had shone under the lights of the fair.

He swallowed, fingers brushing against a crumpled piece of a napkin. “This… this one from the night ya made me laugh so hard, soda came outta my nose.” A small laugh escaped his lips. “I thought I was gonna die from embarrassment, but… ya made it feel like a good memory. I… guess I wanted ta keep that.”

With every object he touched, another story unfolded. The wrinkled petal of a flower you had tucked into his hair during a spontaneous picnic. A tiny, faded polaroid picture of you two at an arcade, Mammon’s arm slung over your shoulder and you half hidden in the crook of his neck, his grin stretched wide and utterly carefree.

It was like listening to the chapter of a love story that Mammon had never found the courage to tell. In the quiet of his room, among all the bits and pieces of your shared memories, it was as though he was giving you a glimpse into his heart, wholly unguarded.

When he reached into the bottom of the box, he pulled out a little golden trinket— a small, old-fashioned key, polished and well-worn. He looked at it for a moment, a wistful smile gracing his lips.

“This… this one’s kinda stupid,” he murmured, holding it up to the dim light. “Got it ages ago. When I was a kid, I used to think it opened a door to somethin’ special. Kept it with me, hopin’ it’d mean somethin’ someday.” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “But I guess… I didn’t really find out what it opened ‘til I met ya.”

Mammon’s words hung in the air, weighty and soft. You felt your heart swell, warmth pooling in your chest as you met his eyes. He looked almost nervous, waiting for some kind of reaction, as if he were baring a piece of himself he’d never meant to show.

You smiled, reaching out to clasp his hand around the small key. “Maybe it opens the door to memories, too,” you whispered. “To all these little treasures you’ve collected along the way.”

Mammon blinked, his blush deepening as he realized how closely you held that moment between the two of you. “Ya… you’re weird, ya know that?” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. But his voice was softer now, and his hand stayed in yours a bit longer than necessary.

You sat in comfortable silence, Mammon’s hand warm against your own, fingers entwined with a gentlest that only he could muster, a soft and unexpected contrast to his usual bravado.

In that quiet moment, you understood. Love was something Mammon held onto in quiet ways— through secret boxes of treasure, hidden smiles, and worn-out trinkets that only mattered because they were tied to a memory of you.

And as he settled beside you, both pouring over every silly, precious item in his “treasure chest,” you knew that you would never really see those little memories the same again. They meant so much more to you now.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Heart for a Heart

(Dark!Sung Jin-woo x reader)

3.8k - Word Count

Synopsis: In a world where soulmates share each other's pain, yours is particularly clumsy.

(Warnings: Yandere, dark content, gore(not done to reader), kidnapping)

It started out small. A few bruises. A paper cut here and there. A mark you never really noticed before. Things that didn't matter.

You never really minded the bond. It's often relieving that somewhere, out there, your soulmate was okay. Okay enough to get scratches and paper cuts. Alive enough to get hurt. You know, people that weren't so lucky so have those.

And then, you stopped being so lucky.

One day, you suddenly had this searing pain in your leg. It was excruciating, you were screaming so loudly you were sure the entire town could hear you. When you’re finally rushed to the hospital, it’s there where your doctors discover the broken leg. You hadn’t done this, however. 

You’re soulmate had. 

It escalates from there. Broken legs aren’t enough; sometimes, you got shattered ribs, torn ribs. Once you got your stomach ripped open by a long sharp object. That had kept you in the hospital for more than a month. At first, people would just assume you were painfully clumsy. All they had to see was your fingers getting crushed by seemingly nothing to get the picture. 

The only upside to this was whenever you were rushed to the hospital, your soulmate was inadvertently saved as well. Giving them some much needed aide when they clearly were in need of it. 

“Maybe your soulmate is a hunter.” Pondered your friend, sitting next to the hospital bed. 

“I hope not.” You mutter back, looking at your newest injury: Stabbed in the thigh. “They’re pretty shitty at their job, then.” 

“Maybe they’re pretty low.” She thinks out loud. “Rank D. No, maybe even rank E? Or they’re pretty high up, so they get the more dangerous jobs?” She shrugs. 

You huff. Somehow, the thought that your soulmate is out there intentionally putting both themselves and you in danger would make this entire situation even worse. You desperately hope this guy was just a clumsy idiot—the type of person who trips over a rock and shatters a whole bone. An accident would be much more forgivable. 

And if they were a hunter, then you hoped they’d have a big enough accident to put them out of commission permanently. 

You were high on drugs. You didn’t mean that. 

You certainly never wanted this. 

You were asleep when it started. Alone, in your apartment. No one was by you. Your phone was on the cabinet. You were alone when it happened. 

You wake up to the feeling of death. You don’t know how else to explain it, but something was looming over your chest, pinning you down until you were suffocating. 

In your panic, you fumble out of your blankets before trying to get out of bed. The moment your feet touches the floor, you stumble, crashing onto hardwood. On your hands, you look back, trying to see what you tripped on. 

Gone. 

Your leg was gone. 

“What the fuck…?”

You’re hyperventilating. You can’t stop yourself. You can’t control yourself. Your leg was gone. It was severed off. You were bleeding out. There was so much pain. So so much pain.

You needed to get to your phone. It was high up on your cabinet, just sitting there innocently, mockingly. You needed to call someone. 

You crawl on the floor, fists clenched tightly together, dragging yourself across the wood, smearing blood everywhere. It was worth it. It would all be worth it if you could just call help. 

There’s a second, and then you’re losing your breath as something slams into your chest, knocking you down. A sledgehammer? It didn’t matter what it was. You’re coughing up blood, retching out your dinner, when there’s another and another. You’re getting sliced. Punched. Beaten. 

No, not you. 

Your soulmate. 

You needed to get to your phone, but it’s miles above you, sitting right on the ledge. Sometime after that, your arm gets cut off, too. You’re clutching at the cabinet, crying out when there’s another stab, this one right in your chest, right at your heart. 

You see it then—carved stone skin, glowing eyes, a terrifying smile. Looking right at you because it saw you. 

You were going to die, you were going to die because of that thing. And neither you nor your soulmate could save either of you. Not this time. 

But your phone is right there, you could get to it if you just–

Your remaining arm give out; you collapse onto the floor. The last thing you see is your blood seeping from your body before you pass out. 

_

Death is warm, like sunlight dappled across your face. Death is calm, like birds cheerily chirping out your window. Death is peaceful, like the low hum of your fan. 

But you can’t be dead. You’re still breathing. 

Your eyes blink open. There’s not a remnant of pain, not even from your past injuries. You sit yourself back up, examining your hands, your body, your leg. You still had both of your feet. You wiggled your two hands. You were more than content to just write it off as a dream when you see the blood smear from where you dragged yourself from bed. Your clothes were torn, but your skin was magically fine underneath. It was like last night never happened. 

Except it had. You still remember that face. So many teeth. 

You know you lost your leg. You know you lost enough blood to die. And yet, you were still here. Had…had your soulmate done something? Had they saved you? 

It takes hours to clean up the blood. Thankfully, peroxide gets rid of most of it. You can still smell the faint stench of metal, and you hope an open window would be enough to air it out. 

You still don’t know what happened that night, and when you try to search the Internet for it, nothing comes up. Perhaps your soulmate was a hunter and they just happened upon a rare healing item during a dungeon raid, and that was enough to completely reverse any injuries that happened to you and them. It’s the best theory you had at the moment. 

You can’t bring yourself to dwell on that night. You’d go insane if you kept having to remember that face, those glowing eyes, that hellish grin. You move on, pretending it never happened. 

But ever since that day, something changed. 

Your soulmate stopped getting hurt so often. Instead of getting severe injuries every month, you’d get paper cuts, bruises, and burns. At most, you’d get a large cut or two, but even then, after a couple of minutes, even the deepest cuts would disappear, and your skin would be like it never happened in the first place. 

You didn’t mind the change. If anything, you embraced it. You’d take anything. Anything over being stuck in the hospital for months, wailing over injuries that you didn’t even cause. 

But maybe you should’ve read the fine print a bit carefully. You should’ve been more wary of the change. 

It’s a regular day. You’re out grocery shopping, humming as you toss a packet of bell peppers in your cart. Your neck twinges, like a claw mark. Your soulmate must’ve gotten into another scuffle. You’re a bit pissed, but at least they’d figure out a way to deal with it. 

You aren’t expecting the punch to your gut. 

It sends you flying into the aisle behind you. You crash against the milk cartons, produce flying everywhere around you. People are already clamoring over you, worridly asking if you were okay but you couldn’t answer because of how much pain you were in. You were bleeding, and everything felt broken.

You hadn’t felt this much pain in a while. You’d been growing used to the recent change. Lax. 

Clearly, your soulmate had too. 

‘How’

You don’t recognize the voice. There’s ringing in your head. Someone is tugging at your arm. 

‘How how howhowhowhowhowhow h o w.’

The voice claws at your brain, you’re sure you’re bleeding there, too. It’s insistent, shaky, delusional, repeating one sentence over and over again. 

‘The system made me do it’

You’re above someone–a man. He’s staring up at you with a kind of fear you’ve never seen anyone have before–desperate, animalistic. There’s white-blue crystals everywhere. The knife in your hands is bloody. 

These aren’t your hands. Longer. More masculine. 

“You won’t get away with this.” The man underneath you is stuttering. “You’ll never get away with this.” 

You open your mouth. This isn’t your voice, either. 

“What happens in a dungeon stays in a dungeon. Your words, not mine.” 

The dagger reaches down to cut off his head entirely. And then you’re back in the grocery store, screaming. 

There’s more people gathered around you now. Someone hollers for water. A woman is asking if you can stand. You’re still in so much pain that you can hardly breathe but you hardly give a shit about that right now. 

Your soulmate was a murderer. 

You can still feel the ghost metal of that dagger–how easy it was to slice the skin, like it was nothing but paper. And you still remembered your soulmate’s emotions, buried deep down inside that unbeating heart. 

Nothing. He felt nothing. Only one thought was going through his head. 

‘Use the system.’

_

You witnessed a murder. You felt a man die in your own hands. 

You don’t go to anyone. Not the police, not to the hunters association, not even to your own family. You keep your hysteria locked up deep inside of you. You’d believe you. You could barely believe yourself for what you saw. Some days, you genuinely thought you were going crazy. 

But you know what you saw. You know what you felt. 

Apparently, seeing what your soulmate sees is rare, but not unheard of. It typically happens when one soulmate is in a great amount of distress, typically when they’re about to die. The theory is that sharing the trauma between two people would increase the odds of survival. 

You think back to the smiling statue. You think back to that man pleading for his life. Blood was prevalent in both. 

You try looking up ‘system’ and anything of that sort relating to hunters. Unlike your last delve into research, you turn up with nothing. 

You get paranoid. Even you can admit that. You can’t help but avoid hunters these days, even the lower-ranked ones. The thought that one of them could be him makes you want to vomit. 

Or maybe all hunters were like him? Filled with bloodlust, eager to shred skin. Now that you think about it, the man back then hadn’t been all that innocent. You could feel the rage emanating from him as well, the desire to kill. He just never got to fulfill his desires. 

These people were roaming the street, completely free. They received no consequences for their actions what-so-ever. In some respects, your paranoia is justified. His slit throat could one day be yours. 

You don’t see any more visions after that day. Something that you’re extremely grateful for. It makes you think that you could even forget that you ever even had a soulmate. You’d like that. God, more than anything, you’d like that. Soulmates were supposed to be romantic. Every time you thought of yours, you were supposed to get butterflies in your stomach. Not fear. Not horror. 

How many things had he stolen from you? 

Does he even know you exist? Does he care? 

You can’t avoid hunters forever. They were a staple in mainstream culture. Basically ingrained into society itself. Celebrities, politicians, and the reach of hunters was prevalent everywhere. So when the 10th S-ranked hunter in Korea was revealed, you simply had to go and see. Your friends were insistent on it. You reluctantly went, partially out of guilt for constantly blowing them off these days and partially because you were trying to slowly overcome your irrational fear.

It was a grand affair. The press was going wild, and pictures upon pictures were taken. A flash would go off every millisecond. You were in the back of the crowd, and even you were taken aback by how much of a spectacle it was. 

“Can you see anything?” You friend asks eagerly, shifting through the crowd. “I only see cameras!” 

“Same here.” You agree and then you move to a less crowded place, right by the railing. “Oh, come over here, I think I see him–” 

You’ve never seen your soulmate before. 

You’ve only gotten glimpses. Hands, bloodied hands. Clothes, torn clothes. You’ve never seen his jet black hair. You’ve never seen his tall figure. You’ve never seen terrifyingly blank eyes. And yet, you instantly knew. 

It was him. 

That was your soulmate. 

In that moment, he freezes. You regain control of your feet to duck back into the crowd. You’ve never been more grateful for the wall of cameras, a divide between you and that–that–

What even was he anymore?

When you peek over, he’s already walking away, a crowd of hunters surround him. He hadn’t seen you. He couldn’t have, right?  You know the soulmate bond is vice versa, so if you knew who he was just by looking at him. 

Sung Jin-woo could, too. 

You leave without telling your friends. You ignore their calls and messages. For days, you sit in your room, huddled in the corner. You’re waiting for something. A break in the silence. An attack. Him. The only things you do is eat, wait, go to work, wait, eat, wait, wait. 

A week passes. Nothing happens. The Jeju island raid comes and goes; you watch as the entirety of Korea cheers for him, unknowing of his horrors. 

He doesn’t know you, even if all you can think about is him. It’s torture. You wish you could stop. 

_

Something that calmed you down these days was baths. Even then, you made sure they were only for special occasions. This week, your boss hinted at the thought of a full-time position instead of being a contractor. Things were going well in your life. You wanted to reward yourself. 

It’s a good night. The water is just the right temperature, and you’re so comfortable you almost fall asleep in the suds. When the water turns lukewarm, you step, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel. The soapy water drains into the sink as you dress yourself in warm clothes, fresh out of the dryer. 

It’s a good night. You order takeout, settle on your couch, and play something meaningless. You laugh at the half-hearted jokes the characters make. 

It’s a good night. You’re warm. Your belly’s full. You’re content, and your eyes are drooping. You’re close to dropping when you finally pad into your bedroom. The light’s already on. 

He’s standing right next to your bed, unmoving even when the creak of your door is so loud it’s ringing in your ears. You’re frozen, your heartbeat is so loud. The intruder calmly looks over a picture frame.

“Are these your parents?” Sung Jin-woo asks, “Are you close with them?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth is so dry, you want to scream but your horror keeps you silent–it also, unfortunately, keeps you rooted in place. You’re too terrified to run. In retrospect, you doubted they would’ve let you go far. 

“The King asked you a question.” A voice hissed in your ear. That causes you to scream, whirling around, just in time to spot a monster emerging from the shadows. You don’t know what it is, you don’t care, watching as it fully forms, tall domineering, more insect-like than anything. A monster. 

Panic. You pull yourself into a corner before your knees give out. You’re so terrified you're close to pissing yourself. 

The man doesn’t seem so concerned. If anything, he looks the slightest bit irritated, like the monster’s sudden appearance was an inconvenience more than anything else. 

“Beru.” Sung Jin-woo starts. “You were supposed to be keeping watch.” 

The monster bows, suddenly flustered. “I’m sorry, My King. You see, this one wasn’t giving you an answer, so I thought–” Sung Jin-woo clicks his tongue. 

“Just get lost.” 

It disappears. And then, it’s just you and him. Alone. 

Sung Jin-woo sighed before he kneels in front of you. He’s smiling, like his presence is supposed to comfort you, somehow. You press yourself further into the wall, watching him. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, voice soft, you watch as his hand reaches out. “I hope he didn’t startle you too badly. He’s…taking some time to get used to humans.” 

“Please don’t touch me.” 

You’re surprised at your voice. So is he. His fingers stop inches from your skin. Sung Jin-woo waits before he eventually retracts, standing back up. The space is supposed to be relieving. It isn’t. 

You already know what he’s capable of, even miles away. 

“I won’t hurt you.” He starts. “Why would I hurt my soulmate?” 

You cringe at his words. His smile drops ever so slightly. 

“Do you have any siblings?” He asks, glancing back at the portrait of your parents. “Or are you an only child?” 

He’s acting like you two are on some date with the way he’s asking all these questions. Maybe to his deranged mind, that’s precisely what this is.  

“Please go.” Your voice is so low, barely a whisper. “Please please please leave.”

That’s all you can say. Threatening will lead you nowhere. Calling the police on an S-class hunter is laughable. Attacking him is even more pitiful. The most you can do is beg the monster in your room to go away. He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t respond, not to your pleas, at the very least, but his smile completely drops. His face is uncannily blank. It’s terrifying, but you’re glad he’s stopped pretending he’s human.

“I always wanted to meet you.” Sung Jin-woo suddenly says, “Even back when I was an E-class. You…you helped me out of many binds, those days. I don’t think I’d still be alive without you.” 

He’s talking about the days you’d wake up and realize both your arms were broken when you’d be rushed to the hospital for a broken rib. When the hospital staff saved your life, they inversely saved his. If you two had met a few months ago, you’d be overjoyed to hear this, you’d be so glad that your intervention saved his life. 

“And then that dungeon appeared–the statues.” Your heart drops, but he doesn’t stop talking. “I thought I lost you that day. When that statue pierced my heart, I felt you die. I think I heard you for the first time. You were screaming, and then I felt your heart stop.” 

You whimper, trying to push him away; he grabs your face with his hands, forcing you to face him. Your hands grip his wrist, nails clawing at this skin. He doesn’t care, why would a man who’s fought monsters care about a kitten with tiny claws? 

“But here you are.” He’s giving a breathless laugh. “Completely unharmed. The system must have saved you. The system must have known that I would go insane if I lost you.” 

He was already insane. You don’t know when he lost his mind, but you know that it was far before he met you. You shiver when he presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. The tears are making your vision blurry. You can’t stop the hiccups and sobs, feeling like you’re on the verge of a panic attack. 

“I know you don’t understand, but I need to keep you safe.” He’s insisting. “I have so many enemies. People who’d want nothing more than to rip you into pieces.” 

You turn away, and he lets you hide from his face, tucking into his chest. His hands–the same ones he used to kill people–find their way to your shoulders, keeping you within his grasp, as though he’s terrified of you disappearing if he isn’t constantly crushing you within his grip. 

“I love you, " he murmurs into your hair, and you just cry louder. “I need to protect the ones I love; I can’t lose anyone else.” 

One moment, you’re in your room, the next, you aren’t. The shadows engulf you. When they disappear, you’re in an expansive room. The ceiling is miles above your head. As soon as Jin-woo releases you, you immediately scuttle away, shuffling into a corner.

“Where am I?” You demand, panicked. “What–what did you do–” 

You cut yourself off when a coughing fit wrecks your body. It must be pathetic from his point of view, for a monster like him. Maybe if he sees how pitiful you are, he’d realize this was all a mistake and let you go. 

He doesn’t. His eyes just soften. 

“It’s okay.” He tries to console when it starts to sound like you can’t breathe. “You’re safe now.” He takes a step forward, but this time, you don’t let him get close. He stops at your closed stature. His jaw works, and you realize how bad it would be if you got this kidnapper, psycho, murderer, irritated with you. 

“My King,” A familiar rasp comes. “My apologies, but the dungeon you requested is starting to open.” 

The same ant monster materializes beside him. Sung Jin-woo frowns when he’s interrupted, but you’re glad his attention is diverted elsewhere. His lips purse, like he’s debating something in his brain. His searing gaze fixes itself on you. 

After a suffocating minute, he steps back. 

“I apologize,” he says, “this must be a lot to take in. I’ll give you some time to adjust.” 

The more he backs off, the more you feel like you can breathe again. But you can’t relax fully. He waves his hand and another monster appears in your vision. A large knight-like monster with a long red plume. His dark armour clicks everytime he moves. 

“Igris will be right by the door if you need anything.” He tells you it’s supposed to be kind, but it sounds like nothing more than a warning. The knight bows to Sung Jin-woo, and you can feel the knight looking at you before he makes his way out the door, stopping at his post.

Sung Jin-woo watches you for a bit, before he finally relents, stepping away to stand back with the ant monster. The shadows run back to him again and then he’s completely gone. 

You’re alone. 

The door is shut, probably locked. Outside, you can hear the knight back back and forth, like a diligent guard. A diligent guard of a prison. 

Slowly, you curl into a ball, and as quietly as you can, you cry. 

[s7toru]

“spider! babe, there’s a spider in the house!”

your toast clatters on the plate as you drop everything and fling yourself onto the couch, four limbs scrambling to get off the floor. wide eyes seek out your boyfriend in the moment of chaos, and find him crouched on the tv stand, arms wrapped around the tv to hold him still. 

“where?” you ask him, eyes dropping to the ground. he doesn’t need to reply because you spot the creepy crawly darting cluelessly about on the carpet, eight legs crawling about in frantic panic. “oh my god, gojo! do something about it!” 

“are you kidding? you’re out of your mind if you think i’m getting anywhere near that thing!”

your mind blanks at his refusal. “you won’t have to get anywhere near it, dummy. just turn on your infinity and smack it or something!” 

gojo remains wrapped around the tv, already shaking his head even before the last of your sentence leaves your mouth. “that’s not how it works.” 

“really. then, please, remind me why you can’t just use your infinity to kill the spider.” 

“listen, even if it’s on i’ll still be aware that i’m squishing the bug. all its bug juice will splatter out all over me!”

“over your infinity.” you correct him. 

“you didn’t listen.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “i didn’t want to get rid of the wasp nest outside our house the other day either but i still had to do it. and i don’t even have something to keep them away from me!”

“you lost the rock paper scissors, i had no hand in that.”

“well.” you say. “technically you did. you had a hand, it was a rock.” 

gojo rolls his eyes. “don’t be dramatic, i was supporting you.”

“from inside the house.” you recall his face beaming at you through the window, hand flashing a thumbs up as you were armed with only a rake and your willpower, and your frown deepens.

“and yet, i was still supporting you.” gojo pauses, considering. “you did well, by the way. i’ve never seen anyone smack a wasp mid air like that.” 

the compliment lifts some anger off your shoulders and you grin. “thanks! i was proud of that too!” reality slaps you across the face, readjusting your expression. “wait, don’t think you can change the topic just by complimenting me.” 

he shrugs. “it was worth a try.” 

you pause. “does that mean you didn’t mean it?”

“no! you were actually cool.”

you smile again. “okay, thanks.” 

“the sound it made was really satisfying.” he adds.

“right? like pow.” you gesture an explosion with your hands and watch as gojo gives you a skeptical look.

“really? i thought it was more like thwack.” his voice turns all dramatic at the last syllable and you scoff at his attempt.

“if this was a marvel comic the sound effect that would show up would be pow. in all red too, with crazy fonts.” 

“this is like you saying math is red—”

“it is.” you cut in, matter-of-factly.

“you’re so wrong it hurts. english is red, math is blue.” 

“why would math be blue?”

“because i feel sad doing math.”

“okay fair. but english is green.”

“none of them is green.” 

you furrow your brows. not because of his horrid opinion, but because your eyes had found its way back on the ground. you notice a lack of legs, a lack of a small, black creature terrorising the carpet. "wait, where did the spider go?"

the complain on gojo's tongue dies, and he looks around, too.

your biggest fear becomes reality, and when you look back up at gojo to express your concern, it's there.

something was crawling up gojo’s arm. it fumbles up the fabric of his shirt, swimming through the folds. your mouth falls open but before you can scream out to warn him, gojo's eyes had already followed your gaze. “it’s on me!”

“flick it off!” you cry out in panic, weight shifting as you edge further away from him, though you were nowhere close.

gojo reaches up, prepping his fingers for an attack when you realise the trajectory was aimed towards you. 

“wait, babe! flick it away from us!”

“then we’re going to lose sight of it!” the skin of his finger was turning white at the strength building up behind the flick. if the impact wasn't enough to kill it, the speed in which it hits the surface would send it to the afterlife. “no time to think!” 

he releases his index finger from his thumb and the force smacks the spider head on. it’s a blur really, as the spider flies through the air. you gape at it horrified, watching as if in slow motion as it soars in a beautiful arc, and lands directly on the very top of your head. 

you wonder if your scream could shatter glass. considering that your house still had its windows, you realise it couldn’t. though, you’re sure if you were tested again that it wouldn’t end as cleanly.

“gojo!” you scream. “i don’t ask for much but can you please get it off me, i’m begging you!”

gojo steps down from the tv stand, relief on his face. “thank god it’s off the floor.”

“gojo!” 

“yes, yes.” he makes his way, slowly, painfully, over to you as you crouch frozen on the couch. something in his smile told you he was very pleased at the sight. was that a cramp creeping up your thigh? oh, how you were going to make him pay. “where did it go?” he asks, joyfully, dancing around you.

“don’t even joke.” you hiss at him, and he laughs, reaching over to let the spider walk on his finger. specifically, he lets the spider walk over his finger on his infinity. 

he holds it out to you with a proud smile. “there! we’re all safe and sound now.” 

you glare at him. “what happened to being deathly scared of the spider?” 

he shrugs. 

you reach over and flick the spider onto his face.

a/n: brainrot save me, save me brainrot

[alwaysmoncheri]

summary: you’re sick and spencer takes the day off of work to take care of you

cw: female!reader, cheesy writing, throwing up, spencer being an all around sweetheart, 782, spencer reid x reader

<3

you wake up with a pounding headache and a throat scratchier than sandpaper. the flu has taken residence in your body, and you feel utterly defeated. but you refuse to take a day off of work. so you somehow manage to stumble into the bau office, feeling the weight of sickness pulling you down. spencer glances up from his desk, concern etching his features. he notices your pale complexion and furrowed brows.

"hey," he says softly, rising from his chair as you pass by. "you don't look so good. are you okay?" he asks, as you slowly sit down into your chair and lean back with a pained expression.

you shake your head, managing a weak smile. “just a bit under the weather. i’ll be fine." you say and spencer sends you a questioning glance but believes you nonetheless.

as you attempt to settle into your workspace, working on paper, and glancing through files, the queasiness intensifies. numerous co-workers glance you way, the concerned expressions watching you from behind their desks. when you come across a particularly gruesome file you feel the contents of your breakfast surging up from your stomach and panicking, you reach for your desk drawer, contemplating using it as a makeshift trash can.

spencer, quick to understand the situation, rushes over, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "no, no, honey, don't throw up in there." he whispers, gently, rushed, but profusely worried.

more panic sets in as you glance around the office, desperately searching for an alternative. spencer, ever resourceful, leads you to the nearest restroom. you make it just in time, sparing your desk from an unpleasant fate.

"maybe you should go home, take the day off," he suggests, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while the other holding your hair back.

you shake your head, determined to soldier on despite the discomfort. "I can't let the team down. we’ve got a case and i’ve got a job to do.”

spencer looks torn between concern and understanding. “if it gets worse, i’ll take you home, okay?” asks and you nod, grateful for his caring nature.

the day unfolds, each passing hour adding to your misery. spencer keeps a watchful eye on you, offering water and snacks in an attempt to alleviate your symptoms. however, nothing seems to be enough.

during a briefing, your stomach rebels, and you struggle to maintain composure. spencer notices your distress, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. you manage a weak smile, appreciating his support. as the team delves into the case details, you focus on breathing steadily, determined not to let your illness hinder the investigation. but when your face goes a shade lighter than it was before and you look as though you’re about to pass out, spencer quickly gathers your belongings and takes your burning hand in his.

"okay, honey, I think it's time for you to go home," he insists, his worry palpable.

you nod, grateful for his insistence. as you head towards the exit, spencer supports you, making sure you don't stumble. the team watches, puzzled, as you leave unexpectedly.

once outside, spencer uides you to his car, helping you settle into the passenger seat. he drives you home, his concern evident in the glances he steals between navigating traffic.

when you reach your doorstep, you fumble for your keys, but spencer intervenes, unlocking the door for you. once inside, you collapse onto the couch, relieved to be in the comfort of your home. spencer settles beside you, offering a comforting presence. spencer retrieves a blanket, covering you gently. "rest up. I'll make some tea and check on you in a bit."

“thank you, spence.” you whisper gently before falling into much-needed sleep.

the next morning, you wake up feeling slightly better. your pounding headache is gone and you stomach doesn’t seem to feel as queasy as it had the day before. spencer who stayed the night, much to your surprise, greets you with a warm smile.

"how are you feeling?" he asks, the same concern from yesterday lingering in his eyes. he kneels in front of you and brings his hand up to brush your hair away from your face.

"better, thanks to you," you reply, genuinely appreciative of his care.

spencer chuckles softly and you can’t help but examine the crinkle of his eyes and soft curve of his lips. “well, it’s the least I can do. but you’re still not going into work today. and i’m staying right here until you’re all better.” he adds, pivoting on his heels, grabbing a cup of tea from the coffee table behind him and offering it to you. you can’t help but smile.

“okay, doc.”

<3

masterlist . spencer reid masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[ozzgin]

Hye hey HEYY! (-^〇^-)

May I request Belphie (and whoever else if you want) w/ G/n s/O who's having a panic attack due to seeing their deadbeat good for nothing father during like a field trip to the part of hell deceased human souls are kept?

(Bonus points if they didn't know he was dead!)

Kay thanks byeee!!!! o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

Of course! I might keep it focused on the part where they help you navigate it, though, so as to not delve in matters too dark. I hope it's close to what you imagined!

Obey Me! Headcanons

Featuring Belphegor, Beelzebub and Mammon comforting Reader during a panic attack.

Content: gender neutral reader, fluff/angst, mental health topics

Belphegor

Belphegor purses his lips and opens his eyes with an annoyed squint. Something has disturbed his peaceful sleep. He'd rested his head on your shoulder for extra comfort, yet now the surface underneath him is shifting in small, erratic jolts. He stands up and is about to stretch, when he notices your ragged breathing and pale face. He is now alert and tense, as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over him. "What's wrong?" He places a hand on your shoulder, scanning your expression.

He's quick to guess you're having a panic attack - for whatever reason unknown to him - so he reaches for his backpack and begins rummaging. He eventually pulls out a paper bag and guides you into holding it over your mouth and nose. In your daze, you can't focus on anything in particular, but you can hear his soft voice giving instructions and counting with you. A few more deep breaths, and you manage to recollect yourself. You glance up at the demon and thank him for the assistance. "Care to tell me what had you this bothered?" he inquires with a frown.

You hesitantly explain your source of misery. Belphie listens with closed eyes, and for a moment you wonder if he's fallen asleep again. "Hmmm", he hums after a moment of silence. "So that's what it was." You fumble to respond, unsure of his reaction. Is he bored? Irritated? Upset? He finally looks at you and smiles reassuringly. "I suppose I can't blame you for that. I would've done the same." With that, he lets out a yawn and throws an arm around your shoulders. "Maybe you could use some rest. Let's swap", he says as he pulls you against his chest.

"Oh, and sorry if the bag smelled strange. I dumped out Beel's lunch for it."

Beelzebub

Beel has wandered ahead, deeply entranced by the snacks piled up in his arms. "Oh, I forgot to ask if you want some, (Y/N)-" He turns back and finds you much farther behind than he'd expected, panting, with hands placed onto your knees for support. Are you sick? Did you eat something spoiled? He speeds in your direction with a frown.

Ah, you must be having a panic attack. What's there to do? Usually he'd ask Belphegor for advice, but now it's just the two of you and no one else around. Well, he obviously can't leave you in this state. Maybe one of the brothers can help. He drops his food nonchalantly and proceeds to lift you in his arms. "Let's see if we can find someone", he explains. Beel is surprisingly gentle in his hold. Your labored breaths begin to slow down, soothed by the warmth surrounding you. You exhale one final time, now fully relaxed.

You pat his chest to catch his attention and let him know that he doesn't have to worry, but he doesn't immediately release you back on ground. "You have to tell me what was wrong first." Stuttering awkwardly, you proceed to narrate the situation. Not only is it a sensitive topic, but you have to talk about it as you're being carried bridal style. Once you're finished, you look up sheepishly and notice his furrowed brows. "Have I upset you?", you question anxiously. "No, I'm just upset by what you told me. You really scared me back there, you know? I may not be as smart or insightful as the others, but you can still rely on me for these things..."

Mammon

"What's with that long face? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Mammon exclaims, pointing at your expression with an amused laugh. He's about to continue with the jokes, but your erratic breathing is a little too convincing to be a prank. "O-oi...are you okay?" He finally mumbles, taken aback.

Crap. You're clutching your chest and gasping for air. He scans the surrounding area, looking for Lucifer. He has no idea what's wrong or what he's supposed to do. "Hang on, I'll find-" the demon stumbles on his words, trying to come up with some sort of reassuring promise. There isn't anyone around. The sight of your sudden panic attack is tugging at his heart more than he'd care to admit. Without thinking, he pulls you in a deep embrace. He's a little shocked by his own gesture, but now is not the time to consider the implications. He gently strokes your hair in an attempt to soothe you. "Come on, (Y/N), try to snap out of it. I don't know what else to do. Please."

You eventually calm down enough to explain what caused your distress, concluding with an apology. You didn't mean to startle him like this. He stares ahead thoughtfully for a moment before pinching your nose between his fingers. "Dumbass. You could've told me beforehand. You're not alone now, are you? You have the one and only Mammon at your side!" He flashes you a proud smile. You can't help but chuckle at the very typical response. He suddenly realizes he's been holding you tight until now, so he steps back, visibly red and flustered. "A-anyways, we should find the others".

[kenneduck]

I have a headcannon that TOTK Zelda marries a random farmer guy in Hateno Village named Steve. Just the most plain dude out there. If the dude was a spice, he’d be flour. He takes care of cuccos and grew smitten of Zelda running past his farm in the mornings when running late to teach at the school.

Their meet cute is Zelda tripping and dropping her bag of teaching papers next to his cuccos. In a panicked haste, Zelda scoops up all her papers along with a few eggs into her bag before running to the school. Steve notices his cuccos angrily following Zelda, and he panics and chases after the birds.

Once he shows up to the school, he’s apologetic as he tries to pull his cuccos away from a very overwhelmed and confused Zelda. But once he realizes her bag contains some eggs, the two quickly return it to the birds, and the birds calm down. After that, Steve leaves awkwardly with his post-harassment cuccos.

Later, Zelda comes by after the school day ended, and she apologizes for the morning, but Steve apologizes seeing the situation as his fault. The two both fumble around with their words and both agree that everything is okay. And he says hopefully the next time the cuccos walk up to the school it’s to help the kids learn about them. And Zelda looks excited and asks if that could be arranged.

So the two grow closer over time with these animal teachings and mutual love of helping children. And Zelda's favorite time of day is walking SLOWLY past Steve's farm as to not drop anything. But she also enjoys the small wave the tanned farmer gives her each time, too. And it grows into something more~

Also, Link totally calls this Steve dude “Wonderbread” cause he’s so vanilla. He doesn’t understand what Zelda sees in a man so bland. But Steve retorts with calling Link short, so there is a baby feud going on between random farmer Steve and the Hero of Hyrule.

[genshin-scenarios]

I NEED spiderverse Lyney to be continued

I was wondering if you would make a part two or ask for your permission to use the idea for a fanfic. Villain x hero is my favourite trope, and I just can't get it out of my head. It's become a hyperfixation, and I feel like I'm going to combust

Hello!! I do plan on doing a part 2 for all the spiderverse headcanons later on, but below is just some additional content for Lyney! 🎩🌹 In terms of using my idea: unfortunately I'm not comfortable with people using my specific writing/AUs to create their own fics! Thank you so much for asking beforehand though - and I will say that while I don't allow the reusing of my specific works/AUs, you're more than welcome to create your own version of a spiderverse AU with Lyney! 🥹 or if this specific AU has a grip on you, feel free to drop in my inbox again and I will do my best to give more brainworms 🙏

callout - spiderverse! lyney x reader

The Phantom Twins are up to something, and it seems that the only clue you have to what it is, is a photo of yourself.

Not your hero-self, but a polaroid of your civilian form walking on the streets, still in your highschool uniform and tapping away at your phone.

Obviously, panic hits first - did they somehow figure out your secret identity? Or was there something about your civilian self that warranted targeting from the Fatui?

You spend the better half of your school day lost in thought, bouncing the ball of your feet incessantly against the ground, until a shadow looms over you.

The Twins?

Ah, just Lyney.

"Good afternoon, sleepy-head~" He greets, placing your test results against your desk. Your glance up, noticing that he's helping your teachers hand them out. "Perfect marks again! Are you sure you're too busy to tutor me? I'll pay you with the highest-quality dinners." He offers.

"That sounds a bit too much like a date... I wouldn't want people to misunderstand." You smile, not noticing the way Lyney's gaze lingers on your expression a bit longer than it has to. He could move at any time. The pile of papers are tall.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take." He shrugs, leans closer, and fixes your hair so the loose strands are tucked behind your ear. "But of course, there's no pressure. I understand if you're busy after school."

-

Lyney too, is busy after school. But he doesn't need you to know that he's panicking for a different reason while you're lecturing him about mathematical equations and diagrams, looking the most beautiful you have in a while.

It's a sappy thing to say, but Lyney likes you best when you're talking about the things you like. And if said thing is your favourite subject at school, then he'll learn to bear with it. Anything to spend some time with you.

...Almost, anything. On his way back from a mission last week, Lyney realized with jaw-dropping horror that the one picture he took of you during patrol as a Phantom Twin, had printed itself without him realizing and flew into the abyssal darkness of the cityscape. No one knows about it, even if Lynette could tell he wanted to throw himself off the skyscraper they were standing on during their debrief - but god, what rotten luck! He was just testing out a night-vision scanner when the love of his life walked into sight, and without thinking, he'd...

...Taken a photo. And lost said photo in his next breath. To make matters worse, the photo had a watermark from the Fatui's tech company! He can only pray that it was truly lost and is never found by any soul, dead or alive - but then Lyney remembers that you're right in front of him and leaning so close as you check his worksheet answers, and suddenly his heart is racing for a completely different reason.

God, he needs to get a grip.

How the rest of this plays out: Lyney is still adorably charming during your studying session, and treats you to a meal! You learn that he is capable of fumbling and being awkward as much as you are, and for some reason this part of Lyney charms you more than any suave production could

On the other hand, Spiderman (you) soon finds the Phantom Twins again and catches Lyney off-guard by asking them what they're planning with the civilian photo you found. Lyney panics for a split second, allowing him to be temporarily captured by you to be interrogated

He's tied up, hastily, but since you've seen how good the Twins are at escaping things, you decide to just corner him against the wall while holding his wrists in your hands, pinning him in an alleyway

The photo, he eventually says, was just from testing a new weapon. (Not untrue. He isn't about to expose his real identity. But something about the way your voice twisted in confusion and later relief makes him curious. Just what were you so concerned about within the contents of that photo? Could it be...?)

Lyney stalls, waiting for Lynette to free him from this temporary confine and slipping into the shadows like they always do. However, Spiderman's reaction to the photo he accidentally let slip keeps replaying in his mind, and he can't help but wonder if the hero could somehow be associated with you.

Things develop, as they do - Lyney investigates, now looking at you with a different lens and realising that you're just as sharp as him, at certain times. You move like something could attack at any second, and your eyes don't have the same shine as when he first met you a year ago.

You're either related to the hero, or the hero himself. By the time Lyney's seen enough to decide on one possibility, his approach to you was somehow... more genuine, compared to his previous rose-colored lines.

He feels like he sees you now. And somehow, he can't bring himself to feel particularly betrayed.

It's on him for always finding impossible things to love.