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starseungs · 3 months

Text

a phoenix's ashes. ksm.

kim seungmin x gn!reader — from a love that burned bright to a love that fell like ashes. only a sincere wish from the heart would make a love twice as better rise from its remains.

genre/s — exes to lovers, second chance, angst with a happy ending, pianist!seungmin, violinist!reader • 1.5k words

warning/s — not much other than pain, lack of communication as a theme

note — another seungmin fic because i need to get over this man 🧍‍♀️ its messing with my brain chemistry... | song inspos are « i don't want to watch the world end with someone else - clinton kane » and « huling sandali - december avenue »

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

In the windows of your sight, the view tints green.

They were a startling contrast to the bright white lights illuminating the stage ahead. It framed the picture of the scene well, you suppose. With the two performers seemingly glowing in the tints of yellow provided by the Brazilian maple flooring. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by one of the two, who was donning a beautifully polished violin in her hands. The strings sang in delight as the woman delivered the intricately thought-out vibrations to all those who could hear.

And those who did, listened. Down to every last sound.

To word it in the simplest way you could muster, it would have to be perfect. The type of playing every person who has learned the violin even once has dreamed of achieving. A small but content smile makes itself known on your face as desires and memories paint themselves in splashes. You were once like that; you hummed to no one in particular. Acknowledgement lost in the silence of muted praises. The green you were presented with made much more sense in the moment of awareness.

Envy. It was an emotion you've come to know, admittedly very well. Drips of resentment seeped through the river of flowing emotions that were overwhelming you. Despicable as it was, you let it be. After all, it was what kept you grounded. Only a fool would discard an anchor when heading into the chaotic sea. The precaution may not always apply—especially not in the depths of the darkest waters—but the thought is what keeps a lost sailor hopeful with the dreams of land.

A certain ring of a key brought you back to the moment at hand. In what seems like a flash, your eyes lost sight of the violinist you were dedicating your absolute attention to. Instead, your gaze shifted to her side, where a male was sitting in front of a sleek black grand piano. The furrowing of your eyebrows proved to be an unstoppable action as your mind connected the face to a name. One that you had refused to utter from the moment his figure stepped on stage. A dark, almost black, blue tie hung securely around his neck. It was in a shade that made you shudder with an awful interpretation.

Longing. You deciphered the tingle of desperation. Every piano key he pressed seemed to grow louder in your ears. It almost scared you to think that the pianist would overpower the strings of the violin you adored so much. A clawing feeling sank itself deeper into your skin, wishing to avoid memories of the time when the two sounds co-existed as a symphony. But it was eventually deemed unfruitful as the score ran to its end.

If only—oh, if only you could retrace your steps back to that time. Back when the music floated carelessly through the air. Without fear or judgement of those who were out of the equation. Back to when you loved with a passion. The days that let your heart skip in a melody resembling the piece being played. You let out a silent chuckle.

Maybe in another life. For now, the present will have to do. A soft smile graces your lips once again as you watch the pianist stand, plastering a content-looking smile at his splendid performance.

You could only clap in respect.

Witnessing the last stage of the day brought an odd feeling. With the hall lights appearing to guide the audience away, the darkness being chased away was akin to multiple weights being lifted off your shoulder. That itself would have been the best way to end your afternoon.

If only that didn’t mean having to walk under the dimming evening sky.

“You came,” a voice called out. The two words were short and concise. Straight to the point. A statement rather than a question. The frigid tone of someone who, in your memories, was always so warm made you exhale too shakily for your liking. It was humorous, as it was a great complement to the vibrant orange sunset amidst the chilly air of the incoming night.

The pavement crackled under your feet. “And you made it,” you stated back. His stare shot straight into yours from the minute you turned around. “Congratulations, Seungmin. You did well out there.”

“Even if it’s not the same?”

“What was there to be mourned about? The dynamics sounded heavenly in my ears,” you admitted. The moment of hesitation before your last sentence lingered in the air. You watched a lone leaf swing downward in the space between the two of you.

His next words were spoken through gritted teeth. “It could have been better.”

“Seungmin, you should know by now that I’m never going to be the mind reader you expect me to be.” You sighed in defeat. “I could know you, but I could never be you. So, tell me what you actually want to say.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” he spits out. “You knew me too well that I let myself take advantage of the security you gave me. But that didn’t mean you had to break what you’ve built for yourself just because of me! How much more selfless do you want to be, to the point that you become a selfish coward!”

A car rushed by the barren sidewalk the both of you stood on. The sun had long since been gone, replaced by the moon to be the sole spectator in the exchange between two old flames. Lines of streetlights resembled the lights on the stage you had abandoned, imitating previous performances you once shared with Seungmin. You clenched your fists at the flashes of memory.

“You can’t just hold on to the past like that, Seungmin—”

“Not if it was the present and future that I wanted!” He cries out. “You would never understand what I had to go through when you stepped off that stage for good. The endless nights that I thought to myself, how you could just make that decision like it was nothing. But in the end, it was just me refusing to acknowledge that you had given up. You gave up on me. On us.”

The spear that had lodged in your heart long ago started moving again. You had so much to tell him—that you couldn’t. Not when your conversations with the constellations had you blaming yourself the same way he did to his own. It was never about whatever thought Seungmin made into a conclusion on his own.

It was the complaint-turned-advice that you failed to apply to yourself.

“Stand on stage again, Y/N.” You flinched at the emotional cracks in Seungmin’s voice. “Stand beside me again.”

In that moment, you proved him right once again. Exactly how long are you going to act selfless to shield your selfish cowardice? You claimed that you wanted to be the muse for Seungmin’s harmony. Yet the moment your skills were questioned, you let go of everything without even a second glance. Now, did you really have the right to dictate whether you were enough for Seungmin or not?

“The violin is no longer for me,” was what came out as a whisper. You watched as Seungmin’s eyes glistened to produce clear beads resembling diamonds. Fear that he might have caught on to the undertone of weariness you were trying to hide after a year of endless convincing. “I’ve left it behind me. It’s been a year.”

A storeowner nearby shuts the front doors of his shop.

“Even the person I fell in love with?” Seungmin asks. “The person you were at the beginning of what we used to call us? The person who shone brighter than the high-grade theater lights, no matter who else was beside them? The same person who could never compare to the stars in the night sky with how much they burned with passion? If so, then tell me right here and right now. That the one I loved has long been left behind by the year as well.”

Your hands twitch to grip an imaginary violin and bow.

“Seungmin.”

“Please,” he pleads desperately. “Break what’s left of the man who loved that version of you. I refuse to let the fragments of what you were continue to be the reason I keep myself understanding of the pain you bring to me. This is my last wish to you, Y/N. Please let my heart hate you as well.”

Something wet fell in droplets right by your shoes.

“I can’t.”

There were streams flowing down your face.

“I haven’t left that version of me behind.”

A bubbling wail makes itself present in your throat.

“I never forgot how much I loved the violin.”

Slow footsteps echoed through the area.

“And especially not how I continued to love you even throughout that one year.”

Warmth. Like the yellow tint emitted from the Brazilian maple flooring when the overhead lights hit it during a performance. Like the heat of the moment when you reach the climax of a piece. You were back in Seungmin’s arms. In the stage where only you and him existed.

Just where you needed to be.

SERIES TAGLIST ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka

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semischarmed · 1 year

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Demonizer

Hope you’re not religious…

———

Parker Mills here sure was. The cross, dutifully hanging on his neck in every other post. The obligatory bible passage quoted on the profile. A “#believer” given every other caption. The works. By all accounts, religion had been good for him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Friendly to all, despite the evangelizing. Virgin too- saving for marriage, of course. His parents on the other hand were vile fucks. The Mills often terrorized our small town’s tiny lgbt community but by some stroke of divine luck, the son of those demons turned out completely normal. Better than normal. Parker was probably the nicest jock in town. Parker also turned me the fuck on. With Parker, I just knew. Just knew that those kind blue eyes and gentle smile adorned that angelic face and ripped body. Knew that with his family’s wealth and that face, he had the makings of the town menace. Knew that despite all this, he was entirely clueless on his appeal and unwilling to share his god-given gifts. Many have tried to corrupt poor Parker, but the man was a saint. He even looked uncomfortable doing anything beyond a quick peck on the lips. I just knew I could make him my own cocky motherfucker.

There were a handful of options in the dark web. Entirely different avenues ranging from a neurosurgeon offering direct transplant to a ritual for astral projection. It took 1 month just to sift through all the possibilities and options. Each one felt messy or required some form of constant maintenance. They wouldn’t do. I wanted Parker permanently. All of him-body, mind and soul. At last I had landed on the Demonizer Potion. The effects seemed to vary drastically, though they all seemed to warn of its corruptive properties. In the end, I chose it because it filled the most important niche for these products for me- I could actually afford it.

Finding a witch to procure this particular potion was… surprisingly easier than expected. In fact, it was downright effortless. Miranda, a witch just a town over, scoffed when I mentioned it to her. “A girl’s gotta pay her bills. Besides, It’s a lot easier and a lot cheaper to hide out here than it is in the big city.”

And that was that. For the “low-low price of $500”, I had the demonizer potion in hand. The drink was pitch-black. Darker than black even. And it seemed to pull all warmth from the room in an otherworldly, sinking feeling. I had no doubt this thing was the real deal. I read the instructions: “Drink with your intent.“ I imagined mine.

- - -

I knew the perfect time to strike. It felt oddly fitting to take him during a service. In the church’s bathroom, I took a quick swig of my future. Just a third of the black substance. I gagged as I felt it stream down my throat. And I winced, expecting a burning sensation. No-not a burning sensation. It was more like a pit of nothingness spreading throughout my body to my fingertips. The burning came after. All at once, the world around me spun as I felt my body leave physical manifestation. I watched as my spectral hands flashed white then black in a pulsating pattern, before finally settling on a grey.

Parker Mills sat, listening attentively. They seemed to be playing some religious music. My only religion sat right in front of me. In devilish glee I began to stream into him. Inch by Inch, I flooded into his thick dick. He made a small grunt at first insertion.

Parker shifted in his seat as the worship choir continued singing. His face grew red as he tried to hide a growing boner. The worship singing droned and I felt a sharp pain in my head. As if empowered, Parker’s own soul began to push me out.

In the end, I only managed to slip a bit of the grey essence into him. It did not seem to have much effect, aside from giving him an inexplicable need to grab the flask from the bathroom floor. I tried to make a mental note of that.

I sighed, defeated, as I fled into the night. In the darkness, I recuperated as I planned my next visit.

- - -

This time, there would be no fanfare. No choir to welcome our joining and my rebirth. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in this world without his warm flesh tethering me mortal, so I knew I had to get in him fast.

I followed the man to his apartment, sitting patiently in a dark corner of his bedroom as he went about his day.

When he was close to sleeping, he turned off the light and sat on his bed in a meditative tone. I watched in anticipation as he closed his eyes and began to pray. “Lord, ple-“

“Mmhhmph!” I struck the man a snake, prying his full lips open and forcing his body to gorge itself with me.

This time, no music. Just the sounds of a teary-eyed Parker choking on invisible mass. Drool ran down his cheeks as I inched more and more of my form inside. His neck bulged and eyes grew wide and bloodshot as he tried badly to reject the intrusion. Lubricated by Parker’s own saliva, by the taste of Parker, I greedily dug into his insides.

Parker’s body began to move involuntarily. Deep in violation, it tried in vain to get me out. He smashed his head over and over again across the apartment wall trying to shake me out. I only forced myself inside harder. His head shook as it contorted in odd angles. Biceps started scratching at his own throat, trying to get me out to no avail. Eventually, they were forced splayed open as Parker’s body began to travel up the apartment wall. At first, his legs began to kick, then shake, then they begun to dangle ominously off the ground. In a perverted facsimile of his religion, I strung Parker up his own apartment wall, arms outstretched in a blasphemous pose as if to welcome me. “All are welcome..no, I am welcome,” I thought to myself. I continued my assault.

As Parker screamed, I weaved through each crevice until I could find the core of his soul. It looked pure and white, aside from the small speck of gray in my earlier intrusion. Gingerly, I pried the soul’s own mouth open as I laughed. I wanted Parker to his depths. Parker to his very core. And so I burrowed and coiled. Shackled myself to it. Shackled him to me. Like a trap jaw, his soul’s mouth closed. Forever sealing me in nice and tight as I continued squirm and fill into Parker. His spirit was mine. It bent in odd and unnatural angles, contorting until it tore. Outside, I felt Parker’s thrashing head slow into a twitching.

I wanted-no needed every part of Parker to myself. So I begun to fill into the tears of his ravaged soul. I then felt the the fibers of those tears heal- with me embedded. Euphoric. Stillness.

Parker’s pale blue eyes shot wide open, dilated. “P-Please,” he whimpered, before they go glassy and a smile began to form on his lips. Parker’s flesh collapsed into a pile on the floor, body, mind, and soul spent.

- - -

My first breath as Parker felt out of this world. Parker’s body was his temple after all. When I felt his lungs fill for me, and air flow into us for the first time, I felt the power in his drawn breath- Like having an athlete’s lungs chained to my whims. I felt our drawn air circulate inside me, tickling bits of me in drunken pleasure. Granted, I was not that unhealthy in my previous flesh, but this new home was unreal. Merely existing in his flesh felt like an unburdening. Energy brimmed from fingertip to fingertip and my mind raced with a clarity I did not know possible.

“I can’t believe you just feel like all the time” I teased as I twirled my new perfect hairs. I couldn’t help but giggle in my new perfect voice. Hearing it vibrate into a low moan was music to my ears, as the man’s hand travelled and cupped his own perky ass. “Fuck,” I panted breathlessly as I massaged my new right asscheek. The Jock’s face twitches in vain retaliation. “Fuck you feel so good…” I twisted his nipple. “Thank you for saving yourself for me.” Hearing and feeling this Parker, a Parker the world has never seen- A Parker he himself had never seen, drove me mad with lust. This was a private Parker, my Parker, one bound to me for my personal enjoyment. A moment exclusive to us. This seemed to light a fire in the original Parker and I felt my soul shiver as his encapsulated mine. “g…g-get the fuck out of me!” He spat.

With newfound agency, the original Parker ran to his desk and managed just one action before I could wrestle back control.

I gulped. My shaking hand dropped the empty flask as I felt his intent hung around me like a death sentence. “Cast this demon out of me”.

Control over my perfect meat-suit went dark. Like a barrier emanating from within, I felt myself squeezed out of my home. Then falling. Falling for an unbelievable amount of time. I blacked out.

- - -

I awoke with the smell of sulfur in the air, the sky was dark and glowed a faint orange. I stood as I surveyed my surroundings, horrified. I saw a sea of bodies writhing and groaning.

“Is this..?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I closed my eyes as I thought of the potion and the life I gave all to come to this. I didn’t even have a chance to play with my new body. A sensation stopped my racing mind abruptly.

It was a hand.

One of the bodies on the floor moaned as it spoke in velvet. “Are you joining or what?” I shook it off me as the realization slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t groaning… it was moaning. They were not damned. At least, they were certainly not upset about it.

Then I felt something else stir inside me. Hope? No- At least, not my hope. I grinned as I realized what had occurred. I took note of my spirit- a spirit that was a part of Parker’s. Partially superimposed. Partially one. We were bonded together, even as souls. When his sleeping soul came to, I felt that hope of his immediately vanish. He grabbed our merged face in horror, before looking around.

“B-but, I never did anything… I was perfect…” Parker trailed. I felt a blackness pour out of me. That’s it? Is that all there was to being a demon? These people were not suffering in the slightest. If anything, this was something to look forward to. This time, I felt no resistance from Parker as our shared soul began to fondle itself. Our face, however, was stone cold. Parker was in control.

Feeling all that he had to look forward to, something shattered in him. I felt as much- Rage. Betrayal. Then, Liberation. He looked up into the sky with a sneer and hands outstretched. “This what you wanted, asshole? I do everything right and you still put me here? How much time did I waste in those stupid lectures? How many people did we turn down?” I immediately felt the pieces of this new Parker worm into my psyche. “Fine”. He said with a broken satisfaction.

Like a root, he spread throughout me. Bonding each of us tighter and tighter. This time, I felt a natural cockiness exude from Parker, and by extension me. It felt wrong, coming from Parker. At the same time, a part of me felt like this truly was Parker. This time, the disillusioned man continued fondling himself on his own volition. He brought me into the fold, guiding my movements. “Bro…” . I felt mind mind dull in euphoria. “Bro….”. It rolled off our tongue lazily. Something about it just felt natural. “Parker, if you don’t stop… we’ll”. His mouth opened in a wide smile as he gave both pecs a squeeze. “I know. Enjoy the ride bro”. All at once the pieces of Parker rooted into brimmed with energy. “Fuck it, right? You should be thanking me for this… My body is my temple… and I’m letting you live in it. Thanking me is the least you could do.” Searing pain hit us both. Despite all this, he retained a crazed expression as he kept defiling his own soul. Bit after bit, I felt him kneed soul into mine. Though terrified, I couldn’t help but soften. This was truly a side of Parker I had never seen. Here he was, tainting himself- tainting us both- locking us to eternal damnation. Into one being. And he laughed while doing it. I could feel it in his depths. A raw aggression. A depraved, sexual hunger in him. One that swallowed me infinitesimally. One that strung me up inside him, fed me pieces of himself. Fed me too much of himself. Fed me to him. My head was spinning as the lines between us blurred even further. This new Parker coursed through me as he guided me to finish the job. Let’s sin in this temple together. The last, innocent piece of the original Parker spurted out of our soul in a torrent of spectral cum. We could see the weightlessness of it. We watched as it floated up to the dark sky. This remnant of the original Parker-the original me, would be mine. I drew the land into me, felt empowered by the flames as I jetted up. In unbelievable pace we ascended back to the living world.

- - -

Final bits of soul continued to ascend but with a swift, dark grip, we grabbed it and jammed it into our body’s chest. I watched my meat shudder at the feeling. It breathed into life, but remained unconscious. Our soul now brimming black, I caressed my perfected form in satisfaction. We were Parker. And we needed every bit of ourselves to be whole. On that note, I jammed our dick right into the Parker Meat body’s chest and watched as it shuddered. Caressing the face now wholly mine, I jammed our dick in again and again, reveling in the body’s shaking. I watched it claw into the floor, legs kicking and flaying in some automatic attempt to keep its own soul out. I only continued with faster and faster pace, grunting in his manly tone until finally-release. The invisible barrier around flesh punctured and I willed my spirit to pump bit after bit of myself into the small orifice. The Parker body only made gurgling noises as I streamed inside. Once all of me was finally home, I felt my flesh begin to enclose me and laughed as I felt the barrier reforge- only with me inside it this time. I made quick work of the last piece of the original Parker’s soul. Staining it black and integrating it into myself.

Tears now flowed freely down Parker’s flush cheeks. His hands caressed his thick biceps in gratification. We were finally complete.

I moaned as I felt myself overcome a familiar sensation that my old body often experienced. However, this sensation was entirely foreign to this Parker-flavored bod. Electricity coursed inside me, and moans turned into screams as shook back and forth in a downright religious experience. My back arched in violent delight and I felt the lights go out from my new pale, blue eyes. Parker’s first cum- our first cum together- absolute pleasure. My jaw slacked and drool began to escape as I was still reeling from the sensation.

Mess. I sat there panting for a second, chest and stomach soaked and coated in our liberation. I scooped a bit of the white and stared at it in my hand, watching this body’s own seed violently shudder and contort unnaturally before phasing into a dark mist. In demented glee, I felt the mist like an extension of myself and began feeding it into the rest of the untouched cum still outlining my abs. I licked my lips in savage pleasure as I watched as the rest of it slowly turn dark and soon felt it also under my control. Exquisite. I sent the small package of myself into the air, flying towards one of my teammates. Just a small piece to convince him to submit himself to Parker’s temple.

I couldn’t wait to show the town our new self. We are Parker. And all are welcome to worship at this temple. “Let us pray”.

- - -

Now, have you accepted Parker as your personal lord and savior?

#male possession #male body control #male merge #male takeover #malepossession #soul possession #male corruption

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otrtbs · 4 months

Note

any jegulus fic recs??

heyo !! here are a few !!

meet me on telegraph avenue by ani_wahstan

giggled, kicked my feet, screamed into my pillow. it’s ‘90s american marauders. california boy james who listens to the red hot chili peppers and the beastie boys and he works at a record shop with regulus and iris by the goo goo dolls is all up in it and the cranberries. (<- basically the music is incredible) has queer history sprinkled in, i love 13/10 reading experience

living in border lines by inthesquare

this will rip your heart out of your chest. just. btw. and it is one of the most well-written reflections of grief. i love what the author does in this fic, how they experiment with sentences. the whole thing is so cool and will make you sob violently and leave you tender.

nothing fades like the light by rollercoasterwords

already mentioned this on briefly in my last fic rec but it’s soooo good! 1890s cowboy jegulus. with zombies. yeah. exactly. regulus steals james’ horse, tom is there fucking shit up, there’s literally zombies! the whole atmosphere of the fic is phenomenal another 13/10

creaking in my bones (it’s not pain, it’s applause) by perfectsnaccccccc

LISTEN TO ME. regulus black is a curator of his family owned museum. james is a sculptor. an artist. there’s art, there’s angst, there’s drama, there’s crime. james is so wonderful in this i could combust.

#asks #fic recs!

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coolprettyleo · 3 months

Text

know it's for the better - ryan leonard ☆

wc: 1.4k

tw: angst. endings. sad. crying.

ryan leonard x oc

death by a thousand cuts au

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

frankie stood in DC with a heavy heart.

she had taken the nearest plane out to talk to ryan when she realized her decision was final. hoping to try and salvage her relationship in any way she can, trying to stop the crashed ship from sinking.

the couple had been having problems ever since she made the move. they lacked communication, and that was the most dangerous territory to be in when it came to a relationship. she tried to tell herself it was only because they were busy, but even when they weren't, they still didn't really talk, and when they did it would end in an argument.

"I feel like we haven't talked in days," she said, propping the phone up on her makeup stand as she got ready to get some drinks with some friends.

"because we haven't," ryan said, basically snapping at her.

"i've been busy," she said looking at the phone to see ryan

"yeah but not busy enough for your friends," he said moodily as she furrowed her eyebrows.

"what's that supposed to mean?" she asked him, sensing he was pissed off at something, pissed off at her.

"who were those guys from your private story?" he asked her, talking about a TikTok she had made drunk the night before with a couple of new friends.

"these guys we met at the avenue; why?" she said, her eyebrows still furrowed as ryan sighed. he seemed to only sigh nowadays as if he was holding back from saying something.

"it's nothing. how was your day" he said, trying to change the subject, not wanting to argue but frankie was better than that to let it go, knowing it would just blow up in their faces later on. if only she knew what was to come.

"you're obviously mad about something, so I'm just going to let you go," she said, ignoring him as ryan sighed, once again; and hung up first before she could even hit the button.

ryan wasn't stupid. he knew he had an attractive girlfriend, and even though he trusted her, he still didn't like that they were hugging her; that was his girlfriend. insecurities that he never seemed to have began to claw at him like a cat and he didn't think he could handle it. but what was he supposed to say? that she can't have guy friends? he would never ever be that guy, so keeping it all bottled up was his answer. if only he knew.

___

frankie called ryan as she pulled into his hotel.

"hello?" he answered over loud music.

was he at a party? ryan didn't like parties.

"where are you?" she asked him

"the guys wanted to get some drinks, hold on," he said as he searched for a quiet place to hear her. part of her felt kind of annoyed he was partying when he never wanted to party with her.

"i'm in dc, outside your hotel," she told him straight forward.

"why didn't you tell me you were coming?" he said already bidding goodbye to his friends. he missed his girl, and he wanted nothing but to run into her arms, hoping that everything would feel okay again.

"it was very spur of the moment," she told him, but ryan could tell in her voice that there was something she wasn't saying.

"i'm five minutes away. don't you have work?"

"I have tomorrow off. but I have a shoot the day after that at 9," she told him as ryan sighed, once again. frankie couldn't help but think everything about her new life bothered him.

ryan soon pulled up and got out of the car. wearing a black t-shirt with some shorts, looking as handsome as ever. frankie almost forgot why she had come.

"hi" she said with a small smile

ryan looked at his girlfriend. she looked mature and as beautiful as ever. he didn't fail to notice the bags under her eyes as he pulled her into a hug.

"god, I missed you," he said, pulling away and giving her a sweet kiss that she had been longing far. she pulled away, knowing she had to tell him; she couldn't lie to him.

"I need to talk to you," she said with a hand on his chest as he looked down at her with furrowed eyebrows.

"okay," he said, nodding as he pulled her inside and took her up to his room.

"I'm rooming with chesley, but I don't think he'll be back tonight. he was talking up some blonde at the club," he said with a chuckle as frankie held a faraway look on her face.

"I'm not going back to BC," she blurted out as ryan turned to look at her, looking for any form of jokiness, but all he saw was his timid girlfriend in front of him.

"please say something," she said after all he did was stare at her like a kicked puppy.

"i don't- i don't know what to say to that," he said honestly.

"i know what you're thinking, and that this seems like it's the end for us, but it isn't ryan. i want to fight for us. I've only been so busy because I had to prove myself, but once I do, it'll die down. we can do this-" she said grabbing his hands as he did nothing but stare at her.

ryan wanted to believe her. he really did. but he felt nothing but like dead weight to her. he couldn't help but think he was holding her back. he could see it in her eyes, that she was the happiest she's ever been and he couldn't take that away from her.

he truly didn't know what to do. his eyes began to water as he looked away from her, praying to god he'd keep them at bay.

"I don't want to get in the way of your dreams," he finally said as she stared at him with a heartbroken look. they were sinking and she was holding on for dear life, but so was he.

"you aren't. we can do this, i know we can-"

"i don't think we can" he said shaking his head at her.

"ry-"

"I call you every day; you answer maybe once a week. that's not a relationship, and you know it" he told her as she looked down.

"what are you saying?" she said as her heart began to crack, afraid of his answer.

"I love you more than anything, frankie hughes. but I think we both know what I'm trying to say," he practically whispered, as if he was afraid she'd hear it, but she heard it loud and clear.

"so that's it? you're giving up? you're just going to push me away?" she said with a shaky voice with a hint of anger.

"im not pushing you away frankie, i'm holding on for dear life. i just won't keep feeling like some chore in your life. I want the world for you, and I don't think I'm a part of that anymore, at least not at this point in your life," he told her as she looked down. tears beginning to outline her face.

the two stood there shattering one another's hearts as they took deep and shaky breaths.

"please don't do this, ryan," she said after a long silence. if it was anyone else, she would be embarrassed, but here she stood begging the boy she saw as her best friend, her boyfriend. she'd beg forever, seemingly being the only thing left to do.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking anywhere but at her, not trusting himself, knowing he'd break and apologize forever. he knew he had to do this for her; it was for the better, and they both knew that.

frankie stood up and grabbed her bag as she walked over to the boy who held her heart and was letting it slip between his fingers.

"I love you, ryan," she said with nothing but pure emotion as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Ryan couldn't help himself and wiped them for her. he wanted nothing more but to wake up from this bad dream, but he knew this needed to happen; they needed to grow.

the freckled boy only wanted happiness for her life, even if it meant he wasn't a part of that. she kissed him sweetly one last time before walking out, out of his room, and out of his life. for seemingly forever.

#nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey fic #ryan leonard #bc hockey #frankie x ryan #ryan leonard x reader #ryan leonard imagine

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earlycuntsets · 4 months

Text

"your star

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

The Black Parade is Dead!

At this point, MCR needs no introduction. The band led by Gerard Way is an icon of current punk-rock and every day thousands of fans around the world join their "carnival". The good news is that the quintet will release The Black Parade is Dead! this month and we will invite you to its launch!

BY: XABIERA SAN MIGUEL B.

When My Chemical Romance visited South America with their world tour last February and we learned that Chile and Argentina were included in the tour, we perfectly understood that thousands of fans would fulfill their dream of seeing their favorite band live, however, not all of them could attend the event, and for that reason, when we found out that the CD+DVD The Black Parade is Dead! would be arriving in record stores on July 5th, we got our act together and got ex-clusive tickets for the launch. Yes, just as you read it, we will invite you to the premiere of My Chemical's new material…, but first things first, you should first know what all the musical fuss is about.

Why not miss The Black Parade is Dead!

To begin with, this is the second live DVD in the career of the quintet from New Jersey, which began its history in the winter of 2001. The first was Life on the Murder Scene and was released in 2006.

The dual-format material includes completely live images and sounds, and compiles two concerts from The Black Parade World Tour, but they are two completely different concerts from each other.

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

DEAD

The tour, which began in February 2007 and ended on May 9 at New York's Madison Square Garden, included 138 dates of electrifying concerts, in which Gerard Way, Ray Toro, Bob Bryar, Frank Lero and Mikey Way

they gave their best.

On the one hand there is the CD with the complete recording of the show that the band offered last October 7 at the Palacio de

www.theblackparadeisdead.com"

[next page]

The boys performed on October 24, 2007 at Maxwell's Club in Hoboken, New Jersey, in front of about 200 people.

The DVD was directed by Adam Rothlein, an expert in the field, who had already worked on DVDs for Green Day, System of a Down, All-American Rejects and Disturbed.

As this is a limited and collectible edition, edited especially for fans, the material comes in a digipack (cardboard box with two compartments, one for each disc) and includes a booklet.

20 pages with exclusive photos from both concerts.

The second envelope of the packaging includes a sheet printed on both sides, with thanks from the group and photos of the merchandising available online.

Mexico City Sports. On this occasion, MCR reviewed its entire album The Black Parade.

The album will be available at the Record Fair the first week of July and its reference price is $15,000. Both materials will not be sold separately.

On the other hand, there is the DVD that rescues the very intimate concert that

If you were one of those who attended the show that MCR offered in Santiago de Chile, you probably remember that on that occasion, unfortunately Frank Iero, the band's guitarist, could not be present. Well, this is your chance to see it in all its dimensions.

We invite you to the launch of The Black Parade is Dead!

For the only time in history, Warner Music has organised a DVD Avant Premiere as a DVD release, so you can watch the concert on the big screen! So pay attention and come get your tickets. Tú Magazine and Warner Music invite you to the DVD Avant Premiere

The Black Parade is Dead!

To attend the Avant Première, redeem

Free! This coupon for an invitation

for two people in our office,

Located at: Rosario Norte 555, 18th Floor.

Neruda Building. Las Condes, Santiago.

The function will take place on Tuesday

July 8, 2008, 7:00 p.m.

at Cinemark Alto Las Condes (Kennedy Avenue 9001, Las Condes. Santiago, Chile).

Don't be left out: We have 40

double invitations.

We will be open between 10:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.

Promotion valid until Friday, July 7, 2008, or while supplies last

invitations.

On the day of the event, The Black Parade is Dead! will be sold prior to the performance."

tu mexico 06/2008

link to the black parade is dead full show with the mentioned maxwells hoboken nj 10/28/2007 show

#my chemical romance #frank iero #mcr #gerard way #not my scans #mikey way #ray toro #the black parade is dead #2008 mcr #black parade is dead era #2008 #mcr scans #interviews #mcr scans spanish

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feartoxinjelloshot · 6 months

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The Black Mask was both with the name Roman, to Charles and Ruby Sionis, the wealthy proprietors of a cosmetics business empire based in Gotham City.

By all accounts he was a normal toddler. He was weaned off of milk and sent to preschool and potty-trained and all of the other things small children were bound to do. He was a quiet, polite, intelligent little boy who did his parents proud - they had been trying for a child for a long time, someone to inherit the business when they passed on. They made sure tiny Roman was aware of his importance early on. What better way to make a child feel special, feel loved? They were going to trust him with everything. He was going to be just fine at it.

The company, really, was Ruby's world. She was a woman, and cosmetics were a feminine empire. Charles - though he held his fair share of business responsibilities - was always more dedicated to his lifelong passion for hunting and taxidermy, which had been instilled in him by long family trips with his own father, out to remote stretches of forest, mountain and grassland to take down all kinds of exotic trophy prizes. When Roman got old enough Charles bravely attempted the same with him, even buying him his first very own gun for his tenth birthday. Roman was shy and hesitant, sometimes to the point of vexing his father with his lack of confidence, but Charles was patient and understanding and slowly coaxed the hunt out of Roman as well. The kid had a real talent for it, when he got over himself enough to calm down and aim. He was a genuine crackshot, and his father bragged about it at every chance, talking him up and ruffling his hair fondly. Those were some of the few times Charles saw his son show him a real smile.

The other side of it was not as comforting.

See, both sides of Roman's family line, in varying quantities and distributions, had always been prone to hereditary psychosis. This particular affliction had miraculously skipped both of his parents, and in a superstitious attempt to ward it away from themselves and their son, they neglected to ever mention it to him. In fact, they made a concentrated attempt to prevent him from ever figuring out what psychosis was in any meaningful way that might affect his development.

Roman grew up surrounded by animals. Sometimes they were whole animals, deer and tigers and caribou; sometimes they were just the head, set into a wooden plate on the wall. Each had a different personality and a different voice. They had been his friends since he was a baby, and he considered them truer confidants than even his parents. They comforted him when he was at his worst, spoke to him in quiet tones that he had learned by that point not to respond to in front of his parents: it's okay, you're okay, champ and you only did what he made you do and but you won't pick that awful gun up again, right?

But he never forgave himself for killing their sisters, the ones in the woods that looked and moved like them, with beating hearts in their chests and big shining eyes that went flat when his father finished them off. He never forgave himself for skinning them with a silver knife and eating their flanks when there was nothing else in the camp at night, because his father said he was proud of him and his chest was cleaved down the middle by a child's sick loyalty.

At a lack of other avenues Roman constructed himself into two faces. The first one was a happy, healthy little human boy who went to school and smiled at his parents and never made eye contact with any of his father's taxidermy or walked around the house at night on soft padding feet. The other one was his true self - an animal, among other animals, whose face looked less like the one in the bathroom mirror and more like a black thing with white eyes, too big to be a wolf and too small to be a bear, that howled its gleeful music up the chimney along with the chorus that lit up the mansion's crowded hallways just before dawn.

And for a while he survived like that: with his mask in the day and his life at night, not content but not wholly unhappy either.

But he had done his job well. He had done his job so well that his parents, through a combination of their own prideful ignorance and Roman's genuine deception of them, had not noticed that anything at all was wrong with their son. He passed his classes and didn't make trouble and spoke of his friends on occasion, and went hunting with his father every summer, and he was fine. They were all fine.

So on his eighteenth birthday they gathered him up and had a party for appearances and said Son, we had you late. We were old then and we're older now. We want to retire. And we love you, and we trust you, and so we're going to give you the company.

And Roman thanked them, gathered every shred of his human mask up to his face, looked at it, realized it wasn't going to be enough to cover himself up, and went deep into the house with his friends and didn't come out.

His parents were devastated. They'd been working so hard for this. The past eighteen years, and they'd been raising him for this. He loved them. They loved him. How could he be unhappy? And throwing a tantrum like a child? What had they raised him for if not this moment?

Roman, in the house, had been busy with the process of taking one of his father's unused taxidermy mounts, a deep dark glossy lacquered thing, and using his hands and a whittling knife to carve it into his real face.

The black mask. The wolf.

It came out looking more like a skull, but he figured that it was penance, after all, for all the siblings he had killed. He put it on and was overcome with hysterical calm relief, which was when his parents found the spare key to his rooms and broke in.

Their anger at him for what he had done quickly turned to rage at each other, and the company, and then Roman again, and each other, and through their screaming match and Roman's hysteria and the ceaseless chattering of the animals on the walls, nobody remembered the leftover sconces of candles downstairs until the smoke alarm went off.

To be short: Roman made it out. He was the only one.

Obviously, he was the primary suspect for the fire. They didn't believe that he couldn't have engineered the physical evidence, or that he wasn't lying about where he was at the time. There was nobody else alive from the house to confirm his statement. His face would never be the same again, that much was clear: the detectives and psychiatrists made quick work of the family mental history that he claimed he had never even heard about before that point - fat chance, kid - and by the time he got around to blabbering over his so-called siblings nobody took him seriously at all. They wrote him up. He couldn't be officially accused until the hearing, but it was an open-and-shut case. Poor bastard, but hey, it's Gotham. Shit like this happens every other week.

Roman Sionis never made it to the hearing.

He was out of the hospital for three hours before anyone noticed he was gone and his trail stopped cold at the exit doors. In forty-eight hours he had gone from one of the richest teenagers in the city to homeless, penniless, barefoot, and permanently disfigured - the fresh lacquer on his wooden mask had melted in the heat and fused straight onto his face, unless he wanted a complete transplant, skin and all.

Roman didn't. He figured that he had hidden enough. In his abject shock, he was starting to show some of his father's confidence, something he really always had hidden somewhere in the back but had always been pressing himself down too hard to show. He went into the guts of the city and stole a new set of clothes - all black, like the mask. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it in style. He was intelligent, a fast-talker, knew when to be quiet, and he really was still a crackshot, even after all those years. That was shit that could get a man pretty far down where he was.

The police never found Roman Sionis. They found the man who wore his body, sure, but the boy had been gone for a long, long time.

#black mask backstory piece because i felt like it #uneditied and its 1am btw. which is to say IGNORE ANY TYPOS PLEASEEEE #scribbles #clipsverse #black mask #roman sionis #its been haunting me that the image i have of kid roman in my brain is literally just thst one guy from metal family. can anyone here me #i WILL practice music all summer. etc

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somethingsgottasaveyou · 11 months

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There's just something so therapeutic about screaming your lungs out to your favourite songs at a concert

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rosewaterandivy · 5 months

Text

Summary: it’s always the best laid plans of mice and men, isn’t it?

Pairing: s.h. x f!oc

W.C.: 5.4K

Warnings: gilded age!au, miscommunication, a comedy of errors/manners, society snobs, a masquerade ball mishap, arranged marriage, steve ‘down bad’ harrington, and a reader/mc who doesn’t have time for this shit - she was educated abroad, she went to Vassar with Miss Nancy Wheeler, okay?!, back on my iliad bullshit (i know, i know)

playlist | m.list

I. Coup de foudre

It’s a dreary December evening in Manhattan. The streets are damp and slick accompanied by the cacophony of hooves, equipages and carriages trundling down the way. Somber topcoats and fur-trimmed capes hide the tailored waistcoats of the men and ornate skirts of the ladies, as is to be expected with the current onslaught of weather.

Small white flurries of snow that are sure to bring a swift end to laborious dinners and engagements at the club. And the man in the sleek black equipage himself is all too relieved about it— at least he would be released from the obligation of hearing his father’s friends complain about these upstart robber barons descending like a horde of locusts on Fifth Avenue.

A quiet night in his study would be a welcome distraction.

That is, if they can ever get home in this weather.

He can hear the whinny of the horses from up front and the soothing tones of the driver. The streets are probably close to icing over at this hour, making it difficult to find traction.

Suddenly, the equipage swings quickly to the side and careens into something with a loud thud, sending its sole occupant straight into the door with a smack. He hisses lowly at the twinge in his forehead as the driver descends with a flurry of apologies.

He opens the door himself and steps outside before the driver can assist him. The white puffs of his breath speak to how quickly the weather had turned. He draws his coat closer and approaches the two drivers as they attempt to settle the horses.

“Gentlemen,” He greets, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Noting to worry about Mr. Harrington,” His man, Andrew, assures him, “The ice just snuck up on us is all.”

He nods taking in the damage, dents and scuffs on both vehicles but the horses appear to be fine. Reaching into his coat pocket, he brings out a small notebook and a pencil to scribble his information down for the other driver. Is about to tell the man to bill him directly when someone steps out from the carriage opposite.

The footsteps themselves are delicate and tentative. He tears his gaze from the driver’s, glancing back only to find a young woman emerging from the carriage. She’s holding her skirts in one gloved hand, shivering in the cold.

“Is everything all right Jesse?”

Her voice is like music to his ears, melodic almost. And she looks like something stolen from a painting— bright and alluring.

The winter light is quickly fading, and the lamplighters were sure taking their time this evening. Her cape is dark, like his coat, but the split at the front reveals a purple skirt trimmed in demure black lace, signifying an exit from her period of mourning.

Her man, Jesse, shepherds her back toward the coach, “Let’s get you back inside Miss, don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“Of course,” She says with a shake of her head, “How silly of me.”

And before Steve can embarrass himself in an attempt to introduce himself, she’s safely ensconced back in the carriage. Her driver returns and takes the paper from Steve, tucking it into his coat.

“Apologies gentlemen, but I must be on my way.” He pulls himself back onto the driver’s box, “Have to get the young Miss home to her brother’s, you understand.”

He tips his hat, and with a tug of the reins he’s gone.

Steve finds himself standing right where she left him, feet riveted to the very spot where she once stood. He must have taken a step toward her at some point, like an utter madman, probably startled the poor girl half to death.

Despite their disastrous non-meeting, he can’t seem to shake her from his mind. As if everything had been in black and white until she stepped down from the carriage and breathed color into his world, spring bursting forth at the sound of her voice. It sounds positively insane, even to himself, but if Robin were here, she’d understand.

Hell, she’d probably have a word for it too.

Something French, inevitably.

“Mr. Harrington,” Andrew says, a hand tentatively resting on his shoulder, “Is something wrong?”

Steve blinks; a feeble attempt to clear his mind from thoughts of the mystery woman.

Andrew refrains from rolling his eyes, “Right sir, let’s get you home then.”

The journey back to the Harrington family manse was uneventful. The familiar brownstone facade came into view as Andrew swung the equipage onto the street outside the house. Luckily, the home was large enough that his late arrival wouldn’t be noticed.

He thanks Andrew and watches as he takes off with the horses for the carriage house a few blocks away. Stepping into the house, he makes quickly for his study slipping through the door just as one of the maids turns down the corridor.

Steve shucks his coat onto a nearby chair and tugs off his cravat with one hand, the other pouring a healthy portion of bourbon into a highball glass. He downs the amber liquid too quickly, the burn welcome against his throat.

After pouring another glass to sip from, he settles into a heap on a club chair by the window. Resting his jaw on a hand, he faces the glass panes, eyes trailing the flurries of snow outside, unsettled by the quiet of the street. His mind won’t stop racing, vacillating between kicking himself for not getting her name and hoping he’d run into her again, albeit this time under better circumstances.

Little did he know, that several blocks away a man was questioning poor Jesse about his whereabouts when a slip of paper was placed into his hand. He scans it quickly, face paling at the name scrawled there: Steven Harrington.

“How could you let this happen Jesse, really? The accident, I understand, but allowing my sister out of the carriage unaccompanied?”

“Sir, I had no—”

“I’ll not hear your excuses.” Christopher Fairchild balls his hand into a fist, the paper crumpling in his grasp. “You said he saw her, Harrington, that is?”

“Unfortunately,” Jesse admits, “I intervened as best I could and got her back into the coach. He seemed rather transfixed by her.”

His employer grunts, “Yes well, that is unfortunate. What if someone had seen her with that man, no chaperone in sight?” He turns to the sideboard and pours himself a drink, says with a scoff, “Not even out to society and potentially scandal-ridden.”

At this point, his wife, Marian, chooses to enter, having seen the young lady to her rooms and getting her settled for the evening. She places a tentative hand on his shoulder while Jesse trains his gaze to the floor.

“Darling,” She soothes, “Your sister is asleep as is the baby, don’t get yourself into a fit at this hour.”

He sighs as her palm moves in slow circles against his back and takes deep breaths. “Of course dear,” He sips from his drink and turns to her. “I just worry about her. All the work you’ve put into her debut and planning the ball.” Christopher places a kiss on the back of her hand, causing her to blush. “I don’t want it to be all for naught.”

She sighs prettily.

“It won’t be,” Marian advises, “You’ll write to the Harringtons tomorrow and we’ll get this matter settled. And there won’t be a speck on your dear sister’s reputation, I’ll see to that.”

But, oh dear reader, where would be the fun in that?

As we all know, the New York winter season is winding down rapidly, and do we not deserve something to keep us warm over the holiday? I would say so!

So, in honor of her long-awaited arrival, let us give a hearty New York welcome to Miss Eleanor Fairchild! Fresh from the society of Paris and a graduate of Vassar along with Miss Nancy Wheeler, her debut this week is the talk of the town.

Despite her indecorous brush with Mr. Steven Harrington, I am sure she will not have a shortage of suitors after the ball this weekend.

But the question remains, my loyal readers, of who will take a shine to Miss Fairchild and step out from the long shadow cast by the Harrington name?

Only time, and this weekly missive, will tell.

Morning in New York was startling and nothing like waking in Paris.

House maids, lady’s maids, and valets moving up and down the stairs, knocking on doors to air out the linens and draw the curtains aside to let the murky winter sun stream through. There was, of course, the soft babbling from the nursery as Gus woke from his repose, the nursemaid and his mother close at hand.

A sharp knock sounded from the door just as you drew the bedclothes closer to you, content to roll over and sleep through the gray morning.

“Bonjour mademoiselle, vous permettez?”

“Oui!” You say, curious at the chipper voice now opening the door, “Sorry, yes, you may enter.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.”

The girl, your new lady’s maid, softly shuts the door and turns to regard the room.

It’s certainly larger than what you’d grown accustomed to in France. But then again, most everything was in New York, especially so since you hadn’t returned to the city in well nigh on a year or more.

The room itself is well-appointed and elegant, Marian saw to that; soft colors and fabrics, diaphanous and frothy, a subtle nod to Versailles no doubt. You hadn’t had much time or energy to give it a glance last night, more inclined to have a late dinner, divest yourself of traveling clothes, and pass out as soon as possible.

The lady’s maid continues her silent assessment as another knock sounds from the door. She steps to open it and let in the housemaid.

“Good morning Miss,” She greets with a smile, her voice rounded with a warm Irish lilt. “I ‘spect you’ll be needin’ a fire this morning.”

You nod just now noticing the chill in the air. She busies herself with the kindling and sweeping ashes from the fireplace. The maids exchange a few soft words before she steps out to get the firewood from the Useful Man down the hall.

“Apologies,” You say by way of greeting, “But I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Oh, pardonne-moi,” the lady’s maid curtsies briefly, “Je m’appelle Marie.”

“Marie,” You repeat, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Moi aussi, mademoiselle.”

And from there, the ritual of dressing began. The house maid, Louisa, lit the fire and spirited you out of bed to air out the linens. At Marie’s suggestion, she also tackled unpacking the various trunks placed near the dresser and closet.

“These are fine frills Miss,” She smiled, her fingers delicately folding chemises and hanging skirts or dresses. “The Missus said your debut gown came all the way from Mr. Worth’s shop in Paris, is that true?”

A soft sigh escaped you at the memory, ivory chiffon and silk revealing the décolleté and arms, gauze and tulle providing a tempting illusion of bared skin. A full skirt with bustle that would skim the floor accompanied by a small train. With gloves and a fan to match, of course.

“Indeed, it is,” You allowed with a cheeky wink, “But I think Marie would have my head if I touched it before Friday.”

Marie, for her part, merely smirked and continued her preparations for your bath.

Across a few city blocks, a footman knocks on the imposing doors of the Harrington manse. The family butler, Campbell, just happens to be descending the stairs and takes it upon himself to open the door.

“Good morning sir,” The footman says with a bow, “Mr. Fairchild bid me to deliver this.” He hands over an envelope addressed to Mr. Samuel Harrington.

“Yes, well,” Campbell sighs, opening the door to let the footman in. “I’ll get this to him. If you hurry, Cook can scrounge up some coffee and a pastry for you. Just take the servant’s hall to the right.”

“Much obliged,” The footman says with a bow as Campbell starts up the stairs.

The handwriting on the envelope is neat, if a bit cramped. Must be the young Mr. Fairchild then, rather than his wife sending the correspondence.

Mr. Harrington’s study door is cracked open, the sound of papers shuffling to and fro on his desk as the butler enters. He briefly glances up to find Campbell, “Happen to know where I put those contracts, Campbell?”

“Perhaps the drawer on the left, sir.”

Mr. Harrington pulls the drawer open, “Right you are, good man.” And thereby loses himself to perusing the documents and thus ignoring Campbell.

“A letter has arrived for you sir,” He says stepping closer to the desk, “From Mr. Fairchild, it seems rather urgent. I have his footman waiting for your reply.”

“Hmm, well let’s have it then.”

He takes the letter from the butler’s hand and slips the blade of the letter opener under the paper. Retrieving the missive, he scans through it quickly, lips pulling down in distaste.

“See to it that Mrs. Harrington gets this,” He instructs, pulling out a new sheaf of paper and beginning his correspondence. “If she wishes to see my reply, she best be quick about it.”

The letter itself detailed the unfortunate meeting between Mr. Fairchild’s sister and Mr. Harrington’s only son. The man was understandably concerned about how it would seem should someone have happened upon them sans chaperone, as the young lady had yet to make her debut into society.

Mr. Harrington’s reply was cordial in an attempt to smooth things over— the Fairchilds, like the Harrington’s were of good stock, two families of the New York Four Hundred deemed to be unblemished and acceptable company by none other than the Grande Dame herself, Mrs. Astor. It wouldn’t be fitting for reputations to be sullied as the result of a simple misunderstanding.

As expected, Samuel’s wife, Amelia, swanned into the study seemingly in the midst of her morning toilette. Her hair was up, but she still wore her housecoat as her day dress had yet to be put on by her lady’s maid. Mr. Fairchild’s letter waved about in one hand, while the other pressed upon her chest as if to stop her racing heart.

“That boy of yours is going to give me heart failure.”

Samuel signs the letter with a flourish and lays his pen to the side.

“Oh, so he’s only my boy when he acts indiscreetly with the fairer sex, but he’s your son when he’s winning accolades at Harvard and breaking hearts abroad, is that it?”

She tuts and sits demurely on the divan, “Well, yes. Precisely that Sam.” She fans herself with the letter as her husband leans against his desk. “The social set have already written him off as a lost cause and we can ill afford a whisper of a scandal, especially now.”

Sam passes the reply to his wife and pauses, as if to choose his words carefully.

“Still moving forward with your plans to find Steven a wife then?”

“Of course, dear,” She answers brusquely, “There are many suitable ladies this season of decent breeding and passable looks.” She glances up and passes the letter back to him. “Your response is sufficient, send it off with the footman.”

Amelia rises from the divan and turns to leave. “Wake Steven and have a talk with him will you? I’ll send Maude out to the florist, he should write a note of apology for her to send along.”

“As you wish, dear.”

Amelia leaves just as abruptly as she appeared. Samuel sighs and furrows his brow, the inklings of a headache coming on. He taps his fingers against the desk and checks the time.

“Campbell,” He calls into the hall, “Have Calvin wake Steven and tell him to see my in the study.”

“Of course, sir.”

He takes a seat and settles himself behind the desk once more.

“And have Cook send something up? Coffee and breakfast for two.”

Awaiting the arrival of his son, Samuel Harrington turns and faces the bay of windows that look out onto the street below. He watches as Fairchild’s footman hops on the back of the coach and slides from his view. He contemplates his son’s options, admittedly there are few.

Such are the advantages and disadvantages in marrying a woman who’s as sly as a fox. It’s just a matter of out-maneuvering her; an entertaining and seemingly endless chess match that’s lasted even longer than their marriage.

But the silver lining in all this, he supposes, is that Steven Harrington, their sole child and heir, just so happens to take after his father in this respect, in that he’s crazy like a fox.

Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

As for the young Mr. Harrington, well, suffice it to say he had quite the morning. The newly arrived Miss Fairchild, however, had a luxurious start to her day (that is, if one discounts the pulling and pinning of hair, the tugging on of stockings and tightening of corset laces).

You joined your brother and sister-in-law in the dining room while another maid fixed a plate of breakfast for you; Pierce, the butler, stepped in to pour the coffee. You thanked them both and broke your fast, listening as Christopher and Marian discussed the events of the day.

“I’ll need to see to the accounts today,” Your brother said, turning his newspaper with a shake. “Everything should be in order before the ball this weekend.”

Marian nodded and sipped from her coffee cup. “I have some calls to make today, and thought Nell could accompany me.”

Christopher slowly lowers his newspaper and glances your way— don't feel obligated to do this, you haven’t been properly introduced into society yet.

Buying time, you take a bite from the flaky croissant on your plate and ruminate. In a way, both Chris and Marian are correct; you aren’t obligated to escort Mrs. Fairchild, nor would it be wise to turn down an informal introduction to those in Marian’s circle. She would, after all, be serving as your chaperone, and, along with your brother, introducing you to Manhattan high society on Friday at the ball.

Your debutante ball, to be precise.

At the time, Vassar was a welcome distraction and reprieve for being paraded around like a prize calf at auction. But then came the unfortunate illness and demise of your parents, followed by a year of mourning.

It would seem that your time of delay had finally come to its end.

After all, no one wanted a spinster for a bride.

Dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin, you clear your throat and brace yourself.

“That sounds lovely, Marian. I’d be happy to escort you today.”

She smiles and makes to reply, but before she can open her mouth to do so, a knock sounds from the front door. Puzzled, the three of you glance at one another, clearly not expecting a caller at such an early hour.

Pierce nods to someone by the door, bidding him to open it. He quickly returns with a beautiful arrangement of flowers, only to set them to your right and hand you a card. Baffled, you take in the spray of purple orchids, white tulips, lemon geraniums, the sprigs of rosemary, and tucked away behind the hearty green stalks, the shy blooms of forget-me-nots.

Respect, sincerity, an unexpected meeting, remembrance, and affection.

“Well,” Marian prompts from across the table, “Who are they from?”

It’s only then that you recall the card in your outstretched hand. Slipping from your reverie, you thumb open the small envelope.

Miss Fairchild—

Please accept my sincere apologies for our run-in yesterday evening. I hope it did not startle you. I’ve liaised with your brother about the repairs, and in the meantime will give you use of my equipage and pray it will suffice. I also hope that you’ll enjoy the flowers and please know that they relay my deepest and most sincere sentiments.

Cordially yours,

Steven Harrington

P.S. Je vous prie d’accepter mes sincères regrets et ma sympathie à l’occasion du décès de votre proches.

For the remainder of the week, Steve was a bundle of nerves. He’d written the note as his mother asked and even went so far as to accompany her to the florist, managing to slip in a few blooms that complemented the arrangement nicely. And if his mother didn’t happen to notice the errant sprigs of blue or the lingering scent of rosemary, then so much the better.

What he didn’t anticipate was the lack of a response.

“It isn’t done,” Miss Robin Buckley reminded him on their promenade in Central Park. “Until she is out to society, her brother is no doubt keeping her under lock and key.”

“You could provide the introduction,” He points out petulantly. “You’re choosing not to in order to entertain yourself with my suffering.”

“You cad,” She swats at him with her fan. “And no, I cannot. There’s a reason I fled to France after my disastrous debut, as you well know.”

And thus, Steve resigned himself to pining for a woman who barely knew of his existence, while the eligible bachelors of New York bided their time until her debut at the ball.

“For what it’s worth,” Robin says carefully as they round a bend, “There have been many deliveries to the Fairchild House, but yours was the first.”

He warms at the thought.

“That has to count for something, I suppose.”

She grins, “It will.”

They continue to walk, grateful for the brief break in the weather and discuss the evening’s festivities: who will wear what, how many dances until Robin steps on someone’s toes, how ostentatious the new money Vanderbilts will be.

They exit the park, parting ways as their carriages await. Robin catches a curious expression on her friend’s face, both dreamy and apprehensive. She lays a gloved hand on his arm.

“À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible.”

Steve glances down and says with a playful smirk, “Qui vivra verra.”

On Friday afternoon, Marian and Marie carefully assess your gown while Louisa dashes to and fro with the pearls, no the diamonds.

“Sapphires? No, that would ruin the effect.” Marian muses and Marie agrees.

You, by the by, are seated on the bed in a chemise and loosened corset, bored stiff, as the two hem and haw over how to best display you for the ball.

Because that’s all this is really, an overblown dog and pony show in which you’ll be paraded around and shown off to great effect all to attract suitors. It was enough to make one queasy. God forbid a woman do anything on her own or without the approval of a man.

As if men ever did anything worth doing that a woman didn’t have to make right.

Having quite enough of their chatter, you shrug into a robe and pull its sash tight, toe on some slippers and make your way down the hall. At the end of the corridor, you spy the cracked door to Christopher’s study. He’s shuffling papers and muttering to himself as you slip inside.

“I think the accounts can handle themselves for the evening,” you say with a smirk, settling yourself on a chair by the window.

He chuckles, “I suppose you’re right, clever girl.” Sorting the papers into a single file, he looks up at you with a quirked brow. “Had enough of Marian’s prodding, I take it?”

You sigh and dramatically cast your head back, “That’s the worst of it— they haven’t even begun!” Warming at his familiar laughter, you continue: “If I’d known that this is what I’d be subjected to, I would’ve stayed in France.”

Chris studies you at that; your weary sigh, crossed arms, and face a mask. Can’t make heads or tails of if you’re serious or not. Is it too soon? Did you still need time to mourn Maman and Papa? But then your debut had been delayed so much already…

“Is that what you want?”

It’s a question you hadn’t expected from him. But suddenly you’re reminded that he’s your brother, the only family you have left in the world. The man who dropped everything and took the first ship bound for France to be with you at your parents’ deathbed. He had insisted you stay at the house in Paris until you’d recovered your own strength and sent Marian and Gus to keep you company while he saw to business at home.

And knowing him as well as you do, Chris wouldn’t ask something idly.

So you choose your next words carefully.

“I no longer trouble myself with wants.”

The lightest dusting of snow begins to gather on the windowpane. Soon enough, all of the city would look like a snow globe. A perfect winter wonderland for the evening’s festivities, and your favorite kind of weather— snow makes everything look softer somehow, muffles the sound, and blankets the world in swaths of pure white. Your mother adored snow, had somehow convinced you and Chris that she could smell when it was about to begin. And maybe that’s why you’ve taken a shine to it now.

Turning from the window with a small smile, you rise to exit the study and get ready for the night. Leaving your elder brother puzzling over your parting phrase.

Steve could hardly forget your first meeting, but seeing you that evening nearly eclipsed the recollection. Without a cape and no longer in the purples and grays of half-mourning, you were quite a sight to behold.

And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Several men from the club, Hargrove, Hagan, and Byers, were scattered around the room sizing up the competition just as he was. Somehow, Edward Munson had been granted an invitation— with his railroad money and lack of pedigree. Regardless of social standing, each eligible bachelor in the room was jockeying for position; who would be the first introduction, the first dance, did her eyes fall on him or the man to his left?

Steve was well-versed in this routine, he’d been to enough debutante balls to last a veritable lifetime. Usually, he’d enter and make the necessary greetings before grabbing a refreshment and picking a wall to lean on because god help him if he was going to actually dance more than the bare minimum required.

But in this instance, things were different.

Namely, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since that fateful night. Despite the lack of interest from you (which was to be expected, really), he couldn’t help but think of you fondly. Descending from your coach to check on your driver and the horses, shivering in the evening chill, voice soft and sleep-worn.

There was also the fact that his mother was hovering somewhere behind him. She’d oh so fortunately seen Mrs. Fairchild as she was making her social calls earlier in the week and had received an informal introduction to you. She’d said as much at dinner that day and ever since then, she’d been subtly laying the groundwork for a possible courtship.

And as much as Steve did not want to bow to his mother’s machinations, he also desperately wanted an introduction with you. So he sips his drink and observes the goings on around him his attention turning to the grand staircase as someone announces:

“Presenting Miss Eleanor Joséphine Fairchild, escorted by her brother Mr. Christopher Fairchild.”

The symphony starts up as you descend the stairs to polite applause on the arm of your brother, eyes demure and downcast, your subtly rouged lips pulling into a soft smile. And Steve can hardly breathe— it’s as if the world slowed and went fuzzy at the edges, everything and everyone falling by the wayside save for you.

Because you are positively incandescent; beautifully angelic in your finery and reminiscent of Venus emerging from her shell. He feels as if he’s been struck, a warmth radiating in his chest, and wouldn’t be surprised to find one of Cupid’s golden arrows lodged there. And Steve knows a little of desire, of wanton lust; he is, after all, a man of privilege in a world that caters to his whims. But while this feels reminiscent of that— the heat, the wanting— there is also, oddly, restraint.

All eyes are on you as your brother leads you across the floor, smiling politely at those assembled, eyes never staying on one person for too long. You’re playing nice, presenting an unimpeachable image of the demure lady, it wouldn’t be done to favor one gentleman this evening. In fact, it would send the wrong message entirely.

Everyone present knows this; it is a game often played in polite society, even if its ramifications are— how shall we say it?— best left behind closed doors.

“A lamb and her shepherd,” His mother says, voice pitched low for only him to hear. “Bo-Peep will soon abandon his charge, and that, Steven, is when you will make your introduction.”

It’s all he can do to school his features and recede into himself; eyes glassy and blank, face a mask. Polite and charming, affable even. And while his mother thinks she is being helpful, it’s hard not to believe she isn’t pouring poison in his ear. Half expects her to say something akin to, “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.”

She doesn’t, and for that he is grateful. Instead, she melts away into the background and loops her arm through his father’s. And, sure enough, your brother does eventually leave your side only to be replaced by Mrs. Fairchild, who slips your wrist through a dainty loop of cream ribbon with a dance card and a small pencil attached.

The room stills, a pack of wolves lying in wait. Drinks are set aside, conversations cease; Amelia gives her son an unceremonious push forward, her gloved hand on his shoulder tipping him toward the inevitable. Steve nearly stumbles from the shock of it all.

Because in one moment he’s just another man in the crowd, an eligible bachelor at yet another ball prepared to drink the night away. And in the next, his eyes lock with yours, and he feels himself falling. It’s hopeless to fight it, this gravitational pull you seem to have over him; haven’t exchanged even two words, and he’s already in your thrall.

He can see your chest rise with your sharp intake of breath, eyes widening at his approach. Steve’s trying not to spook you, really he is. He thinks back to his favored horse, Balius, the clomping hooves and fierce breaths, tries to calm you in the same manner— a slow approach, a small smile, and soft words.

And while he would never bow to the stubborn dappled stallion, Steve does bow to you and says, “Steven Harrington, a pleasure to meet you officially Miss Fairchild.”

Your eyes light in recognition, of his name or him he cannot tell. But you curtsy all the same and offer him your hand, as etiquette dictates. He takes it gladly, marvelling at the fine fabric of gloves adorning it. His finger finds the racing pulse on the underside of your wrist, running along it slowly.

Another sharp intake of breath at the sensation, a heat skittering underneath your skin as his fingers loop around your wrist, your pulse thudding in their wake.

He opens the booklet and takes his time writing his name, well aware at the gathering of eligible suitors at his back. He’s loathe to release your hand and leave you to all of this, the wolves at the gate, but as much as he wants to whisk you away from what is sure to be an uncomfortable and tiring evening, Steve is required, as is everyone else, to play the game.

And Steven Harrington is playing to win.

Mr. Harrington—

It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance this past Friday, and thank you for your presence. I do hope the evening passed pleasantly for you and my apologies for not seeing to you more frequently, but other obligations, as you well know, prohibited me from seeking your company. Furthermore, I must apologize for being remiss in not offering my sincerest gratitude for the lovely flowers and the gracious use of your equipage. You are truly a generous man, and I am grateful for your friendship.

Cordially yours,

Miss Fairchild

P.S. Merci pour le sauvetage de Monsieur C—. Je n'avais aucune idée sur sa relation avec Mademoiselle C—. J’espère que vote intercession ne reflétera pas mal sur vous. Je vous suis redevable.

Steve’s postscript: Please accept my sincerest and deepest condolences on the passing of your parents.

Nell’s postscript: Thank you for the rescue from Mr. C—. I had no idea about his relationship with Miss C—. I hope your intercession will not reflect poorly on you. I am in your debt.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #fic: cf & dd

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fortheloveofwonderland · 7 months

Text

Midnight | Chapter 17 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - Luke arrives in Crested Butte and meets some locals. Spencer has his own problems to deal with.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - drinking, brief mentions of sex, swearing, bribery, false allegations, sexual abuse. WC - 5.8k

Chapter 17 - Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

You didn’t remember much about returning to the cabin last night as upon arriving back in Butte you and Spencer had indulged in one two many drinks at The Eldo before finally stumbling home well after midnight.

Judging by the fact your body was sore and you were naked, you’d probably had sex more than once and your head was throbbing when you opened your eyes, but you felt at peace.

Spencer stirred next to you, pulling you closer to his body and kissing your messy hair.

“I swore I’d never drink that much again.” He grumbled.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a freight train.” You agreed.

“I think that was more my fault than the alcohol. I’m fairly certain we had sex at least five times. And from memory it got pretty rough.” He pulled you even closer.

“Worth it.” You smiled sleepily, resting your head on his chest. “I feel like shit, but I also feel on top of the fucking world.”

“Hmm, me too.” He agreed, nuzzling his face against your head.

“Don’t get excited, I don’t think my body can handle anymore sex right now.”

“Trust me when I say I don’t even think I have the energy to get it up.” He chuckled.

“That is music to my ears right now.” You giggled.

“Give it time, I’m sure there’s only so long I can lay next to a beautiful, naked woman before it happens of its own accord.”

“Fair enough.” You giggled again. “I can handle that. But I never want to drink again in my life.”

“Agreed.” Spencer exhaled before adding. “You know, until next time.”

You snuggled into him, wrapping your arm around his waist and slinging one leg over his. In that moment you felt invincible.

***

McGill’s Diner on Elk Avenue had a traffic camera positioned between the ground and first floor windows, capturing every car that passed by. It was the same camera that had witnessed the little blue Nissan purchased by Andrew Burnett in Franklin County, Virginia, drive up and down the street multiple times over the last week.

With no better place to start, Luke parked up at the curb and headed inside. He was under strict instructions from Prentiss that he was to not treat this like a federal investigation, they had no idea what they were dealing with and they didn’t want to alert the townsfolk to FBI presence. He was simply a concerned friend.

To stave off temptation, he left his creds in the hire vehicle he’d driven the forty minutes from Gunnison-Crested Butte Regional Airport. He did however keep his firearm visible in his holster on his hip.

A little bell chimed above the door as he entered the diner. It was late enough that the breakfast rush was over and early enough for the lunchtime crowd not to have surfaced yet so it was reasonably quiet. There was an older couple in a booth over the back and a younger man and woman sitting at the counter.

Luke made his way over to where a guy around your age was fixing a pot of coffee behind the counter. He looked up when he heard Luke approached and offered him a friendly smile. He wore a green flannel shirt over a black tee which had some kind of stain down it.

“Hi there,” he put down the coffee pot and gave Luke his full attention. “Can I get you a table?”

“No, thanks. I’m actually looking for some people. My friends, I think they might be here.” Luke dove straight in.

“Sure, I might be able to help. Most people come through here even if they're just in town for a day or two. Our coffee is pretty good.”

“Is this your place?”

“No, my dads.” The man wiped his hand on his jeans before extending it towards Luke. “Jesse McGill.”

“Luke Alvez.” Luke shook his hand. “So like I said, I’m looking for my friends. Rose and Andrew Burnett. I can show you pictures if you like?”

“No, that’s ok.” Jesse rolled his lip between his teeth. “I know them. Well, I know her better than him, never really spoken to him but I’ve seen him around.”

“They still in town?” Luke asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, I guess so. Haven’t seen them for a few days so I can’t be sure. People come and go, you know? This place is a bit of a tourist trap.” Jesse shrugged.

“A ski resort isn’t much of a tourist trap in spring time.” Luke narrowed his eyes on Jesse, feeling as though the man was hiding something from him. “You know where they’re staying?”

Jesse straightened his back, running a hand through his thick beard while he contemplated how to answer that. Luke could tell he knew exactly where they were staying but for whatever reason, didn’t want to share the information. He knew all it would take to get it out of him would be to flash his FBI badge, but of course Prentiss had ordered him not to.

Jesse was mulling over what you’d told him the other night about Rose not being your real name and not really being married and now a stranger had shown up looking for you, that couldn’t be good.

Something happened and we had to leave our jobs, our homes, that’s what you’d said to him. Were you running from someone, someone like this man in front of him? He didn’t want to risk your safety or betray your trust. He didn’t get a good vibe from this Luke Alvez character.

“No, sorry I don’t.” He shrugged again. “Like I say, haven’t seen them in a few days, they may have already left town.”

Luke wasn’t buying any of this. Jesse knew exactly where you and Spencer were but he wasn’t going to tell Luke. Why, Luke didn’t know, but without his FBI creds to back him up he knew he wasn’t going to get much further. Maybe he’d reassess, call Prentiss and tell her that no one was talking to him and he needed some authority on his side.

“Well, you also said most people come through here right? So I’ll take that table now and a cup of that coffee and I’ll wait.” Luke smiled smugly at him and subtly put his hands on his hips to draw attention to his firearm.

Jesse glanced down at it and the fear he’d felt for your safety only doubled. What the hell kind of trouble were you in and how could he alert you to it without arousing suspicion? For now he nodded, motioning Luke towards a table and following him over with the pot of coffee. He left him alone after that but kept a watchful eye over the stranger in his diner.

Luke pulled out his phone and texted Prentiss to let her know that he’d arrived in the Butte but hadn’t had much luck yet. He sipped the coffee, which he couldn’t deny was pretty incredible and stared at the door as if it would magically open and you would stroll in.

He was only sitting there for about a minute before a young girl with bright red hair who had been sitting at the counter slid into the booth opposite him. She had a curious look in her large green eyes as she leant on the table with her elbows.

“I know Andrew Burnett pretty well.” She cut to the chase.

“Really?” Luke cocked his eyebrow at her.

“We hooked up a few times.” She shrugged, her words causing Luke to pull a face.

“You and S…Andrew?”

“Yep.”

“How old are you?” Luke’s brow furrowed heavily, thinking there was no way Spencer would sleep with this girl.

“Twenty seven.” She sat straight and puffed out her chest but Luke’s disbelieving look caused her to huff. “Fine, I’m twenty two.”

“Yeah, uh, no offence but I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t sleep with a twenty two year old.” Luke clucked.

“Well, he did. More than once.” She smirked smugly. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything because of his little wifey, but he couldn’t keep his hands off of me.”

“Wifey as in Rose?”

“Uh huh, between you and me she seems kinda like a stick in the mud.”

“That stick in the mud is my friend.” Luke scowled at her.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s no better. She might be boring but he has some anger issues.” She picked at one of her nails.

“Anger issues?” Luke frowned, it wasn’t the first time someone had inferred that about Spencer recently.

“Yep. I think he controls Rose, she always seems a little timid round him. And then there was the time he practically threw me against a wall.”

“He…are you sure?” Luke was frowning so hard he felt a headache pinching at his temples.

“Yeah that’s not the kind of thing you forget. He couldn’t keep it up, tried to blame me for it. So I told him he probably couldn’t keep it up because he was old…no offence.”

“None taken.” Luke pulled a face.

“Anyway so he just freaks, gets me up against the wall and yells in my face and I swear he’s going to hurt me.” She finished with a shake of her head.

“Did he?”

“No, but I think he wanted to.”

Luke pulled out his phone and got up a photograph of Spencer which he turned to show the girl.

“Is this the man you’re talking about?”

“Yep, that’s him.” She nodded. “You say you know him, you must know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, see that’s the thing, I don’t know him to be an angry or violent man. So what I’m wondering is maybe you had a little crush on him and he rebuffed you and so you’re making up stories to tarnish him and make yourself feel better.” Luke picked up the coffee mug and lifted it to his lips.

“I’m not five.” She spat. “I know what happened. I was just trying to help but if you don’t need-”

“Ok, Mary, that’s enough now.” She was cut off by a hand on her shoulder and she looked up to see Jesse standing over her. “You can leave now.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed, sliding out of the booth and sulking away. Jesse soon took her place, sitting down opposite Luke and exhaling through his nose.

“Look, I don’t make a habit of agreeing with her, but I think she might be telling you the truth.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Rose told me something bad happened to them and that she had get away and when you strolled in here looking for them, I thought maybe you were the something bad, you know?”

Luke nodded slowly, sitting forward in his seat.

“But you don’t think so now?” Luke narrowed his eyes on Jesse.

“No.” Jesse shook his head. “You’re a cop right? Shoulda noticed that before, you scream law enforcement.”

“FBI.” Luke whispered so no one else would hear. “I’m not here on official capacity though, I worked with Y/N and Spencer, they’re my friends and I really am just trying to find them.”

“Y/N and Spencer?” Jesse frowned. “She told me Rose wasn’t her real name but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. They’re FBI?”

“They were, until a while ago when they just skipped down.” Luke ran his fingers through his hair, knowing he shouldn’t be telling Jesse any of this. “You said you thought that kid was telling the truth? Why?”

Jesse exhaled again, looking sceptically at Luke as though he still wasn’t sure he trusted him. He ran his fingers through his beard and pulled a face that Luke couldn’t place.

“When I first met Rose…Y/N, she told me her “husband” was a drunken bully. I got the impression she was scared of him. I asked her if he hurt her and she said no but she did say that he had a temper. He’s a skinny dude but there’s something about him that makes me think he wouldn’t hesitate in kicking someone’s ass. He doesn’t strike me as stable, if that makes sense.” Jesse looked uncomfortable sharing this information, like he was betraying you in doing so.

“It makes absolutely zero sense, but if you knew Spencer Reid, it wouldn't make sense to you either.” Luke shook his head.

“I’m scared for her.” Jesse admitted, leaning on the table and lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “They’re staying on Gothic Avenue, big cabin right at the end. Come out of here and go straight up 4th, take the second right onto Gothic. Keep going for about a half mile and it's the big one on the corner right before the large rec.”

“You did the right thing.” Luke smiled at him, reaching into his pocket and subtly sliding his card across the table which Jesse quickly took. “If you see either of them, please call me.”

“Sure.” Jesse nodded, soon sliding out of his chair and walking away.

Luke downed the rest of the coffee and got to his feet, making quick work of getting outside and back into his hired car and following Jesse’s instructions, drove towards the Gothic Avenue cabin.

But he wasn’t the only one on that particular mission and he didn’t notice the redhead following him outside and heading the same way on foot.

***

It was just before lunch time, after some extremely lazy sex that you finally dragged yourself out of bed, your hunger getting the better of you. But you soon came to find the cupboards were empty.

Spencer bribed you with sexual favours you probably would have gotten anyway, to go down to Scout’s as he physically couldn’t prise himself away from the bed. Reluctantly you’d agreed, taking a quick shower to wash the stench of sex off of you before dressing and heading outside.

You got about a third of the way down Gothic Avenue when you suddenly felt as though you were being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention and you felt something was wrong in your gut. You picked up your pace, partially wishing you’d had the forethought to bring the Colt with you.

Just before you made it to 4th Street a hand clamped down on your shoulder. You were trained for this. You knew exactly what to do.

Without even so much as taking a breath, you spun quickly on your heels and sent your fist flying into the face of your potential attacker. They stumbled backwards with a loud groan of pain, hands flying to where you’d just punched them in the nose.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” He yelped, glaring at you as he held his nose.

You stared at the man you’d hit wide eyed as the air felt like it escaped your lungs.

“L-Luke?” You stuttered, wobbling on your feet. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” He grumbled. “I should have known better than to sneak up on you.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You repeated.

“Where’s Spencer?” He let go of his nose and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You didn’t miss a beat.

“Sorry, I meant Andrew. Andrew Burnett, your husband.” He nodded his head towards the wedding band.

“Goddamnit.” You growled, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How did you find us?”

“We’re profilers, Y/N. Come on.” He rolled his eyes. “Garcia found Reid’s car. We tracked you to a used car lot and the car you bought with Spencer’s fake licence. We put out an APB on the Nissan and found it had been picked up on cameras in this town several times.”

“Are the rest of the team here?” You folded your arms across your chest.

“No, just me. We’re shorthanded, remember?”

“Good. You need to leave, you have no idea what you’ve walked into.”

“Y/N,” he softened, stepping towards you. “Has Spencer done something? Has he threatened you?”

“What? Why would you think that?” You scoffed.

“I spoke to some people in town and they seem to think he’s this violent, angry man.”

“Who told you that?” You frowned at him.

“That doesn’t matter. You need to tell me what’s going on. You understand that this looks bad, right?” Luke pleaded with you.

“We just wanted to get away. Spencer’s been struggling since prison and I was feeling stifled at the BAU. So we decided it might be a good idea to just get away from it all for a while.” You tried to insist but you knew Luke wasn’t buying it.

“I might believe that if it wasn’t for the burner phones and fake IDs and burnt out cars.” He spat. “You were an FBI agent for a long time, you know what that looks like, don’t you?”

It looks like two criminals on the run. It looks exactly like what it is.

“What are you implying, Luke?” You frowned heavily at him.

“If Spencer has done something, to you or to anyone else, you can tell me, Y/N. You can tell me anything.” He looked deep into your eyes and you felt for a brief moment that bond between the two of you.

You could tell him anything, you knew that much. Luke Alvez had done nothing but stick by your side through everything and you knew this would be no different.

You reached up and fiddled with the rose gold heart pendant around your neck. Did you love Spencer enough to protect him from this? Or was this finally your way out?

***

Spencer threw the pillow over his head and groaned deeply as a heavy knock sounded on the front door. The alcohol from last night that still seemed to be drowning his brain cells meant it felt like whoever was knocking was doing so directly against his skull.

His plan had been not to leave this bed all day. His drive to and from South Dakota plus an exuberant amount of sex had drained his energy and the scotch he’d consumed left him feeling dizzy.

The knock came again, followed in quick succession by the doorbell. Whoever it was clearly didn’t plan to go away easily. He groaned, his head spinning as he forced himself out of the comfort of the plush bed. His eyes were blurry and made trying to find any semblance of clothes almost impossible.

As a third knock sounded he managed to locate his boxers and stumbled trying to put them on. His legs wobbled frantically as he slowly crept from the bedroom and down the stairs.

His stomach lurched as he walked and he briefly thought he might throw up but thankfully it passed. He continued through the living room towards the door as the doorbell rang once more.

“Jeez. Alright I’m coming.” He belched rather unceremoniously. “Jesus I’m still drunk.”

He threw open the door, keeping hold of it to help steady himself. He blinked a few times against the bright red assault of colour on his retinas before focusing on her face. He groaned, suddenly wishing he’d made an effort to put more clothes on and that he wasn’t standing here in just his boxers with her on his front porch.

“Fucking hell, what do you want?” He leant against the door jamb, not trusting his wobbly legs to stand unaided.

“Well that’s just rude.” Mary smirked at him and there was something menacing to it. “I just want to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” He stood back up, moving to close the door in her face only in his state she was faster and she shoved her hands against the wood to stop it from closing.

“Oh I think we have a lot to talk about.” Her smirk grew. “Why don’t you invite me in, Spencer Reid?”

***

“You can tell me anything.” Luke repeated when you were silent for some time.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“Oh please, Spencer couldn’t hurt a fly and you know it.” You shook your head.

“So he didn’t give you those bruises on your neck?” Luke looked quietly smug.

You unfolded your arms and one of your hands went to your throat. You’d gotten used to them being there if truth be told and didn’t think much of them most of the time.

“It’s not what it looks like.” You brushed your fingers over the bruises.

“Oh really? Because to me it looks like he tried to strangle you.” Luke hissed.

“Fucking christ, Alvez,” you spat back, grinding your teeth furiously. “You really want me to stand here and tell you I like it when he puts his hand around my throat when he fucks me?”

You swore you saw the exact moment Luke’s heart shattered in his chest. His eyes softened and he stumbled backwards, his mouth falling open as a pain washed across his face. You instantly regretted your harsh choice of words but it was too late.

“You’re…you’re sleeping with him?” He couldn’t hide the upset from his voice despite how hard he tried.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “We’re, uh, together I guess.”

“You are aware he’s sleeping with some young redhead, right?” Spencer spat.

“What? How do you know about Mary?” You glared at him.

“I met her! She told me that Spencer got aggressive with her when he couldn’t get it up. I didn’t believe her at first but then that McGill guy said you’d told him that your “husband” was a bully.” Luke sounded exasperated.

“You talked to Jesse?” You spat. “Luke, you had no right! You had no right to follow us here in the first place. We’re happy here, just let it go.”

“Happy? Happy?” He scoffed, stepping towards you. “You’ve got a fucking trail of bruises around your neck and I’m starting to think they aren’t the only ones.”

Before you could reply, Luke was grabbing one of your hands and pushing the sleeve of the pink wool sweater up your arm revealing more finger shaped bruises circling your wrist.

“Goddamnit, conejito, really? You’re happy? You’re happy being abused?” He dropped your arm and stepped back, sadly shaking his head.

“It’s not abuse, jeez. We like rough sex Luke, so what?”

“Oh my god, please stop talking about you and Reid’s sex life.”

“Are you jealous?” You scowled at him. “Are you jealous because he’s got all you ever wanted?”

He frowned at you, looking at you like he didn’t recognise you anymore, like he was standing in front of a stranger. He took a step back, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Maybe once this is what I wanted, yeah. But you aren’t the same person anymore, are you? You’re not my conejito.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“I was never your conejito, Luke.” You spat. “You need to leave, you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain to me what’s going on. What has Spencer done? What are you scared of, Y/N?” Luke begged.

“Spencer has done nothing but love me! We wanted a fresh start, away from the BAU and all the bullshit. I don’t need you anymore Luke, I don’t need you protecting me. Let me go, for the love of god just let me go!” You raised your voice.

“I think something happened,” he stepped closer to you. “I think Spencer did something really bad and you’re covering for him because you’re scared. You don’t need to be scared, Y/N. Just tell me what he’s done and I can help you.”

He reached for you but you slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me. Spencer has done nothing wrong, Jesus just because you’re an FBI agent doesn’t mean you always have to think like one. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the right one. And in this case it’s as simple as we wanted to get away and we knew we’d never be able to do that as Y/N Y/L/N and Spencer Reid.” You growled at him, your back well and truly up.

“You’re lying.” He bit back. “I know you better than you know yourself and I know when you’re lying. We’re the best goddamn profilers in the world and I swear to you, Y/N, we will find out what he’s done and we will come for him. Don’t let yourself become collateral damage.”

“Burden of proof.” You shrugged, a wry smile on your face. You remembered so well having a conversation with Spencer in his apartment about the same subject not so long ago. “You say you’re the best goddamn profiliers in the world, but so are me and Spencer. And if, hypothetically, he'd done something, do you really think he’d leave behind any evidence?”

“You could save yourself a lot of trouble if you just tell me what I need to know.” Luke continued to plead with you.

“You need to know nothing, except for the fact Spencer and I love each other and we are in this together until the bitter end. So why don’t you hop back on the jet and leave us the fuck alone.” You spat so venomously that Luke was actually a little scared of you.

“You’ve changed.” He shook his head sadly.

“And you never will.” You pushed past him on the sidewalk, deciding to forgo Scout’s in lieu of going home.

Your blood was boiling in your veins as you marched back towards the cabin, furious at the BAU for tracking you down, angry at Luke for coming all the way out here.

But it was only the beginning.

***

“What do you want from me?” Spencer sat on the couch while Mary stood over him, wishing he weren’t still tipsy and clouded by last night's scotch.

“I want to know why two FBI agents are hiding out in our town using fake names.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to insist but he wasn’t able to control his facial expressions the way he normally would.

“Does the name Luke Alvez mean anything to you?” She scrutinised him and Spencer fought with his expression not to give anything anyway but the scotch was in control.

“No.” He shook his head, swallowing thickly.

“Hmm, I don’t believe you.” She spoke in a sickly sweet tone. “Because I met him and he seems pretty convinced that you and Rose…or should I say Y/N are FBI agents who just dropped their whole lives and ran off without a trace.”

She met Luke? Luke is here? Why the fuck is Luke here? What the hell is happening?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He folded his arms across his bare chest.

“Let’s try this again,” she came closer to him. “And I swear to god if you’re not honest with me…”

“What? You'll do what?” He scoffed at her.

“I’ll tell everyone the truth about who you are.” She shrugged.

“And you think they’d believe you?” He chuckled. “You think they will believe a story as convoluted as this? Sweetheart, they will think you’re crazy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Mary shrugged. “Fine, I’ll tell everyone I know that you sexually assaulted me.”

Spencer stared at her in utter horror of what she was saying but she looked nothing by smug. His heart started hammering so hard in his chest he felt even sicker than he already had done. He searched for a sign she was bluffing but saw none.

He was taken back to an interrogation room at a woman’s correctional facility. He could see her so clearly in front of him, Cat Adams telling him she was pregnant with his child. He could hear her wicked voice in his ears.

I had Lindsey dose you in Mexico. You lost time. And I gave her very specific instructions to get you in the mood.

“W-what?” He stammered. “That’s not the kind of thing you lie about.”

“Tell me the truth then.” She shrugged.

“I’m not telling you shit.” He shook his head, pushing himself up to his wobbly legs.

“Well then, I guess I’ll go. Who should I start by telling? My dad? My brothers?” She started towards the door but Spencer quickly moved and grabbed her roughly by the wrist, somehow able not to fall flat on his face.

“Listen you little bitch,” he shook her by her arm, growling in her face. “Do you have any idea how many people are actually assaulted every day? How many don’t report it because they’re scared they won’t be believed? And you want to use their real pain for your own sick gain?”

“You know you’re not helping yourself right? If you bruise me it’ll only make my story seem more believable.” She glanced at his hand on her wrist and he quickly let her go. “And don’t think I haven’t seen the bruises on your lovely wife. I’m sure she would back up my story.”

“The only story she would back up is the one where you’re a desperate little whore who shamelessly wanted to fuck a man you perceived to married.” He snapped at her.

“Well I guess we’ll see won’t we? Who’s going to believe the strange out of towner over the young, innocent girl.” She pouted.

Stop being the boy who cried rape, Spencie. It’s not a good look.

“What do you want? Why do you care who I really am? Fine, if it’s going to shut you up, yes, my name is Spencer Reid. I was an FBI agent and so was Y/N. We changed our names and left town. Why do you even care?” He sighed in exasperation.

“I guess FBI agents make pretty good money, right?” She mused and Spencer felt his stomach coil into knots at the insinuation.

“That’s what this is about? You want money?” He scoffed.

“I told you I want out of this town. I work three jobs and I am nowhere close to having enough. Finding out your little secret is the best thing that could have happened to me. So if you don’t give me what I want, I will disgrace the former FBI agent Spencer Reid and tell everyone that you raped me. Ten grand should do it.” Her smirk grew tenfold and Spencer felt the anger rising throughout his whole body.

But his brain was still clouded in a thick fog of alcohol. If he’d been at full capacity he would have easily been able to figure a way out of this, but right now all he could think of was killing Mary. The only problem with that was his guns and hunting knife were upstairs.

He could strangle her to death, feeling as she took her last breath. But he knew better, even in his state, that killing someone close to home would only come back to bite him in the ass. He’d been so careful up until now and he couldn’t ruin everything because of this stupid bitch. There had to be another way.

Mary was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, much like he was. He’d tricked everyone in this town into thinking he was just the mild mannered Andrew Burnett here with his wife to escape the big city. But in reality he was a violent killer, an injustice collector of sorts. Maybe Mary was his karma and now was his time to pay up.

“Let’s just talk about this, please?” He begged her, eyes flickering somewhere off to the side as he sensed a movement by the kitchen.

“No, no more talking.” She shook her head, clearly not noticing he was distracted. “You pay me now or I will go straight to the cops.”

If she heard the sound of the gun being cocked, it was too late. And then suddenly the reverberation of a single gunshot filled the room and the bullet pierced straight through the back of Mary’s head, exiting between her eyes and continuing into the wall next to the front door.

The last sound Mary made was a small gasp as she collapsed on the floor in a pool of her own blood at Spencer’s feet. The shock was written all across his face as he looked up at you, still holding the smoking gun in your hand.

You tucked it in your waistband and strolled closer to Spencer whose mouth was hanging open and wide eyes glared at you in a stupor.

“W-what did you…? Why did you?” He croaked out as you stepped closer, not a single hint of remorse in your eyes.

“Karma’s a bitch.” You shrugged simply. “And so was she.”

Hahaha, this is about you.

Beware, beware, be sceptical,

Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold.

Deceit so natural,

But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning.

Baa baa, black sheep, have you any soul?

No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals?

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,

Jill's a little whore, and her alibis are dirty tricks.

So could you,

Tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

Aware, aware, you stalk your prey,

With criminal mentality.

You sink your teeth into the people you depend on,

Infecting everyone, you're quite the problem.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, you better run and hide,

I smell the blood of a petty little coward.

Jack be lethal, Jack be slick,

Jill will leave you lonely, dying in a filthy ditch.

So could you,

Tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

Maybe you'll change,

Abandon all your wicked ways,

Make amends and start anew again.

Maybe you'll see,

All the wrongs you did to me,

And start all over, start all over again.

Who am I kidding?

Now, let's not get overzealous here,

You've always been a huge piece of shit.

If I could kill you, I would,

But it's frowned upon in all fifty states.

Having said that, burn in hell, yeah.

Oh, oh, oh.

So tell me how you're sleeping easy,

How you're only thinking of yourself.

Show me how you justify,

Telling all your lies like second nature.

Listen, mark my words, one day (one day),

You will pay, you will pay.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom

#spencer reid #unsub spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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nihildenial · 2 months

Text

"Fifty Shades of Pink" a Papa Emeritus III x Omega fic

SMUT UNDER CUT

one chapter ; wc: 6,586

There wasn’t much that could surprise Omega anymore. He’s been topside for about six years now, served as rhythm guitarist for three Papas, and performed countless ritual performances.

This, however, was something new.

“Isn’t it perfecto ?” The short man in front of him throws his arms wide and does a slow spin.

Omega simply blinks his lavender eyes and tries his best to think of a way to put what he’s thinking into nice-enough words. Why the hell did he agree to go to the cobbler to pick up the Terzo’s loafers and leave his kin with the man? “It’s…tailored nicely.”

Terzo Emeritus, Papa Emeritus III, a forty-three year old, pouts like an affronted child. He turns back to the large floor length mirror and takes in his appearance from the tailors’ platform. “I think I look like I belong in one of those fancy Ivy League college fraternities! Alpha told me pink was my color. Imagine a beer in my hand.”

“You took advice from Alpha? The Ghoul who still puts on different colored socks because he’s too lazy to find a pair from his dresser?”

The raven-haired man huffs, “You were too busy with Francesco! Maybe if you weren’t such a bossy-pants, you would have been here. I think I’ll keep it like this just to show you that I do look handsome.”

Omega sets down the several pairs of ties and socks on the vacant chair next to the platform. Of course his kin would disappear when someone had to tell Terzo he looked like a bottle of pepto-bismol. “I didn’t say you weren’t handsome. It’s tailored well to your figure. The color on the other hand…”

“Pink is the new black! Slimming for the masculine shape, and feminine to complement the olive tone of my sun-kissed Italian tan.”

The large Quintessence Ghoul sighs, “Just humor me and try the gold that we originally agreed on.”

“No!” Terzo steps off the platform, losing the extra inches of height. “I like this. We’re going to check out and go back to the Ministry.”

“You look like a child dressed for church.” He could pick the small man up with one hand and shake him like a naughty toddler.

Terzo flips a loose bang out of his eyes, “I’ll let you be the first to take it off me.”

Omega holds back a grumble, “What is the horrible pink shirt for anyway? You’re still getting the white suit, right?”

“Of course, I’m getting the white suit! This is for a new music video; Sister Imperator finally said the budget was thick enough to shoot it,” His fingers make sure the Grucifix cufflinks are facing the same direction, leading Omega and his purchases to the Ralph Lauren counter.

“Mr. Emeritus, I see the tailor was able to make those adjustments for you.” The woman flashes a polite smile.

Omega sees it falter a bit as he feels his four kin reappear at his side. Of course, Alpha has damn pink socks. “We are not getting pink socks too.”

Alpha puts the offending socks on top of Omega’s well-chosen accessories. “He looks good in pink.”

“I’m buying the damn socks, Omega,” Terzo affirms and lets the woman take all the items to begin scanning.

Omega could be petty and not hand over the Ministry credit card, but Terzo strikes him with a look that promises a reward for being good. “Fine,” He grumbles and nudges Alpha out of the way so he can sign the receipt. The woman hands back the large items in several bags and the five glamoured hellbeasts follow their leader out onto the busy 5th Avenue streets. Glamouring all of them, they walk undisturbed down the block to where a sleek SUV idles.

“That’s what you spent all that time getting fitted for?” Is the first thing out of Sister Imperator’s mouth when they all pile into the car. A bag of clothing for some of the Sisters of Sin sits by her feet in the passenger seat.

Omega sits directly behind her, letting her take in Terzo in the driver side middle seat. “I said the same thing.”

“We like it, Papa,” Pebble chirps from the third row, “All of us back here do.”

Alpha and Mist nod.

All eyes turn to Zephyr, who is unfortunately stuck sitting between Omega and Terzo. “I mean…Papa can make anything look fetching.”

Terzo claps a hand on the air Ghoul’s shoulder, “Majority rules! Now, let us get back to the Abbey so I can make sure the equipment is ready for shooting tomorrow.”

Sister Imperator pinches the bridge of her nose, but nods for the Brother of Blasphemy to go ahead and drive away.

“I made sure we got the white suit, at least,” Omega watches the bustling city slowly crawl past them in traffic.

“I knew I could count on you, Omega,” She says, reaching back and patting the Ghoul’s knee.

—----------

For the music video of He Is , the Ghouls weren’t needed as actors or instrumentalists, so Terzo gave them all the day off–except for Omega.

“Your punishment for yesterday is that you get to spend the day with us as we shoot.” It’s like four in the morning so they could get the shots down at the river around mid afternoon.

He wants to whine like a Ghoul kit. “They’re going hunting! Deer season just began!”

“Maybe I’ll take pity on you after the lunch break,” Terzo chides with a wink, “Now sit in your chair and be good for Papa. You can be my waterboy.”

Omega would do most anything for him. Sitting and zoning out while his beautiful Papa twirls his dramatic ass around a sound stage may sound like a relaxing afternoon, but his kin are out frolicking among the large forest and hunting.

Terzo stands on his tip-toes to presumably kiss Omega, but the antipope simply smacks his lips a hair’s breadth away and bounds out of the Ghoul’s arms.

That motherfucker, Omega sits back in the shitty makeup-chair with a huff.

Sister Rebecca raises a beauty blender. Her brown eyes are bright as she’s nearly bouncing in place/ “Could I try something on you? I got a new, thinner foundation to use for you and the Ghouls in an upcoming photoshoot.”

He sees how hopeful she is. She wasn’t chosen by Sister Imperator to be in the music video because of her skills at makeup. Both of them were stuck watching this anyway.

Omega reaches up and undoes his mask. “Knock yourself out. Don’t be offended if I fall asleep.”

“I also have some head massage techniques I could try out…?” She grins.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

A few hours pass with Omega submitting to anything Sister Rebecca wanted.

The new foundation she got did make his hell-soot colored skin more luminous, and flattened some pores that he’s been a bit self-conscious of. She smudged some eyeliner here, a small dusting of brightening powder on his eyelids, and something moisturizing that tastes like cherries on his lips.

Omega can’t help the happy rumble when her manicured hands reward him with a truly sinful scalp massage. Thankfully it isn’t loud enough to disrupt the filming across the room, but Sister Imperator does shoot them a glare that sobers both of them up enough to stop.

“That’s a wrap!” Comes the director’s call.

“This was really helpful, Omega, thank you.” The sister begins to put away most of the new makeup. She leaves out Terzo’s papal paint in case he needs to reapply during any of the recording.

He looks at himself in the mirror, “I feel good in this. Much better than the grease paint of the last tour.”

She huffs a laugh, “Yeah, that stuff was disgusting to work with and have on. Here’s some wipes to take it off.”

Omega takes in the nearly flawless quality of his charcoal skin, “Actually, I might keep it on for a bit. See how it wears.”

“Of course, I’ll leave those here,” She rolls the makeup suitcase with her as she follows the production crew towards the Abbey sanctuary.

In the mirror he can see the reflection of Terzo talking to the two young children that were in the video. Their father was an archbishop from the Salem Ministry, and was one of the only clergy members with young enough twin children.

Terzo was always so great with people. It breaks Omega’s heart that he and his kin hold the man’s love and there’s little chance for mini-Terzos to come into being.

“ Grazie, miei dolci bambini ,” The antipope pats their heads, eliciting delighted laughs as the boy and girl toddle over to their watchful father and mother. He struts to Omega, taking a long swig from the water bottle Omega was tasked with keeping. “Wasn’t I absolutely sinful?”

The Quintessence Ghoul inclines his head, “There’s hardly been a time when you’re not. It was good to see those kids so happy.”

“ Sono una famiglia adorabile , quite the lovely little family, no?” Terzo smiles. He steps forward to peer around Omega’s back.

“What do you think? I let Sister Rebecca experiment with some new shit,” He turns fully to face the antipope. He relishes the shocked flush that crawls through the cracks of Terzo’s papal paint.

For once the man is rendered speechless. His mouth opens and closes like one of the fish Pebble caught the other day in the Abbey lake. “I…”

Omega sees his chance to get some payback, “I think I should let her do this more often, yes?” He makes sure most of the room has cleared (mostly just making sure Imperator is gone) and uses his larger form to back Terzo against the vanity counter. He lets his hands rest on those beautifully familiar and full hips and leans down.

Terzo takes the bait and sighs happily into their shared breath–except Omega smacks his lips together and pulls back before their lips could meet. “It’s a shame, really. My lip balm is cherry-flavored.”

The shorter man’s mismatched green and white eyes fly open in betrayal, “You motherfucker!”

Omega folds up the vanity chair and saunters to the doorway, “I might take pity on you after lunch.” He grins at the imaginary lasers shooting him in the back.

—------

Terzo and Omega have always been this way. One of them does something immature to the other, then other retaliates, then they make up by the fucking the absolute shit out of each other. It’s very much a game of cat and mouse or freeze-tag, making the four other Ghouls roll their eyes when an argument inevitably happens.

Terzo’s a little shit.

Omega’s a little shit in the form of a 6 ft 7 Quintessence Ghoul.

Nothing is better than the angry-eventually-loving makeup sex. Tonight was going to be quite a treat judging by the horny mini-glares Terzo gives him between shots of the He Is sanctuary scenes. Omega sits out of the way in his vanity chair and snacks on popcorn provided on the shooting table.

After another two hours of getting footage, the director calls for lunch. They’ll resume in another hour to begin the footage down by the river.

Omega doesn’t know necessarily what they’re going to shoot down there. But he hopes Mist is ripping into the throat of a deer on the banks and ruins their shot so he and Terzo can go fuck.

Speaking of, they do have an hour before resuming…

Terzo is engulfed in a mass of followers and Siblings. He drinks their attention as if he needs it to continue existing. He flashes that sharp smile that’s all shiny, white, perfect teeth and it makes Omega’s black heart do somersaults.

He likes to think that he controls the Antipope, but Terzo is a feral hellbeast in his own way. Even if Omega holds the man facedown against the mattress more times than Terzo rides him, Omega would fold faster to the man’s orders than the other way around.

The crowd moves towards the Dining Hall across the cloister courtyard, carrying Terzo with them. He doesn’t even spare the Ghoul a glance as the group filters outside.

Omega holds back a growl. So that’s how it’s going to be.

Lunch flys by. Omega tears into a pack of beef jerky and one of Pebble’s edibles. If he got upset, then he can go fuck off. Omega’s horny as shit and being forced to be a waterboy for a frustratingly beautiful and petty man while Pebble got to sink his fangs into a tender deer flank.

By the time they resume filming at the hill that leads to the Wallkill river, Pebble’s edible has kicked in and relaxed him some. Which is good because his anger shoots back up as Terzo steps out into the mid-afternoon sun in that damned pink shirt under a white waistcoat.

He looks like a douchebag actor in an American frat movie! Paired with black aviator sunglasses, it screams the wrong kind of self-assertion. But then again, Omega hasn’t really thought about what He Is is about…and it begins to make sense as they start filming.

So, he’s been an asshole for no reason. The song is a parody of Christian baptism rock.

Guilt rises in Omega’s chest. How many times has he performed this damned song and not understood what it meant?

The Quintessence Ghoul watches the group film shots of a handful of Sisters of Sin frolic in the meadow that covers the path down to the riverbank. Their flowing white dresses and long hair twirl in the gentle breeze.

It is a nice day. Omega turns his face towards the sun and feels how the foundation moves on his cheeks. He’ll never get tired of being out in the topside sun. The heat from the planet is a pleasant warmth compared to the spikes of fire from the Pits.

He hears water splash. Down at the edge of the grass, Terzo is wading into the water, while in that stupid outfit.

Part of Omega’s brain purrs in happiness knowing the brackish water will destroy the offending shirt but also–

What the Hell is he doing? That outfit alone cost nearly $3,000, and they bought it just yesterday!

Despite the conflict within Omega, he ultimately decides to sit still. He’ll give Terzo a reprimand after he’s done being a destructive little shit. So he sits, watching the Sisters remove their sandals and wade in a bit aways from Terzo.

All of them are only waist-deep.

Are they going to do some sort of synchronized swimming routine? Omega doesn’t remember Terzo being very good at keeping afloat just by himself.

To Omega’s disbelief, the first Sister wades to Terzo and he takes her hands in his right, cradling her against his chest. Her blonde curls flare in the wind coming off the water.

Terzo’s free hand comes up to rest at the back of her skull and he dips her back into the water.

Her perfectly tan hand slides up to his jaw, a teasing thumb brushing against the black paint of his upper lip.

Terzo submerges her entirely then helps her upright, the water rushing from her plump form. Her white choir robe clings to her now stiffly peaked nipples. His hand that held her stomach sneakily cups her right breast during the sloshing of the cold river water.

Omega wouldn’t typically be that upset; he’s always up for a third (or fourth, fifth, and so on) to join him and the Antipope. The Sister is extremely beautiful and has always been kind to the Ghouls, but this bastardization of a water baptism taking place in front of Omega after Terzo was being so fucking petty, absolutely makes Omega’s pointed ears burn with jealousy.

One by one, the baptism continues five more times. Each one has some naughty tease between Terzo and the Sister: the next one gasps out a moan at the cold water when she comes up, the third one unbuttons the infuriatingly pink top button of his shirt, and the fourth Sister’s breasts are basically exposed through the now-soaked white robe.

The fifth woman is more bold than the rest. When the brunette cuddles into Terzo’s baptismal embrace, her hand follows the same path as those before her–up to cup the blurred edge of his papal paint on Terzo’s jaw. He leans her back and submerges her.

She’s guided back up with Terzo’s steady hands (hands that are usually gripping Omega’s white hair as the Ghoul fucks the Hell out of him) and as she lets the face drip from her face, she leans forward and catches his lips.

Terzo doesn’t hesitate to deepen it.

And on the far shore, four unglamoured Ghouls howl with the victory of a fresh kill. It echoes so loudly that it creates ripples on the mostly-calm river.

Omega’s Hell-beast blood boils.

He leaps up from his chair and stomps past the production crew and down to the water’s edge. He ignores the sound of the crew frantically packing up as the scent of ozone fills every molecule of the air by the riverbank.

“ Get the fuck off her !” Omega thunders in Ghoulish.

The Sister squeaks and pulls out of Terzo’s arms so fast she falls onto her ass in the water.

Terzo goes to help her up but Omega leaps from the bank and slams into the raven-haired man.

—---

They collide and go underwater, Terzo’s hands grappling the front of Omega’s vestments as they resurface. The Antipope’s aviators are missing and he goes to search for them but Omega pulls him away from the shore.

“ You make me sit here all day, tease me, and now you decide to snog a Sister during a fake baptism, in front of all these strangers?!” Omega growls as he bodily drags the now fully soaked Antipope to a mostly-submerged cove just out of sight. He tosses Terzo onto the small silver of a rocky beach, making sure it’s enough to bruise, but not actually hurt him.

Terzo spits out some brackish water to the side. His face is equal parts cocky and affronted, but the smirk on his ruined makeup grows as he takes in the Quintessence Ghoul’s burning eartips and heavy rut scent. “It was Sister Imperator’s idea-”

“ I know it fucking wasn’t. You’re just a whore.”

Terzo reclines on the beach as if he wasn’t just dragged through the water like a piece of lumber, “I never took you for a jealous teenage Ghoul.”

Omega snarls, frustration only building at the man’s continued sass. Doesn’t he know what danger he’s in? He trudges through the water and lets his glamour fully fall. He feels his horns reappear and his sleeves bulge as they barely contain the soot-black muscles Omega crafted over centuries as champion in the fighting Pits.

Instead of flinching, Terzo’s erection hardens in his wet trousers. “ Un ragazzo così grande …”

That tone immediately dismisses part of Omega’s fury. There’s appreciation and lust wrapped up in that sentence. How is he supposed to stay angry when Terzo becomes so riled up when he’s in his most authentic form?

“I’m still angry ,” The Ghoul says.

Terzo slicks back his sopping bangs, “I would hope so. I’ve been so naughty I deserve a punishment; merito una sculacciata . A good spanking would make me repent.”

Omega reaches forward and slices through the white vest and pink shirt with a long claw.

“Hey! Fuck you, we just bought this! I could have gotten the salt out of it.”

“You’ve been sitting in brackish water for the past two hours and now you’re upset?” Omega rips the offending material from the man’s body to float off in the water around them. “If anything, this is simply payback. I don’t think I should even touch you. I should leave you here to trudge back to shore; water-logged, naked, and messy-faced.”

Terzo play-struggles as Omega grips his chin tight enough for his claws to press in. The Quintessence Ghoul sees his mismatched eyes roll with pleasure.

“ Filthy .”

“The correct word is-” Terzo’s shit-eating grin grows.

Omega has him on his stomach in the next blink, claws raking down the man’s legs to shred the white trousers. He relishes the red scratches that follow his claws. “Shut the fuck up.”

Terzo lets out a groan and his hands grasp for purchase on the slippery rocks. “ Omega …oh, how you spoil your Papa.”

“Right now, you’re nothing more than my bitch.” Omega has to re-glamour his hands so he can pry apart Terzo’s slippery thighs. When the infuriating man wiggles his ass out of Omega’s grip, the Ghoul smacks the pert right cheek.

Terzo’s echoing gasp is beautiful. Water sloshes over him and pools in the hip dimples above his ass.

Omega should fuck him in this cove more often.

Terzo makes Omega carry him back to shore after a rough fuck in the cove. Indulging the man who did make him cum so hard his vision whited out isn’t the thing he has issue with. Staking a claim on Terzo has only partially satisfied him.

The shreds of the blasted pink shirt swirl in his wake as Omega trudges back to shore. As the Quintessence Ghoul walks back to the Abbey at the top of the hill, Terzo lounges in the strong arms.

Terzo idly plays with the black chest hair brushing against his cheek as Omega walks. “Why don’t you like me in pink again?”

“You’re better suited to richer tones.”

“Do you think purple is ugly on me as well?”

Omega rolls his eyes and sets Terzo on his feet as they reach the Abbey’s doors. “Of course not.”

“I would like a reason, per favore ,” Terzo ignores Omega holding open the doors for him.

“You simply look better in colors other than pink. Even going a shade darker like magenta would bring out the warm undertone in your skin.” Omega takes the human’s forearm and turns it over, tracing a claw over the thrumming veins below the skin.

Terzo blinks, “So you aren’t just doing this to spite me.”

Omega’s thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Spite you? For what?”

“Because I had the other Ghouls come with me to the fitting and had you come later,” Terzo admits sheepishly.

“I don’t care about that shit.”

Terzo hums, “So…you tackling me and pounding me into the rocks of a cave wasn’t a consequence of your jealousy from earlier this week?”

Omega takes a deep breath. “No. It’s because…I was jealous of the Sisters in the music video. How they got to hold you, how tender you were while you gave them an unholy baptism, all while wearing the shirt you knew I disliked…I want to feel like you hear my opinion.”

“Oh.” Is all Terzo can say. His face flushes in realization. “I probably was a bit mean and the gold was pretty… Mi dispiace .” He hugs Omega around the middle.

Omega sighs and pets the damp raven hair, “You’re too cute to stay upset with.”

“I promise to make it up to you,” Terzo’s smile is innocent but filled with the promise of something naughty.

The large Ghoul watches the naked antipope saunter inside without a care in the world. He passes a wary Sister Imperator and Cardinal Copia talking in the foyer without a second glance.

While the music video was in the editing phase, Sister Imperator called the band together to record ‘He Is.’ It only took a few times to get a good enough recording, and Sister rewarded them with a few days off.

Before Omega could even grasp the fact that he only had a few cleaning chores for the next two days, Terzo was rushing out of the studio room. Rolling his eyes, Omega reracks his guitar and chats with the producer about if there was anything he needed to drag Terzo back to fix.

“So, ‘Mega…want to come hunting with us?” Pebble’s tiny form pops up from behind the drum kit.

He thinks it over. He could go track down Terzo but potentially get turned away for the man to have a nap, or join his kin for the night. “Hunting sounds good.”

Pebble’s fanged grin is infectious. “Awesome! You missed out on Mist taking down a deer twice her size! It was so cool.” The two ghouls walk from the studio out into the courtyard where the other three Ghouls are stripping their clothes to hand to one of the sisters tasked with laundry.

“No more blood stains on these, please. It was impossible after yesterday’s hunt,” Sister Anais held out the basket already filled with Alpha and Zephyr’s uniforms. Mist is taking her time undoing her boots.

Omega easily undoes the buttons of his cassock.

“Now, you boys are going to be careful out there tonight, yes? The game Warden said there’s an excess of about thirty deer this season,” She says, nodding as all of them finish placing their clothes in her basket.

“Including the ones from yesterday?” Zephyr’s gray eyes brighten.

“No. New total based on the herds movement today. I’ll tell Papa all of you are leaving.”

Omega and his pack scamper through the courtyard (always careful of Primo’s topiaries) and out the gates to the hill that holds the forest on one side and the meadow that leads to the riverbank on the other. Once out of view from any Siblings, all of them let their Earthly glamours slip away.

Omega’s muscles have been crying out for him to move for a few days now. Even his hot tryst with Terzo in the cove wasn’t enough to fully drain all of his infernal adrenaline. He senses how the forest is filled with potential dinner, a group of deer only a mile away.

He drops to all fours and bounds away, leaving his mates to hopelessly beat him to the first kill.

Not many things were better than this.

It’s near midnight when the five Ghouls waddle back to the Abbey with bellies full of rabbit, fox, and deer. Thankfully they were able to stop before they hit the target overpopulated numbers. There’d be another night of hunting in a week or so.

Omega drops his body onto the Ghoul common room couch. He could sleep for a month, but then he’d miss Samhain and Terzo’s birthday.

Mist plops into the armchair by his head. “Those rabbits were so tender…” She purrs happily.

“My fox was delicious. I probably absorbed his wit and cunning.” Pebble maneuvers her so he can curl up with her.

There’s a collective eye roll from the pack.

“We’ll see if you stick a fork in the toaster again!” Alpha calls, snickering.

Omega closes his eyes as the pack continues to roast each other. He’s on the edge of falling asleep when footsteps come from the stairs down into the crypt that holds the Ghoul den. He cracks an eye open, seeing the common room is empty of his pack. He must have dozed for a bit longer than he thought.

The Quintessence Ghoul smells the air and relaxes as the scent of Maison Margiela’s Jazz Club fills his senses. “Terzo,” He says to the newcomer.

Terzo is dressed in a loose black t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants. His face is empty of skull paint. “I was wondering if you were going to leave your poor Papa all alone in bed tonight,” He says innocently. His bare feet are barely audible as he steps up to the couch, tracing a finger down Omega’s strong nose.

“Sorry, we got back maybe an hour ago and I dozed off.”

“ Va abbastanza bene , Omega. At least, it would be alright… if I got some special attention.”

Omega pulls the man’s hips until he’s straddling the Ghoul on the couch.

Terzo tsks, “Not here.”

“Then where?” Omega asks.

“My rooms, please.”

Omega exhales and lifts the man back to his feet. “You should’ve just called me to come upstairs.”

“I did. You didn’t pick up.” Terzo pulls out his iPhone. Sure enough, Omega missed three calls and three texts from him.

Shit. Time to turn on the romantic gestures. Omega picks up Terzo easily in his arms, one wrapped securely under his knees and behind his back. He regales Terzo with how the hunt went as they ascend the stairs and make it to the man’s papal suite.

Terzo locks the door and turns to Omega with a coy smirk. “Now, before we start anything, I did get you a surprise.”

Omega puts his slippers by the end of the bed. “Hmm, what for?” He asks, suspicious.

“Well you still believe I don’t look good in pink–”

“Terzo, are you seriously still thinking about that?” Omega gives him a pleading look. “I’m sorry I said that.”

Terzo nods, “Yes, yes; I forgive you for all that shit. Anyways…I thought I would show you that I do in fact look good in pink.” His hands take their time moving to the hem of the shirt he stole from Omega, then pull the garment up and over his head to toss carelessly on the floor.

Hidden by the bagginess of the shirt is a baby pink, sheer lace bralette embroidered with cherries and soft ruffles. Terzo doesn’t have a lot of area to be placed in a bralette, but the sheerness makes the illusion that he’s filling it out just a bit.

Terzo’s smirk grows as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Omega’s eyes are glued to the slow reveal of skin and matching pink lace hemline that appears as the sweatpants pool at the human’s ankles.

The front panel of the panties are the same pattern as the bralette cups. It leaves nothing to imagination as the leaky tip of Terzo’s cock just sticks out over the panty hemline. The soft looking ruffles continue over the high cut expanse of Terzo’s thighs to disappear to probably cup his ass perfectly.

“So what do you think?” Terzo turns in a circle, and Omega feels his blood drain to his cock.

He was correct about the ruffles. Omega is dumb with memorizing the sinful sight in front of him. “Oh..”

Terzo gently lifts his head by the chin, tearing Omega’s lavender eyes from roving over his body. He uses his leverage to move Omega backwards until the Ghoul’s knees hit the bed. Omega drops back to the bed, stuck in Terzo’s laser-focused gaze.

“Now, il mio gatto cattivo , no claws are allowed to rip this delicate outfit,” Terzo coos, easily lifting himself to straddle the Ghoul’s wide chest. “Premium Italian lace…Rip even a single stitch and you’ll be forced to watch your brethren have their way with me.”

Omega snorts, cockiness rearing up at the demand even if he’s clearly losing the battle. “That’s still pretty hot.”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that you would be strapped to that lovely St. Andrew’s Cross?”

Omega gulps and his claws shift to human fingers.

“That’s what I thought. Now touch me,” Terzo says sweetly, taking the Ghoul’s hands to rest on the cups of the bralette. “A few more spoonfuls of Nutella and I’ll fill these, probably. Copia’s been making too much carbonara recently.”

“I would still love you either way,” Omega’s hand cups the back of his neck and pulls the man down to seal their lips together.

Terzo’s voice is pitched with arousal and fondness. “Sap.”

Omega’s left hand slides over the pink lace of his sides and down to grab a handful of Terzo’s ass. According to his fingertips, it’s a thin thong in the back, the crotch band barely holding a glass plug inside him. Omega’s finger stretches the fabric and he snaps the thin waistband against the smooth side of the plug’s base.

Terzo yelps, “Watch it, asshole! That could’ve come apart!”

Omega shrugs and does it again. “Seems fine to me.” He presses a finger against the plug and forces it as deep as it can go without getting completely swallowed.

Terzo’s hole resists, turning it into a game that leaves him flushing as pink as his lingerie.

“Didn’t stretch all the way for this, huh?” Omega coos to the human.

“I like it when it burns at first,” Terzo says, even if both of them already know it.

Omega grasps the end of the plug and pulls it out in one smooth motion. He lets it roll from his hand to somewhere on the duvet of Terzo’s bed. They’ll deal with it after Terzo’s cock-dumb and knotted.

Terzo is pressing a tube of lube into the hand wrapped around his ass.

“When did you grab that?” Omega pops open the cap easily and spreads a good amount inside the human with invading fingers.

“I had it in the left cup,” He moans when Omega presses against his prostate.

Of course, the bralette cup Omega didn’t feel up. “Sneaky bastard ,” The Ghoul growls. He tosses the lube in the same direction as the glass butt plug. He lifts his hips and slides down the boxers he put on after getting back from the hunt. His cock springs to attention from its confines, the tapered tip slapping against the beginning swell of Terzo’s ass. It doesn’t take much maneuvering for Omega’s head to find Terzo’s hole and push in.

Terzo’s answering moan vibrates through Omega’s chest where the man’s immaculate fingernails dig into his pecs. The Ghoul didn’t notice the coating of nude pink on Terzo’s nails. That wasn’t there earlier…was it?

Nothing else matters as Omega pushes himself inside all the way to the hilt. He feels Terzo’s ass resist him near the end but a carefully placed kiss to the human’s neck makes him relax easier.

“I bought this…so we could fuck and keep it on…” Terzo pants into Omega’s hair.

“So thoughtful,” Omega sighs happily. His hands shift to cup an asscheek in each, forcing Terzo’s center of gravity over his face and leaning on his hands on either side of Omega’s ears. It puts the cherry-embroidered bralette cups right in his face. He cranes his neck and sucks at a nipple through the lace.

Terzo squirms at the first few slow thrusts, trying to frustrate Omega enough that he’ll speed up without any begging.

“You’re so beautiful in this,” Omega fucks up into him deeper. He’s so slick and warm and perfectly fluttering against the ribbed sides of his engorged cock. Every steadily increasing speedy thrust makes Terzo moan like a whore.

As wonderful a feeling as all of this is, Terzo is far from his twink past where he could bounce on a cock for hours at a time. His knees are older and are already starting to ache. “‘Mega…”

The Ghoul presses a kiss to his cheek to show there’s no hard feelings, and lets the human sit upright. Terzo carefully eases himself off Omega and makes himself comfortable against the pillows, blow-dried bangs fanning out around his unpainted face.

Omega turns onto his stomach to cage the human in between his arms. Terzo kisses him as he lines his cock back up to his entrance, swallowing their shared moans. Omega does his best to stay attached at the lips, but he’s craving to watch Terzo’s lace-covered body writhe under him.

The lace is a more saturated pink than the stupid shirt. It complements the dusty rose of his nipples and the neat, salt-and-pepper hair that is smattered around the human’s sternum. It also fits well against the darkening red of his cock. The head strains against the thin silk waistband of the thong, the lace sticky and glistening as each thrust forces out another small spurt of pre-cum.

Omega wraps a hand around the lace covered cock and shifts the fabric over it. It moves the human’s foreskin and jolts Terzo into awareness at what he’s doing. “So much for talking about me ruining the lace…”

Terzo whines as Omega times the tight strokes with each rolling thrust. There isn’t much movement he can do with the panties, but it’s enough to send Terzo over the edge. His cock gets caught under the hem and his cum shoots from behind one of the cherry motifs, sticking the front gusset to his cock. He shivers in pleasure.

Omega doesn’t slow down. He knows his human isn’t satisfied with just one. He continues the steady pace, changing angle gradually to now rub a nodule on his cock against his prostate with every movement. Terzo shudders in overstimulation, his ass clenching against the invading cock. His nails dig into the short white hairs at the nape of Omega’s neck.

It all burns so good.

“I love…our little games,” Terzo breathes into the space between their lips. His mismatched eyes are lidded heavily, “You get so defensive…yet are always so ready to defend my honor. Fuck, right there, please…”

Omega places a flat hand on Terzo’s solar plexus and sits up straighter to thrust straight inside him.

Instantly, Terzo’s moans morph into punched-out whimpers. Omega’s fingers grasp the bralette to stretch it down to below his nipples. It acts as a leash to move Terzo in time with each roll of his hips.

“‘Mega…” Terzo whines, “Please, please…”

“Please, what? Gotta use your words, sweetheart.” The Quintessence Ghoul can feel the beginning swell of his knot. It’s starting to keep him from sliding all the way inside Terzo. He uses his momentum to pop in the swell and it makes Terzo explode with an orgasm again. This time, the cum reaches the edge of the bralette and Omega’s hand.

“O-oh, fuck!” The human cranes his neck to look down as he feels the knot forming.

Omega sweet talks him as he pushes the knot inside with each thrust until it’s formed enough that it would tear the human to push back out.

Nothing compares to this moment; Terzo’s musical whines in his ears, the mottled red blush of his chest underneath the cherries and pink lace, the gloopy pools of his cum from his two orgasms collecting in the thong and bralette waistbands.

“You want it, Terzo?” He can’t resist teasing him as he writhes. He can’t hold himself back, but it enhances the experience to hear the words from the man.

“Y-Yes! Please, ‘Mega!” The human yelps, helpless as a third orgasm overtakes him at the same time as he’s pushed full of Ghoul knot and a river of cum. A small indent forms as Omega floods him with enough release to knock up any Ghoul, female presenting or not.

It’s probably a good thing that Terzo’s the one taking knots and not Mist.

Terzo’s slumps against the fluffy pillows with a fluttering heartbeat. He lets silence fill the spaces between their panting breaths. “You ruin me for everyone else,” Terzo says quietly once they’re locked together and calmed for a moment. “At the tailor’s I agreed with you; that shirt was ugly. It didn’t match my undertone. Gold was a much better choice.”

Omega buries his head in the human’s hair so he can laugh, hiking up his hips so the angle of penetration doesn’t hurt his hips. They’ll be stuck together for a while. “You’re such an asshole.”

“And you love both my personality and asshole, il mio adorabile demone .”

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eustasskiddsprosthetic · 4 months

Text

So, I'm thinking of a Sabolaw actor AU!

For the longest time, Sabo's an amateur actor who does this as a hobby. He loves making short films and he loves writing, so this was an avenue of self-expression for him throughout his twenties.

One day in his late thirties, a casting director finds one short film of his and immediately hired him to be the lead of a chirpy adaptation of a YA thing.

Instant hit! People adored his good looks, his giggly laugh and bug eyes. His popularity skyrocketed and the hype sustained his career ten years later. He's just that smart when it comes to marketing!

So now, as a forty-something, he's the star of a quirky, eccentric adult film written by the enigmatic Corázon. He's interested in the script because a lot of people fancast him as the male lead and figured this would be a good project to appeal to public opinion.

This is where he meets Law, who has taken an instant dislike to him. Whatever, that happens.

Law's apparently Corázon's personal assistant but he acts more like a baby sitter. Law would light his cigarettes up for him, get coffee and even writes corrections for Corázon. They were apparently father and son and Sabo kind of envies their good relationship.

More than that, though, Sabo adores how sweet Law was towards the mute Corázon. He saw a lot of shy, reserved people—especially if they were minorities—get yelled at, berated and insulted regardless of rank. It could be straight up harassment or backhanded compliments to their achievements.

Law, in contrast, was doting, polite and even talks for Corázon, even if what he said was either "Thank you, Cora-san will think about it" or "Piss off." Sabo thought vulgarities sounded cute from his mouth.

Their first full conversation happens in a dressing room where Law was filling in for a makeup artist. Law was doing his makeup and Sabo leaned in so Law did not have to strain himself.

"You come here around, lovely?" Right, Sabo flirts with him a lot. He's kind of insane about it.

"No."

"Your words are cold but your hands are warm, darling."

Law sighed deeply. "Have you memorised your lines? You forgot them the last time."

"Oh..." Sabo did not like talking about work so casually. "Yes, yes, I have. Would you like me to recite one?"

"Sure."

Sabo did not mind that Law was ignoring him and that he was pretending to tidy up the makeup supplies. He recited a monologue, admittedly cringing slightly. He planned to negotiate a slight rewrite.

"What am I thinking of? What a silly question. I think of you when I don't think of anything in particular. I think about what you're doing now, how you're feeling, what you want to do when you come home to me. Even right now, I think of how I can love you better. I think of you all the time, even in my daydreams. You inspire me, my love."

Sabo noticed Law's ears go a little red but he kept a neutral face.

"Don't take this the wrong way but," Law paused to glance at the floor. "I'm glad you have the role. You're not the guy my dad had in mind but you fit it perfectly. Thank you for agreeing to do this."

Sabo laughed. Law was oddly sweet today.

They got a bit friendlier from that day onwards. They would talk occasionally about things that's not just work, even if Law seemed reluctant to. From the few bits of information Law gave, Sabo found himself falling for him more and more.

Law had a puppy. He liked black coffee, just like Sabo. He liked hardcore rock music, indie stuff with a splash of poppy-addictive Red Velvet music. He liked the colour yellow. He liked reading. Law wore the fluffiest, softest cardigan to work sometimes.

Law's stoic demeanor finally broke when Sabo let him infodump all about Sora the Warrior. Law speaks so enthusiastically even to someone he supposedly 'hates' and Sabo just melts. He could listen to Law talk all day. He would think of his sparkly eyes even in his daydreams. He could count the stars in them...

Today, Sabo was going to film the sex scene with his co-star and he made sure they would do it in at most five takes. She seemed willing enough and wanted to get it done in one. Admittedly, they did not get along in real life despite having chemistry on camera.

When they started filming, Sabo tried his best to be 'in love' as the script says. This was a moment where their relationship would deepen and it was admittedly the hottest moment in the film. It was fine if she hesitated, since she played a timid character. The director reminded him of this. Sabo got annoyed but he agreed to try again.

It got worse because they were both irritated. Gah! Just before Sabo wanted to take a break, he had a reckoning. He realised that her lips were pale... Sabo glanced up and saw Law pretending to look busy by tapping away at his laptop. They were pale, just like Law's. He closed his eyes and finally felt the passion he needed to make this work.

Even the director blushed at what he saw.

After the scene, Corázon taps Sabo on the shoulder without Law next to him. Sabo follows Corázon into a small, under-utilised office. He opened the window and smoked a cigarette. Here, he took his sunglasses off and Sabo sees that he's actually quite handsome with a large face, pale skin and dull blonde hair.

"Be careful, boy."

Where did that deep voice come from? Sabo was surprised to hear it come from Corázon himself.

"His heart is in pain," Corázon continued. He blew a puff of smoke out the window. "Treat him well."

"You can't cut me out of this project," Sabo reminded him lightly. Threats like this were unprofessional. "We have a contract."

Corázon smiled. He was cunning like Sabo and Sabo oscillated between liking and distrusting him.

"It's not about that. I know your type, and... Well... I'm a protective father, do you see?"

Oh, it's that kind of consequence. For the first time in his career, he stood some distance away and bowed deeply. Corázon did not expect that but he seemed to appreciate that.

Sabo knew cynicism when he saw it, however. Why won't these people just believe in him! He needed a fucking drink.

He went to the bar some distance away from the studio and wow! Holy fucking shit!

Law looked at him first. He changed out of his hoodie and now wore a black button shirt and jeans. Sabo knew he had game but damn, Law's so slim and fit and so damn sexy. Sabo ordered a drink and sat there. He stared at the wall, thinking of his work, what he had to do tomorrow, he quickly remembered his lines...

"Hey, handsome. You look like you have a lot on your mind." A slightly tipsy giggle.

Sabo looked up. Now, he thought of Law. Law had such a cute smile when he wasn't so irritable. Law sat on his lap without asking and of course Sabo let him. Law gave him fuck-me eyes and Sabo knew that was only because he was sort of drunk but Sabo just felt his heart squeeze and his dick harden.

If only Law were sober! Damn it! This would be so much better if Law wanted to seduce him. He wanted Law to look at him with those lustful eyes and mean it. Sabo laughed bitterly.

Law's legs were long and warm against his. Law held his face and tried to kiss Sabo but Sabo put his hands over Law's mouth. Law pouted and he was so fucking cute, Sabo would gladly kiss him just not like this. He tried to get Law off his lap.

"You're still the same dork I fell in love with twenty years ago." Sabo finally had enough. Law tilted his head to the side in confusion. Sabo remembered Law hated loud noises and would wear white noise-cancelling ear-plugs. Upon closer inspection, Sabo saw that it was the same pair too. Law kissed his ear and Sabo let him come closer.

"Fine, you win. I'm hopelessly smitten. I wonder, Law, I wonder where we'd be if you believed in my feelings towards you? If you listened to me that day..."

Also, did I mention that they were (very bitter) exes? Yeah, that's a thing that happened a long ago...

#sabolaw #revolutionary sabo #trafalgar water d law #trafalgar law #slawbo #yeah there's way too many ideas invested into this fic bro #yes i posted this yesterday but i want to repost it for algorithm #i have like specific scenes written out in my head like a crazy person lol

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