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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

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Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #long fic #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #may add a dirty part two here #dirty sweet

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theweepingangelofcas · 2 months ago

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Eat The Rich, Feed Them to the Cats - Moriarty Bros x Reader

Anyone else in the USA having a crisis? Me too! Let's all maladaptive daydream together that our sweet dear Sherlock boys are with us, on our side.

Title is inspired by a fav nonprofit cat shelter of mine, Wonky Hearts Animal Haven. Please go check them out. They have stories that are truly so heartwarming and uplifting, it's a great distraction.

(No, I do not believe all men are bad. I myself have a male fiance whom I love and trust very much. But the election has left me feeling helpless and scared, as though my rights or my body don't matter. I'm writing this to vent. I respect if your political opinions are different than me, but I ask that you do not attack me in the comments, my dm's, etc)

******************

William Moriarty

You two had been together for years now, since you two were teenagers. You've shared everything. Hopes, dreams, ideals... So when he saw someone try to harass you simply because of your gender? That won't do.

"Oi! Pretty broad!"

The random man's words did little to phase you. You didn't even speed up your footsteps. But your dear William stopped in his tracks.

Oh, yes, that's right. No one had ever been stupid enough to cat call you with him around before.

"Y/N..." his gaze had turned to the man, unblinking, "Did you not hear what that man just so crudely yelled at you?"

You shrugged, stopping in your tracks to try and let him catch up to you. He didn't dare move.

"It's nothing, William. Happens all the time to us ladies."

If you didn't know better, you'd say his eye just twitched.

"Is that so? And here I was, thinking it was mostly noblemen who were the rotten part of our society."

He smiled then. Like his mind wasn't 100% alongside you anymore.

His cane left the ground, being weilded in both hands almost like a baseball bat.

Or, more accurately, perhaps he was holding it like a mace.

It was safe to say, no man went within a few dozen meters of you for quite some time after that. After all, you always had your dear William with you now.

Louis Moriarty

Oh, did you think William would be protective?

Ha!

Louis is SO MUCH WORSE

To be completely fair, he was already practically a guard dog for both you and William. You had been engaged to him for a few months, and each passing day he just wanted to spend more time by your side.

This was how he found out how truly awful some men could be.

You two had boarded a train back to Durham, coming back from a lunch date together. You two had managed to score a semi-private spot in the lunch car, meaning that he could hold you without too much fuss from the rest of society. One hand was in yours, the other wrapped around your waist. You had both ordered drinks, his a sophisticated Earl Grey tea, yours a refreshing seltzer water. That was when your waiter came back up to you both.

"Sir, I know this is quite uncouth of me to say, but the gentleman a few seats down won't stop staring at your lady friend there." He gestured to you, specifically your chest, and you seemed to shrink into your seat instantly.

Louis scowled, "Thank you for informing me. You're dismissed, good sir."

The waiter stepped away, and Louis's grip on you got tighter.

"It's fine, darling. You mustn't fret." You tried to comfort him, but his scowl only deepened.

"I will fret." He turned his head, catching eyes with a man a few booths down. He did, indeed, seem to be staring at you. "And I'm going to teach him to respect others, or die trying."

You saw Louis stand, and approach the man in a terrifying calmness. He shook his hand, and gestured for him to follow him.

If you happened to see a person-shaped figure get thrown out of the train that day, no one has to know.

Albert Moriarty

He understands deep, seething rage. He dealt with it much when he was younger. So he understands that the best way to deal with it, is to take care of it yourself.

Normally, women weren't allowed into a prestigious college. But Albert, with his power and wealth, managed to convince the school that having one woman among its ranks wouldn't hurt. Hence, you being halfway through a science and medicine degree. Albert supported you all the way through. Your husband truly was a lovely, understanding man.

"It was fascinating, my love!" Your eyes lit up as you opened your textbook to that day's lesson, "We learned about the chambers of the heart, and all the illnesses and diseases that can correlate to it's health. Isn't that so cool!"

His smile widened at seeing you happy, "It certainly is, my dear. Do go on, teach me more about it."

You nodded, eyes bright, about to keep talking before-

"I'm sure anything is fascinating to a woman. But can she even understand it? Why, she should be at home, not trying to educate herself on something she could never possibly understand."

A man had approached you both. His smug grin was enough to dampen your joy immediately.

Albert blinked, his expression blank, before turning his head back to you, "My dear, would you like my walking stick, or do you want to use your textbook? After all, this fine gentleman seems in need of an anatomy lesson."

Your grin came back, "Your walking stick, please. I'd rather not get my favorite chapter dirty."

The man's eyes flew open as you took the wooden cane from Albert, weilding it more like a weapon than an aid.

"Now," The excitement in your expression was back, "I'll give you an anatomy lesson as I break all of your bones in alphabetical order."

#moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukuko no moriarty #louis james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty x reader #william moriarty #william james moriarty #louis moriarty #albert moriarty x you #albert moriarty x reader #albert moriarty #albert james moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x you #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori

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madhatterbri · 8 months ago

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Mama Knows Best | Lord Debling

Summary: Y/N's mother hatches a scheme to make her youngest daughter marry Lord Debling.

Lord Debling Masterlist found here

Taglist: @theworldofotps @plentyoffandoms

Y/N's mother, Wanda, watched from the second floor balcony as her sneaky daughter snuck out of the ball. Typical. The girl had only been running away from her duties since she was a young girl.

"You really do know her well, Mama," Wanda's oldest daughter chuckled.

"Yes, well, Mama always knows best. You will learn that when you have your children of your own, Daisy," Wanda smiled. A minute later, Lord Debling could be seen walking to the gardens.

The mother of two knew her youngest daughter was going to try and sabotage her proposal to Lord Debling. She also knew she would have to force her Y/N's hand in this marriage. Her daughter wanted to marry for love as if that was a real thing. Luckily for her, Mama was around to fix everything. Y/N would thank her one day.

"Daisy, do gather around some of the guests. The gossipers preferably. I feel like giving a tour of the gardens,"

Y/N knew what she was doing wasn't right. To be caught with a man unattended would be quite the scandal. Lady Whistledown would have love news. She didn't have a choice. Lord Debling wasn't looking love. The proposal couldn't happen. Surely, her mama would forgive her one day.

They sat next to each other on a bench by a fountain. The water poured from the top and made its way towards the bottom. Pink and white roses bloomed at the bottom.

"Have you an answer for my proposal?" The Lord asked. He took off his top hat and placed it on his lap. "I know we want different things, but I don't want you to compromise your dreams for mine,"

"I'm sorry, my Lord, you would be an excellent husband, but I wish to marry for love," Y/N answered and played with her bracelet nervously. All the times she rehearsed in front of the mirror could not prepare her for this. Her mother's vicious words played in her head. "You must think I'm a fool,"

"Not at all. I know that you will find this great love you seek. Your future husband will be lucky for it," he assured her with a warm smile. She looked in his eyes. They were full of caring and love. Any woman would be lucky to have him.

They sat in silence momentarily. Y/N enjoyed the peace and quiet. The birds chirped away as the wind rustled the leaves. The relaxing sound of the water in the fountain flowing below. No talk of balls, proposals, and scandals. Just peace.

Lord Debling stood from the bench. He reached out his hand for her to take. She happily accepted the generous offer. Her mama insisted on the shoes she wore that night. They were popular in Paris and, as such, she had to wear them. They were rather uncomfortable, yet Y/N didn't have a choice.

She stood up as well, yet her heel was stuck in the soft ground below. The soil must have been wet from the fountain. Y/N almost fell until Lord Debling grabbed her waist and brought him close. Her hand rested on her chest to steady herself. She thanked him and managed to get the heel unstuck from the ground.

Her mother's loud gasp caught their attention. Before them stood Y/N's mother, sister, and a couple of the worst gossipers in the ton. Her mama's eyes were wide as if she had seen a ghost. Her hands covered her mouth in shock. She witnessed Lord Debling with his hands on her daughter. Wanda's plan couldn't have been any smoother.

Lord Debling removed his hands immediately. He stammered and turned to Y/N. She certainly wasn't expecting this as well. They had been caught red-handed in an uncompromising position.

"Lord Debling," her mother seethed. She acted almost too disgusted to speak. "What are you doing in the gardens with my daughter alone?"

Lord Debling cleared his throat. "We were simply enjoying the peace and quiet away from the ball. She was-"

"Do not blame her. My daughter knows to come get her mama when she wishes to leave. She is an innocent girl, Lord Debling, an innocent girl that you wished to take advantage of," Wanda accused while pointing at him. She turned to get the reaction from the crowd. They were as shocked as she pretended to be.

"Mama, he didn't do anything to me. We were going to go back inside. Please believe me," Y/N begged.

"I have done nothing but been a proper gentleman to Miss Y/N," Lord Debling defended.

"A proper gentleman? I saw your hands around my daughter's waist the moment I turned the corner with my own eyes. If her father was alive, he would have your head,"

"This is a scandal!" Daisy declared.

The others in the group looked at each other and nodded. Y/N shook her head. This wasn't happening. No one was supposed to catch them out here. She knew her mother and older sister would never allow her to reject the Lord's proposal.

"A marriage," an older man announced suddenly. "Lord Debling must marry the girl to avoid a scandal and keep her honor,"

"No!" Y/N called out. "Mama, please, the Lord and I are just friends. My shoe was stuck. I would never do anything to sully our good name,"

"If this man has any honor, he would do the right thing and marry her," a lady protested.

Lord Debling turned from the crowd to Y/N. Tears poured down her cheeks. She looked so hopeless. Shaky breaths racked her body. He wasn't sure what scared her more: the possibility of a scandal breaking out or marrying him. He did the only thing that he thought would save Y/N from ruin.

"I will marry Miss Y/N if she will have me," Lord Debling assured the crowd. The attention was back on Y/N.

Y/N looked at her mother. The look in her eyes frightened her. There was no way she could reject the man for a second time that night and expect to live. She gulped down a sob and turned to him.

"I will be delighted to marry you, Lord Debling," she told him without looking at him. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked away. He wished he could do anything to comfort her, but now they were under a microscope.

"Wonderful," her mother clapped her hands together. "I will start with the preparations right away. Don't fret my dear Y/N. Mama knows best,"

#fanfiction #lord debling fic #lord debling x f/reader #lord debling x reader #lord debling #lord debling fanfic #lord debling fanfiction

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fuctacles · 1 year ago

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If you fall, I'll just catch you

For @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up prompt "Fall" (and I'll probably write a followup for the next one)

T | WC 1k | CW fear of heights, I guess? | Halloween preparations, Steve being the mom friend

next up

"I'm gonna fall I'm gonna fall imgonnafall-"

"No, you're not," said Steve, while standing safely on the ground below.

Eddie loved Halloween. Eddie also loved helping his friends. So, a few days ago he thought to himself, why not combine both and impose some Halloween help on Harrington? Which was mostly for his benefit, since his trailer didn't leave much space for spooky decorations, but the Harrington's house? He could craft a whole graveyard around it. Maybe he will.

But first, he'd have to get down. Because when he was offering, insisting on helping out, he forgot that Steve's house was not only bigger but also higher than his trailer.

He didn't know he had a fear of heights until he climbed the ladder with some fake cobwebs in hand. The ones now abandoned on the roof while he clutched the tiles instead, thankfully rough and not slippery smooth.

"Eddie," Steve's mother-hen voice was seeping through, but it was not enough to soothe Eddie.

"What?!" He bristled back, like a cat too scared of falling off a tree to reach out to its owner.

"Come back to the ladder, come on. I'll hold it in place."

"Nuh-uh. Thanks but no, thanks."

Ladders were wobbly and unreliable and had too many holes Eddie could look through. In fact, they were mostly holes, partially steps. How has he ever trusted them in the past?

"Eddie."

"No!"

Steve sighed from somewhere below. His feet shuffled on the gravel.

"I'll look for some other route, okay? Don't move."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

His breath picks up when the steps fade out, but he hears them again before he can manage to recite the One Ring prophecy in his head. Steve walked around the house and was back below him.

“So, there's a tree on the other side of the house, it should be easy to climb on from the roof,” Steve informs him. Eddie mulls his words in his head slowly, nodding to himself.

“Trees are sturdy,” he murmurs for self-reassurance and to acknowledge the plan. “They are literally rooted to the ground.”

“Great. You have to move a bit to your left, just follow my voice.”

So Eddie did, keeping his eyes on the roof tiles ahead of him and moving painstakingly slow until a convenient tree branch appeared in his sight.

“You got this, Eddie,” Steve's voice has been patiently guiding him and offering praises and reassurances for the past eternity. Eddie, while grateful, could only offer back a muttered string of curses.

He eyed the tree and grabbed onto the nearest branch, sliding from the roof to the tree with little effort. He took a couple of calming breaths before looking down to assess his route to the ground.

Uh.

“Where the fuck is the rest of the tree?”

There were no more convenient branches below him. He looked at his friend below who had the balls to look amused.

“We had to cut the branches last summer because they were getting too close to the windows,” he shrugged. He shrugged while facing Eddie’s terror. "You just gotta jump.”

“You just gotta jump,” Eddie mocked him, clutching the bark under his fingers. “And what, break my leg? After all I’ve been through, I'm going to break my leg jumping from a tree?”

"I’ll catch you.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to break my leg and your neck? Great plan.”

Steve sighed.

“Eddie.”

There was that tone again.

“What?!” Eddie seethed.

“If you hang from the branch you’ll be close enough to me, I’ll catch you easily. Don’t be a baby.”

“You’re a baby," he retorted. Just like a baby would.

“A very strong baby who's going to catch you and make you hot chocolate after.”

“Are you bribing me right now?”

“Yes? I’m getting a neck cramp from looking up there. Just get on with it.”

Eddie groaned. And then groaned some more with every movement he made on the branch. An excellent branch with a great view. He could see himself chilling there for prolonged periods of time, but…

He looked down once more, where Steve was making encouraging hand motions. He breathed out, lowering himself more and more from the branch until his legs were fully dangling, and he couldn't look down anymore.

“I can almost touch your ankles.” His fingers brushed against Eddie's sneaker. “You can let go now.”

“Mhm, okay,” Eddie huffed. “Just don’t fucking drop me.”

He let go.

He made the most embarrassing squeak that he hoped got muffled by the loud grunt Steve made against his chest. His shirt had ridden up, but he was too overwhelmed with anxiety to feel embarrassed or self-conscious.

“Gotcha,” Steve murmured, breath hot against his shirt, and he lowered him to the ground, sliding him down against his body.

As his shoes settled on the neatly trimmed lawn, tension seeped out of his muscles and he collapsed against his friend.

“I hate everything, never again, I hate Halloween, fuck spiders, fuck heights, fuck roofs and fuck ladders. Fuck your stupid windows and fuck. Just, fuck,” he rambled while the fight was leaving his body. Steve laughed and without hesitation pulled him into a warm embrace that Eddie was too tired to reject. He slowly relaxed the deathly grasp he had on Steve’s shoulders.

“Does that mean you don't want to turn my front lawn into a graveyard anymore?”

Eddie huffed.

“You said ‘no’ already, don't have to rub it in.”

“Well, I might have changed my mind.”

Eddie perked up, disentangling himself from the embrace. He squinted at his friend.

“If this is you taking pity on me, I will take it.”

Steve laughed, rubbing Eddie’s arm before dropping his hold.

“Call it whatever you want as long as you leave all the roof decorations to me.”

“Gladly,” Eddie grinned, holding out his hand to shake on it. Steve did, but he didn’t let go, instead tugging him towards the sliding door.

“Come on, I promised you hot chocolate.”

#steddie #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #ff #steve harrington #st #stranger things 4 #steddie fanfiction #steddieholidaydrabbles

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katyspersonal · 5 months ago

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I had a fun dream regarding the Elden Ring DLC!!! In fact, it was a DLC for the DLC. Apparently it was my brain's spin on "how it could have gone differently", centered around at least 3 different endings (?) that I got to try! It was hard to say whether I was playing or actually being the main character and experiencing all this (best type of videogame-based dreams!)

The focal point was Divine Gate being destroyed and Miquella being spat back out, in his accursed child body again and the "plot" started when we returned some things/feelings to him to make him active. The amount of dialogue he'd provide depended on the amount of Crosses we visited, and before returning them he was completely limp. In either case he was labeled on the map as 'Heartbroken Miquella' or something. There was one 'default', ending that needed passivity sort of. There were plenty of quests and things to do still that were required for the plot, but provided you didn't do anything "special" it ended up in Miquella basically building a Noah Arc very quickly. Yes, because some unknown force triggered the great flooding that was coming. It would basically destroy the world Greater Will and Fingers created so far, and yet let it be made anew. The good side of it was, that since Death is connected with water in Elden Ring world (souls of those that didn't die properly assume Jellyfish form, Godwyn became a sea creature, Tibia Mariners) a LOT of people were coming back with the water but in pure form. Children of the Stars without their rotten flesh and all. This ending felt bittersweet though; having done so much to 'uproot' the fundamentally wrong things Two Fingers melded into this world, he still could not find the courage to let his friends die yet there was no time to separate their bodies from flesh like Ranni and victims of Astrologers' experiments... Effectively, preserving """filth""" into new world and saving what he could save.

The second ending somehow stopped the flood by effect, granting it protection of his gentle pale yellow light (not to be confused with the oppressive gold of the Erdtree!). Protection from any Outer God and from corruption and rotting from within. That however would result in people like Malenia, Godwyn (Prince of Death), Romina etc getting sealed into yellow crystals for the 'next 1000 years' so they could not corrupt the world but alas they could not be healed still. This ending was centered on Miquella comprehending that no, Radahn wasn't "corrupted by sinful world" into becoming a warmonger compared to younger self but war WAS his nature. And for many people, alas their nature was 'necessary evil' without which the world would be a hollow place. So he accepted he could not "save" some people because that'd not be them anymore. However, he could still let the world rest in Heaven by putting it in preservation for a long time. Not cleaning, just preserving from evil, external or internal. And how this secret ending was achieved? ......by marrying Miquella, which included a large variety of activities in order to distract Leda, avoid Leda, lead him away before Leda appears, sending more friends to talk to Leda, having Dane and Leda shipped (lol okay??) etc hfhygxjjh Because if you messed up this part, she'd not let you close enough to Miquella and you'd be set back to flood ending XD

Third ending had to do with the darkness!! It was a secret one, where you would seek rifts Messmer left along the way where he used Base Serpent powers too much. The rifts were patched out by the earth itself, but you had to reopen them like wounds. Reverse Crosses collecting! Because.. if they all were opened, you could access the Lightless Abyss that Base Serpent came from and force it into the world! It would extinguish any and all light of this world leaving only blue star-affiliated one. A bit like Ranni's ending but EVIL!! Creatures of golden light would get striped from it though (Queelign copes and seethes lol). It ensured a lot of horrors being unleashed though and consuming every "weak" person. Tarnished, Albinaurics and other lightness were remotely safe, but those born of gold and under Ring and relying on it were FUCKED. Especially Marika's family. They'd remain defenseless and be the first to get swallowed, so from now on they'd need protection. And whereas blue stars remained the age would be darkness swallowing all of them until only one remained. I as a "player" knew it'd explode to bring the light again.. but other characters didn't.

.....yet when I wanted to try this unleashed Abyss ending, Miquella himself stopped me by stabbing me with Bewitching Branch (not swinging it, specifically stabbing) and I woke up from very intense feeling of love and yearning for him lol fgfggh The last thing I remember how scared he was that he barely stopped... all that. But I just suddenly found him the most appealing person in the world, as if I never loved anyone else. I can't even describe how it felt. It was like.. every cell of my body suffering and only his touch could cure this torment. I had to lay down about 20 minutes to finally calm down gjfggd I am actually embarrassed by it, especially since intrusive thoughts followed, but also I guess it wasn't my fault? Very weird type of alarm clock though 💔

#elden ring #dreams #miquella the unalloyed #miquella the kind #(maybe? since it was explicitly dlc focused)#these were so fun though!!!#if I could write id make a fanfic of three parts elaborating on them #just so much fun I wish it was real #it was like a dlc for the dlc!!!

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imagine-darksiders · 2 years ago

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The Human Influence.

Samael X Reader.

This is a 10,000 word continuation from this little ask I received a while ago.

Summary: Lilith brings her Prince a 'gift,' all trussed up in a silver chain and collar. To her credit, if anyone were to ask her if she thought Samael had a soft spot, she would never in a million eons dream that the answer might be 'yes.' Unfortunately for the demon queen, Samael's little 'soft spot' just so happens to be attached to the chain she grasps in her sleek, black claws.

-----

Samael won’t even vaguely pretend that he’s pleased to see Lilith when she comes strutting with a purpose through the doors to his throne room, her pretty, painted lips black as night and twisted into that self-assured grin he so detests.

The demon prince’s cragged chin sits perched upon his knuckles as he lounges inattentively in the seat of his throne, tracing Lilith’s sauntered path towards him over the black, basalt floor.

Neither of them bothers to pretend they’re especially pleased to see the other, even if it has been several months since Lilith set foot in Shadow’s Edge. She, however, puts in just slightly more effort than Samael, lifting her lips into a sultry smile when she catches him looking her way.

Just as he begins to wonder what kind of favour she might try to curry from him today, something glints in the light cast by the moat of lava that surrounds the room, and he drops his gaze slightly to find a silver chain clutched between his mistress’s talons.

Thick and cumbersome, it disappears behind her inverted wings, pulled ever so taut, doubtlessly locked fast around the neck of her latest little plaything.

Heaving a great sigh through his nostrils, the prince casts a bored glance between Lilith’s coiled horns in an idle attempt to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate creature that’s stumbling along in tow.

If he weren’t such an expert in maintaining his impenetrable countenance, he might have lurched forwards in his seat and crushed the armrests beneath his claws at what, or rather who he spies at the end of his mistress’s chain.

As it is, Samael’s only outward reaction is in the barest twitch of his pointed tail and the quirk of a scaly brow.

Inwardly however, a spark ignites.

‘She didn’t,’ he seethes to himself as an ugly, howling rage begins to stir in his belly, whipped up like flames in the wind, ‘Not this human… Any human but-…’

You.

His little storyteller…

It can’t be you. Not so soon after the Horsemen took you back from him the first time.

Questions fly around his skull like rapid, biting gnats. It’s hardly been a full Earth month since you were here last. He’s been keeping close tabs on your movements, not to mention the Four have barely let you out of their sight for a moment – How could Lilith have sunk her claws into you!?

Mistaking the subtle shift of his attention as a show of interest, the demoness’s lips carve upwards into a sharper smile as she blows a lustful breath between her fangs, prowling to a halt at the foot of Samael’s throne with her hips cocked.

“My Lord,” she all but purrs, dipping into a low bow and very deliberately exposing more of her chest than Samael finds either tasteful or necessary, “It has been far too long~.”

Alluring, golden eyes flick up to peer at him through her lashes, yet her smile wavers ever so slightly when she finds that his attention is fixed elsewhere.

He can’t tear his eyes from your face.

Samael’s nostrils flare wide to inhale the tangy scent of iron on the air. He’d know that smell a mile off. After all, he’s well acquainted with blood. It rises above the chamber’s usual aroma of brimstone and dank moisture, with a source that his well-trained nose can trace directly back to you.

Lilith, it would seem, hasn’t brought you to him unscathed.

Even the Prince of Hell himself is taken aback as the anger churning in his guts starts to boil, bubbling up from his stomach like putrid smoke and rising to fill the crevices of his chest.

A trickle of scarlet blood runs a track from your swollen, purpling nose down over quivering lips to gather at the bottom of your chin, where it drips steadily to the ground by your feet with soft, little splats that permeate the silence sitting like a smog between you.

One of your captivating eyes has swelled shut behind a dark bruise, and from your other eye – the one he tries and fails to meet – streams a veritable river of tears, cutting a path through the dirt on your cheek and mingling with the blood in the dip of your chin.

Like an ancient building falling to ruin, Samael’s unshakable composure slowly starts to crumble. Lowering his fearsome, yellow eyes to your neck, he locks his sights on the metal collar that Lilith must have fastened tightly around your throat, causing every breath to leave you in tiny, pitiable wheezes.

The delicate skin below it has been rubbed red and raw…

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Samael barely manages to compose himself, ducking his head and attempting to catch your eye again. And yet, your gaze slides away from his, fixing itself resolutely on the ground below your bare feet.

Lilith must have snatched you away in the dead of night, if the white, cotton sleepshirt hanging from your frame is any indication.

She stole you when you were at your most vulnerable…

Coward.

Easing his clenched jaws apart, the prince aims a poisonous glare over at his queen, his lips curling down at their corners. “Lilith,” he utters, his voice like tar moving under the earth, low and dangerous, “What… is the meaning of-?”

“- A gift, my Lord,” she interrupts smoothly, proud as a cat with a dove in its jaws, “A present, in part, to…. apologise for the time I’ve spent absent from your side…”

Frankly, he muses, her absence in itself has been gift enough.

Twitching her head sideways to peer over her shoulder at you, Lilith’s expression suddenly contorts into a snarl that mars her attractive features as she gives the end of your chain a jarring, vicious yank.

Samael’s spine snaps straight as you’re wrenched forwards by the neck with a strangled croak, collapsing onto your knees and throwing your trembling hands up to claw feebly at the collar, but the hateful piece of silver has been cinched so tightly around your throat, you can’t even squeeze your fingertips beneath it to relieve some of the pressure.

Curling his enormous hand into a fist, Samael raises his chin and stares down at you, his burning, fire-laden stare aflame with anticipation.

As much as he dreads the thought, he half expects a groan of pleasure to tumble from your lips.

Lilith’s… obscene influence is as powerful as it is repulsive. It’s an ancient, inherent magic that can pervert the mind of even the most pious angel and turn them into just another of the demoness’s depraved and lustful thralls.

She’s tainted the sanity of far more powerful souls than yours, through no effort at all on her part. And yet…

And yet, to the prince’s astonishment – and surprisingly, his relief - there are no needy moans, no adoring looks at his mistress, no grasping hands that stretch out across the space between you and her skin as if you couldn’t possibly live for another second without feeling her scales roll beneath your fingertips.

All Samael can see in your eye is a bone deep terror, all he can hear from your lips are quiet, wheezing breaths. Your hands are still your own, still clutching and scrabbling at the collar locked around your throat.

As twisted as it seems, he’s glad to see your terror, but… How are you still in your right mind?

“Bow before your betters, Ape!” Lilith spits, hauling on the chain once more so that you’re yanked forwards, thrown off balance and landing harshly on your hands and knees beside her with a strangled sob, “Or else I shall feed your legs to the Hell hounds!”

Now, Samael is the furthest thing from a saint. His cruelty, depravity and occasional grabs for power might be considered by many to be on par with Lilith’s own, craven deeds.

He’s a Prince of Hell, after all. The enemies he’s slain could fill all the rivers of Eden with their blood.

But… you’re not one of Samael’s enemies…

You’re not even a political target, despite your affiliation with the Four Horsemen.

You’re just…

You’re you.

For what you’ve had to endure, during the Apocalypse and your journey alongside the Horseman, Death, to bring your species back from extinction, for being the foremost intermediary between Humanity and the rest of Creation, you’re worthy of respect. Not… this.

Seeing his little storyteller bloodied and broken, bound on your knees in front of him doesn’t stir anything in the demon except a… a heaviness in his chest. He’s never once given his cold, ancient heart much consideration, but he certainly notices it now when it gives a sudden and unexpected twist.

He can only think to attribute such a sensation to the rage swelling behind his ribs.

Fire ignites beneath his scales and burns a path through his veins until he’s contemplating simply tearing Lilith to pieces for laying her vile claws on you. But… that would be showing his hand…

And Samael hasn’t been on the throne this long by showing his hand…

If Lilith catches the slightest whiff of a weakness in him, she’ll try to exploit that weakness to her own advantage.

She could kill you if she thought for a moment that your death would get to him.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, it would.

Unfortunately for her, Samael was always better at playing high-stakes games than she ever was…

Plastering a sultry grin on her lips, she watches as her Prince leans himself forwards in the throne, balancing his chin atop steepled fingertips.

She must think him a fool…

You were never intended to be a gift for him.

This isn’t her attempting to win her way between his sheets after several months spent away from his fortress.

All this is, is Lilith drawing the Four Horsemen right to his doorstep.

When he brought you here the first time and the Horsemen arrived to rescue you, the only reason he came out unscathed was because you yourself were unscathed. Unharmed. Untouched. He’d kept his word to you, and never once laid a finger on you in malice.

You’d even vouched for him when War exploded into his all-powerful Chaos Form and charged hell-for-leather at the demon.

“War! Don’t!” you’d pleaded shrilly, hurling yourself between the charging behemoth and a bemused Samael, “He didn’t hurt me! Look at me! I’m fine! Please, just… just take me home…”

You knew the demon wielded powers that could easily match those of the Horsemen, and you weren’t willing to risk the safety of your friends.

Samael had been counting on your intervention. Without it, he’s sure his fortress wouldn’t have been left standing in once piece after an all-out battle between himself and the Four.

But if the Horsemen were to turn up now to find you in this state…? And they surely will, because Death won’t neglect to investigate the prince’s involvement for a second time.

Well… Samael is sure to come out of it losing something, even if not his life.

The tenuous reinstatement of peace between Hell and the other realms would no doubt be ripped up.

The Horsemen would declare war on him in your name. You’re one of theirs, after all.

And Lilith knows that.

“Let me see if I understand your intentions here,” Samael rumbles, planting his massive palms on each of the throne’s armrests and curling his black claws into the stone, “You have brought me.. this human…“

He has to bite his tongue before he almost says your name, though Lilith gives no indication that she’s noticed the near miss.

Sweat has begun to bead between her scales, and the stench of it drifts into his nose.

She’s nervous.

“Not just any human,” she rushes to assure him, twisting her fist into the chain and hauling you -hacking and spluttering – back up onto your feet, “Allow me to introduce you to the little pest that belongs to those treacherous Horsemen.”

Samael’s fangs grind together as she extends a sleek, ebony claw and slides its point beneath your chin, pushing your head back, and for the first time since she brought you before him, your eyes finally lock with his.

He almost wishes they hadn’t.

Samael must favour you more than he assumed, because the look you’re sending him empties the fury in his chest until it merely feels hollow and cold.

Even with one eye wedged shut and blood painting your lips crimson, he can easily make out the betrayal pinching your expression. It’s an expression he’s well-accustomed to.

But on you, it’s hard to look at. Predominantly because there was a moment, however briefly, where you seemed to trust him, if only a little – which was a damn sight more than anyone ever has before.

It wasn’t… an unwelcome feeling, to have someone believe him at his word. Not even his own troops would trust him. Lilith – the very demoness who used to share his bed – knows better than to trust him. And, yes, while it was terribly naïve of you, Samael had ended up proving you right, in some small way.

You trusted him when he said he wouldn’t hurt you, and he hadn’t.

Until now, evidently.

He can understand why he’s getting this look from you now.

He once swore you’d never come to harm within his walls, not by his hand nor any of his ilk’s.

Of course, it would be Lilith who shattered what fragile and hesitant faith you’ve granted him. In your eyes, by mere affiliation, Samael is responsible for his former mistress’s actions.

“You’ve brought the Horsemen’s human right to my doorstep?” he growls heavily, pushing himself up onto his taloned feet.

His chest gives an unexpected twinge when you take a step back, though he’ll admit it’s gratifying to see the confidence drain from Lilith’s face as he rises to his full, imposing height.

“And what do you suppose they’ll do, Lilith,” he adds, “When they find their precious friend in this condition, hm?”

A heavy, thundering step carries him down the stone staircase towards her.

The demoness’s forked tongue darts out to moisten her lips. She matches his advancement with a backwards step that brings her up alongside you. “This,” she starts apprehensively, “This is your chance… to take revenge on-!”

“-Revenge!?” Samael’s thunderclap of an interruption stifles the last remnants of cockiness in her tone and she hastily retreats as he draws closer, letting a few links of the chain slip through her slender fingers.

As soon as it goes slack, you take the opportunity to stagger sideways, putting as much distance between yourself and the two, massive demons as the chain will allow, your wary eye affixed on Samael, as if he’s the greater threat.

“And what offence have the Horsemen cause me that would warrant revenge?” the demon prince demands, endeavouring to keep his gaze trained on Lilith.

Her slitted pupils shrink as badly concealed irritation flashes across her face and her lips twitch with the beginnings of a snarl. It must have occurred to her, at last, that she isn’t fooling anyone.

This was never about Samael’s tenuous alliance with the Horsemen. It’s only ever been about Lilith, as always. Once again, her desire for vengeance for what the Four did to her Nephilim children has superseded her common sense.

Even thousands of years after the massacre at Eden, she still seeks retribution.

She always has been a master of manipulation - Pit the Horsemen against the Prince of Darkness, and no matter which of them emerges the victor, it’s Lilith who ends up reaping the spoils.

If Samael succeeds, she’ll have finally had her revenge on the Horsemen, but if the Four succeed, she’ll be free to move in and take the prince’s throne.

She certainly knows how to play the game.

It’s just unfortunate for her that he’s been playing it a whole Hell of a lot longer, and he always has so hated to lose.

Her first mistake was taking him for a fool.

Her second, and far more grievous, was taking you at all.

She’ll face retribution, for that he’ll make certain, though her punishment won’t necessarily be for the reason she expects.

Lilith’s mouth twists. He can already hear the venomous words curdling on her tongue, no doubt readying a jab at his cowardice for being unwilling to face the Horsemen’s wrath. She never gets the chance to voice whatever cruel sentiment rises behind her gorge.

Without warning, Samael’s hand snaps out, his fingers curled over and aimed straight at his former mistress. Before she can even utter a squawk of alarm, a dark, festering tendril of magic slithers into existence, ripped from between the fabrics of space itself and sent to coil around her neck like a serpent, crushing in on her throat with a pressure that only increases with every flex of Samael’s fingers.

At once, and as he’d hoped, Lilith drops your chain to throw her hands up and scrabble uselessly at the magic strangling her. But magic, by nature, is intangible. Her claws can’t make purchase.

“What say you, Lilith?” he growls, a vindictive smirk revealing two rows of gleaming, wicked fangs, “Is this still as gratifying as you remember?”

The demoness’s mouth hangs agape as she collapses heavily onto her knees. ‘There,’ he muses, letting a wave of sick satisfaction roll over him, ‘At last.’

Poetic justice if he’s ever seen it.

The feeblest sound twitches his ear, and he stills, flicking his gaze down to the human in their midst.

A single, undamaged eye shines back up at him, sparkling in the firelight that glints off the tears rolling down sodden cheeks. In a lone blink, Samael’s dark magic falters and the snarl on his lips withers as he studies your face.

You’re still crying… A sight that should have gladdened and satisfied him only renders the demon unpleasantly hollow. Perturbed, Samael tries to shake off the unexpected weight of your distress piling up on his shoulders… He soon finds, however, that he can’t.

Lilith’s wheezing gargle that sounds a little too much laughter snaps his attention back onto her and he growls, his fingers quivering with the pressure of closing the magic coil even more firmly around her throat to cut off any other, sinful sound she tries to make.

Sudden movement to his right draws his scorching glare down to the spot you’d been hunching in mere seconds ago, only to find it empty.

Inverted, leathery wings stiffen as he whips his gaze up and finds you stumbling away from him as fast as your wobbly legs can carry you, heading in a backwards run for the exit of his throne room to the corridors beyond. The silver chain rattles along in your wake.

It’s only by a fraction... just a fraction… but Samael’s wild and wrathful gaze starts to soften.

Heaving a sigh, he turns his focus back to Lilith once more.

She’s still on her knees, still choking on the magic locked tight around her throat, but her eyes are fixed coldly on the prince’s, her pupils narrowed to thin, catlike slits.

He knows then that she saw it. She saw the malice fade from his snarl as he looked at you…

Bristling, Samael peels his lips back and bares his teeth down at her. He can tell she’s trying to do the same, throwing as much hatred into her glare as she can, despite the agony that no longer seems to bring her any semblance of sick pleasure.

Right now though, he has more important matters to attend to.

“Begone from my sight,” he hisses. And with a final, dismissive flick of his wrist, he disperses the band around her neck.

Lilith’s gasp is loud enough to echo through the cavernous chamber.

Crumpling forwards onto her hands and knees – just as you had only moments ago – she greedily sucks down several lungfuls of air as Samael sweeps past her, his nostrils flaring, hoping he’ll catch your scent before you can run too far.

He barely makes it to the entrance before a cold, breathless chuckle reaches his ears.

“Oh~” she rasps in a haggard voice, “Oh, isn’t that precious…..”

Like a dark moonrise, Lilith picks her head up and spins it over a shoulder, glaring maniacally after his retreating back.

Samael doesn’t linger to hear what else she has to say, but the fortress rings with the shrillness of her cackles, her voice chasing his shadow as he in turn follows after the trail of blood droplets you’ve left to seep into the cracks of the basalt floor.

“The Horsemen will hear of this, my love! They will know! Who would have guessed that a human will be your doom!?”

-----

If nothing else, at least the stench of blood is easy enough to track.

Samael is not the kind of demon to hurry, but he’s well aware that his fellow demonic hordes can sniff out a wounded human from a mile away. So, if his thundering footsteps fall a little more hastily that usual… well, that’s his business.

For someone so injured, you’ve made good ground.

Unrelenting in his pursuit, the prince follows your scent up a winding, spiralling staircase and along a vast corridor all the way to a room that had seen much use just last month.

“Ah,” he muses aloud. Of course, it would make sense you’d come back here.

He finds himself standing outside the doors to your old prison.

The bed chambers he’d kept you in after he stole you from Earth.

His fortress is large and labyrinthian. It’s likely you fled along the only path you could recognise.

The moment he ducks his horns through the entrance and steps into the dimly lit room, he’s struck by an acrid concoction of blood and terror.

The bed to his left sits innocuous and innocent, perfectly unassuming.

But he’s the one who had it put there, so he knows of the small space between the springs and the floor, just enough of a gap for a human to squeeze themselves into, should they be so inclined.

Turning towards it, he carefully lowers himself onto a knee, breathing a sigh as he reaches for the silken, burgundy sheets that hang over the side and drape all the way to the ground.

“I wish I could tell you I’m not glad to see you again so soon, little one,” he rumbles, pinching the sheets between his thumb and forefinger and raising them slowly off the ground, “But in truth, I’ve been hoping our paths would cross again, though perhaps not under these circumstances…”

Stooping low, his burning gaze illuminates the dark, dusty space between the mattress and the ground, and there, in the shadows, he finds you.

“There you are…”

Curled into a tiny ball, you peer up at the demon’s colossal face, your pretty eyes blown wide with horror. That wretched, silver chain is still digging like teeth into your neck, rendering each breath that passes your lips small and lacking.

The prince’s browbones dip into a frown. “Come here…” he utters, neither commanding, nor passive. Just a request.

Yet still, you flinch at it despite its gentleness.

The smell of liquid iron – once so tantalising – now itches at the insides of his nostrils. You’re still bleeding freely, but…

That isn’t all that troubles Samael.

He doesn’t know how long Lilith has held you, and you haven’t yet said a single word to him.

He doesn’t like this silence, not from you.

A sudden urgency strikes him in the chest, though he mistakes it for impatience, and he emits a low growl from his throat, a sound of frustration, not anger.

Without giving you a moment to prepare, he promptly slides one, enormous paw beneath the bed frame and simply tips the entire thing up onto two of its legs, exposing you completely to his searching glare.

Recoiling in shock, you immediately heave yourself off your stomach and try to get your feet underneath you, only to find the escape attempt thwarted by a gigantic, leathery hand that closes swiftly, yet gingerly around your torso, plucking you up off the cold ground.

Samael’s shoulders drain of tension once he has you safe in his clutches. Swallowing back a throaty rumble, he raises you towards his chest and stoops to lower the bed once again, all the while subjecting you to his unflinching scrutiny.

The demon’s lips peel back to reveal his teeth as he takes a closer look at the swelling around your eye and the crookedness of your bleeding nose. At the sight of his fangs lingering dangerously close to your face, you utter a pitiable whimper and clutch frantically at the fingers circling your waist, making a valiant, yet futile attempt to shove them away from your night shirt.

You may as well be trying to bend steel beams.

“Did she touch you?” he suddenly urges, his voice strangely thin and ragged.

He needs to know… He needs to confirm for himself that Lilith hasn’t spoiled his little storyteller’s soul.

Your struggling pauses briefly as you tip your head back and fix him with an incredulous, pinched look, your bruised eyelid twitching as if to say, ‘What the Hell do you think?’

‘Ah…’ he realises, ‘You misunderstand.’

“I can see she has hurt you,” he elaborates with an uncharacteristic patience, lowering his gaze to that intimate place that’s safely hidden behind his fingers, just below your naval, “I need to know if she touched you…”

Perhaps the angle of his stare is a little crass, but at least you catch on swiftly, and begin to squirm unhappily in his grip.

The fact that the fierce shake of your head is delayed does little to ease his flaring temper.

“I need to hear your words, little storyteller,” he murmurs in his low, resonant timbre.

Your good eye grows wide as he raises the forefinger of his free hand and brushes it over the silver collar wound around your neck.

The anticipation screws your face up tight and you flinch back, eye squeezing shut. Yet rather than pain, you’re instead hit with shocking and blessed relief.

At the demon’s touch, the collar comes apart with a jarring snap and the whole thing slides from your throat, rattling down to the ground below your dangling feet.

A gasping breath is sucked down into your lungs too quickly, causing you to lurch forwards over his thumb with a grating cough, lifting your hands up and stroking at the tender, red flesh left behind with trembling fingers.

Without the chain obscuring them, Samael is given an uninterrupted view of the dark band of bruises that have been burned like a brand around the circumference of your throat.

Sparks of white-hot fire burst from his lips as he spits a curse in the demonic tongue.

You’re still breathing raggedly, choking on each grateful sip of the tepid air.

Samael’s tail coils and lashes as he waits for you to catch your breath before his patience runs thin and he bites out, “Do not make me ask you a third time…” Raising you up to dangle in front of his fiery eyes, he makes sure you meet them. “Did she touch you?”

“N-No!” you finally manage to gasp, watery and weak, thumping at your sternum, “Jesus, not… not like that.”

You shrink as best you can within his fingers as a hot breath washes across your face, averting your attention to the ground beneath him when he spins himself about and sinks down on his haunches, lowering you both onto the bed. The demon’s tail drapes across the silken sheets and a tension he hadn’t yet acknowledged drops from his mighty shoulders.

Mortified at the relief your words lend him, he furrows his brows into a scowl, his eyes fixed on your neck.

“You… lied…”

He blinks at your words, flicking his gaze to your face as a sardonic laugh, devoid of humour, bubbles up and falls out of your mouth. “Of course… you did,” you continue, shaking your head, “Prince of Lies, right? Can’t believe I trusted you…”

It’s an expected remark, but it still hits the demon like a hammer to the chest.

He’d worked damn hard to maintain that tiny little flicker of innocence. To have lost it feels like a devastating blow.

A prince of Hell never apologises, not even to the object of his… concern. But he will at least try to explain himself.

“If I had known what she planned,” Samael begins, carefully lowering you down to his bent knee and settling you onto it as gently as a brute like him ever could, keeping his fingers coiled securely around you lest you try to wriggle free, “I would have tried to stop her.”

You snort sceptically, though you soon cut yourself off with a gasp as the motion sends a shock of burning agony shooting through your nose bone. “Ah! Shit,” you hiss, tugging an arm out from the cage of his fingers and dabbing your own underneath your nostrils, feeling about tentatively for fresh blood.

The most abnormal urge nearly seizes him then, an impulse to bend down and brush his lips tenderly against the skin below your broken nose, using his coarse tongue to wash you clean of blood as he might have done when he first begun courting Lilith, aiming to show her that she’d be well-taken care of should she choose him.

That was, of course, before he discovered how much she abhorred a gentle lover.

Which was a pity. For all his strength and power, Samael rather prides himself on his ability and inclination to remain gentle between the sheets.

Still, he can’t imagine you’ll appreciate the gesture of a cleaning, regardless of his benign intentions.

As swiftly as the urge arrives, he’s beaten it back and sealed it behind a wall of stoic self-restraint.

Perhaps he ought to be less concerned with how you’d react to his courtship, and more concerned with why he’s considering courting a human at all.

A conundrum, he decides, that can wait for another day.

Right now, there’s damage to be undone, not least that which afflicts your nose, eye and neck.

Samael would rather not have you despise him, not after he’s had the fleeting taste of what a cordial rapport with you could feel like…

He begrudgingly finds himself shying away from the term ‘friendship’ because demon lords don’t have friends, especially a lord with his grim and destructive duties.

Absently, he lifts his unoccupied hand up and aims to crook a long, warm finger beneath your chin. His movements pause however, once you catch sight of the claw in your peripheral vision and throw your hands up, catching the tip of his approaching finger before it can come anywhere near your throat.

“Don’t!” you snap, aiming for stern but landing on squeaky.

Samael’s pupils expand to soft, round pits of darkness in a sea of gold as he takes in the miracle of your comparatively tiny hands pushing back against just one of his fingers. A wayward rumble sputters to life in his chest and threatens to travel up his throat where you’re sure to hear it, but with a hard swallow, he smothers the sound of contentment before it can gain traction.

That could have been embarrassing.

He presses his finger closer.

“Don’t touch me!” you reiterate with a particularly hard shove that gets you nowhere.

It’s almost a relief to see the spark of fire behind your eyes. There’s still fight in you. Lilith hadn’t managed to snuff that out either.

“You think I mean to hurt you?” he hums curiously.

Quick as a flash, you retort, “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Hm. He supposes that would be fair… if it were anyone other than yourself.

Scolding eyes flare with dangerous luminosity as they scan across your face, and the damage his former bed mate has left behind like cruel reminders of his failure.

“Contrary to popular belief, I hold very little sway over Lilith’s actions,” he points out, “I did not orchestrate what she’s done to you.”

With a resentful huff, your arms sag and he’s allowed to freely bring his fingertip to your chin, tilting your head back to take some of the pressure off your nose. You’ve been hurt – badly – because of him, which is……

… disquieting.

“Perhaps,” he begins slowly in that bone deep murmur, “You would allow me to amend her transgressions against you.”

Suddenly, you grow very still between his fingers, sitting rigidly as suspicion creeps into your brows. Squinting up at him dubiously, you ask, “Why… would you do that?”

Honesty has never been Samael’s favourite policy, and even now, he avoids answering you directly, instead opting to tell you just a fraction of the truth.

“You were not hers to take,” he growls, the undertones of a possessive prince almost broiling up to the surface. He can see your brow furrow even further as you no doubt try to read his expression in that way humans are so adept at, but Samael won’t allow you to ponder too long.

“Do you know any healers?”

Blinking, you fling your eyebrows up at his unexpected query. “Do I…. I’m sorry? What?”

By way of an explanation, the demon flexes his hand on the bed sheet and flicks his tail, grumbling, “I imagine it won’t surprise you to learn that I’m not well-versed in healing magic… So, if you can think of someone who is, I’ll…”

His statement remains unfinished, hanging like a hushed confession, bright and glaring in the air between you.

He’ll take you where you want to go. All you need to do is ask.

What you can’t figure out is why.

There’s a reason the Horsemen are so wary of Samael, why they were all so agitated when they got you back from him the first time. He’s dangerous. You knew that when he took you, and you still know it now.

What does he have to gain by letting you go?

Peeling your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you decide to ask him as much. “You’re… gonna let me leave?” Though you tremble in his grasp, you manage to jut your chin out at him in what little defiance you dare to show.

Samael has always privately commended you for your courage, or at least, your ability to pretend that you’re brave. He knows you’re afraid of him.

Wise. And yet, ironically, you’re perhaps the sole human in existence who has the least reason to fear him.

His great, horned head dips slightly and you don’t miss the throaty hum that sounds far too much like a purr to suit such a brute.

“If that is your wish,” he breathes across your face, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

His gargantuan face looms even closer, unblinking, yellow eyes peering into your own with unnerving scrutiny that renders you suddenly and painfully shy, enough that you drop your gaze to the massive expanse of scarred flesh that stretches over his chest.

“I… don’t need a healer,” you mutter, “I just want to go home. Please?”

‘Please.’

How could he refuse you when you continue to be so genial with him, despite your pain, despite being back here in this dreary place? He’s never been granted kindness so freely before - kindness without an ulterior motive hidden behind it like the blade beneath a matador’s cape.

You are… an interesting change to the monotony of his gloomy existence.

It isn’t a change he doesn’t intend to lose.

While he’d much prefer to keep you in his fortress a little longer and let your laughter and stories chase away the lonely shadows, Samael’s pragmatic side reminds him resolutely that it would be far more beneficial in the long run to return you to your true home on Earth before the Horseman come kicking his door down.

The demon’s nostrils widen and close as he draws in a long, lazy breath, inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo that sits just below the smell of blood… You must have bathed only a few hours before Lilith took you...

If home is where you want to be, then that’s where he’ll take you.

“Very well,” he announces, raising his unoccupied hand and turning his palm to face the wall nearby.

He doesn’t need to look at your face to know it’s fallen slack with shock. Apparently, his easy acquiescence wasn’t expected.

Smirking to himself, he concentrates on pulling the threads of the Universe apart at their seams to create a hole – a doorway.

Deep in the depths of his mind, an image of your house emerges – your second house, the one the Horsemen had hurriedly moved you into because they thought the old one was compromised with his knowledge of it.

He latches onto the image fast, feeding powerful and ancient magics into the tips of his fingers, sensing the air around him grow hot and charged with energy.

After another moment of letting his magic build, he finally releases it in a rush.

The portal swirls into life right in front of him. One moment, there was nothing, and the next, a large, glassy surface ripples and hums gently on the opposite side of the room, beyond it, the unmoving image of your den beckons.

The change in you is immediate.

“That- that’s my house!” you exclaim in disbelief, leaning forwards over the demon’s thumb to stare gobsmacked at the view beyond the portal.

Flicking his gaze down at you, Samael grants himself the luxury of a rare, genuine smile.

By the time you twist around in his grasp to peer up at him, his usual frown is back in place.

“Shall we?” he asks.

-----------

“Samael?”

“Mm?”

“How’d you know they moved me here?”

All at once, the demon’s long tail ceases to drag itself back and forth across the plush carpet of your bedroom, plunging everything into a heavy silence.

He doesn’t turn to face you, though he can feel your eyes drilling a hole into the back of his skull.

Samael’s own gaze stays adhered to the little bookcase that sits proudly in the corner of your room, its shelves filled to bursting with dog-eared tomes and well-loved stories you couldn’t part with for all the world.

He should have known you wouldn’t miss such a glaringly obvious detail.

The Horsemen had moved you to a new house a little further out from Haven’s suburbs after they got you back from Shadow’s Edge last month. It was laughably easy for your former captor to track you down again – solely for the purpose of keeping a watchful eye on you, of course…. Though look at the good that had done, in the end…

Still, for once, he doesn’t think it’ll make much difference if you know the truth.

“I’ve been watching you,” he hums casually, swinging his clawed hands behind his back, clasping them together just below the juncture of his wings. As he starts to haul his body around to face you, the tips of his spiralling horns scape the ceiling, forcing him to duck his head a little to spare the plaster.

He’d asked, upon setting foot inside for the first time, why it seemed a place more adequately suited to accommodate a maker than a human. It came as little surprise for him to learn that it was, in fact, makers who built the place, and it had been at your own request that they fashioned a home that could easily fit all manner of guests, regardless of their size or species. All of your usual amenities – your bed, your kitchen, are perfectly suited for human use. But the ceilings, doorways and even the windows are grand enough that even Samael can move almost entirely freely inside without having to bend-double to avoid piercing the ceiling with his horns and leathery wings.

Once he’s turned towards the sound of your voice, he has to suppress a smirk at what he sees.

You’ve just emerged from your adjoining washroom, face clean of blood and dressed in a new set of fluffy, blue sleep clothes. In addition to your fresh ensemble, you’ve slapped a bag of frozen vegetables over your bad eye, apparently to relieve the swelling, or so you claim.

And yet, despite the amusing state of dress, you somehow still find it in you to look downright affronted.

“You’ve been watching me?” you echo accusingly, taking a bold step across the room towards him before you seem to think better of squaring up to a prince of Hell and halting in your tracks, “What, it isn’t bad enough you kidnapped me, now you’re keeping tabs on me too?”

A look of abject horror passes across your visible eye and you hasten to glance at each corner of your room as if you’re going to find something heinous lurking in the shadows. “Oh god, have you bugged the whole place?”

Samael hasn’t heard the term, but he can connect the dots.

“I can assure you,” he says, “I have only caught the occasional glimpse of your home from the outside…”

A half-truth. Those ‘occasional glimpses’ had turned into hours of lounging on his throne whilst gazing through a window into your world as you pottered around it. When the weather was fair, he’d see you in the allotment beside the house.

He found it restful to watch you go about your tasks, digging your trowel into the soil, gasping in delight if a bird were to land on the fence nearby.

You’re his own little taste of nepenthe.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you huff, pulling the bag of vegetables away with a grimace, “God… why are you even… Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Watching me!” you wheeze, throwing a hand up in exasperation.

You may have gulped down a couple of painkillers the moment you got back, but straining your voice still twinges your damaged neck. “Why bother!? I’m not a threat to you! Or are you just keeping an eye on me because you plan to steal me again?”

Admittedly, he’s been tempted to do just that several times, but each time, he’s refrained, if not to spare himself from the Horsemen’s wrath, then to keep himself as endeared to you as possible.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he hums.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You stare him down for several seconds through one, narrowed eye, when all of a sudden, your face breaks apart into a wide yawn that seems to catch you wildly off guard.

Throwing a hand up to cover your gaping mouth from view, you half turn from the demon, fighting off the uninvited wave of fatigue.

With the grace of a predator but not the intent of one, Samael pads towards you over the carpeted floor. “You’re exhausted,” he remarks coolly.

Giving your head a rough shake, you sigh and grumble, “Yeah, well… It’s been a long night…”

His encompassing shadow falls across you, blocking out the light from the fixture overhead. Whipping your head around, you glance up and blanch upon realising he’s crept close enough to snatch you.

However, rather than make a move to sweep you off your feet, Samael only flicks a pointed glance down at your cozy, inviting bed. “You should rest.”

“I’ll rest when you’re gone,” you retort, crossing your arms.

‘Fine,’ he snorts to himself. And that’s when he finally makes a move.

All at once, you’re sent stumbling backwards towards the bed as he drops onto his large hands with a thud and begins to prowl towards you like a wolf stalking a doe.

“Woah! Hey!” you bleat, all bravado vanishing in an instant, “What’re you doing!? Stop that!”

The backs of your knees hit the bed and you tumble backwards onto it, dropping the vegetable bag in the process as you scramble to pull yourself upright again, raising your legs off the ground and retreating towards the headboard.

“Perhaps…” Samael growls – or does he purr? “… I am not yet ready to leave…”

He lays one, colossal paw on top of the mattress.

The bed groans suddenly under his weight as he pulls his upper body onto it and begins to settle down amongst the crumpled duvet. Letting out a rumble of contentment, he folds his arms beneath his chin and slumps heavily onto the mattress, causing the springs below you to buckle and screech in protest while he merely gives you a lazy blink.

The sight is so strikingly familiar, you feel the fear drain out of you with a whoosh.

‘Son of a bitch…’ you gripe to yourself, ‘The overgrown lizard’s just getting comfortable for story time…’

Slowly, your brows ease into a flat, unimpressed frown. “Are you serious? Right now?”

Samael only offers a warm chuff and sticks his nose into your heaped duvet, drawing a massive lungful of your smell into his airways.

‘Ah…. There you are…’ he muses.

It seems you’re the only one to have slept here, which he’s glad for. The sheets don’t stink of another’s flesh, nor can he detect the scent of sex…

The prince’s pleased hum is powerful enough to rattle the bed knobs against the wall.

“Don’t you dare start getting comfortable,” your voice pipes up warningly, and he drags a half-lidded eye up to meet your defiant glare.

“I’d like to go to bed,” you forge on, “And I’m not your prisoner anymore. I don’t have to tell you another story for as long as I live.”

You know this routine of his all too well.

When he’d held you captive, he’d often crawl up onto that gigantic bed and drape himself across it whilst you lay in your little corner beneath the silk sheets with his chin resting near your feet. For hours, he’d laze there like a massive, deadly lion, his tail flicking idly as he listened to the stories you’d spin for him, those you could remember from books you read and retained as a child.

You never thought, for one minute, that he’d want to continue that practice outside of his fortress walls.

“I mean it,” you hiss, shoving your legs under the covers and prodding his heavy arm with your toes, as if you might be able to nudge him off the bed, “Thank you for bringing me back, but I am still in a lot of pain, and I’m not in the mood to entertain you tonight.”

Blinking his luminous eyes at you slowly, Samael disregards your protests and utters, “You never finished your tale of the little monarchs by the creek…”

Something in your expression shifts at that, a mote of surprise soothing the wrinkle of your brows.

“You… you remember the Bridge to Terebithia?”

It was the last story you tried to tell him, recounted from memory on the night the Horsemen finally tore the doors down to save you.

“I remember every one of your stories,” he thrums deeply.

“Well… They’re not mine,” you point out, “I just told you what I could remember of the books I used to read…”

“Will you indulge me, little storyteller?” he presses, cocking his horned head sideways until his cheekbone rests upon a broad, scaly forearm, “The tale intrigued me. I’d like to hear how it ends.”

It’s selfish of him to do this, to stay when you’re in dire need of rest… but once the Horsemen see your injuries and inevitably convince you to tell them what happened to you, he anticipates that he won’t be seeing hide nor hair of you for a long, long time. If Death is sensible, he’ll take you off-world and stash you somewhere even Samael can’t reach you. Maybe to that family of makers you’re always gabbing on about.

This moment here and now may well be the last chance he has to speak with you until you persuade the Four to return you to your home on Earth.

“Tell you what,” you grumble, taking him off guard by kicking away the covers and sliding your legs over the side of the bed, “You can read what happens for yourself. I’ve got the book right here.”

The demon raises his head, watching as you cross the room to your bookcase. Drawing to a halt in front of it, you run a finger delicately along the collection of spines before you eventually stop and dig out a book that’s nestled snugly between a pair of thick, glossy tomes.

Flicking this pointed ears forwards, the prince chuffs softly in his throat - a sound born of instinct intended to call you back to the nest. He barely even registers having uttered it.

Soon enough, you’re slipping back underneath your duvet and retrieving the bag of not-so-frozen vegetables, pressing them tenderly to your eye once again.

As Samael lays his head back down, you toss the book across the bed where it lands with a dull thwack beside his chin.

“There,” you huff, sagging backwards into the pillows, “Happy?”

You nearly let out a loud groan when the book is promptly nudged back towards you with the tip of his forefinger.

“Oh, come on, big guy,” you complain, oblivious to how the impromptu nickname sends a spark of interest shooting up the demon’s spine.

“I want you to read to me,” he sighs and settles down again, allowing his eyelids to droop halfway shut, his pupils blown wide like black holes in a thin ring of gold.

“Ugh!” Exasperated, yet more than aware that the prince isn’t one to take no for an answer, you snatch the book off the duvet and start thumbing irritably through its pages. “Why do I have to be the one to read it?”

Your fingers pause briefly, however, when Samael shifts and a warm, solid knuckle suddenly alights upon your arm.

The breath catches in your throat. You hardly dare move. Frozen, you dart a glance down to see his colossal, red hand hovering beside you, the back of his forefinger stroking a gentle line down the bare skin of your shoulder.

His voice reverberates up through the bed, deeper than the purr of a motorcar.

“I like the sound of your voice,” he utters.

The words fall softly, like a prayer sliding off a sinner’s lips.

Hesitant, your gaze moves up to his cragged face and you have to swallow a gasp, admittedly startled by the look you’re receiving.

Why is he staring at me like that?

The demon’s knuckle rolls up to the top of your shoulder again, sending the hairs along your arms standing to attention.

He’s watching you closely through hooded eyes, his smile lopsided and his pupils abnormally large and round and...

Oh dear.

Oh dear, this… could be bad.

Perhaps it’s just your imagination, but… It might explain the gentle looks, the lingering stares, the rage in his eyes when he took in your bloodied face in the throne room… It would definitely explain why he’s still here in your room, and the slow stroke of his knuckle up and down your arm.

You don’t want to even entertain such a foolish notion.

‘I like the sound of your voice.’

Your stomach twists itself into anxious knots as you start to wonder if Samael likes more than just your voice…

Wetting your dry lips, you try to give your arm a slight shrug under the guise of opening the book, conveniently shifting backwards closer to the wall and pulling away from his tender strokes.

“Um, in that case, you’ll have to remind me where I left off…” you manage to eke out, clearing your throat.

If the prince of Hell is stung by your subtle rejection, he makes no mention of it, though his pupils shrink by a fraction as he lays his palm down on the mattress beside you, exhaling warmly across your face.

“The young human… Jess,” he mumbles into the scales on his arm, “He had just returned from the gallery with his tutor…”

Good memory.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, “Yes, that’s right.”

Trying desperately to ignore how suddenly suffocating the demon’s proximity has become, you prop the book up in your lap and start to read.

-------

“The boy was right.”

You startle awake from a light doze, jerking upright on your pillows with an undignified grunt.

‘Did I fall asleep?’

The book sits open in your lap, held loosely between limp fingers.

And Samael is-

You have to resist the urge to kick out your legs when you raise your eyes to find his colossal face resting peacefully between your parted knees. You’ve never been more thankful that you’d put your legs under the covers earlier, though suddenly the duvet doesn’t feel like such an adequate barrier against monsters as it used to be when you were young.

“Huh?” you blurt eloquently, still in the clutches of sleepiness.

Two walls of flesh shift on either side of you, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been more or less surrounded on all fronts.

A pair of thick, muscle-bound arms are curled loosely on the bed to your left and right, close enough that you can feel the demon’s preternatural heat radiating off his skin. To your back is the bedroom wall, while ahead of you lays Samael’s red, rough-hewn face. The black horns jutting from his chin create deep divots in the mattress where they’re pressed.

“The boy,” he repeats, prying an eyelid apart and casting a yellow glow over your face, “He was right. She should not have trusted that rope.”

Oh… Right. The story…

Raising your hand, you nearly pinch the bridge of your nose before a painful throb reminds you not to do that. You’ll have to take some more painkillers soon…

Emitting a sleepy hum, you flop back down amongst the pillows and give a rough exhale. “Wasn’t the rope’s fault it snapped.”

“… Her caretakers did not blame him.”

Ugh. If this is going to turn into another long-winded discussion like the Rainbow Fish….

“Of course they didn’t,” you sigh, tilting your chin down to meet his gaze, “It wasn’t Jess’s fault either.”

“But he could have prevented her death.”

Samael’s probing insistence drags you a little further into the waking world and you start to sit up, propping your weight on your elbows to squint at him.

The demon’s face is like stone, hard and cold. “He could have asked her to accompany him,” he adds in a growl, “But his selfish infatuation with the older human kept him from doing so.”

A gentle frown tugs at your brows. “Jess wasn’t to know what would happen,” you point out, wondering why Samael seems so fixated on the matter.

Lifting his chin off the bed, his nostrils flare and his eyes flick down to the bruises on your neck, staring at them unblinkingly as he retorts, “He knew the rope was untrustworthy. He could have kept her away from it.”

“Well… Sure but… then it wouldn’t have been such an effective story.”

“Mph,” he grumbles, scowling at the wall behind your head, “I seem to recall telling you that I prefer stories with happy endings…”

You chew on that for a minute before closing your eye and offering him a drowsy shrug. “Good stories don’t always have to have a happy ending,” you tell him, your voice thick with fatigue, “Happy endings are nice, but it’s important that we’re told stories that… you know, like, challenge our morals and stuff.”

“… Go on,” he nudges when you fall silent.

Heaving a sigh, you whine, “I don’t know. I am way too tired to be having in-depth discussions like this at the crack of dawn.”

“Why read stories of tragedy and death? The tale only upset you.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper in exasperation, resigning yourself to the conversation, “I guess, because… if all we’re consuming is clean and good and happy, then when bad stuff does inevitably happen to us, I don’t think we’re ever really prepared for it. If that even makes sense.”

Samael’s lips quirk up at their corners, and he slides his gaze down to you again. “The way your mind works never fails to intrigue me.”

“Pft, it’s not working much at all at the moment,” you huff.

He hadn’t realised before meeting you, that this is what his relationships had always lacked. This is what he’s been missing.

Dialogue.

Nothing more than that. The simplest thing of all.

This sleepy conversation with you is ten thousand times more preferable to the cold, empty silences that would stretch across the massive void of bedsheets between he and Lilith.

His smile fades slowly as he finds himself drawn, as ever, to the band of bruises around your neck.

He knew not to trust Lilith. He should have kept you away from her. But he didn’t.

“The boy,” he murmurs deeply into the quiet of your room, “Do you suppose he was right to blame himself for what happened to her?”

“Right?” Humming, you lean back on one arm and exhale a slow breath. “No… Not right. Normal, though? Yeah. I reckon it’s normal that he’d blame himself. I think most people would do the same in his shoes.”

“Does that not then make them right?” he puts, “If that is the general consensus? To blame oneself?”

After a longer pause, you eventually shake your head and reply, “No.” Then, parting your jaw in another wide and toothy yawn, you add, “It just makes them human.”

Human…

How can blaming himself for what Lilith did to you make him like a human?

Hmm… While not the feel-good ending he’d been hoping for, it wasn’t necessarily a bad one either, and once again, whether knowingly or not, you’ve given him much to ponder over. He plans to do just that while you sleep. Already, those dainty eyelashes are fluttering against your cheeks as your head droops, exhaustion proving a fierce adversary on this long night.

Perhaps it’s time he let you rest. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’ll be leaving your side just yet.

Tyrants are seldom granted solace. Most would argue that they don’t deserve it.

Ironic, that it almost feels sacrilegious for Samael to be laying here on your bed with his mouth resting a mere foot from the most confidential part of you, and doing nothing but talking to you in soft, dulcet tones. Talking… it’s more intimate than the depravities he’s performed with his former mistress.

How laughable.

It’s inevitable, then, that the prince’s wonderous moment of peace should be so rudely shattered by the dull thud of a door closing downstairs.

Samael’s head shoots off the mattress with a snarl so quickly that it startles a yelp out of you.

Heavy footfalls – too heavy to belong to any human – pause in the room directly below your own. Then, all at once, there’s the unsettling sound of them starting up again at a far more urgent pace.

Your yelp hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The demon’s tail twitches irritably as he glares hard at the door.

… Just when he was really getting comfortable…

“War…”

The name whispered breathlessly from your lips draws Samael’s focus back down to you, silencing the growl in his throat. You’re staring at the bedroom door, brows screwed together in worry.

For the Horseman? Or for him?

Somewhere a few rooms away, metal boots begin to thunder up a flight of stairs.

Samael parts his lips and flicks a hot, red tongue over his canine, lowering his gaze to your exposed neck. He knows he has to leave. He isn’t about to let your night be ruined by a brawl in the middle of your bedroom. But… there’s one last thing he’s compelled to do.

Demons don’t apologise.

Not aloud, anyway.

Trapped below his bulk by enormous arms, you tear your eyes from the door and shakily raise them to his, swallowing a thick lump of apprehension that sends a dull ache through your bruises.

You don’t like the way he’s suddenly staring at your throat, the points of his fangs gleaming out from behind barely parted lips.

He looks agitated.

He looks hungry.

Your heartbeat steadily begins to reascend the mountain it had worked so hard to climb down from.

“Samael?” you peep.

The footsteps are on your landing now, shaking the foundations of your home with their weight.

Towering high above you, the demon’s fiery eyes flash with intent, like a predator tensing to pounce.

You aren’t even given a second to admonish yourself for letting your guard down before that mouthful of wicked, sharp teeth lunges for your neck, stealing a final cry of alarm.

It’s instinctive when you throw your head up and to the side so as to avoid having to see the enormous fangs flying in your direction.

You brace for agony.

However, what you feel instead is the furthest thing from it.

… The gentlest press of rough, warm lips lands upon the column of your throat, directly over the purpling bruises stained into the flesh.

Your good eye wrenches itself open like a shot.

You’re too stunned to turn your head, and your chest feels tight with the breath you’re keeping trapped inside it, afraid of what the slightest exhale might provoke.

The corner of your vision is almost entirely swallowed up by Samael’s head and horns. His flared nostrils glow with internal fire as he puffs swathes of hot air across your jaw, whilst the scratch of his lips tickles your skin when they seal together into a tender kiss just below your bobbing gorge - far too tender and painless to be given by a demon, let alone one of his size and reputation.

Up until now, you might have been able to convince yourself that the prince’s attentions had been born of mere curiosity.

Now though? The hope that you’ve just been misinterpreting his advances flies out of the proverbial window.

Samael, prince of Hell, Head of Satans and Chief of Devils… is placing a kiss on your bruised throat so gently that the only coherent thought flashing through your brain is that you must still be dreaming.

A resounding ‘boom’ alerts you to your bedroom door being kicked viciously off its hinges and the clank of metal announces War’s entrance.

The unswollen eye in your head swivels away from Samael and for one, damning moment, your fearful gaze locks onto the wild, infuriated blue shining out from beneath your Horseman’s crimson hood.

"Something to remember me by..."

The single lap of a scorching tongue coaxes a gasp from you when it eases over your bruised neck, and then, in a flash of fire that sends you screwing your eye shut against the intruding light, the pressure on your throat, and the weight on top of your bed vanishes, as if a demon prince had never been there at all.

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dessertpanda · 3 months ago

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To be A Hero... Or maybe Pt 4

PT 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 5 PT6 PT7 Master List

(AHH ITS THEIR FIRST DAY! This will deal with bullying fighting All Characters are over the age of 18 )

”IZUKU!!’ Y/n called to him, running at full speed, her backpack bouncing and her skirt flowing. “Y/N!” He turned, opening his arms wide as she dove right into them. He caught her with ease and giggled hugging her tightly. “Our first day!! You excited?” She giggled looking up at him, staring into his bright emerald eyes. “Any day I’m with you love makes me excited” He gently moved his hands to hold her waist, placing his fingers a little lower to ensure her skirt did not go flying up in the wind. “That kinda sounds perverted” She giggled, gently taking his chin and pulling his face down so she could set a gentle kiss to his lips. He sighed in contentment when their lips met, immediately responding to it and tugging her closer to his body. He poured every ounce of love he held for her into that kiss, he was truly grateful for her, she helped him get into U.A. the school he needed to accomplish his dream, she continued to train him over the summer and keep his growth increasing. Summer went by so fast, graduation, prom… it was all over in a flash, and now here they stood a block away from their goal, and still holding strong. As he gently pulled away, he couldn’t help but stare into her eyes, they beamed with pride, never wavering from his. “You’ve come so far love… I’m so proud of you” She whispered, placing her hands on his chest and gently pulling away from him. He continued to stare, face slightly red and eyes dazed but a smile nonetheless. She tried to pull away to continue their walk, but his hands refused to budge... “Y/n” He whispered “I.. Whatever happens, today… we stick together” His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if he was begging for her confirmation. “Izu… No matter what, I will always stand by you” Her eyes held his, her face stern. Showing no signs of lies or hesitation, he nodded. “No Matter what”

(They walked hand and hand to class)

As they skipped through the relatively empty halls ways, they could feel their nerves building. Thankful that they were both placed into the same class, due to the great skill and grit Izuku showed during the entrance exam and maybe… a little assistance from his lovely girlfriend, nonetheless landed him a spot in class 1-A. “That’s… a big ass door” Y/n whispered, gasping at the huge door that was the only thing blocking them from their future classmates. “Imagine being that big” Izuku whispered, lifting his hand to open it. “Feel bad for their girlfriend” Y/n couldn’t help the crude comment from escaping her lips. “Pfft” catching himself before busting out laughing completely, Izuku stared down at her. “Really?” She gave an innocent head tilt, acting as if she said nothing wrong. “What?” With a shake of his head, he slid the door open, revealing an already rather chaotic classroom. From people showing off their quirks, gossiping, and yelling about four eyes… “No” Sitting smack dap in the front row was the face she wished she’d never have to see again. “k-kacchan” Izuku whispered, his hand grasping her ever so tighter. “Of all classes… of all Universities… why ours” She ran her thumb over the top of his hand, trying to comfort him. She sighed with a huff, "It's okay love.. remember we earned our spot here... You earned you right here"

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO HERE!" Ah yes, he had noticed them already. His attention was quickly drawn away from the blue-haired boy with glasses set upon his stern face. "I can't get fucken ride of you huh? Why the hell did they let ya'll in?" He was seething with rage but tried his best to maintain a cool demeanor after his outbreak.

"Fuck off Bakugo... we're here for a reason" Y/N growled, moving to take a step forward to square off with him but Izuku clenched her hand a little tighter. His reasoning... he wasn't sure if it was for his comfort or to keep her from killing the man. "Can't believe I'm gonna have to see your ugly face every day for another year"

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Bakugo smirked, "Oh please, you two won't last a week" He now sat straight in his seat, staring through Y/N... no he didn't care about her being here. He knew she was a menses it was the fact that He was here....' Damn Deku' Bakugo sat... his blood slowly boiling, but trying to maintain his mature facade. "It's fine... At least I'll get to watch you fail at every single hero task" Now he stood, kicking his chair out from under himself and walking towards her... "I'll be at the top, and from there I'll watch you crumble under your sheer inability to keep up"

"Oh please... Careful now Kacchan" She spoke the name with venom, her eyes locking with his fiery ones, hand still pressing into Izukus. "You might trip on your arrogance" She smirked as his smirk faltered... He could only take so much before his temper began to shine through. "Oh, what's wrong? not as mature as you thought?" Bakugo angered by her teasing jolted towards her as if he could make her flinch, However, a large hand pulled her back behind Izuku. He now stood at an equal height to Bakugo... Maybe even a little taller.

“That’s enough Kacchan… Please step away from her” Never before had Izuku dared to pull Y/N away… she was always the protector but now, he wanted to protect her. “I don’t appreciate you flinching at my Girlfriend in such a way… step back or I’ll make you” His voice was clean and stern, but Y/N could hear the trembling of it, he was scared. He was doing something he’d never even imagined… he was threatening Kacchan.

” ohh you trained him into a good little Bitch Y/N” Bakugo growled at Izuku…” Did you get a pair of balls now Deku? Huh? Think you’re something because you were accepted here?” He threw his arms up and shoved Izuku back, he didn’t stumble back but he did adjust his foot to keep his balance. With the restraint that he met when he attempted to push the once small frail boy over, he was left stunned. Since when had this Deku become such a.. "You're a joke! Both you!" Bakugo was pissed, he watched as Izuku's eyes showed no hint of fear... if anything they looked... "DON'T GIVE ME A SORROWFUL LOOK" With sparks igniting within his palms he made a move to swipe at Izuku, but before he could, swirls of purple and blue gloved his body. He was stuck, body struggling against the restraints, "Damn Bitch" He growled watching as Y/N peeked out from behind Izukus's broad back.

"Hehe," She only giggled, squeezing her fist ever so slightly to tighten the restraints on his body.

"Amazing" Izuku whispered, the swirls reflecting off his eyes, he fist glanced to the rest of the class that stood stunned, watching as she performed her little show. She was effortless in doing so, the traits of a truly remarkable witch. "Impressive as always my love" Now fully turned, Izuku faced her. He trusted her to keep Bakugo restrained, unafraid of possibly being attacked from behind. He had a flushed face and his eyes shone with pride and affection. 'this girl..' He huffed embarrassed within his head. However, he only continued to get more red as she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Come on babe, let's go get our seats" She smiled, giggling to herself as he was left stunned at her affection, His smile grew brightly as he nodded his head quickly before moving to follow her. Leaving a still-restrained and angry Bakugo behind

"R-right!"

(Minnie time skip)

He took his seat next to her by the window... Watching as she interacted with her classmates. He had never seen her so talkative, but yet still so out of place. He listened as they spoke of how terrifying her quirk was from its strength... but she brushed over those comments, keeping her bright smile and friendly eyes. "you truly are remarkable" he whispered staring as she dug through her bag looking for a pen she had promised to lend Todoroki, and already made friend, 'better remember his place or I'll' Izukus eyes went wide when the thought crossed his mind...' no, no, no... Not these thoughts again!' he screamed at himself, remembering how such events led to a very bad predicament that he was lucky Y/N understood his reasoning for and it was she who cleaned up his mess. "Y/N" he whispered, laying his head in his arms... he wanted her attention but he didn't want to interrupt her. "My Love," He said just a little louder.

With a glance down, Y/N smiled at him before waving to Todoroki who took his seat at the back of the class. "Yes?" She asked, smirking as she recognized his attention-seeking eyes.

"Just like admiring by pretty Girlfriend" He smiled, blushing at his display of affection. "I'm so proud of you, you know that?" He sighed moving his hand to hold hers. "Watching you continue to grow, every day it's like I was blessed to watch the birth of a goddess" Oh he was love-sick, he knew that and he wasn't ashamed of it. His mother always taught him that no matter what, find the one with the spark and never let it die. She allowed her own to die, no... it was extinguished the minute her husband passed, so she wanted Izuku to be able to protect his.

"You speak as if you won't be the greatest quirkless hero" She laced her fingers with his, allowing his thumb to rub against her knuckles gently. "Only because I have you, You're my inspiration, my strength, my everything" He shyly smiled as his eyes glanced down to their intertwined hands..."With you, there is nothing I can't do" With a soft tug, he brought their hands up to his face and set a gentle kiss on hers. "hmm You're so corny, and that makes me Hor,"

"Y/N!" His flushed face traveled down to his neck and up into his ears. How could such gentle words cause a reaction that was like from her? "I-I didn't mean to sound uh... I... S-sometimes I get carried away and!" He was stuttering and stumbling over his words, trying to defend himself. "I-I'll stop"

"Please don't ever stop loving me" Y/N quickly whispered, eyes locked with his. Her eyes held love and desire. But not just for his physical being, no she wanted his words to continue to spill, his praise, his criticism, his dumb little rants he did. She wanted it all and needed him to never stop. Because to her... that was his passion, to be heard, seen, wanted! And the second he stopped talking to her in such a way, she'd know that the Izuku she knew was dead... and she'd be damned if she let that happen.

(This can be skipped but this is them being dumb at lunch together, and talking about a dumb interaction she's had with Bakugo and a little sexual)

After their teacher had come and introduced himself, (And she let Bakugo go) Y/N couldn't help the awe face she had. Eraserhead was their teacher! "OMG IZUKU HE'S EVEN FINER IN PERSON!" She squealed, practically rolling around the ground. "God... his scruffy little ughh I'd ride him"

"HEY! You have a perfectly good boyfriend to do so with right here!" He huffed, little situations and plans already running through his head on how to deal with this annoying man. "I bet I'm bigger anyway"

"hehe, Don't be jealous babe, I'd never leave you" She giggled, rolling her way over into his lap. "Plus! His eyes could never match yours, even when they're that blood-red color" She sighed staring up at him, the sun reflecting off him in the most perfect ways.

"Can we talk about anything! And I mean anything other than him" He begged, reaching over her to grab his juice box. "Like how you handled Kacchan! God that was just amazing, I spent like the entirety of English writing about it" With the juice box to his lips, he smiled down at her. "Did I ever tell you about my first ever interaction with him?" She asked, reaching up to cup his face as he slurped on his juice box. He simply shook his head, eyes egging her on, "My first day! Like a damn middle school boy he came up to me all stupid" She bit her lip, replicating Bakugos actions. This caused Izuku to spit his drink out and start cackling.

"PFtt HAHA no, no he didn't" His laughter only continued as he glanced down and saw Y/N now covered in juice. "s-sorry hehe" She used his sleeve to wipe her face clean before huffing.

"Anyways, he was like Hey, think you could take me" She put her hand under her chin, swerving her head side to side. "And I go... In a fight right?.... RIGHT," She was wheezing remembering the awkward look on his face when she didn't quite understand his intentions. "T-that's when one of his friends... HAHAHAH F-FROM THE OTHER SIDE" She held onto Izukus's bicep, using it to pull herself up. "He goes" Her face suddenly went stern, deepening her voice "Don't tell her you have a small dick" Izuku continued to laugh when it was just the two, it was always like this, airy and fun. "t-That's how I found out about his shrimp" She sighed, wiping her teared eyes, little giggles escaping now and then.

"Oh, oh my god... That's unbelievable" To hear such a side of Kacchan, his childhood friend turned bully, it was refreshing from all his typical badass tails. His eyes were shut tight as he tried to control his laughter.

"Y-yeah no, he's probably dwarfed by your size" She smirked, watching as Izuku's chest slowed as his laughter calmed. "Show him your dick, bet he'd back off" She pawed at his thigh, the one her head was resting on. Izuku shot red, from his hands to his ears.

"T-thanks love, but I think I'd rather save that aspect for your eyes only... wouldn't want him getting the wrong idea" He huffed, gently patting her thigh, just simply admiring her, as euphoria radiated off of her. "You're so beautiful" He whispered to himself, now running his hand lovingly and innocently up and down her thigh, simply basking in this peaceful moment.

(AHHH this is updated!!! I'M so glad, I hope you all enjoy !!!) I can't believe the season is over!! It makes me sad knowing Im running though my senior year WITHOUT MY HERO AND ONE PIECE!! AGHHH MY HEART

BUT ANYWAYS

Thank you all for the support and love!!! HAVE A GREAT DAY AND REMEMBER TO EAT, DRINK, AND LOVE YOURSELF BYEEEEEE LOVE YOU ALL

#izuku mydoria #anime #bnha x reader #bnha #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #villian deku x reader #izuku midoriya smut #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #mha deku #deku smut #boku no hero academia #mha shigaraki #kurogiri #villian era #izuku smut #mha smut

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spaceorphan18 · 5 days ago

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The Lady Whistledown Papers : 2x03 A Bee In Your Bonnet (Part 3)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

Family Shenanigans

While the Bridgertons are all having fun playing Pall Mall, Penelope is stuck indoors, reading her book while she uncomfortably watches her mother teach Prudence how to fan her bosom in an attempt to seduce Jack. Penelope's background eye-rolls are great as Prudence flails, Portia seethes, and Jack seems to not understand what the fuck is going on. (Or he might, and he's ignoring it. Jack isn't necessarily dumb.)

Ngl, I find it amusing how hard Prudence is having to work to show off her bosom, while Penelope's bosom is practically spilling out of that dress. I mean, seriously, how did no one ever notice??

Anyway, bundle of nerves that she is about Genevieve, Penelope asks to return to the modiste. Portia is having none of it. She's too busy scheming.

Not much else going on with Pen in this scene - but I should mention, the Americas and Jack's investments are brought up again here (will be plot relevant later) and also the Cowpers are coming for dinner. Can we say yay? (collective groan). Penelope does seem anguished at the thought of her nemesis stopping by.

Cowper Dinner

Season 2 Penelope does not get enough credit. This girl is gorgeous in every scene this season so far. The yellow is distracting, but unlike Season 1 where they make her childlike and somewhat ridiculous, they definitely went for slightly more mature. Not relevant, I suppose, to the scene, but it's striking to me now that I'm really watching her in Season 2.

Anyway, the Cowper dinner is as awkward as ever. Cressida is attempting charm, her mother is trying to sell her, and Portia has just about had it. There is a bit of comedy in all the subtle moments all the way through this scene.

There is a fascinating small moment in here. When Jack is asked about whether or not he's ready to settle down, he says the following :: 'I wish to establish myself in the world first. But now, as Lord Featherington, there comes a time in everyone's life when one needs a partner. Someone who sees you as you truly are, to help ease the burdens of the day.'

And this is such a key moment for a couple of reasons. Yes, on the surface it's about Jack trying to sell himself to Cressida because he needs the Cowper money. But the subtext? It's 100% Polin coded.

Do you know who would say something like that verbatim, without the cloak of duplicity? Colin. It's completely something I can hear Colin say. Wanting to establish himself (which he's going to try to do this season). Wanting someone who sees them as they truly are. All there. It's just so interesting that it's kind of a buried moment, but it struck me as such a Colin thing when Jack said it.

And then there's the obvious cut to Penelope. The line 'sees you as you truly are' really strikes her, and she has this ever so slight angsty moment. She wants desperately for someone to see her. (But let's be real, the only person she really cares about seeing her is Colin.) But Penelope is a dreamer - and she dreams of a world where the man she loves can whisk her away from such a horrible homelife, where she truly be herself and doesn't have to hide in the shadows.

It's coming, babe. It's coming...

It's funny, the casting department of this show just should win all the awards. Because Penelope is so channeling her mother when she throws Lady Cowper a total - fuck this bitch - look when Lady Cowper goes on and on about Genevieve being terrible at her job. Pen is so over it. So over the Cowpers' inherent meanness. Over the fact that she has to endure this shit because Jack has something up his sleeve.

Anyway, Portia scolds Penelope for merely asking a question, meanwhile trying to uplift Prudence's, I suppose, slim attributes. Prudence insists that she be allowed to sink, much to her mother's dismay. But Penelope visibly rubs her temple - a headache clearly from all this nonsense.

Expanding Your Mind

Meanwhile, back at Aubrey Hall, Colin is about to corrupt his brother. But before we get into that, can we talk about this room. It's clearly some kind of nursery, but the horse motif is incredibly strong. Was this the girls' room? The play room? Why are Colin and Benedict having tea in here? I have so many questions.

Anyway - let's talk about the fact that Colin is getting Benedict high with some kind of foreign drug. Is it cannabis? Ground mushrooms? I have no idea what you can put in tea to give you that effect, but in modern day, it's Colin sneaking Benedict a joint he brought back from Greece and the two of them getting high together. And, honestly, it's hysterical.

Benedict would be a stoner - and honestly, I can see him being more experimental with drugs just to expand his mind and see what he can come up with for his art. He also does seem open to more experiences.

Colin, on the other hand, ooff, as funny as this scene is (and it is), the under current here is incredibly sad. And I don't think we talk about it enough.

So, I want to start with - I don't doubt that, even without Colin's emotional issues (which I'll get to in a second) that Colin would also try the magic powder, if for nothing else, out of curiosity. I know that travel, in relation to Colin, is often talked about as him escaping and him in search of something (both of which are true). But I do genuinely think he's curious about the world, and wants to know more about it. And I do think he's willing to try things - at least once.

(And, I mean, it's another thing he and Penelope have in common. They both genuinely want to know and understand more about the world around them, and aren't necessarily content with living within the Ton's rules and constraints. Penelope, btw, would also try that magic powder -- is there a fic about that? there should be.)

Anyway, Colin claims that 'worldly travelers' (lol) use the magic powder as a way to transcend into the next plane of existence but more importantly, dull anxiety. And when Benedict wonders what the purpose of the powder is, Colin goes on to say that it's a way to escape the doubts and questions that linger.

Which... Colin, geez. This boy was HEARTBROKEN when he took off to Greece. And in an attempt to get over it, he decided to try anything to stave off the depression and anxiety. Colin is such an emotional soul. He feels things really deeply. Pain. Regret. Loss. But also self doubt, inadequacy, and feeling lost and without purpose. Putting distance between himself and his life by going to Greece was supposed to help with that, and while it was an experience, and an enlightening one, it didn't cure his issues.

Benedict notes that Colin might not be fully alright (and, I mean, we don't talk about Benedict and Colin's relationship enough - they're such sweethearts together), but Colin brushes it off. He's really not one to dump his emotional problems onto anyone else.

Instead, he tells a humorous story about the time he got high and meditated for hours on a single blade of grass. Oh, Colin, bb... (He's so hilariously proud of himself. Did you find anything meaningful in that blade of grass, babe?)

Do you see what's sitting in the chair? A couple of tambourines. That. Is. Fascinating... Were the Bridgertons musical children?? WHERE'S MY MUSICAL EPISODE SHOW - I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT!

Anyway, Benedict decides to use the full bag and, ooff, it's a shame we don't get to see more of the insanity ensuing from that choice. But I love LOVE the little mischievous look Colin gives him. Like, this is total brothers getting into trouble mode, and I am soooo here for it. You just know - just KNOW that they used to be pains in the asses to Anthony at whatever chance they could.

Anyway, Colin is continues to be master of chaos. And we love him for it.

#bridgerton #polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #polination #the lady whistledown papers

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gabessquishytum · 1 year ago

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Mob dream and pub owner Hob? hob just opened a new business and the rent was so cheap he can’t believe the owner was so desperate to sell it. And it’s in a great area! He pours all his money into opening the place…but the day before it opens when he is stocking up the bar, the door opens. Which is…odd. That someone else apparently had the key.

Hob turns in time to see a grinning blond man enter, the first of four other men, including a pale man with glittering eyes.

Hob starts to protest but the man just calmly tells him that this is Endless territory and Hob owes them. He’ll have to pay if he wants their protection. And if not…the threat is implied.

Hob has no money. He’s put it all into the bar. And he’s a proud man. So he refuses.

That night, there is a break in. When Hob comes to the bar in the morning, ready for his first day, he is heartbroken to see all his windows have been smashed and the entire stock of alcohol in the shelves. The tables are all broken and the photo of his mother that he’d hung in the back is cracked. It’s all destroyed.

Hob is sweeping up the glass when the men come back. This time, they don’t hesitate. He’s grabbed and shoved in a chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. The leader, Dream, leans in his face. Again he demands payment.

Hob breaks down. “You destroyed my stock, this whole place,” he says. “I’ve got nothing left. Take my credit cards, but there’s barely 80 pounds in my bank account. You destroyed the only thing of worth I have.”

Dream stares at him. But hob’s genuine anger seems to convince him. Quietly he asks the others to leave. Alone with Hob he slips Hob’s wallet out of his pocket. He looks inside. Then he takes out Hob’s driver’s license and slips it into his own pocket.

“What are you—“ hob is interrupted by Dream’s hand on his face, tipping his chin up to meet his eye.

“I’m willing to come to a more personal arrangement. I’ll even pay for repairs. A whole new stock, just for you.”

“I just told you, I can’t pay—“

“You can. But ill be generous. I’m amenable to … alternative payment.” And he strokes Hob’s lower lip.

Hob has no choice. Seething and afraid, Hob gets on his knees. A blowjob gets him new windows. For new chairs and tables, he’s got to wear a remote controlled vibrating plug all day. He stares at his new bar stock when he bends over his counter so Dream can fuck him hard, one hand pressing his cheek into the wood.

And he knows, based on how Dream looks at him, like a starving man before a feast, there’s no end in sight to the payments.

“You’re mine,” Dream growls, hand hot around Hob’s shamefully hard cock. Hob can’t help but come when Dream demands it.

Mmm yes lovely morally dubious boys <3

Hob slowly begins to realise that Dream really is quite obsessed with him, and that he can use this to his advantage. Obviously it sucks to be used as a sexual plaything, so he ought to at least try and get something more out of it. He'll start milking Dream for all he's worth.

On their arranged night together, Hob surprises Dream by wearing a huge flared plug so he can immediately sink down on the mob boss's cock. It's a pleasant surprise, especially when Hob starts riding like his life depends on it. Dream is whisked off to a world of pure pleasure, while Hob flutters his eyelashes and makes sure that Dream cums explosively inside him. And then he starts talking about how the pub decor could really do with an upgrade... something cozy and classy to pull in the patrons who have money to burn. Dream immediately finds himself agreeing to pay for whatever decoration Hob wants. It doesn't occur to him until later that their "arrangement" just got flipped on its head? Since when was Hob allowed to ask for things?!

And Dream means to punish him for his gumption, but next time he goes to Hob he gets his brains sucked out through his dick. He forgets all about punishments and immediately agrees when Hob suggests that it would be useful to have a new van? To pick up deliveries for the pub?

And so it goes on. Dream asserts that he owns Hob, and Hob nods respectfully as he kneels on the (new) plush carpet. He lets Dream fuck his mouth, and he even says thank you afterwards.

He's got big plans for his pub, and he's going to make sure that Dream pays for every penny... even if Hob is technically paying with his body. Best not to think about it too hard...

Especially not the fact that it makes Hob cum so fucking hard whenever he thinks about how Dream owns him, and probably always will.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw manipulation

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alteon77 · 1 year ago

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The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 7

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Morpheus pretends to be human in the doctor's office. He's... um, surprisingly not great at it.

By the time Morpheus finally locates her, he's nearly incandescent with rage.

It is fair, he thinks, to be so angry, so wholly upset with her for this act of foolishness and for the panic that she's caused both him and her brother. It had been only forty minutes prior that Viego had summoned him, that the maker had called Morpheus to him and then belligerently accused him of stealing May to hide her away in the Dreaming. And while Morpheus had been furious at Viego for this, he'd been more fearful than anything else. The idea of May going outside of the very wards keeping her safe, the idea of her leaving that protection with no magic or defensive capabilities to speak of, had brought forth an overwhelming swell of terror that rose sickeningly up within him in a matter of mere seconds.

The relief he'd felt at finding her had given him only a moment of solace, a brief flicker of the sensation before the mess of emotional turmoil roiling in his mind had swiftly transformed into indignation. How. Dare. She. How dare she engage in such a foolish stunt. How dare she endanger herself and their child by way of such astounding recklessness. Makers are hunted regularly and mercilessly by witches and gods and all manner of supernatural creatures, and any who had happened upon her in her current weakened state would have surely made short work of capturing her.

In the underground area where he'd finally located her, Morpheus stalks to her vehicle as she gets out of it, her face wan and weary in fatigue, all of her as worn out as she herself has been these days past.

"No… I was driving. I don't answer when I'm driving. You know that….. No…. I just had some stuff to take care of…. I'm keeping a low profile. No…. Stop it. I wasn't followed…. Yes…. " she says into the phone held against her ear. "You did what? Why… Why would you do that?" She pauses, and he notices that there's a bottle of water in her hand that she takes a seemingly reluctant drink of, grimacing in disgust at the taste. "No, Viego. I don't know how to get a hold of him right this moment. He doesn't exactly carry a phone or-"

"There is no need to seek me out," he cuts in roughly. "I am here."

His sudden appearance startles her, and she recoils a little at the sight of him, the hand holding her water coming up to rest over her heart as if to soothe the too-rapid beat of that organ.

"Viego," she relays over the phone, her voice shaking slightly. "I'm going to have to call you back. Morpheus is… Yeah…. Don't worry about summoning him again. No, I'm looking at him right now."

He glowers her way, his hands clenched tight at his side as he works to calm himself. "You might inform him that I will be personally bringing you home this-"

"We'll be back in a bit. No…. I've got errands to run. Don't worry about it. Bye." She presses a button on her device and slides it into the small bag hanging from her shoulder, clearly careful in her attempt at ignoring him as he fumes before her.

"Not in a bit, as you say. We will be leaving immediately for-"

"Can't. Won't. Not gonna happen."

He seethes, his anger ratcheting up at her apparent nonchalance over the gravity of her folly. "Are you aware of the danger inherent in being outside of the warding protecting you?"

"Look, I left Viego a voicemail letting him know about all this. I'm sorry if he roped you into something that you shouldn't have even had to stress about."

"You cannot be oblivious enough to think that is why I am infuriated," he growls. "Both Viego and myself have been scouring this city for the better part of an hour, terrified you had been taken by some enemy that meant you harm. And your response to worrying us so dramatically is that you had errands you need attend? There is no excuse for removing yourself from the warding, especially in light of the fact that it is the only thing keeping you safe in your condition."

With great effort, he attempts to settle his raging temper, aware as he is that it would do this world no favors were he to lose control of his powers while in it.

"Worrying you so dramatically? I mean, dramatically is definitely a word I'd use with how you're acting," May snarks before taking another sip of her water.

"And what precisely is the meaning of that?"

"Just that this is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. I'll go where I want and do what I want, and you are both welcome to take that suffocating overprotectiveness that you're holding over my face like a pillow and shove it up your-"

"Do not," he snaps. "Now, gather your things. I am returning you to your brother."

"I am not a package that you can just hand off back and forth. And I am absolutely not going anywhere with you until I'm done. I have something I have to take care of in about-" She checks her watch. "Thirty minutes. There's a diner near here if you want to get coffee while you wait for me to finish, but I am not leaving."

He clenches his jaw hard enough that he would break teeth were he human. "What aim could be so important that you would foolishly risk being captured to accomplish it?"

"It's none of your-"

"If you finish that sentence with the word business, I will grab hold of you this moment and shift you. I've no patience for your recalcitrance this day."

May scoffs derisively. "You not having patience? Wooow. Color me shocked."

"Tell me what you deemed so necessary that it justified this… imprudence," he hisses, ignoring her sarcastic remark as to his composure.

Oh, no no no no no. Don't throw up. Do not throw up. You've got to keep your water down for just another hour. You can do it, but not… not if you're going to keep fighting. So fuckin' de-escalate this mess and stop being stubborn. It's for the baby. You can absolutely swallow your pride for the baby's sake, damn it.

He frowns at her, thoroughly confused at these words of hers flitting across his awareness. She is not speaking them aloud, and yet he hears them clearly in his mind, a rather puzzling occurrence given that he's never really been able to read her thoughts, never been able to peek past her mental shields and figure out what's going on in her head. He wonders if the dwindling disappearance of her magic is the cause of this, the usual walls around her mind possibly fading as her powers are and allowing him the capability to read her as easily as she might peruse a book.

The color drains from her complexion as what he assumes is nausea overcomes her, and she draws in a few deep breaths, seemingly steadying herself before she gestures vaguely towards a concrete wall of this strange, cavernous area they're both in, the one that smells of fossil fuels and is full of nothing but stationary vehicles. He thinks it's known as a parking garage, but he's never truly been in one before, so he is unsure as to whether or not that is precisely what this darkened, poorly lit monstrosity is. "I'm… going there. Okay? I'm… I'm visiting a doctor."

His eyes narrow as he glances first where she has indicated and then back at her. "That is naught but a wall."

She rolls her eyes at him as if what he's said is absurdly exasperating to her. "There's a building on the other side of the street from here with a doctor in it. I'm going there."

"You have found a suitable healer?"

She fidgets in front of him, playing with the label on the bottle still in her hand. "No. I'm… I'm going to a regular human doctor."

He's taken aback by this, wholly surprised as he moves closer to her. "A human doctor?"

Her fidgeting increases, the movements getting more pronounced. "Yeah… because I'm… well, pregnant. And Tammy was right."

"Tammy? Who is Tammy? And what use will a mortal physician be in your case? Need I remind you that you are no human."

She rolls her eyes again and scoffs as if he's the one who's said something nonsensical. "Whaaaat? Are you sure? Well damn, I guess that totally explains the being alive for thousands of years and not aging thing. I just thought it was my kick ass moisturizer keeping me all young looking."

"May-"

Her arms cross over her chest, and it makes her appear… smaller somehow, fragile. "A human doctor is kind of all there is," she admits with a heavy sigh, a thread of defeat woven into her confession.

His mouth turns down at her words, his brows knitting together as he considers this, grasping for some sort of understanding. "I fail to see-"

"I'm sure you do, but… please don't argue with me on this. Whatever opinions you might have about me getting checked out by this guy today, the fact remains that he's got a hell of a lot more answers than I do right now, and I… I need answers."

She looks away when she says this, avoiding his gaze as a barely there blush lights up what he can see of her face in its sideways profile. An unexpected shame curls in his stomach as he considers the situation before him. She's worried, obviously so, and yet she feels compelled to plead with him on this matter, to ask that he leave her be as she attempts to seek help for herself. The fact that part of this is his doing, that her current suffering is a direct result of the child he'd put inside of her, makes him feel… lowly, as if he should hate himself for adding to the burden of what she carries now when he knows he should be doing what he can to lighten it.

"Very well. If it will… assist you, then I've nothing to say except that I… should like to accompany you."

Shock takes over her expression as she at last turns back to him. "Wait. What?"

"I said that I should like to accompany you. If you will permit me, of course."

Her eyes narrow at him, scrutinizing his face as if searching for any sign that he is lying. "Are you… sure?"

No, he is assuredly not certain of this course, but telling her so would do neither of them any favors. "I would scarcely have offered were I not."

"But… why?" She seems perplexed that he should wish to be with her while doing this, uncomprehending of the possibility that he might desire to help her.

"I dislike the idea of you being unattended while you are so…" Weakened, he wants to say, powerless and fragile and ill. He does not speak those things, however, since he feels that to call her any of them might reignite the ever-present tension inherent in their new dynamic. "Indisposed."

She blows out a breath that's half laugh, half frustration. "I'm not a Victorian debutante. It's perfectly fine for me to be alone."

Alone. That word. It coils in his belly like a poisonous snake, sinking its venomous fangs into the vulnerable flesh of his insides. She had offered to raise their child alone. By herself. Without him even having knowledge of its existence. Not for the first time, he wishes he could reach back through the millennia and pluck that infernal grimoire from the very fabric of the universe, undoing all of its horrid history so that May would never have thought to lie to him about it. A child would have been a happy occurrence for them if not for the dark, thunderous cloud of her betrayal hanging over their tattered relationship.

Still, there is no place for his anger, for his sorrow in the reality of his… of May seeking medical attention for herself. "Nonetheless, I would prefer to escort you."

May studies him warily, clearly unsure of this seeming capitulation from him. "You… can tag along if you want. I mean… she's your kid too, so if you want to be there, I won't stop you."

"She?"

Her apprehension melts away in an instant, a loving smile blossoming on her face as one of her hands settles atop where their child grows, and the sight of this makes his heartbeat speed up, makes that manifested organ thud rapidly in his chest. Throughout his many eons of existence, she is the only one who has ever been able to affect it so, the only one who's ever caused such… mortal reactions within the boundaries of this flesh form of his.

"Yeah," she answers quietly, a joy in her tone that reminds him of the softest parts of the universe. The silken smoothness of her skin beneath his fingertips. The hazy twinkle of a galaxy above him. The muted shine of a sun in the wake of spring storms. The feel of a new babe in his arms, tender and trusting. "She. I've… got a feeling it's a girl."

A daughter. A little girl with May's lovely eyes and her beautiful smile. The dream of it is enchanting, captivating enough that he has to forcibly pull himself from its hold, but the want it causes within him lingers on the edges of his thoughts. If things weren't so strained between them, then he would tell her how greatly he wishes for such a thing, how now that the vision of it is in his mind, he can scarcely see their infant as anything except a daughter. But… he cannot give voice to these sentiments, not with his feelings so uncharacteristically flayed and raw, and that is assuredly what they are at this moment. "You cannot know the child's… gender at this stage."

May sighs and brushes past him, walking towards a door on their right marked Stairwell B. It is instinct for him to match his pace to hers, to keep by her side as she wearily begins the arduous trip up and out of the garage. She's been faint for weeks, and he's very aware that her collapses seem to have no set pattern, no real warning before they occur. It puts him on alert for the risk of another, especially given the fearsome nature of these stairs were she to fall unconscious and tumble down them. And so he means to stay close out of caution, ready to catch her should the need arise.

"Probably not," she tells him somewhat breathlessly, and he fights the urge to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. He knows better, though. Whatever tentative peace they're trying to create between themselves would be utterly demolished if he were to engage in such an act. "But… it's just a feeling. I can't really explain it."

As they emerge from the garage, the sun is blindingly bright, and he glances at May where she's wincing from the shine of it. There's a nervousness radiating from her, an anxiety so great that it almost seems like he's experiencing it as his own.

"Will you be disappointed if it is not a girl?" he questions in an effort to take her mind off her disquiet.

At the crosswalk where they're waiting for the light to change, she looks towards him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I just… want her to be healthy. Everything else is kinda… secondary to that."

He mulls over this while they continue walking. Is she fearful that the child might not be well? Does she think that her sickness is affecting it in some way? He would ask, but he knows that she will not grant him the truth of the matter, not now. In their new relationship, she seems unwilling to show any sort of vulnerability before him, unwilling to do anything that might be indicative of a need where he's concerned.

It makes him think of those decades before their union had ended, of those years when they'd depended on one another, when she'd never hesitated to show him the most fragile parts of herself, when he'd never hesitated to reveal his own shortcomings. Together, they had each closed the gaps in the other, had strengthened their varying frailties and softened their harsh angles by dint of their love and respect and hope. But now… that is no longer the case. Now, things are shattered between them, the pieces of what they once shared set aflame by her betrayal and allowed to burn until only ashes remain of their once-great love.

On arriving at the building she had pointed at earlier, he steps forward to pull open the door for her, and she pauses, seemingly stunned by this meager consideration from him. Something vicious inside of him twists, and that sorrow he'd sworn to ignore earlier comes rearing back with a vengeance.

Calm down, you actual idiot, she thinks, and it's louder in his mind this time than it was the last. He doesn't mean anything by it, doesn't care about you or what you're going through. It's just a habit for him. Stop reminiscing on how he used to do this. Stop thinking about how things used to be. Just smile and walk in before he notices you freaking out, for fuck's sake.

And then she does. A threadbare smile tugs her lips up before she steps inside the cool air of the medical facility, a chill taking over her that almost has him stripping off his jacket to drape about her shoulders. Given her mental diatribe regarding his merely opening the door for her, however, he doesn't think that covering her with his coat would be well received.

Across the rather large room they find themselves in, there's a counter set at the opposite corner, its front marked with a sign that reads Check In. The receptionist sitting behind it is an older woman who raises an eyebrow at May and Morpheus when they approach.

"Can I help you?" she questions in a way that makes him think she'd rather not actually help them at all.

May gives a gracious smile. "Yes. I'm Doctor Martin's eleven o'clock."

The woman, whom Morpheus is growing to dislike more and more with every second they stand there, gives May an unimpressed once-over before turning her attention to a computer in front of her. "Michaela Westin?"

Morpheus glances down at May. It's a new name for her, one of a dozen he's heard her take over the century he's truly known her for, but it surprises him still. That she has assumed another false identity is not strange, a necessary evil she'd once called it, but that she should choose to do so even with those she might trust with her health is jarring. Was it simply Viego's paranoia that drove her to do such a thing? Or something else? Something more to do with their quick escape from their previous home? Matthew had told him that their journey to the new location had been an unpleasant one, that May had been sickly for the entirety of it and that Viego had apologized for being unable to stop and allow her rest. Granted, the older maker has always been meticulous when it came to his sister's safety, even during those many years that she had resided in the Dreaming, but... today had been different. Viego had been off. Not for the first time, Morpheus wonders if there is some specific danger that he is not being told of, if May and her brother are purposely keeping yet another secret from him.

After all, it is not as if she's never done it before.

"I found you. You're here for an appointment and an eight week scan. Is that right?"

"Yeah. I drank all the water I needed to, and I'm… good to go."

"It says here that you're… self pay. We'll need to verify your payment information."

"Of course." May rummages around in her purse, bringing her wallet out and sliding a black card emblazoned with the words American Express towards the receptionist, who picks it up and eyes it doubtfully.

"This is yours? No offense, hun, but I'm going to need your ID."

May's all politeness, all sweetness despite the woman's obvious rudeness. "No problem," she says as she hands another card over, this one with her picture on the front of it.

And the woman, whom he can glean is named Karen Talbot, seems just as unimpressed by this as she had by May's appearance. Morpheus feels anger swell up inside of him for this foul creature's disrespect. He very rarely cares for what mortals think of him, but he can see from Karen's thoughts that her opinion of May is a low thing, one full of prejudice and assumption. Unwed and with child, a morally unacceptable state by her small-minded reckoning. Never mind that May is kind and loving and his… Well, his nothing now, he supposes. She does not belong to him any longer, can be called nothing else in regards to him save for being referred to as the mother of his child.

He'd like to pretend he doesn't understand why that realization drives a spike of pain through his heart, but he cannot. It would be too large of a lie for him to swallow.

The receptionist casts a discourteous, dubious look at him. "And are you a… party to this?" She gestures towards May. "Maybe an… acquaintance of hers?"

May seeks to intercede, clearly trying to save him from having to interact with this loathsome female. "Oh, no. He's-"

"Her husband," Morpheus supplies before he can stop himself. He's not given to lying usually, not one to truly waste his time with falsehoods, and yet in these circumstances he almost feels it necessary.

"She indicated she was single on the intake forms," Karen argues, and in that instant he begins crafting his most terrifying punishment for her, begins envisioning what horror he will visit on her when he dooms her to an eternity of never ending sleep with his most savage Nightmares.

"An oversight clearly excused by her condition, I assure you," he practically growls in response. It is a petty thing, perhaps, to allow some of his power into the words, to touch this woman's mind with a hint of the nightmarish hell he's capable of inflicting upon her, but he relishes it all the same. The receptionist pales, and he takes a sort of perverse pleasure in that as well.

"Sorry for that. I'm his wife. Pregnancy brain is absolutely real and absolutely horrible," May interjects, her voice an octave higher than usual in something that Morpheus would call panic. "Should we just wait over here then? That would… probably be best."

The receptionist is staring at Morpheus with wide, terrified eyes as she shakily holds out a clipboard with a stack of papers atop it. "I… um… I need him to fill out the… the forms."

"Right. The forms," May answers, far too quickly as she snatches a pen from the cup of them on the desk. "We'll get those taken care of and back to you in a jiffy."

And then she's grabbing hold of Morpheus' sleeve and tugging him impatiently to a set of chairs at the farthest end of the room.

"Don't do that," she hisses when they've sat down. "The poor woman looked like she was going to have a heart attack."

"Poor woman? She should consider herself fortunate that you intervened, else she would have been thrust into the most abhorrent, cruel fate I was capable of rendering unto a mortal. Do you know what she was thinking of you? Do you have any idea how grievously she was judging you?" he hisses right back.

"Even without my magic, I was picking up on it. Okay? But you don't need to worry about that. I'm a big girl. I can handle someone not approving of my life choices."

He doesn't care. He doesn't care. He doesn't care, her thoughts ring out in his mind. He's just got a vested interest in the baby, and you're housing the baby, so get a hold of yourself.

"I could not stand idly by while she spoke to you so disrespectfully."

The sound she makes is one of immense irritation. "Well, you defended my honor and now there's a stack of paperwork for me to fill out, so thanks for that."

He doesn't know what she expects him to say to that, as he's certainly not going to apologize. But… then he remembers that he had been trying to lighten the load of her stress, and a sense of misgiving washes over him.

"You need not manage this on my behalf." He reaches out decisively to pluck the clipboard from her lap. "I am more than capable of this task."

"Hey!" she whisper-protests. "Don't… Just let me do it. It's-"

"I will see to this. It is not up for discussion."

May purses her lips and then puts her hands up, palm out, in a gesture of surrender. "Okay. Fine. Have it your way."

Christ on a potato, he's really rocking that surly, toddler temper tantrum energy now, she thinks.

Morpheus gives her a side-eyed glare for that comment, despite that she had not actually spoken it aloud, before he starts on the forms. It only takes him a few minutes to realize that he might… be on unsteady footing regarding this specific undertaking. Of course, he refuses to accept her assistance or admit anything resembling defeat, so he forges ahead with what he'd set out to do.

She tries several more times to help him in poring over the frankly obscene number of redundant questions he's required to answer, but he only waves her attempts away. And for a time she seems to settle, though he knows that she is merely taking a different approach as he can feel her eyes on him still, watching while he ticks away at the multitude of boxes. She says nothing, staying silent until he comes to the form titled Medical History.

May chokes out a muted laugh and reaches over to tap the page where he'd just written I am no more tense than usual, certainly not enough to warrant use of the word hyper beside one of the boxes.

"Yeah. Cross that out," May instructs him blithely. "Hypertension is a condition where mortals have high blood pressure, which… you don't even have blood if you don't want to."

As he strikes an angry line through the sentence, he cannot help his scowl. "This is irritatingly tedious."

She shrugs as if his ire is of no real concern to her. "I offered to do it for you."

"This entire outing is an exercise in futility, wholly pointless considering that this mortal doctor will likely be unable to assist you in any meaningful way."

Her face falls, a sudden melancholy coming over her that brings him up short. "Just… don't start that."

Her thoughts this time are very loud, and he ponders over the curious phenomenon anew. Typically, he has to actively seek the mental workings of another out. He's not used to having such things projected into his awareness, and hers seem to be growing in intensity and volume with every occurrence. I'm such an idiot. Of fucking course he couldn't just stow his crap and let me get help. Never mind that I think I'm actually dying or something. Even that isn't important enough to get him to cool it.

Dying? Is she truly fearful that her… her illness is so dire?

His shoulders drop from where they'd been unconsciously tensed, and he blinks several times as he scrutinizes her more closely. She's a gaunt thing, he realizes then, from the dark smudges under her eyes to the unnatural pallor of her skin. Her lips are dry and cracked in places, one particular spot on the lower one especially red as if she is so dehydrated that the skin there is breaking apart and bleeding.

In that moment, he feels vile, loathsome, like nothing less than the most revolting sort of pond scum, like his treatment of her in this instance is even more contemptible than the receptionist's had been. Despite their past and his upset over it, May is currently grappling with something he cannot understand, rendered weak and weary from the weight of his seed growing inside of her. She is uncharacteristically afraid, he can see now, drained of her magic and suffering from what he'd unintentionally done to her by getting her with child in the first place.

And all he has offered her in return for this burden she's carrying is his petulant sullenness, his mean-spirited pessimism.

"I… apologize," he murmurs before he can even stop to consider what he's saying, "if I've given you cause to feel you must argue with me on this matter. It… was not my intention."

Her expression gentles, and her eyes well with tears that she hastily wipes at. "It's… I get it. This… isn't what you're used to."

"Nonetheless, it is… no excuse for my churlishness."

She nods, and his heart wrenches uncomfortably with how very bereft she seems as she does so. "It's… okay."

His eyes narrow as he considers this acceptance from her. How very easily she forgives him. How quickly she dismisses his faults in having behaved so abhorrently towards her.

How different things might have been between them if only he were capable of doing the same.

He must not think of that, must not imagine what could have been. That part of their relationship is done, the path of it obliterated and lost so that only mere echoes of it remain, but he knows that they can learn to do better by one another going forward. With the both of them preparing to parent a child together, they truly have no other choice in the matter.

"And how shall I answer this?" he asks as he points randomly at a word on the checklist of mortal maladies before him. It is an olive branch of sorts, a gesture meant to demonstrate to her that he is willing to listen.

Suspiciously, her eyes flick up at him before she turns them down to where he's indicated.

"Heart disease? I'm pretty sure you know you don't have that." A barely there smile tugs her lips up, and it is a sad thing to behold, like the drooping petals of a wilting flower trying to bloom. "You could probably just answer no to everything. It's… what I did."

"Very well."

"And… whatever you do, don't put down how many actual glasses of wine you can consume in a day when it gets to that part."

He frowns at her, his mind working to make sense of what she's just told him. "I assume… it would be a tell that I am not… normal then," he guesses.

Her eyes sparkle faintly with an unexpected mirth, a sort of teasing shine to them that is still dulled somehow. "Big yes. Biggest yes ever."

"I see."

When he's finished, May cautiously takes the forms from his hand to look over everything, and he surrenders the papers to her without dissent. A month ago, such an act on her part would have infuriated him, but he's… regretful. The self-hatred he feels in the wake of his actions is churning inside of him violently, forcing him to an apologetic tentativeness. And May has always had a far better sense of the norms in this realm than he, a truth he had recognized very early in their relationship when they made their occasional trips into the Waking. He supposes that she would be the best to ensure his answers are satisfactory.

After she's scanned it all twice, she goes to stand, and he stays her with a hand on her arm.

"What is it? I'm just heading over there to hand this to the receptionist."

"Sit," he orders roughly before gentling his tone. "I shall do so in your stead."

May hesitates. "You're not going to do anything else to… anyone, are you?"

It takes him a minute before he understands her meaning. The receptionist. She's worried for the receptionist. It is only with great control that he keeps his expression from darkening in remembrance. That woman had been abysmally rude to May, had treated her as if she were less than, as if she were something low and offensive, and all May is concerned with is making sure he doesn't exact retribution on the human. He struggles to reconcile her kindness, her goodness, with the fact that she had assuredly composed spells for that infernal grimoire, had written the very one that ensnared him even.

"I will… merely deliver these documents and then return to you. No… further defense of your honor, as you call it."

"Morpheus-"

"You have my word."

That seems to assuage her fear as she huffs out a resigned sigh before passing him the clipboard, and he rises to his feet, stalking to where Karen is still watching him with wide eyes, her whole demeanor like that of a rat with a hungry hawk swooping overhead.

Good.

"The… n-nurse should… should take her back in a… in a minute," Karen informs him as she holds out May's cards for him between her trembling fingers.

Morpheus glares as he bites his tongue on saying what he wishes to, which is that she is a poor example of humanity given to ignorance and the most foolish of the moral mires inherent in her society. But he… refuses to speak such truths given that by doing so he would only serve to further distress his… to further distress May, and he does not wish to see any more troubled than she already is.

"Very well," he grants instead, even as he idly wonders if it would be a violation of his oath to May were he to send this woman a particularly foul nightmare when next she slept. Something, perhaps, that might assist her in loosening her hold on her hateful prejudices.

"Thank you, Karen." May says, startling him as she appears at his side, taking her cards from the woman to slide them back inside her bag. "Did I hear you say the nurse would come get me soon?"

Karen, however, won't look away from Morpheus, and any other time he might take a sense of pride in her obvious fear. Now, however, he's too busy peering down at May in confusion. Had she not trusted him to do this? Had she believed that he would disregard his vow to her on leaving the mortal woman be?

Why does the thought of her so thoroughly doubting him… hurt?

He has no time to question her on any of this, though, as the door closest to him opens and another human steps out of it, a clipboard held in her hand as well.

"Michaela Westin?"

"That's me. I'm here. Hi." May smiles brightly, a veneer of polite cheer on her features that Morpheus thinks is but a mask. He's noticed her doing that often in the past few weeks, smiling as if she means it despite the air of hopelessness around her most of the time.

"Hello there! I'm Annabeth. Let's get you back into a room, sweetheart, and then I'll get some more information from you before we get started."

As May steps past him, it's instinct for him to rest his hand on the small of her back, to guide her so that she's walking slightly in front of him as they both cross this threshold.

He follows her into the inner sanctum of the physician's office, trailing after the nurse as she leads them through the labyrinthine mess of hallways and doors before ushering them into a room, a sterile, clinically white space with a large window and a rather tall bed pushed up against the farthest wall. There's a chair off to one corner and May directs him to it, shoving her bag into his stomach as she demurely asks, "Will you hold this for me, love muffin?"

Love… muffin? Love muffin? What a preposterous way to refer to him. The unmitigated cheek of this foolhardy female. It is only with a herculean effort that he manages to bite back his waspish response as he settles into the seat, glowering at her while he adjusts her bag in his hold.

But then… the nurse has her step on a scale, writing down May's weight with a worried frown that makes Morpheus instantly forget his annoyance at her insolent epithet for him.

"Why don't you hop up on the table for me, and I'll get some more vitals."

A strange panic is overwhelming him, but May seems calm, so he tries to placate himself as well, using her reactions a a guidepost for his own. When May's sitting on the bed, the nurse puts an odd device around the uppermost part of her arm, a cuff of some sort with a tube and a humming machine attached to it.

And May remains relaxed.

"It'll get tight, sugar," the nurse warns, and Morpheus tries to distract himself as she presses a button on the device. He studies this nurse, this Annabeth. She is… kinder than the receptionist had been, her mind drastically more pleasant, and he can read from it that she thinks May appears… sickly, more sickly than she should perhaps be. It's not quite fear she has, though, but more pity, a genuine compassionate urge to tend to May which Morpheus finds that he wholeheartedly approves.

May winces, and suddenly Morpheus can take no more. He moves to rise, to go to her, to put an immediate end to this madness where she is being poked and prodded before him, but she stops him with a pointed glare. "I'm fine, dear. They're just checking my blood pressure."

Annabeth looks between May and Morpheus, her eyebrows raising in puzzlement before she seems to comprehend something that makes her laugh. "Oh, I get it. Protective husband is an overprotective daddy."

It's the wrong thing to say.

The blood visibly drains from May's face, and Morpheus feels himself stiffen in shock. Their eyes meet, his and hers, and he can see the sadness there, the clear pain of what could have been. "He's… um… definitely going to be an overprotective dad," May replies, all of her quiet. Broken.

Annabeth, seemingly oblivious to this exchange, goes on with her task of scribbling things down on her clipboard. "Aw, don't fret about it, sweetie. The good ones get that way sometimes. I've had four myself, and my husband wouldn't even let me have my mornin' coffee because he was afraid the babies would come out with three heads or somethin'. It was frustratin' at the time, but in hindsight it was kinda darlin' of him."

Morpheus tears his eyes away from the woman he had once sought to marry, gathers himself as best as he can, and asks hoarsely, "I have read that women in such a state should not partake of caffeine."

Annabeth grins and wags a finger in his direction. "Now you don't start on her if she wants a cup or two. A little won't hurt anybody, even that tiny one of yours. And she sure looks like she could use a pick me up. Don't make it so she's gotta start keepin' a coffee machine and all the necessary fixins in her car like I had to."

May's unexpected laugh is beautiful, wholly melodic. "Your husband caused you to have to stealth brew coffee in your car?"

"Well, I'm fairly certain I'm eighty-seven percent caffeine, so I needed it like most people gotta have oxygen."

The smile May gives is genuine, her usual expression of enjoyment at having someone to converse with, and it strikes Morpheus that perhaps she is… lonely. "You're kind of making me want some coffee now, Annabeth."

"Good luck gettin' it past Mr. Overprotective over there."

To hear May laugh again loosens something in his chest, something that's had a ruthless hold of him since he'd feared she had been taken earlier. He tries to speak, to say anything, but his words are stuck in his throat as emotion swells within him. He loathes that he loves her, that he cares for her still despite that he should not.

"All righty. Any other symptoms you want me to put in your chart for the doctor, sweetie?" Annabeth questions, and the sound of the nurse's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "It says on your form that you've been gettin' sick."

May's easy contentment falters, her face falling. "I… Yes."

"How often, would you say?

May casts a hesitant glance at Morpheus before turning her attention back to Annabeth. "Almost… every hour."

"You been keepin' anything down at all?" the nurse asks with a frown, her brows furrowed in concern as she scrutinizes May anew.

May begins fidgeting again, something that she only engages in when she's especially nervous, and he feels his heart sink with dread. "Um… no. I don't think so."

Nothing at all? He had known that she was suffering from morning sickness, but to be retaining no nourishment cannot be safe for her or their child. Alarm floods him as the nurse moves to a cabinet and begins rummaging around in it.

"Lord Mercy, that sounds horrid," she says as she pulls her hand free with a large rectangle of fabric clutched between her fingers. "I'm gonna need you to get undressed from the waist down and put this over your lap. We'll try to do the ultrasound abdominally at first, but if we can't get a good picture we'll switch to the transvaginal." She points to two buttons on the wall. "Press this green one when you're ready, and Dr. Martin will have a look at you and the baby, see if he can't figure out something to help you with that nausea."

Help. Yes… May needs help. For the first time since he'd began this little excursion with her, Morpheus thinks he finally understands why she'd felt desperate enough to seek any healer out, even one mortal and ill-suited to treat her.

"That sounds great," May breathes out, a relief in her tone that cuts at Morpheus. He'd been ready to stop her today, had been so aggravated at what he perceived to be a ridiculous folly that he'd threatened to forcibly shift her home.

Annabeth grabs her papers and exits the room, leaving a heavy silence in her wake.

May undoes the top button of her pants before she at last spares him a glance. "Can you… look away? Maybe turn around or…"

He wants to remind her that he's seen her naked body more times than this planet they're on has had stars crash into its surface, but she seems unnerved again, altogether stressed by how he might respond to this request of hers.

"If you wish, I could wait outside."

May shakes her head. "No, that's fine. Just turn around. If I send you out of the room, they'll assume we're fighting or something."

Dutifully, he faces away from her. "Ah, yes. It is important they do not see through the lie."

"Hey, that's not on me," she tells him over the shuffling sounds she's making. "You told them we were married. I was perfectly fine with them thinking I liked to sleep around or that we'd just gotten blackout drunk one night in Vegas and knocked boots without a condom."

He hadn't been fine with it, however. No matter her apparent acceptance of such a thing, the thought of her being viewed, being treated as less than had grated on him. "It doesn't… bother you? That they might… judge you so harshly for something they know nothing of?"

"Nope. Believe it or not, humans are pretty cool about that stuff these days. Well, most of them. The bitchy receptionist was a fluke."

"May-"

She huffs out a short laugh. "Sorry. Sorry. I know. You don't like that word."

His forehead creases."No, that is not… what I was intending to speak to you of. Please feel free to apply whatever colorful language you would like concerning that foul creature who greeted us upon entering."

"Wow. She really did piss you off, huh?"

He can hear the noise of paper crinkling behind him, and he wonders what exactly she's doing back there. "She angered me greatly. Her… attitude towards you was… unacceptable."

The sounds stop as she responds, "There are always going to be people who think badly of you here. You… get used to it after a while."

He can't help his scoff. "Is that meant to convince me that her behavior wasn't insulting?"

"Nope. It's just… It is what it is. There's no point in letting it upset you… Also, you can turn around now if you want."

She's sitting on the table, that mask of false cheer back on her face, the rectangle of fabric spread out over her bare lap, and without the benefit of a thick sweater on her, he can see exactly why the nurse had seemed uneasy when she'd taken May's weight. She's assuredly gotten thinner, likely a side effect of being unable to properly partake of any nourishment. Panic twists his stomach into a knot.

"Why… did you not inform me of how ill you were?" His voice is ragged with emotion, with the great well of battling sentiments inside of him.

The mask slides off of her features, and she glances down guiltily at the floor, twiddling her fingers in a restlessness that speaks to her trepidation. "It just… wasn't something that I really could work into a conversation, you know? Or something I even thought you'd care about. Like, what was I supposed to say? Oh I know you hate me and all but by the way, I'm really sick."

It's the second time she's mentioned him hating her, and despite the fact that he wishes he did, he's all too aware that he seems incapable of such a feeling where she's concerned. "Regardless of what you might assume, I do not… hate you."

Her thoughts, when they filter through his mind, are devastating, wrenching his heart with all the vengeful viciousness of their separation. But you do. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You might not want to admit it out loud, but you… you hate me. And I… hate me a little too. If only I could…. If only…. Never mind. It doesn't matter.

He opens his mouth to address this, to deny it, but he falters, his words stuck on the tip of his tongue. After all, what might he say to correct this belief of hers? What could he honestly give her that would change her mind? How can he adequately explain his feelings when he doesn't even understand them himself?

"You wanna press the button for me? So… I don't have to get up and all."

Dejectedly, he reaches out to do just that, but... something gives him pause. There's an odd smell in the air, an acrid hint of ozone and burning leaves, all melded with the iron tang of blood. His power flares at the scent, a warning shooting through his awareness like a bolt of lightning striking a tree.

Outside the room they're in, it's gone eerily silent. Deathly so, he would almost say, and when he expands his perception to get a read on who or what is near them, he's met with a disturbing blankness, one he's only ever known during the time he was trapped in that binding circle at Fawney Rig, the time all those decades ago that he was made powerless by Roderick Burgess.

And in that moment, Morpheus knows two things with utter surety. The first is that he was indeed correct when he'd surmised earlier that May was in danger outside Viego's wards, that she had been reckless to leave them on her own. Obviously, something or someone has been tracking her, lying in wait for the opportunity they might have were she to be free of the ward's protections. The second thing he knows, and perhaps the part that most worries him, is that whatever or whomever has been on her trail is in this building with them. Right now.

NEXT CHAPTER

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