#I know this chapter is short but it needs to be separate from all the shit thats coming next

[sweettea-and-honeybutter]

Take You There

A/N: I’ve been hearing in the streets that some of yall are tired of smut 👀 (my specialty 🥲) so I present you with a slow burn. I’m not sure just yet how many chapters there will be, and I don’t know how or why this idea came to me but I’ve fallen in love with the story. I also desperately need practice writing stuff other than porn because I have dreams of being a published author some day soooo all feedback is highly appreciated 💕 

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Reign Adisa (black female OC)

Summary: Terry gets inspired in so many ways by a tattoo artist. 

Warning: fluffy and angsty, no smut here so rated E

Length: This mf is 4.1k words long 😮‍💨🥴 my fault

Chapter 1

Wednesdays felt like her secret sanctuary, a rare calm in the whirlwind of her week. Most days, Reign’s life as a young Black woman running a buzzing tattoo studio in the heart of downtown Houston was anything but quiet—ink-stained hands, constant chatter, the hum of machines. Yet, in this moment, she savored the peaceful lull. 

The community had embraced her with open arms, offering support, admiration, and more appointments than she ever imagined this early on. Clients lined up months in advance, eager to wear her art, while others knocked at her door with résumés in hand. Reign was already on the hunt for three more artists to keep up with the demand. It’s been a blessing, but it’s also been overwhelming. 

So Wednesdays, Reign doesn’t take any appointments or walk-ins, she just comes to her studio to create, conjuring up beautifully original pieces to present to the world. Wednesdays helped her stay grounded so she didn’t lose herself in the fast pace of her career. They helped her hold on to her love and passion for her craft, it’s a necessity for her success as an artist. 

Her studio was a reflection of her soul—beautiful, grounded, and something she took immense pride in. She had stumbled upon the space by chance, walking through the warehouse district one sunny afternoon. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed by smooth cement walls flooded the open floor plan with light, offering her the creative freedom to shape the space however she desired. Now, a vibrant neon orange sign reading "Lotus Tattoo" glowed outside, inviting passersby. Inside, the walls were adorned with art from local artists, while plush oriental rugs softened the industrial feel. Scattered lamps cast a warm glow in the evening, and cozy seating areas and lush plants created a relaxed vibe. Bamboo room dividers separated the space for other artists yet to join her.

Today she walked in and began her routine that now felt more like a spiritual ritual which transported her to another world. Opening the velvet mauve curtains to let the morning light in, lighting incense throughout the space to cleanse the energy, turn on her brown sugar playlist so soft r&b can set the vibe, and opening the wide glass garage door at the back of the studio to let the cool autumn breeze in.

She took off her crochet cardigan which matched her shorts, rolled up the sleeves to her cropped Anderson Paak shirt, and swirled her copper highlighted braids into a messy bun. Pushing her glasses further up her nose, she sat at her desk and hunched over her iPad, biting her pen as she imaged how to bring more texture to the hair of the Caribbean mermaid she was working on. 

~~~~~~~~

Terry’s legs couldn’t stay still, pacing the length of his apartment like a caged animal. The space felt suffocatingly small, no matter how impressive the view of the city spread out below him. The constant barrage of honking horns and blaring sirens seeped in through the open window, filling his head with a cacophony that grated against his nerves. Overstimulated didn’t even begin to cover it. He let out a sharp breath, the simmering rage beneath his skin threatening to boil over. He hadn’t always been this tightly wound—once upon a time, people called him easygoing. But things had changed. He had changed.

He shoved his AirPods in, cranking the volume of "Killing in the Name Of” until the defiant shouts and pounding drums drowned out the noise in his head. As the music pulsed through him, he stormed out of his place, locking the door behind him with a sharp click. Instead of heading toward the elevator, he veered toward the stairwell, taking the five flights down two steps at a time, as if the rapid movement could outrun the memories chasing him.

Sure, everything had worked out on paper—the Shelby Springs police department was under investigation, the chief and a dozen corrupt cops were behind bars. Cases were being reopened, and lawyers from across the country were flocking to defend the victims of that backwoods nightmare. Hell, Terry had even won half a million in his lawsuit against the city. But what did it all matter? Mike was still gone. After pouring everything he had into saving his cousin, Terry was left with nothing but an empty victory and a gnawing sense of purposelessness. Lost, adrift, and suffocating beneath the weight of survivor’s guilt, he couldn’t shake the question that haunted him: At what cost?

As he exited his building, the midday sun greeted him with a mocking cheerfulness, bright and all consuming. Terry scowled, keeping his squinting eyes glued to the uneven ground beneath his feet as he mindlessly walked the downtown streets. He was so wrapped up in his disdain for life that he missed how people moved out of the way of his hulking form, how cops perusing the streets eyed him suspiciously, how birds scurried away from the sound of his thundering footsteps. 

He walked for 20 minutes in a straight line before his mind finally went numb enough for him to take in his surroundings. He wasn’t far at all from his home, but this side of the downtown had a different feel to it. The buildings were shorter and wider, the foot traffic was less obnoxious, and beautiful graffiti covered almost every wall. He spotted a building that stood out amongst the others with its pristine alabaster paint over the cement and its glowing neon sign. “Lotus Tattoo”.

It had been months since Mike passed, but the thought of getting something permanent to honor him had crossed Terry’s mind more than once—though he didn’t need ink to remind him of Mike’s infectious laugh or goofy grin. As he approached the tattoo shop, he slowed, his fingers brushing the door handle. He gave it a tug but stopped when he felt resistance—it was locked. For a moment, he considered walking away, but movement deeper inside the studio caught his eye. He lingered, torn between retreating and pressing on, before finally deciding to make his way around the back, curiosity quietly pulling him forward.

~~~~~~~~

She doesn’t hear him walk in through the open garage door, so immersed in perfecting the fine details before her, and Terry doesn’t wish to bring attention to himself just yet. He takes soundless steps into her studio, as if the building itself was emitting a peace so relieving that he could feel the pressure of anxiety roll right off his shoulders. He took a deep breath in, nose filling with the earthy scent of warm patchouli and sweet jasmine. Walking further into her domain, his eyes bright with curiosity take in his surroundings-a chipped and loved on mug, the soft rug blanketing his steps, the petal shaped ceiling fans whirling quietly, and he chuckled silently at her grumbles to herself.

He instinctively removed his AirPods and put them in their case, snapping the lid shut and startling the both of them. Reign straightened her back with a gasp, turning so sharply on her stool that her glasses flew off her face and she toppled over, just barely catching herself in a clumsy fighting stance, knees knocked and hands in awkwardly placed fists. Terry, for what its worth, looked like a deer caught munching in the farmers garden, pupils blown almost wide enough to cover the steel gray, mouth open in a shocked ‘o’, eyebrow twitching from trying not to laugh at her horrible stance and the fact that her glasses slid right to his feet.

“Um…” Terry didn’t know what to say as he raised his palms to her, trying to appear harmless, “I was wondering…do you take walk-ins?” Reign let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and placed a hand over her thudding heart, standing more relaxed but still on guard.

“You almost scared me to death! Yes um-“ she squinted at the ground next to her, trying to find her glasses, “-um yes, normally I do, just not Wednesdays-“ she was caught off guard again feeling a warm hand on her shoulder. When had he even moved? 

Terry stood so close that her nose brushed his shirt as she tilted her head to look up at him. He gave her a ghost of a smile and brought her glasses to rest on her nose, pushing her loose braids back behind her ears and studying her. “There.” His voice was so deep that she couldn’t tell if the goosebumps erupting on her skin was from the sound of it, or from being so close to him. 

They stared at each other a moment longer, him admiring her gold septum nose ring against her beautiful mahogany skin, and her eyes darting between his plump lips and striking eyes. Terry finally cleared his throat and took a large step back, raising a brow at her. Reign blinked away the haze he’d created, her voice coming out high and breathless.

“I do take walk-ins! Not normally on Wednesdays, but what were you wanting to get?” Terry looked away thinking, and Reign used that as an excuse to look him over once more, eyes roaming his heavily toned muscles. He was undeniably handsome, like fine as hell handsome.

He looked back at her and she tried not to squirm under his gaze. “I want to get something for my cousin, today was his birthday.” she watched his eyes darken to a murky green as his expression turned somber, “I’m thinking like 2 fists bumping together, can you do that?”

Reign bit her lip in contemplation and Terry’s eyes darkened even further following that movement. “I can, let me just draw up something for you. It shouldn’t take too long, how much time have you got today?” He gave her another ghost of a smile. 

“I’m all yours. I’m Terry by the way, you own this place?” She shook his extended hand and quickly pulled hers back, feeling heat rise to her ears and cheeks.

“Reign, nice to meet you Terry. And yup, only been in this studio a few months. I was working out of my home before.” His eyes were piercing, she felt see through, and turned back to her desk to start drawing something for him. “Gimme like 15, feel free to look around!” She called over her shoulder, and it took Terry a moment to move, far too interested in watching her. 

He walked around her space with purposefully loud steps, mindful of not startling her again and glancing at her every once in a while. He picked up a binder from a floating shelf in front of him, flipping through the pages to see her drawings and creative polaroids of her work. He found himself drawn to her black and white pieces, struck by how realistic her portraits are. He flipped through more and more pages hoping to understand how her mind works, how she was able to capture a moment in time so realistically.

“Terry!” Her voice calling out to him had him coming to her immediately, surprisingly eager to be used as her next canvas. “What do you think?” She put her iPad in his hands and he listened as she explained what she wanted to do with the shadows and fading around the edges, but his mind was going back to the last time he fist bumped Mike, the last time he saw him alive.

“It’s perfect.” His voice was tight with emotions and Reign watched his jaw tick at holding back all the things he wanted to say. She wondered earlier if she’d regret taking work on her off day, but sensing the grief coming from this man, it must’ve been divine timing that sent him to her today.

“I’m glad you like it. Why don’t you show me what size you want and where you’d like it?” Terry nodded and started taking off his shirt, and Reign took a surprised step back watching his body flex. He somehow looked even bigger now. She schooled her expression to be professionally indifferent as Terry pointed to his right pec, opposite his heart. 

“Here, and this big” he measured it out with his hands and Reign gave an awkward thumbs up, not trusting her voice just yet. She turned to print the stencil out for him and cleared her throat.

“Okay, we can do that. For that size my rate is-“

“I’ll pay whatever you want. I’m grateful you took me in on your day off.” Reign shyly glanced back at him over her shoulder and locked eyes with his very earnest ones. She gave him a small smile and continued on to prepare everything she’d need. 

Terry watched her steady gloved hands come up to gently press the wet stencil onto his skin, he bent his legs slightly to make it easier for her, and she whispered out a thanks. He didn’t say anything, transfixed by her presence, her gentleness, the sweet jasmine scent he realized was coming from her. He unintentionally flexed his muscles under her touch and watched her swallow tensely. He wasn’t unaware of his effect on women, but he liked that she was actively trying to remain professional. It was cute. 

“You wanna take a look before we start?” Terry nodded and she showed him to a mirror, standing behind him and off to the side, watching his face for any signs of dissatisfaction. She finally got a genuine smile from him, tiny but meaningful, as his eyes gleamed at the outline of the fists on his chest.

“I love it” he turned to her and she could see the smile had actually reached his eyes, and she returned it right back to him “I’m ready.”

~~~~~~~~

Terry, reclined in the comfortable leather seat, swept his eyes over Reign’s decorated skin while she worked on him, taking in the mismatched beauty and history of her story. “Did you do any of these yourself?” He asked quietly, referring to the artwork scattered on her body.

She pulled back from his arm to get more ink and glanced up at his face giving him a secretive grin. She was becoming addicted to his voice. It’s so deep, and quiet. There’s a heavy bass to it that could’ve been intimidating and over powering, but she could tell he’s choosing to be gentle and laid back. It was creating a growing intimacy between them that she hoped he felt too. 

“Mhm I did a few of these” she replied distractedly, now focused on putting more ink on her needle. 

“Which ones?” She liked his curiosity, and liked that he wanted to talk.

“Hmm I did this one on my thigh” she said offhandedly, now getting back to work, the hypnotic buzzing filling the space again.

He studied the imposing and fierce Medusa taking up most of her thigh, some of the snakes cut off by her shorts. The details were amazing, it almost looked like a Greek statue. Terry was impressed she did it upside down and it still looked stunning. 

He hesitated a moment, not wanting to upset the tranquil environment she’d created, but he wanted to know more of her story, now privy to the fact that the both of them have a painful past. He wants to know how she got to this point of inner peace, he wants to get there too. 

“Is it true?…what they say about Medusa tattoos?” She blinked at his question and her hands stilled, caught off guard, having gotten lost in the music still playing and the buzzing of her gun and the black ink on his smooth skin. 

Reign’s teeth worried her lip, biting and pulling as she debated whether to answer that or not. She chanced a look at his face and his piercing eyes locked with hers. She felt like a butterfly in an empty jar. Delicate, exposed, with nowhere to hide. Not everyone gets a Medusa tattoo for the same reason, but she knew exactly what he meant. She simply nodded and refocused her attention to the veins of the fist she’s crafting.

She continued working and missed the dark shadow that fell over his face. He was trying not to imagine what the sorry excuse for a human did to her, he was trying to ignore the urge to bring the matters of justice into his own hands. He was well equipped with delivering justice, and something about her let him know that she deserved her vengeance. She saw his fist clench from the corner of her eye, and she told herself he was reacting to the carve of the needle in his skin, not the weight of her truth. 

“I’m sorry that’s part of your story.” She gave him a surprised little grin, taking note of the gruffness in his voice she’d heard before.

“It’s not your fault. Besides, every protagonist experiences canon events. If this hadn’t been part of my story, I might not have this passion for creating safe spaces for people.” He stared at her face, her brows slightly furrowed and tongue just barely peeking out of the corner of her mouth. Most of her attention was on marking him with pristine lines, so her honesty flowed from her unfiltered. 

He took in the entirety of her studio again with a new perspective. The healing warmth of the sun seeping in, the calming music lulling him into a state of serenity, the sectioned off booths that created some privacy for her clients but not so much that they feel caged in, the art on the walls depicting black love and black excellence. Damn. She did a hell of a good job creating lightness when the world can be so dark. He found that inspiring.

He wanted to ask her more but “Take You There” began to play from her speakers, and her voice softly hummed along, she was lost in her own world and he was happy to let her be. It was interesting watching her work. She seemed reserved and shy speaking with him before, but now her hands moved confidently, her expressions changed as she concentrated, her scent was positively intoxicating and her braids tickled his skin every time she moved her face closer to his body. 

The pain grew more intense as she shaded a particularly sensitive spot above his nipple, and Terry groaned quietly, tightly closing his eyes and leaning his head back to rest on the seat. 

“I know I know, I’m sorry” Reigned murmured barely being heard above the sound of the tattoo gun, “You’re doing so well though Terry.” 

He tried not to react to that, but the mix of the pain keeping him grounded to her, and her sweet voice, it was getting to him. He hoped she didn’t look down any time soon. She had to roughly wipe the excess ink away from his skin before continuing, and he instinctively hissed at her through his teeth.

“I know soldier, we’ll be done soon” his eyes flew open at that and she paused to get more ink, looking him over. “I noticed the work on your arms. I’ve given my fair share of military tats” He nodded, forehead slightly damp from this whole ordeal.

“Do you wanna tell me about this one we’re doing today? Just if you’d like to share, I’ll be done in about an hour.” He didn’t say anything at first, just taking a quiet moment to feel the influx of emotions that bombarded him today, and she didn’t push him. Then he began to speak, gingerly revealing what happened in Shelby Springs, compelled by her peace to find healing in this moment. His eyes were clouded over, lost in the turmoil of his past, that he missed her frown of recognition. She’d heard about the horrors going on there in the news. Her heart ached for him.

She let him talk, and she listened intently as she worked, nodding and humming every now and then. He grew quiet and his whole face softened with his eyes closed as Reign drowned his freshly completed tattoo in the cold saline solution, gently wiping and repeating the process a few times.

She gave him a sad smile, so many thoughts swimming behind her eyes as she cleared the emotion from her throat before speaking. “All done” she tossed her gloves in the trash can, “lets go take a look.” She stood first, bending and stretching, her back popping from where it was curled over his body. Terry followed suit slowly, standing to his full height and stretching his arms over his head. 

Reign looked away quickly, walking over to the mirror to wait for him, begging her hormones to relax. This was not the time nor the place for this, he’s a new client for fucks sake. She shook her braids out of their messy bun to relieve the tension in her neck as she watched him approach from his reflection in the mirror. He eyed her form appreciatively, not at all subtle about it either, and she played with her hands, trying not to feel so small next to him. 

His eyes finally landed on his tattoo and immediately tears filled them. He hung his head silently as the tears fell down his cheeks and Reign panicked, not knowing what to do or say to help. She stepped closer, letting instinct guide her hand to gently rub his upper back. She peered around his body, trying to get a glimpse of his face in the mirror, and she watched his chest heave one deep shuddering breath. He brought big palms up to wipe his face before he looked up again, keeping her rooted to the spot with his sincere gaze. 

“Thank you.” his voice was so deep and swimming with emotions, and she felt a lump swelling in her own throat. He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn’t at this moment, feeling a dam break within him. He just stared at her, imploring her with his eyes to understand the impact of what she’d gifted him. 

She nodded, rubbing his back one last time before stepping away from him. “You’re most welcome Terry, thank you for trusting me with your story.” It was his turn to nod, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  She turned away from him and went to find the wrap she would use to cover the tattoo, giving him some privacy with this new piece of his cousin he’d carry around with him forever. 

He made his way back to her when he was ready, and she began the quick process of covering his tattoo in protective wrap, explaining how to take care of it and telling him all the things he shouldn’t do in the next few days. Terry shrugged his shirt back on as she cleaned up the area they occupied, and he could fill a pit form in his stomach. He was hooked on her already, and the thought of leaving her so soon was bringing back the empty feeling he thought he’d left on the outside of her haven.

He sent her his payment from his phone, including an incredibly generous tip, and cut her off as she began to protest being paid double what she’d expected.

“I’d like to take you to dinner, Reign.” She froze, rich brown eyes wide behind her lenses. He kept going at her hesitation, “I’m pretty new to the city, and I haven’t met anyone worth knowing here until you.” He stepped closer, invading her senses with his provocative woody scent. “I’d love for you to show me all the places that make you happy, and I heard the quickest way to anyone's heart is through the stomach.” 

Reign smiled at that, it somehow wasn’t corny coming from such a fine ass man. “You got me there soldier” Terry smiled back to her and took her phone from her grasp, placing his number in it and shooting himself a text. He looked at her from underneath his lashes giving the phone back, and she swore she felt her knees buckle at the devilishly playful glint in his eyes.

“Is tomorrow night too soon?” She couldn’t resist his deep voice and overwhelming presence even if she wanted to, and her body had been growing warmer and warmer the longer he stayed in her space.

“I-I can make time for you” she stuttered embarrassingly at feeling the rough pad of his finger brushing her ear as he moved a braid out of her face.

“Good.” He walked backwards from her, hands in his pockets which seemed to make his biceps bulge, and he smiled softly at her “I’ll see you tomorrow pretty Reign.” he turned and she watched him saunter out the back of her studio, her breath returning to her when he was no longer in sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fuuuuck I didn't realize writing something without sex in it was so hard 😅 idk if I have the stamina for a slow burn but I will certainly try, just know that the smut will come with a damn vengeance! Please let me know what you think! this is my first time doing an original character 🥲💕

Taglist: @teddybeerz @liatreads @eviescloset @sageispunk @planetblaque @soft-persephone @violetmuses @miyuhpapayuh @iterum-incipi @slutsareteacherstoo @blackgurlnhermoods @helloncrocs @megamindsecretlair

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley go fishing 

warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence 

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection

notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know 

Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe

word count: 6.5k

| masterlist | ix |

January, 1987

She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college. 

Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did. 

Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with. 

Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room. 

He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure. 

She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind. 

That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home. 

She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway. 

He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort. 

The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer. 

But he didn’t want to wait. 

Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals. 

She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do. 

He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand. 

It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones. 

So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him. 

He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy. 

He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms. 

It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique. 

He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning. 

She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan. 

“We missed the entrance to the dock.” 

“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.” 

She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window. 

It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January. 

He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed. 

She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies. 

He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in. 

They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice. 

Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work. 

“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes. 

He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.” 

He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth. 

“Close your eyes, hun.” 

She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now. 

“Open ‘em.” 

She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped. 

“Ta-Da!” 

“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her. 

“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them. 

“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her. 

She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles. 

He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important. 

The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold. 

They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute. 

“Then he asked me if they were extinct!” 

“What you tell him?” 

“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind. 

“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage. 

“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.” 

She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other. 

There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly. 

“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear. 

But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front. 

“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear. 

“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole. 

It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward. 

Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands. 

The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder. 

Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact. 

“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still. 

He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp. 

She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her. 

It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still. 

They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole. 

“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark. 

She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does. 

She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths. 

A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole. 

Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.

It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature. 

It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it. 

She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs. 

She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband. 

He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast. 

The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck. 

It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water. 

Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes. 

A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel. 

He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up. 

She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later. 

A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again. 

She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways. 

He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all. 

It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while. 

She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat. 

“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning. 

“What?” 

“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. 

“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys. 

“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway. 

She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled? 

He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss. 

She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in. 

She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears. 

She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side. 

She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins. 

He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath. 

She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature. 

She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him. 

“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once. 

He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body. 

She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.

He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water. 

“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up. 

She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room? 

She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath. 

She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door. 

She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone. 

Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose. 

She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table. 

She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line. 

She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation. 

Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion. 

The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him. 

He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water. 

She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her. 

Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his. 

“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands. 

He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken. 

“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.” 

He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands. 

“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again. 

“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.” 

Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables. 

“You’re mine, too.” 

His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten. 

She forgot about the pots and burners. 

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 2

chapter 1

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; . . i am not the boy you knew and you are dead to me you watch someone you know grow into static company - boy (alex g)

2.

your chest ached.

with changing seasons, countless birthdays, the broadening of your consciousness brought an expansion of your body. growing in places that made you walk with a slouch and had your hands tugging at the front of your shirt. the shorts you'd wear during summer turned into your shame whenever your parent(s) would ask you to go and change for something more. . 'appropriate'.

ridiculous, you thought. how could they be inappropriate? they were your favorite pair.

or they used to be.

a man old enough to be your father leered at you while you were out riding your bike. you took them off as soon as you got home. you're sure they sit at the bottom of your closet to this day.

your hands got bigger. your fingers stretched. you got taller. people often told you you looked like your parent(s). you didn't see it.

despite the passage of time, mark was still there.

your parent(s) had long received the grayson's blessing to allow him refuge in your home: playdates whenever he wasn't preoccupied with baseball and important school work. but as the pages of the calendars turned, your parent(s) worried your little playdates had gone on for too long.

however, much like the dilemma your teachers had, no one had the heart - nor the energy - to separate you two. the two of you were entering the age where interest in romance grew and your parent(s) worried. it was cute, at first. when a 6 year old mark would follow you home and your parent(s) would have to contact the graysons, lest they turn the world upside down searching for their one son. or the time in which he'd brought ring-pops and claimed you'd gotten married.

but the fact of the matter was that mark had changed, too. you didn't see it at first. didn't even imagine it could've ever been that way.

mark was a growing boy.

there was evidence of that etched in markings on the wall next to your bedroom door: comparisons of height done in pencil. one with your initial. the other in his. you'd always be surprised when he kept surpassing you inch by inch. and you'd make a face whenever you'd - yet again - failed to keep up. and after your parent(s) wearily watched the two of you engage in hand size comparisons, the door to your bedroom was to remain open at all times.

but the truth of the matter was that there was simply no need.

mark was hardly ever in your bedroom those days. and much to your disappointment - well, why were you? it's not like you didn't see it coming - he'd gotten friends of his own. friends who grew with him in height and mannerism. who'd say big, nasty words and who's eyes would follow girls down the hallway. who he'd sit and rough house with until teachers had enough and sat him next to the most 'well behaved student' - you - despite his huffing. friends who wouldn't spare you a glance even though you were walking with mark. who'd talk directly to mark as if you weren't even there and steal him away with excuses of baseball practice. or simply because they could.

and mark would go.

and once, you felt your face going hot when one of them scoffed, "sorry, are we stealing you away from your girlfriend?"

mark returned the laugh - you didn't know if he knew you heard or not. you also didn't wanna know - and said, "ew."

laughter.

and if you were anyone else you would've thought about throwing his own baseball bat against his back. but all it did was make you sad. it made you angry. it made you embarrassed. and you didn't know why.

mark was a growing boy.

you were growing, too.

but you wanted to stay little for as long as you could. and the dread that came with buying newer clothes each passing year left you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

you obsessed over magazines. the pretty girls on social media who's hair looked perfect. who's teeth were whiter. who's skin looked painted on. you're sure

the others in school shared your sentiment.

soon, you had to preoccupy yourself with shaving your arms or your legs or drinking large amounts of water in order to feel something in your tummy.

but mark. .mark never had to worry about that. he was a growing boy. he didn't have to worry about clothes or skincare. he didn't have to watch what he ate.

he was a growing boy.

who cared if he ate half a dozen donuts in one sitting? he was a growing boy.

who cared if all he did was run a few steps in baseball and eat like a chipmunk all the while remaining the same? he was a growing boy!

who cared if he could burp and sneeze loudly, sit like he'd bought the planet, and go outside at night?

.. certainly not you.

but sometimes you wish -

"it's so fucking hot." mark mumbled, hanging off your bed, voice muffled around his - seventh? - donut.

you stared down at the bowl of cotton candy grapes on your lap.

your teeth ached with need.

- . . you were a. . it was easier.

"yeah." you said, squeezing one of the grapes between your index and thumb until the flesh oozed out, shiny and sticky. "i know."

"you almost done?" he asked, turning onto his stomach and wiping the icing off his hands onto your bedding.

the homework sheets in front of you were nearly done. but you'd need a lot more time to finish homework for the both of you. you wonder if your parents knew that mark coming over to do homework just consisted of him distracting you while you did the work.

and maybe they did.

they were always so forgiving to people who weren't you.

in their eyes, you'd ask for advice if he was really taking advantage of you. and none of that whiny complaining of him being too rough, either.

you should've known what you were getting yourself into when you befriended a boy.

boys will be boys. right?

then, he doesn't know his own strength when you were mad at him when one of his playful shoves sent you staggering in front of his friends.

or, he was trying to be funny! lighten up. when he'd grabbed you and groped at your fleshy sides - also in front of his friends.

and most importantly, the two of you had been best friends for so long, there was no reason why something as innocent as you doing a couple of favors for him could cause such turmoil.

you should be nicer to him. i mean, how many other friends do you have?

and that's what the excuses were about.

your parent(s) felt indebted to him. after all, they didn't have the energy to deal with the tides of your mental state: the complex emotions, highs and lows, that only seemed to become that much more apparent as you entered your teenage years.

you imagined how they must’ve thought of you.

it couldn't be that much different than how everyone else did.

mark is so patient, so good at babysitting poor, socially inept you.

but as long as they didn't have to do the heavy lifting, they figured letting mark keep you was their safest bet. it did you good. mark didn't seem burdened. if anything, he seemed happy. he enjoyed taking care of you. and you knew he did. in fact, when he wasn't around his friends. . he was the mark you grew up with.

kind of.

he was still into the same stuff: comics and superhero movies. as long as it was just the two of you. . it wasn't that bad. he cared for you. and he'd show he wasn't all gone when he'd warned you about boys - who, ironically, seemed to perfectly describe his friend group. 

don't date them, he'd say, and it reminded you of when you'd gotten that ring pop and he told you you were his.

his protective demeanor wasn't a problem when he had the strength of a six year old. but mark wasn't six anymore. the jealous fits weren't as endearing. he was rowdier. moodier. and he'd grown into his body. . meaning he had the mass to back his words up.

but you weren't cowed by him. not much, anyway.

which caused you to push away the pile of homework and snap, "why don't you do your own fucking homework? it's too much."

you knew the most mark would do was sulk and pout. that's all he ever did when you'd be preoccupied with other things. . or grouped with the opposite sex. but there'd be moments in which you'd caught the flicker of darkness in his eyes whenever the two of you had a disagreement.

when you said no.

"i'm tired after baseball." he said, slowly, like it's something you were supposed to know.

"yeah, well, i'm tired, too!" you huffed.

"yeah? of doing what?"

"of thinking for the both of us."

"you calling me dumb?"

"you said it." you muttered under your breath, doodling onto the page to distract you from the annoyance bubbling inside you.

you didn't notice him getting up. he'd have a habit of sneaking up on you. maybe he was just quiet. or you were just too absent minded to notice. but either way, before you knew it, you were lifted off the floor from around your waist.

you don't even get a chance to react before he pinned you to your bed. the shock causing your face to grow hot before you begin to thrash beneath him, spitting out insults and trying to hit him in any soft spot you could.

but he was faster, stronger.

repeating, "i'm stupid?" while fighting you off like it was nothing.

he'd always had better stamina, and soon, you're tired and pinned beneath him.

and then he. .

just froze above you.

mark's world had gone still. he could sense everything. the air shifted around him and all his attention landed on you. he could feel weak throbbing beneath the palm of his hands as he held your wrists in a two handed grip above your head.

he could smell your perfumed skin. hear the blood soaring through your veins. the heat from your face warmed him like a furnace. and the realization slammed into him like a freight train.

he'd gotten his powers.

you'd brought them out of him.

“um. can I get up now?” you'd whispered from beneath him, flustered. your eyes narrowed towards your door, the one your parent(s) demanded you to keep open at all times.

mark blinked.

then, shuffled off of you with burning cheeks.

you watched him hastily sling his school bag over his shoulder and waddle out of the room. confused, you called after him - you had a test to study for for christ's sake! - but he didn't stop.

you scrambled after him.

but like years before, you couldn't keep up.

he was gone before you even made it out into the hallway.

CHAPTER 3

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 17

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Mature (mentions of child loss and grief, aka we go through Joel's past one more time as he says goodbye)

A/N: We are at the end ❤ I am insanely nervous since the whole story was built around this final chapter...I really hope you like it. I am going to make a separate post with all my thank you notes, but for now: @the-scandalorian I literally could not have done this without your guidance and reassurance and constant support. I owe you everything, and I love you. @mrsmando thank you for looking this over for me, for being such an amazingly emotional ride or die and for inspiring me since day one of this fic with your massive brain. I adore you. finally, @bageldaddy thank you for yelling at me in the doc when I needed it, and for your constant Joel advice. You make me better. ❤

Series Masterlist

--

“That’s it, honey. You’re doin’ so good.”

 “Yea?” Straightening your back, you let your hips roll with the movement under you. The inside of your thighs burning with overuse, your voice is slightly breathless. “Like this?”

“It’s like you’re a natural,” he muses, giving you a wink. 

“I don’t know about that.”

A trampled path guides the horse more than you do, a circle carved into the grass in front of the cabin and you let out a breath, feeling yourself relax for the first time since you first climbed on. 

He didn’t believe you when you’d said you’d never been on a horse until you stood next to it, terrified. He had helped you up that day, climbing into the saddle behind you. When he noticed that you were paying more attention to the way his broad body encased yours from behind, he cut the lesson short with a teasing scold. 

Only to continue it in the bedroom later that night. 

He’s silent for a moment as he walks next to you, until June’s babble from the edge of the field calls out across the space. 

“See?” he says. “She thinks so too.”

She starts to crawl towards the two of you, and Joel is quick to stride over, picking her up. 

“I feel like I got the hang of it,” you say tentatively. “I’m not sure what to do if I have to take off on it though.” You look at him, the scenario only now occurring to you. “Hang on. What if I’m holding her and we have to run? How will I hang onto her and the horse? How –”

His hand comes to rest reassuringly on your thigh with a squeeze, stopping you.

“Don’ focus on that right now.” He shifts June in the crook of his elbow so that her outstretched hands can touch the horse. “Just focus on learnin’ the basics. When she’s down for her nap, I’ll get on with you and we can practice goin’ faster. Okay?”

He holds your gaze for a moment, sunlight catching the brown in his irises and curls. He raises his eyebrows in question, and you nod. 

“Okay. Yea, okay.”

Giving the horse a pat on its neck, you let June brush her hands over its coat. Her tiny fingers dig in, pinching the animal in exploration. 

“Easy, baby girl. Easy,” Joel murmurs. “You gotta be gentle. Like this.”

He takes her hand in his, petting the horse. Having no patience for the slow movement, she tugs her hand free to make a quick grab for the animal, and he chuckles, stepping back - only for her to erupt into a wail. 

“Aw come on. Don’ gimme those crocodile tears, baby.” 

Lifting her into the air, he holds her above his head and looks up at her scrunched face. His biceps strain the sleeves of his t-shirt, his curls fluttering in the breeze as he suspends her until her cries turn into whimpers, then giggles. Only then does he bring her down, kissing her on the cheek. 

“I knew you were fakin’.”

–

The plan was to leave tomorrow, at first light. 

Weathering weeks of up and down emotions, you’ve been constantly wavering between wanting to follow the others in hopes of finding somewhere safer for June and being terrified that you’re making the wrong decision. A silent war within yourself, always waging as you prepared. 

When it was just you and Joel, there were times that you had been afraid. You had eventually made peace with the idea that something might happen to you, even though you would have fought with everything you had to prevent it. The fear you feel now, however, is on a whole other level. Something more base, coming from deep within you. 

 It’s so much harder with June. So much more left to lose, so much more at stake. 

A bone-deep type of fear that took root in you the moment you realized you were pregnant, it only grew until it was something overwhelming. Something that choked you with nerves the day she came into this world. Something that reached down into the heart of you and grabbed hold of reserves you never knew you had. Something that turned you into another person entirely when you thought about anything happening to her - a very real possibility given the unknown you were willingly venturing into. 

In comparison, Joel seemed…calm. Always the case when he had a clear direction and a purpose, you couldn’t tell if it was because he truly believed this was the right thing or just because he was so caught up in the planning of it all.

Plants harvested and then pulled up to save the root system, seeds meticulously dried and saved in scraps of paper, everything protected with as much safe keeping as you could provide it. Stores of food organized and packed in makeshift saddle bags, clothing and rags for diapers and two sleeping bags and medicine and first aid supplies and knives and anything else you could think of that might be useful, already accounted for and packed away. 

All of it placed by the front door, waiting. 

You run down the mental list one more time while rocking June, eventually placing her in the crib after cradling the soft, warm weight of her sleeping body for a moment. 

“She go down okay?” Joel looks up from his place on the bed, the lantern glowing warm edges around the curve of his shoulders. The light splays across his skin, and he sets his book to the side. 

“Yea, she was just a little fussy.” Yawning, you crawl into bed next to him. “I think she can feel something in the air. Our nerves or something.”

“Probably,” he agrees. 

Sliding down under the quilt, you watch the shift of his muscles as he stretches to turn out the light. Joining you, he rolls on his side so you’re face to face.

Getting comfortable, you scoot closer. “So. Our last night.”

“Looks like it,” he replies, grasping your hand. He runs your knuckles over the  seam of his lips, giving them a kiss.

“Are you nervous?” 

He considers for a moment. “Yea. I know it’s time, but I can’t say I’m ready for what’s waiting out there.”

You nod.

Content silence rests between you, a cricket chirping right outside the window, the  gentle current joining the rustle of leaves as they stir in the warm night air. Your fingers play idly with the sparse hair that covers his chest, and he watches you in the darkness. 

“Are we doing the right thing?” you ask, your voice almost a whisper. 

“It’s a little late for that, honey,” he teases, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. When you don’t reply, his tone softens and he continues. “Hey now. We are. I know it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure. I don’t know if anyone is with any decision they make, honey. ‘Specially not parents. You can only hope, ya know?”

You draw your lip between your teeth, and he gently plucks it out with his thumb. Guiding your face to his in the darkness, he runs his touch across your cheek, stroking the soft curve. 

“Look at me.”

He’s right there, holding your gaze. Brown irises turned black in the dark room, holding you steady. There, like he’s always been. 

“This is the right thing. I know just as well as you that there is plenty out there to be afraid of, but I got you. I got you both. I ain’t gonna let anything happen.”

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, dampening the pillow case. Your fears getting the best of you, words come pouring out. 

“What if she crawls away while we are sleeping, or what if she gets sick? What if someone tracks us, and tries to take what we have?” You swallow hard, taking a deep breath. “If something happens to either of you, I –”

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence, and he’s gathering you in his arms, pulling you close. The steady thump of his heartbeat underneath your cheek greets you, and you bury your face in the soft crook of his neck. 

“I know we have to, but I don’t want to leave. This is our home.”

He softly shushes you. “We’ll make a new one. Together.”

Cradling your head in his hand, he lets you cry, his fingers stroking over the crown of your hair. Wrapped in his hold, you let it all pour out: not deep, shuddering cries of despair but rather the silent cries of mourning, of nerves strung too tight for weeks. 

His hand slips down to rub between your shoulder blades and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to commit everything about this moment to memory: the mattress underneath you, the heat of his body, the husky rumble of his voice. The soft sheets and the worn blankets that have held the heat of your naked bodies countless times. His side of the bed that smells like him, his things on the nightstand, the feel of him in the middle of the night when it’s too dark to see. The scratch of his beard against your palm when you sling your arm over him in the night, just to find the bare patch along his jaw with your fingertips. 

You think about everything that’s ever happened in this bed: his confession about Sarah, the intimacies you’ve shared with each other under the safe veil of darkness. Sounds that these walls have absorbed night after night: his low chuckles and his murmured praises and his endless, reassuring love. 

When you’re done, Joel guides you back down into the mattress, using his hold on you to close the distance between your mouths. A gentle kiss for your lips, then your nose, then each one of your tear damp eyelids before finding your mouth again. 

You shift up, giving him access to deepen it as his tongue slides against yours, your body arching into the familiar taste and path of his kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair, slip down the breadth of his back, and curl around the back of his arms.

Your thighs hug his hips, his head dipping to find more of your skin. Laving the edge of your jaw, he gives your throat an open mouthed kiss as his hand pushes your sleep shirt up. Up, up, exposing the bare skin over your sternum and when his lips find your nipple, he draws into his mouth with a reverential suck. He laves his tongue over and around it, playing with the stiff bud as he rocks his hips into yours and when his teeth gently scrape, a moan catches in the back of your throat. 

The last time you’re ever going to feel him in this bed, you savor it. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he groans softly when his fingers find your slick warmth. 

“So do you,” you breathe, reaching down to guide his fingers inside you. They slip in with a slick, snug stretch, and he rests his forehead along the plane of your chest, watching your hand move with his. Crooking his touch to reach a spot that makes you keen, he rubs against it and you muffle your sounds against the firm round of his shoulder. 

Quiet. You have to be quiet. 

“Fuck me,” you plead against his skin, and he works his fingers faster, pulling back to watch your face. 

“I wanna make you come like this first. Gonna be awhile before I can take my time with you again.”

You say nothing, the air seizing in your lungs as you arch into the tight, syrupy warmth he’s building inside you. Clenching around his fingers, you’re tipped over the edge by the heft of his stiff cock rocking against your thigh.

“There’s my girl,” he praises. 

His words wash over your heated skin, his eyes flashing in the dark. Slipping his fingers from you to drag damp over your skin, he pushes your legs open to make room for himself.

–

Leaving you sated and asleep, he slips from bed as quietly as he can, stepping out into the inky night. Tugging a sweatshirt over his head, his feet are bare, the hem of his pajama pants skimming the grass as he walks down to the shore. 

A simple handmade cross made from the leftover wood from June’s cradle is gripped in his hand.

He kneels and taking his time, begins to delicately smooth out a patch of sandy earth. His fingers pluck away wayward strands of grass and toss out tiny pebbles until it’s cleared. A stack of stones he’s been gathering for the last few weeks rests in a pile nearby, waiting. 

Satisfied, he rests back on his heels.

“Hey, baby girl.”

Silence greets him, and content with that response, he continues.

“We’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

Reaching for the biggest stone, he turns and sets it just at the edge of the lapping water. He then balances the next one on top, slightly smaller than the one underneath it. 

“I’m not sure when we’ll be back, if we’ll ever be. But I’m gonna mark a spot for you just in case. My favorite spot.”

He adjusts a third stone on top of the others, his hand lingering to make sure it stays put. 

“I never got to –” he starts, steadying himself. “I never had a spot for you. Just kept you in my head, and in my heart.” He holds the fourth stone in his hand, looking at it. “I always wanted a place to visit you. A place to come to when I missed you, a place to talk to you.” 

He sniffles, using his knuckle to wipe at a tear that slips free and then places the stone on top of the others.

“Now I know that you’re always listenin’.”

The water washes over the base of the stones, the ripples sparkling in the moonlight and he finishes the cairn in silence, listening to the sounds around him. When he’s done, he looks up, and stares at the expanse of stars above him. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. His voice wavers, and he swallows hard. “For everything. I know you know this, but I’ll – I’m always thinkin’ about you. I’ll always be here when you need me, okay? I will never stop bein’ your dad.”

A few more tears roll down his face, and he lets them go. The corner of his mouth eventually lifting, he clears his throat. 

“Maybe you could watch over your sister for me, make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble on this trip? Sometimes she gets this smile on her face and it’s just like the one you used to get.” A low chuckle slips free, and he hangs his head with a shake. “It's like I know she’s about to do somethin’ that she ain’t supposed to do, and all…'' 

The rueful smile on his face softens, his voice lowering with a rasp. 

“All I see is you.”

More tears come, silent paths gliding down his face and he sits alone with his thoughts then, on the edge of the river. 

That night comes back to him: the sheer terror he felt, the despair, the helplessness. The rage that filled him when he woke to find out that her body had been left behind, twisted and broken and all alone in the dirt somewhere. Like no one even cared to bury her, even if he knew that wasn’t the case. 

The blur of black days that followed her death, when he longed to join her. 

The weight of the gun in his grip, the thud it made when he whipped it at the wall with a scream when he missed. 

All the years after, trying to lock the memory of her away. The shadow of a person he became, all the things he did without an ounce of regret. 

A man with nothing to lose, because he’d already lost it all. 

When his tears dry, he looks up at the sky again and finally, he remembers a different memory. 

A warm night sky just like this one, the slippery cushion of a sleeping bag under his back and a petite, squirmy body stretched out next to him. 

“What’s that one, dad?” A swirl of stars above them, her small finger points at the brightest one. 

She sits up, the silhouette of her unruly curls calling to him and he brushes his hand through the soft texture of it, making up a name.

“Dad! Stop it,” she laughs. “For real. What is it?”

He makes up another one, and the girlish peal of her laugh echoes in the dark; the kitchen light from the house glowing behind them. 

Still feeling her curls against his palm, he takes the cross in his hand, and pushes the bottom of it into the dirt. Standing with a soft grunt, he brushes the sand from his knees and looks at it for a moment. 

A tiny thing, shadowed by the protection of a tree. 

Protected and safe, finally. 

“I love you, baby girl.”

With one last look at the cross, he makes his way slowly back up to the cabin. 

–

With June secured to your front, you walk around the inside of the cabin one last time. 

Domestic warmth infused in every room, items you have to leave behind paint a picture of the people that lived here: the westerns he read in his early days of avoiding his want for you stacked next to his side of the bed. The flowered quilt that you tucked yourself under on rainy days spread over the mattress. The bathroom, with its neatly folded yet mismatched hand towels draped over the bar next to the sink. 

The living room, with the dust that once coated everything gone, and the kitchen, with a neat row of washed pots lined up next to the dish rack that holds a mug used this morning. 

The clean windows that would let in the bright sun, save for the tarp along the back that has been secured in place.

Even the strangers that line the hallway live in cleaned frames, and walking past them, you wander into June’s bedroom to take one last look at her cradle. Impossible to bring with you, it hurts the most to leave behind. You’re still looking at it when Joel comes in from outside, calling your name.

“In here,” you call back, and he comes to stand behind you, curling his hands around your hips. You lean back into him, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, reading your mind. 

“I’ll make her a new one, honey. I promise.”

You turn and give him a watery smile, and he presses his lips to your forehead. 

“A big girl bed this time, I think,” he coos down at June, and she reaches for him, fussing when he doesn’t pick her up. 

Cradling her squirming body, you follow Joel outside. 

Next to the porch, the horse shifts under the weight of the saddle bags, stomping her feet and you watch as Joel soothes her, sliding his hand down over her coat. Ropes securing everything, she is weighted with your belongings and with the plan  to walk beside her as much as possible, you start to untie her reins while he closes the front door. 

The original tarp that covered it is dragged back into place, and when everything is as it was on that first day you found it, he gives it one last look.  

Coming to join you with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he takes the reins. 

“You ready?”

At the sound of his voice, June looks at him and smiles, a tiny dimple piercing her chubby cheek. He returns it, reaching out to grasp her foot with a wiggle. 

“Are you?” you ask. Your brow knit with gentle concern, you nudge your chin towards the water. 

“Your spot is beautiful, by the way,” you say softly. “June and I said goodbye this morning. It’s perfect for her.”

He says nothing, gratitude spilling from the depths of his eyes. Looking at you for a long time, he then leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“I guess time heals all wounds,” you muse, thinking of the man you came here with and he pulls back.

Looking down at you both, his expression turns into a sort of solemn earnestness.

“It wasn’t time that did it.”

Your fingers locked in June’s fist, she pulls them into her mouth for a nibble and his hand reaches up to stroke the curve of her cheek, and then your own before leaning in for a kiss.

Walking away from the cabin, you look back when you reach the far edge of the original path that brought you here: the only visible indication of the structure a slice of muted, dingy blue in a sea of lush green. Leaves crunch underfoot as you walk beside him, the slope of his broad shoulders a map that you’ve always followed without question. With another couple steps, the cabin disappears from view.

Looking forward, you lace your fingers with his and walk.

[evagreen-stories]

Mother’s madness | (Aemond x f!lowborn!reader) (3/?)

Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bed slave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.

Warnings: mentions of violence, light angst (kinda?), canon typical misogyny, canon typical behaviour, dark!aemond, abusive!aemond, forced relationship, forced impregnantion, canon typical classicism, mentions of assault, stockholm syndrom (kind of), non-canon storyline

Author's note: Short little chapter but at last, an update!

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

< part 2 masterlist

By the time Aemond had made all his reports, listened to the yappings of all the council members and sat through hours of further strategy planning, he wanted to rip out each strand of his hair.

It was hard for him to focus already, the worries over his precious bed slave and her madness over their, over his, sons had all but consumed every part of his mind, and yet, odd stares from his mother and grand maester Orwyle made him all the more restless.

Finally, the council meeting was concluded and the Lords left the room. Aemond would watch in silence as Criston helped the struggling king to his feet and down the stairs.

Aegon had been burned and injured gravely during the battle at Rooks Rest over a year ago where Meleys had ingulfed him and his dragon in dragonfire, but he was growing more and more capable these days and managed to attend the council meetings from time to time.

Still, Aemond remained the prince regent, but would sit opposite of the king’s seat at the foot of the long wooden table whenever his brother was in attendance.

From there, he watches as neither his mother nor Orwyle made any attempts to move from their seats, just as he didn’t.

Sitting in tense silence for several moments, Aemond eventually fixates on the elder man to his right. Glaring at him, his voice is little more than a growl, he asks,

“Care to explain to me what is going on with my mistress?”

Orwyle takes a moment to answer, shifting nervously in his seat and glancing to the dowager queen sitting opposite of him before turning his attention back to the prince regent.

“Your mistress, my prince, would appear to suffer from some sort of birth induced mania. It happens from time to time, unfortunately.” He states before carefully adding. “Mothers of such circumstance… they should be separated from the child. They are unable to care for the babes and may harm them during manic episodes.”

Aemond’s face hardens, his jaw clenching. “She is perfectly capable to care for my sons. I have gone to meet her already. I do not believe for a moment she suffers from true madness.”

“She does.” Alicent speaks up. “She would chase anyone out of her room, preferably with the nearest sharp object in hand. Your whore is incapable of caring for your sons.”

“That is a lie!” Aemond snaps his head to her. “What would you even know of this? She and what I do with her is none of your concern, I have told you so a hundred times already.”

“I am your mother. Mind your tongue when talking to me.” The red-haired woman hisses before continuing. “I am also the dowager queen and queen mother. With the queen still occupied in her grief, the Red Keep is my responsibility in your absence. That makes your whore and her spawn my responsibility as well. I needed to deal with the drama she caused. Had she not locked herself away I can assure you, this matter would have long been settled already.”

“Settled?” Aemond scoffs. “And what would that have looked like? Taken my sons from her? And then what?”

“Most certainly. And she must receive treatment-“

“Treatment? What would your great treatment entail?”

“Treatment varies from individual to individual. It remains to be seen what methods work best on her. Is that not right, grand maester?” Alicent urges Orwyle to speak up.

“…yes. Yes, your grace. It is difficult to predict which treatments will work best on her.” The man nods softly.

Aemond was well aware of how maesters would attempt to cure madness. Their methods would be torturous. His own methods of bringing her into full submission when he first claimed her would seem tame in comparison. His stomach turns at the thought of what they would have done to her in his abscence had she not kept her door locked at all times.

“You will do no such thing.” Aemond growls. “No one but me touches her. No one but me will make any decision on any treatments. She is not mad. The babes are healthy. There is no need to intervene.”

“Now they are. But they weren’t always. Your children should be supervised by maesters not by some deranged lowborn.” Alicent retorts.

Aemond furrows his brows, looking at his mother in disbelief. His y/n hadn’t said anything of the sorts. “Now? Now? What is that supposed to mean?”

After another nod from the dowager queen, Orwyle explains, “It… appears we might have miscalculated the day of conception. The babes came early, it seems. Weak, very small, frail. It borders on a miracle the boys live, my prince.”

Aemond stares at him dumbfounded. He held his sons just a few hours earlier, they seemed well. Plumb, full of life. Not just that, he himself had been there when they conceived. He was sure his seed took the very first night that he dragged her to his bed near a year ago. He had watched her belly swell even before he brought her here to the Red Keep.

It made no sense the babes were born sickly when not a single issue had been encountered before. Not even when she was going about her duties of tending to him with little struggle. Well, as long as she could sit down, lay on her side and not have to bend over, that is.

The maesters voice brings him out of his thoughts. “It is best the babes be closely supervised by maesters and raised by experienced nursemaids and wetnurses. Your… mistress should not have them. Mad or not, she will not be able to provide your sons with the care they need to survive.”

Aemond had always been a stubborn man. Perhaps it was his thick head that made him refuse the maesters urging, or perhaps it was his trust is his little bed slave that did so. She was a pure hearted woman, her heart soft. She had learned her new place in life quickly, she had not once betrayed him or given him any reason to doubt her.

She had nothing to gain from lying to him but everything to lose.

She was so convinced of the maesters wanting to steal their children, it could not be a mistake. She would not beg him for help and forgo all formalities with him unless she was truly afraid.

Aemond’s thoughts and emotions were in turmoil now, struggling to discern the truth between y/n’s words, the words of his mother and the grand maester, and the facts he knew to be true.

Staring off at the empty king’s chair in the distance, his voice is little more than a murmur when he asks, “What do you even care for? She’s nothing but a whore in your eyes. You see my sons as bastards only. Why do you care for what happens to them?”

Aemond freezes at his mother’s following shameless reply. He can’t believe she would just state something like this as if it was nothing unusual. It would seem little more than an odd phrasing of words to some but with his suspicions in mind, it's all the confirmation he needs.

“She is a whore, yes. She has seduced you so she can live in luxury far above her station. You’re just a foolish young man with no control of his urges. But… the fact remains that you have no heir. With only a daughter and no sons, they could be of good use to you had you done your wife the courtesy of putting them into her belly instead.”

His gaze cold as ice, he stares at her, never once looking away as he growls. “So it’s true what y/n says? That you plan to steal my sons from her and give them to Floris?”

Alicent seems taken aback, her surprised expression shortly finding Orwyle’s startled one before quickly moving back to her son. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y/n.” Aemond says firmly. “She says she has heard someone say it. That you tasked the maesters to take my sons from her and give them to Floris.”

Alicent remains quiet for a while before her own face hardens. Straightening her posture and keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of her on the table, she begins to lecture her son.

“You have a lady wife, Aemond. A respectable, honorable lady wife of high birth. Princess Floris has given you a daughter already and served you faithfully.” She begins. “The only thing you still need is a legitimate son. With your wife’s recent stillbirth during your absence, it would be easy to arrange so. Give your whore’s sons to her. Or just one, even. You can pass him off as hers and have your-“

“ENOUGH!” Aemond roars, his fists slamming onto the table as he stands up, the chair loudly scraping across the floor. “I will not hear of this! How DARE you try and steal my sons from y/n!”

Alicent’s face remains resolute, her chin held up high in defiance, while Orwyle looks like he wants to vanish beneath the floor.

“I did what needed to be done. Stop coddling your whore, Aemond. Let her pay back for living on the crown’s cost and causing your lady wife distress. Let her produce the boys and you make them heirs, as the sons of you and Princess Floris.”

Mouth hanging open, Aemond can barely believe what his mother is saying. “If anyone has gone mad here, it is you, not her.” He says firmly. “I cannot believe you would betray me like this. Go against my orders, willing to harm my y/n.”

He glares down at his mother as he continues, “Floris will not have my sons. She does NOT deserve them. She has failed me. Failed as my wife, failed as a woman. My mistress has done within a year what that bitch of a wife could not manage in five. Y/n will keep my sons and all other children I will put into her belly and all of them will be made my heirs. Not as Floris’s children, but as y/n’s. I will legitimize them at once and have them declared as my heirs.”

“Have you lost your mind?!” Alicent is the one yelling now. “You cannot do that! Think of the shame that it would bring to your wife! Of how it will disrupt our ally with the Baratheon’s!”

“She is the one that brings shame to me!” Aemond shouts back, his face filled with pure rage and hatred. “It is her failing that has made me the laughingstock across the realm! Made me the maimed prince whose cock does not work! Now they will no longer laugh, now that I have my sons! Lord Borros praised me her fertility but delivered a woman unable to carry a child properly. It is his own doing our alliance has faltered. He will not speak against my y/n or our sons. He will accept them as my heirs. He will remain loyal to our side or I will personally fly south and turn Storm’s End into a second Harrenhal!”

With that, Aemond throws the nearest cups and parchments off the table before turning on his heel to make his way out the door, curses at his mother and wife flowing out his mouth as he does so.

In his rage, Aemond makes his way to the training yard, the urge to stab one of the dummies repeatedly or challenge one of the poor squires to a duel overwhelming him.

< part 2 masterlist

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and The Raven Chapter 8 (The Cursed Gift)

Chapter Summary: Aemma tries to explain the situation about Aegon and her to Benjicot. Benjicot feels betrayed and doesn't know how he should be feeling. Will Aemma lose her husband?

Tags: angst, illness, cw: talks of potential miscarriage.

taglist: @callsignwidow @whimsicalmystic02

word count: 3319

Keep track of the story: masterlist

A long beat resounded between Benjicot, looking at his wife, while Aemma glared at the cursed gift. 

After another short beat, Aemma turned to Benji with a pleading eye, “Ben, I-” 

“What does it mean, ‘You know my heart is yours as your eye mine,’ Aemma?” interrupted Benji, increasingly upset. 

Aemma breathed as she tried to reach her husband, who slowly backed away from her, “The ‘gift’ was from Aegon, who has a delusion that I’m in love with him, but-” 

“Why would the usurper ever think you love him?” Benjicot asked, looking at her, eyes storming. 

Aemma closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose, “When we were children, we made a stupid promise to marry each other, but it was a silly child game… it-” 

“It was real enough for him to send a blasted gift for OUR wedding, claiming that he loves you and you love him back!” shouted Benjicot angrily. 

Aemma's eyes widened in shock at his response, and she grew slightly upset. 

“It's his delusions. He is like a spoiled toddler who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way! I don’t love him; we were kids! Ben, you need to understand that!” exclaimed Aemma; she just wanted her husband to understand and let her explain the story calmly. 

Benjicot angrily shook his head and started walking towards the tent exit with Aemma following him, “Were you never going to tell me? Hoping that his delusions would just fade or that I am left unaware that a certain false king thinks he has a claim to MY wife?!” 

“No! I was going to tell you, but I was going to tell you after the wedding, but then the battle happened, and I didn’t think he was that crazy to send that stupid box!” Aemma explained as she tried to touch his shoulder, but Benji shoved it off. 

“I don’t know, Aemma. You told me our courtship shouldn’t start with lies, but here you start our marriage with one…” Turned Benji with tears streaming down his face. 

“I would never lie to you, Ben. I don’t love him. I don’t love any other man but you! You are my husband. I don’t want any other man but you!” Aemma started, her heart breaking into pieces, tears streaming down her face. 

Benjicot shook his head. “I don’t know; I just need time to think…. I think we should sleep in separate beds for the time being… I just need to not be with you,” he said as he walked out. 

“No! Ben… Benji… BENJICOT BLACKWOOD!” Shouted Aemma, gasping as she collapsed to the ground sobbing. 

Aemma sobbed for a few minutes before angrily turning to the cursed gift. She grabbed it with the note and threw it into the hearth of the tent. She despised Aegon; she wished Sliverwing had bitten off his head rather than his leg. All she wanted to do was be in her husband's arms, but now he wouldn’t even look at her. 

After cleaning herself up and checking that she didn’t look like she was sobbing, she had a few trusted handmaidens take a few of her things and the wedding gifts back to her tent. As she sat on her bed, Aemma stared at the fire. She couldn’t believe her marriage was going to estrangement barely a few days in… As she remembered her grandmother’s words, Aemma wondered if she should have just married for duty and not love.  For love, it hurts too much. Oh, how she wished this was a nightmare she could wake from. 

As Benjicot returned to his tent, he was muddy and sweaty. He scanned the room, and there was no sign of Aemma. He knew he had asked her to leave, but he hoped she would have disobeyed and stayed. But would he have stayed if she had? Would he have listened to her? He didn’t know; he sighed as he sat on his bed, placing his head in his hands. After a quick bath, he lay in bed, missing his wife’s warmth. 

Over the next few weeks, everyone started to notice something going on with the princess and lord, but when they were asked about it, Aemma responded that she was just tense from her grandmother’s injuries and the death of Meleys. Benjicot stated he just wanted to prepare his men for the next battle and needed to perform his mundane lordly duties. Jace and Baela were worried. Aemma was getting skinnier and had dark eye circles, but she always shook them off. 

As Rhaenyra prepared to return to Dragonstone with Jacaerys, Baela, Rhaenys, and Corlys, she worried for her daughter and good-son. She called on Aemma, and as she arrived, her daughter smiled at her, but Rhaenyra knew it was forced. 

“How are you doing, my sweet girl? I see you have been distant from your husband lately?” asked the queen. 

Aemma froze for a second. " We are doing fine, Muna . He is busy with his lordly duties, and I have been too worried about Grandmother… Kepa has also worried me, stating that we are at a considerable disadvantage now that we have lost Meleys.” 

Rhaenyra hummed but was still unsure. “Don’t worry. We discussed how we will look for … dragon seeds, those who have the blood of the dragon outside our family.” 

“I guess, but I just worry how loyal they will stay with us after they claim a dragon,” explained Aemma, hoping her mother would buy into her worries and not ask more questions.

“We would have to wait and see… but are you sure you are doing okay?” Rhaenyra asked, trying to see through her daughter's shell. 

Aemma bit her lip; she had been emotional these past few weeks but didn’t need to worry her mother. Her mother has a war to win against Aegon. 

Aemma gave her a small smile and decided to lie again: “I have just been having some nightmares lately. They… they are of grandmother dying …and of Luke.” Technically, Aemma was not lying to her mother. Even though she tried to sleep, she couldn’t. Those nightmares, along with others, made her afraid to sleep. She hated feeling helpless. 

Rhaenyra’s heart broke, “Oh, my pearl, have you told your husband? Maybe he-” 

“He knows, and he does his best… but I also don’t want to exhaust him… don’t worry, I am drinking some tea to help.” Aemma quickly lied, not wanting to talk about Benjicot; it was still too raw. 

Rhaenyra nodded but couldn’t help but think there was something else. She wouldn’t pry, though, knowing how much she hated in her youth to be constantly bothered to speak when you didn’t. 

Aemma said, “I will see you at this evening’s feast, Mother.” 

Rhaenyra smiled as she saw her daughter leave, feeling helpless. 

As Aemma walked towards her tent, she bumped into Aly. Who stated how much she missed her; Alysanne gasped at seeing Aemma’s appearance. She looked like a wilting flower. Aemma tried to ease Aly’s worries, and when she asked if Benji knew, she had to use all her might not to cry. Aemma tried to soothe Alysanne’s concerns as she excused herself, not seeing Alysanne tracking, watching her enter her tent and not into Benji’s. Aly's eyes creased with worry for her good-niece. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though Aemma and Benjicot sat beside each other at the feast, they ignored each other. Aemma wanted to eat her meal quickly to excuse herself, but when she tried the Mutton, she wanted to gag. It tasted horrible to her, and the smell was overpowering. She glanced at the feast and saw everyone enjoying and joking around; no one seemed to mind the food like she did. Once another wave of nausea hit her, she told one of the maids to tell her mother she needed to be excused. She quietly stood and quickly walked out of the feast. 

Unbeknownst to her, Benjicot was staring as she left. He sighed and turned back to his food, not feeling the mood of the feast, when two lads jumped him from behind. Oscar and Kermit Tully had arrived and jostled him around, causing the lord to chuckle a bit. Oscar and Kermit began pestering him about his wedding and asking where his lovely princess was. 

Kermit jokingly stated, “With a princess that beautiful, he probably has her locked up so no other men can stare at her!” 

Causing Benjicot to grow cold, his hands tightening around his spoon. Oscar noticed his friend's mood and stated it was only a jest. Benjicot nodded before he stood tensely, walking out of the feast. Alysanne soon followed, but she took a different route, not wanting to let him know of her presence yet. When she passed the princess’s tent, she heard the sounds of throwing up, and the handmaidens asking the princess to call a healer. Aly, worried, rushed in and saw the princess on the floor throwing up in a bucket. Alysanne ran to the princess, telling the maid to get a healer as she helped Aemma. Aemma tried to push her away, but Aly would not budge. 

As the healer arrived, she began accessing the princess and asking her numerous questions. Aemma gave her symptoms and how she couldn’t sleep, worrying Aly more. Aly asked the healer if she knew what was causing this. 

The healer wondered, “When was your last moon blood, my princess?” 

Aemma and Aly gasped, Aemma feeling her heart drop as she remembered it was three weeks before her wedding. The Healer nodded and announced that the princess was expecting, but before Aly could rejoice, the healer told the princess that because she was frail right now, her body was at high risk of losing the babe. Aemma closed her eyes in despair; she was failing at her duty… 

Aly asked what could help the princess, making the healer respond. 

“Whatever is causing you heartache or deep unrest, princess, I suggest you fix it soon, not only for your own health but that of your babe’s, my princess.” The healer excused herself, leaving the room. 

Alysanne looked at Aemma, who started fidgeting with her rings. Aly sat beside her and pleaded with her about what was happening and why she was so stressed. Aemma finally broke down in tears, explaining the green box, the note, the argument, and the explanation she wanted to give her nephew, but he always tried to evade her. So she had given up trying to speak to him; now she needed to worry about her baby, making sure she could at least perform her duty to her husband. Alysanne embraced the princess as she grew angry; yes, the princess should have told Benjicot sooner, but for her nephew to just push away his wife, not only was he risking his relationship with their allies but with the health of his wife and unborn child. Alysanne stayed with Aemma until the princess tired herself out. Once she saw her sleeping, Aly left to scold her nephew. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why am I finding out that you have pushed your wife away from you?” shouted Alysanne, scaring Benjicort from his place. 

“What?” he asked confused. 

Aly’s nose flared as she repeated her question. Benjicot frowned and told his aunt she didn’t fully understand. This made Alysanne more upset. She stated that she knew everything, and while she could understand the betrayal, it was not severe to just push the princess away. Benjicot sighed, saying that they just needed time away from each other to think about what they wanted their marriage to be. Alysanne became furious. 

“Now I know, this isn’t about her not telling you; this is about you being self-conscious about your position as her husband. Knowing that other men find her attractive makes you scared you are going to lose her. Well, my nephew, if you were going to be one of those paranoid men, then maybe you shouldn’t have married a beautiful Valyrian princess. There will always be men lusting over her. Do you not think Ser Leanor or Prince Daemon knew about that with the Queen? But they understood their wife’s beauty and didn’t let that stop them from loving their wife. But the second you find out, a stupid man holds delusions of a stupid childhood. You give up on your marriage! Have you seen your wife, she…. She’s struggling, Ben, and you… you don’t see her fading away.” ranted Aly, tears streaming down her face, remembering what Aemma looked like. 

Benjicot was shocked; he knew his aunt was right about why he and Aemma fought. He wasn’t truly upset at Aemma for not telling him but more concerned that she would one day realize he wasn’t the best husband for her and leave. But hearing that she was struggling made Benji want to wallow in guilt. Was he genuinely ignoring her that he did not notice? 

Alysanne knew that she had finally made a breakthrough: " Please at least talk to her… let her explain fully…she’s … sick, Benjicot and your strained relationship with her is only harming her more.” Lying about being sick and not telling him about the pregnancy was princess news to bear. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Benjicot walked to Aemma’s tent. Going in, he saw her face. Her cheekbones started showing sunken, and she had dark undereye circles. His heart broke; he was the cause of this; as much as he wanted to lay in bed with her, fully acknowledging how much he missed her, he couldn’t. Walking out, he left to train, feeling the need to blow away some steam, imagining all the practice dummies to be a certain green king. 

As Aemma woke up, she noticed her breakfast was laid out but already cold. A maid told her mother had just left, not wishing to disturb the princess from sleeping. Aemma nodded as she remembered the healer’s and Aly’s words from last night. Reignited with fire, she decided: after spending time with Sliverwing, she would find her husband, make him listen, and, for their babe’s sake, have a cordial marriage if they could not have a fierce love one. 

Walking to her dragon, she could hear steel hitting something with intensity. As she turned, she saw her husband hitting the dummies with vicious and precise force. Aemma sharply inhaled; he looked handsome, fully acknowledging how much she had missed him. She walked towards him, stopping a few feet away and waiting a second before speaking. 

“Good morrow, my lord,” she spoke lightly, watching as he tensed up before turning to meet her gaze. His eyes were storming as he breathed heavily from the intense training. 

There was a moment of silence as both stared, watching the other, with only the sound of a breeze. 

“Be- My lord, I was hoping you could spare a few minutes for an audience with me?” asked Aemma. 

Benjicot cringed internally; they had not used their proper titles since the first night they met. Nodding, he walked down a path away from prying eyes as he sat on the grass, seeing how she struggled to sit down, causing a new wave of guilt to come over him. 

Aemma sat beside her husband as she asked for her fire to return to her. She could do this… for her babe. 

“I want to explain everything; I’m asking you to please listen until the very end…” pleaded Aemma, waiting until Benjicot nodded to continue. 

“When my family and I still lived in the red keep, this was when I was eight name days old, Aegon and I were watching our brothers train; he was talking about how his mother was talking about future marriages with him and how he did not want that. I took pity on him and joked about how we could marry each other, to which he agreed. He asked for a kiss to seal, and I was a naive girl, so I gave him a chaste kiss. I would have no idea if he actually took this as a promise. As I grew older and heard how he was treating the servant girls and my aunt Heleana, I decided to withdraw from him and Aemond, who is another whole situation. I have never really loved him; I will never love him. How could I love a man like him who takes things that don’t belong to him, who ruins someone's happiness? Who would gladly celebrate kin slaying? How can he compare to you, a brave fighter who takes responsibility for his family and people? Someone who has a kind heart hidden in layers of a solider. I have never had someone make me feel safe and loved like you have. You are easy to fall in love with, and I will gladly rip my heart for you to prove how much my heart belongs to you and not Aegon. I will gladly die for you. I know I broke your trust and may never win it back, and if you feel you cannot love me back, then I ask… I ask that we may be cordial with each other… for the sake of the babe.” ranted Aemma, looking down, not wanting to see his reactions. 

Benjicot gasped and stared at his wife's still flat belly… a babe… a child was growing in her body. This filled him with more guilt; he left her alone. She found out by herself and was willing to not have a loving relationship, in her thoughts, all for the babe. Benji shakenly reached out and raised her chin, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“A babe…” We are going to have a babe?” asked Benjicot as Aemma looked into his eyes and nodded. Benji took a second before he continued, “ I—I just hate that he thinks you belong to him…” Benji whispered to her. 

Aemma reached out and caressed his cheek. “I will never belong to him. I pledged my love to you before the Old Gods and the Fourteen Flames. My heart and soul belong to you and you alone. We made a blood bond; no other person will exist for me.” 

Benjicot kissed her hand, “How is the babe?” 

Once Aemma heard the question, she faltered and turned away. Benjicot turned her back to him, reminding him of when she had done the same to him. “Aemma, we promised not to lie to each other…please”. Benjicot pleaded with her as he noticed her taking a shaken breath. 

Aemma turned with tears in her eyes, “I’m at risk of losing the babe…. But I promise I will do my best to do my duty as your wife. House Blackwood will have a-” 

Benji kissed her, cutting her off, “Fuck duty, I will not lose you over a babe. If the gods wish to bless us, they will provide another babe, but they cannot give me another Aemma.” 

Aemma sobbed as she kissed him back; she had missed him so much. After sharing a sweet kiss, they stood, Benji, leading his princess to their tent. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the tent, there were faint gasps, moans, and grunts… with whispers of ‘I love you’s. Aemma lay in the arms of her husband, sleeping soundly, as Benji stared at his wife's naked and flat stomach. Their babe was growing inside there, and he almost lost them both to Aegon's fault. He now understood Rhaenyra’s and Aemma’s reasoning; in their delusions, the Greens will always hurt others to get what they deem theirs. They don’t love; they just take and ruin. They nearly destroyed his marriage, but Benjicot now knew better. He would fight for his love and family as his Aemma did. Then as Benji pulled his dragon princess closer to him, kissing her, he made a promise the next time he saw that green drunken whoremonger king, there will be a sword slicing through his fat stomach.

[yandere-daydreams]

Felt nostalgic and rewatches HxH after hearing that new manga chapters were coming up and I couldn't not think about Illumi... again. On a scale of 1-10, 10 being the highest, where is he, horny speaking?

He's in there, somewhere, as you mention that his darling does have to deal with 'intimate' affections, but how often does that tend to happen? How many times can they pull the crying card before it won't work and what would usually prompt him to want intimacy? It must feel kinda surreal when he initiates, because Illumi just doesn't look like a guy with base human desires.

You can only imagine the rest of the household (his siblings and the staff) bluescreening when they realize he does, in fact, Fuck. And has *preferences* when it comes to fucking, I bet they all schedule assasinations, gtfo, when he comes back and beelines for his room just to avoid eye contact when he emerges. Milluki finally going out instead of killing people at home remotely with mosquitoes, he caught one (1) glimpse of Illumi's darling and the collar in a camera and had to put away multiple of his precious figures that had chokers/neckwear because he Could Not Unsee It.

tw - implied non/con and very mild gore.

very intellectual question anon,,,, hmmm,,, allow me to extrapolate a bit,,,

honestly i do not think illumi's horniness is quantifiable just because he is getting off on shit too niche in ways too weird to ever be described by a number on a scale. he absolutely did not receive formal sex education and probably failed to ever consider so much as touching his dick prior to meeting you, when he spiraled head-first into sappy romcoms and weird fetish porn with absolutely no ability to differentiate between the two. it's not that he doesn't have those sorts of desires, it's that he has absolutely no ability or motivation to separate which of those desires you might enjoy hearing about and which ones you'd rather not - meaning, in short, that you're going to have to hear about the idyllic, fairytale-esque countryside honeymoon he has planned for when you finally break-down and agree to marry him just as often as he'll remind you of the fact that, if you die before him, he is going to remove one of his lungs and heave it replaced with yours, so you'll never be able to truly get away from him.

i also think that he would, contrary to popular belief, be self-aware not to make fetish gear one of your daily accessories, but that doesn't mean anyone within his estate is escaping psychological damage. there's a very thin line between his possessive instincts and sexual interests, and that line might waver just long enough for him to off-handedly mention that you're going to be in your Cage until you've learned not to be a Bad Puppy to a servant who,,, simply didn't need or want to know that. the flesh may be willing, but his situational willingness is still lacking severely and thus, it might be for the best to have him castrated until those stats start to look a little more even.

[httpscomexe]

Ensnared 2

Summary: You finally get your room, but a little jealousy check leaves you ending up in Logan's room instead.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Yandere!Logan Howlett x PlusSize!Reader

Warnings: (Individual warnings per chapter) Blood, violence, jealousy, injuries, Y/N faints around blood, a little comfort, sixth sense, foul language, separate POV, chapters 3 and further WILL include non-con aspects. Logan is an official warning as approved by the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) because Logan is a DRUG. PLEASE BE AWARE that this will be a NON-CON fic. Do NOT get attached if you do not like non-consensual fiction. I will not change my fic plans because somebody decided not to read the warnings. Let me know if I missed anything. Thank you.

Tags: @sammyluvsfics

Word Count: 4099 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 3

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

Logans POV

“Hey, watch it-” His voice broke off as soon as his eyes found her, and he immediately calmed down, his hands now gripping her shoulders more carefully as he held her steady.

“I’m so sorry.” She apologised, taking a step back as he reluctantly let go of her. “Where can I find Xavier?” His ears don’t listen to her voice, instead his eyes are watching the way her lips move as she speaks.

He lets go of her. “He’s probably still in his office.” Her eyes softened, and she seemed to study his face.

“Uhm, where’s his office?”

“Are you new here?” He asks her, and she sort of shrugs before telling him “kind of.” Then he turns around, and heads towards Xaviers office, expecting her to follow behind him. Completely forgetting about the beer he had stashed in the back of the fridge, which was the reason he wasn’t in his room in the first place. But then you showed up.

He reaches the door, and notices a change in her eyes as he reaches for the handle to Xavier's office, then she shot her hands out suddenly, gripping his forearm and keeping him from opening the door. He didn’t mind though, just her touch was sending waves of heat through his body. More words spilling past her lips that he couldn’t hear before she lets go and Xavier opens his office door.

He doesn’t remember the conversation after that. He just remembers staring at her as the light shone on her face from the office light, and he was hoping the image of the way her lips moved would be imprinted in his brain. He knew he had to have you.

“Finally decided to move in?”

“Move in?” He wonders, he’d be able to see you.

More of the conversation goes straight through his head.

“You have healing powers?”He asks, trying to see at least a little interest.

Then more conversation as she answered him. Any longer standing next to her and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands in his pockets. Then Xavier brings her into the room with him, cutting the conversation short.

Without even a good night, he just walks away, knowing if he had stared at you for one more second, he would’ve busted just by watching her lips move.

The next day wasn’t any better, he had stayed up all night just thinking about her, and when he got to see her again in the afternoon, he immediately felt better, Vincent trying to hang out with him as usual, but Vincent was nothing special like you were. He needed-

You.

Readers POV

You were ecstatic, it was Tuesday and you would finally have your own room, and Xavier tells you that Logan picked out some clothes as well that you might like. You couldn’t wait as you woke up in the morning, immediately searching for Logan, whom you’ve come surprisingly close to in the span of two days, and you normally found him in his room, just relaxing.

You don’t bother knocking, he’s told you to just come in, so you do. Immediately barging into his room and hopping onto the foot of his bed, his eyes watching you.

“So my room?” You ask.

“It’ll be done by 12.” Groaning, you lean back until you’re on your back, the stretch of your skin hurting the bruises on your ribs and stomach, making you wince. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You say quickly, groaning as you sit back up.”

“You’re lying, something hurts, what is it?” Your jaw tightens as you squeeze your teeth together, and just before you speak, his bedroom door opens. The same brown haired girl coming in as usual, every time you were in there. You assumed she was Logan's girlfriend, or something in that matter, but he talks so poorly of her.

“Vincent, I’ve asked you to knock.” You notice the change in his tone every time he talks to her. It’s soft when he speaks to you, but when he talks to her he sounds pissed every time.

“She doesn’t.” She shrugs, pointing at you before coming to sit on the bed, but Logan stretches his leg out just before she can sit and join.

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to leave. We’re having a private conversation that she wouldn’t want to share with you.” You squint your eyes, wanting to say he’s lying through his teeth, but it was true. You only trusted Logan with this information.

“Fine. Okay, Lo. Bye, and bye hun.” Vincent turns back around, making a disgusted face as she faces you, but Logan's face matches her disgust when she uses his newly acquired nickname.

“Doesn’t sound the same when she says it.” He tells you, turning back to you. “So what’s wrong?” He tries on the subject, watching your chest as you sigh heavily.

“You know the video I sent you?” You recall the video of the men attacking you.

“Yea, the assholes who tried to kick your ass.”

“Yes. The one dude that ran after me did eventually catch up, and…” You voice softens, and you slowly lift your sweater, revealing the purple and blue bruises that were painted across your stomach and ribs.

“Holy shit, he did that?” He sounded actually pissed as he stood up, suddenly laying you down before lifting your sweater further, only stopping when you hold the sweater at your chest. You weren’t wearing a bra. “Those assholes…” He mumbles, his left hand gently gliding over your bruises. Half of your body wants to punch him, but you know he’s just being friendly. You never took him as one to love physical touch, but he adored being touched or touching someone else.

“Yea, but it’s okay now.” You tell him, watching as he shakes his head before his hand finally lies flat on your lower stomach where there were no bruises.

“No it isn’t, this looks painful.”

You shrug. “Can’t do anything about it.” You whisper to yourself mostly, his eyes seemingly getting darker as his eyes move from your skin to the wall, a thought coming to his head.

“Yea, you’re right.” But he didn’t sound confident as he removed his hand from your stomach and helped you sit up.

“Just don’t tell anyone yet. I don’t want Xavier to over react.”

“I won’t but what about your checkup on Friday?”

“I asked if I could keep my clothes on, because I don’t like revealing my body.”

He wanted to ask why. Why wouldn’t you want to reveal your body? It was amazing, it was everything he’s ever wanted.

“Is that true? Or just an excuse?” You don’t say anything for a moment, not wanting to make the moment awkward but ultimately failing at best. “Darling.” He says finally, leaning forward until his face is just a few inches from yours. “You are absolutely gorgeous, don’t ever think otherwise.” You smile a little, basking in the compliment, ignoring the red sirens in your head.

“Well, thank you.” You awkwardly start to pick at your nails. “I should probably get going, I’m sure you're busy, and Xavier needed me for something.” You lie, some sort of sixth sense beginning to poke at your body. “But text me when the room is done please.” You stand, getting off his bed and he watches you move.

“Of course, I’ll see you later.”

Throughout the next few hours, you couldn’t stop looking over your shoulder. Your body was telling you something was off and you weren’t sure what it was. You were supposed to be safe and feel safe in the mansion, but for some reason, your brain suddenly wouldn’t settle.

“Hey.” A voice comes from behind you and a hand is placed on your shoulder.

“Oh, hey.” You mumble, Scotts hand still on your shoulder as he walks next to you.

“So, Logan was telling me he wanted to hand you the key to your room, but I saw you walking so here.” He holds the key out on his index finger, it dangles from a little chain.

“Why would it matter who hands it to me?” You take the key as you ask the question.

“I guess he wanted to see your reaction or something,” He takes his hand off. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, thank you, Scott. I’ll head upstairs right now.”

“Alright cool, if you need anything let me or Logan know, and by the way we also put clothes in the drawer. Xavier asked us to.” He lets you know before nodding to his friend group. “But nice seeing you, hope you like the room.” He finishes, then jogs off to his friends as you split off into another hallway, making your way up the stairs and to your room.

The second you walk in, you freeze, taking a moment before you could actually close the door. The room was nice of course. You loved it. But they had put a LOT more effort into the room than Xavier had led on. It wasn’t plain and dark wooded like all of the other rooms. Your room was lighter coloured, and the bedsheets and furniture were a girly design. Some are adorned with flower patterns or glittered with sparkles. And you’re surprised.

But that wasn’t what your eyes immediately landed on. No.

It was the bouquet on your bedsheets.

Your favourite flowers, all nicely put into a bow tie, were just sitting there, a little tag on it with Logan's name scribbled onto it. You didn’t take him for one with good handwriting.

You lift the flowers, smelling them. They were beautiful, you couldn’t deny that, but it all felt so wrong, inappropriate even. But you walk over to a little desk with your flowers, noticing an empty vase sitting on the table, already filled with water for you, so you cut the tie on the flowers and gently arrange them in the vase before texting Logan.

You put your phone away, your palms placed on the desk as you stare into the mirror attached to the wall. He had wanted to show you the room at 12, but it was past then. It was already 5 in the afternoon, did he not expect Scott to just hand you the keys? Whatever.

You think, examining the room a little further and opening the drawers to see what clothes he’d purchased for you.

In the closet there were hoodies hanging, and a few pairs of shoes including heels were set on low shelves. In the drawers were the pants, some skirts, short shorts, and a few pairs of sweats. In the other drawer were some bras and panties, all neatly folded. They weren’t exactly your style though. You were a more comfortable person when it came to bras and panties, and what he had purchased were all lace, apart from a few sports bras for if you went out exercising.

You didn’t mind it though. It was sweet of him to put as much time in as he did for you, but you still felt like he overdid it, like he had done more than he was expected to do.

Just then, as you begin to become lost in your thoughts, there’s a knock at your door, and not a second passes before it opens, you had forgotten to lock it, and Vincent's face proves it.

“Hey-”

“Don’t fucking play with me.” She cuts you off, closing the door behind her before storming up to you. “I know what you’re doing, and it better-” She pauses, her eyes landing on the vase of flowers, Logan's name still hanging from one of the stems. “He got you these?”

You nod, taking a step back from her.

“He doesn’t even buy me, his literal fucking lover any flowers, but then he gets you flowers?”

“Wait, you two are-?”

“Yes you fucking idiot.” She raises her voice a little as she speaks to you. “For years now it’s just been me and him, but ever since you’ve shown up, he’s ALWAYS around you and he never stops talking about you, so you need to back the fuck off.” Her finger points at you as she approaches you until your back is against the wall.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, but I’m not even going at him, I only ever go see him when he asks or if it’s important, otherwise I never actually see him-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Your voice finally starts to raise a little.

“Then why the fuck were you in his room on his bed earlier?”

“Because I had a question.”

“He said it was personal.” You pause, your lips slightly parted. “What could that possibly mean?” She scoffs. “I mean are you two fucking?”

“Absolutely not, sorry, I’m not interested in him.”

“Then what was so private that-”

“There was nothing private about it.” It was your turn to interrupt her, and slowly begin to stalk towards her, having enough of her attitude. “I’m sorry that you’re so self conscious about your boyfriend that you have to yell at me and confront me instead of trusting him, but this is not my problem. And for the record, the conversation wasn’t private, so you might want to check in with Logan to make sure he actually loves you, it seems to me he wanted you gone.”

Her face hardens, but she says nothing.

Until her fist collides with your face, pain shooting through your body from the already horribly placed bruise on your cheek.

So you hit back, and it’s back and forth throwing punches, you of course having the advantage from years of hiding and self defence. You punch at her until she’s on the floor before climbing down on top of her, hitting more punches to her face until there’s a shooting pain in the side of your thigh, making you scream in pain and fall off of her as she gets on top of you, leaving her knife in your thigh as it was her turn to punch your face, her knuckles mainly colliding with the already bruised part of your skin. Then she’s lifted off of you, thrown against the wall and you see her fall back to the floor out of the corner of your eye.

Groaning, you sit up. The knife is still sticking out of the side of your thigh making it painful to sit. You look up, and Logan is speaking to Vincent, but you couldn’t hear it. Then you shake your head a little, numbing the ringing sound of pain before gripping your bed frame and hoisting yourself up on the leg that wasn’t injured.

“So you fucking stab her?”

“She attacked me first!”

“I highly fucking doubt that.” He turns around, noticing you were not standing with beads of blood dripping down your thigh, enough to make it down to soak into the shoes you were wearing. “Are you okay? Hey, stay still.” He tells you, rushing over to help you stand.

“Don’t fucking help her, look at me!” Vincent demands, pointing at her face, her nose obviously broken as trails of blood seep past her lips.

“Yea and you fucking stabbed her!” He grits his teeth, trying not to yell since it was already most kids' time to fall asleep.

“She fucking started it.”

“No I didn’t…” You mumble, looking up at her with hate, wishing Logan wasn’t there so you could punch at her again, but you knew he would easily peel you off of her.

"I don’t care who started it, we need to get both of you to the nurse.” He finishes the argument before easily lifting you, making sure to be careful with your wound.

“Oh so you’re not gonna carry me?”

“Shut the fuck up and get the door.”

At the nurse, she doesn’t ask for an explanation. She simply takes care of Vincent, who was lucky she only had her nose dislocated, before asking Vincent to leave as she came over to you, Logan sitting behind you as you stood on your good leg.

“So I see Vincent doesn’t like you either.”

“Either?” You ask the nurse as she inspects the wound on your thigh.

“She tends to believe that every girl is after this boyfriend of hers, but no one knows who her boyfriend is.” You squint your eyes and look back at Logan.

“She said you were her boyfriend.”

“I’m not.” He growls. “She’s a fucking psycho.”

“She sure is.” The nurse mumbles, knowing she shouldn’t be expressing her opinion. “Wish you had broken her nose, then I wouldn’t have to see her.” She admits, grabbing a clean cloth from a counter.

You groan, dreading the moment the knife would have to be pulled from your body.

“So this is going to hurt obviously.” She tells you, bending down next to you and gripping the knife handle.

“Wait.” You say quickly, just before she’s about to. “Uh… I don’t-” You’re suddenly nervous. You knew it would need to be removed, but you really didn’t want it to be. You always got oozy around blood and sharp objects, such as knives and needles.

“Okay.” She nods towards Logan, who reaches forward and wraps his arms around you, holding your arms down to your sides and keeping you still.

“Logan-!” You scream, biting your teeth down in pain as the nurse pulls the knife out of your thigh, and it takes a moment for some reason, making her have to pull with more effort before it finally comes loose, a pained whimper leaving your lips as it comes out, blood pooling down your leg and onto the floor a little before she quickly covers the wound with the towel, Logans arms still wrapped around you.

“See the wasn’t so bad-” She looks at you, expecting to see your eyes fall on her, but they were closed, and your head was limp.

Yea, you’d passed out. You told her to wait for a reason, but she didn’t give you time to explain why. You knew you were going to pass out, and it was a good thing Logan was holding you, or you would’ve already been face planted on the tile floor.

“Oh.” She says, surprised. “She’s fainted.”

Logan's eyes squint in confusion as the nurse turns away and his finger gently is placed under your jaw as he continues to hold you, the nurse wrapping the cloth around your wound as she goes to collect what she needs for stitches.

He looks down at you, moving your head so it rests under his chin as he presses a soft kiss to your head. One you would punch him for if you were awake.

“I'll probably have to medicate her. I don’t know if it was the knife or blood that bothered her.” the nurse tells him, kneeling next to you with a kit to stitch the wound.

“It was probably the blood.”

“Which wouldn’t be too good. She’ll have to replace the bandage in the morning and a few more times, meaning there will be more blood until it heals.”

“I can help her.”

“What exactly happened with Vincent and her?” Logan looks down at you, making sure you were still faint before answering her.

“Vincent just walked into her room, yelling at her. Then she punched her.”

“Oh, Vincent is- well she’s something.” The nurse says, just as your eyes twitch slightly, but you keep them shut, your head spinning as you feel the needle the nurse was using go into your skin.

“Yea, Vincent is annoying, she can be a piece of shit. But Y/N only has a certain amount of patience. I just can’t believe Vincent punched her.” How did he know that?

“Yea, I’ll be sure to suspend Vincent, I know she has a home outside of the mansion.”

“And what about her?” He looks down at you, eyes still closed.

“Well, I know she didn’t start it, but she did still fight back instead of trying to get away. So I’ll have to send out a suspension for her too. Vincent will have her three days, then when she gets back, it will be Y/N's turn, we don’t want them outside both at the same time.”

There’s a clipping sound as the nurse cuts the wire she was stitching you with, and she stands, some blood on her gloves as she looks at you, your eyes finally opening.

“All done darling.” She smiles sweetly, nodding towards Logan so he lets you go.

“Thank- thank you.” How did he know Vincent had punched you first? He wasn’t there and no one actually described what had happened yet. You were with Vincent from when she arrived to when she left, neither of you had told Logan who did what first, only why.

“Of course, now was it the blood or knife that made you… faint.”

“The blood.” You mumble, hating even the word.

“Okay, well are you alright with Logan changing the wrap twice a day? So you don’t have to walk all the way down here?” You nod, and feel Logan take a deep breath, your back still against his chest but you feel too exhausted to move.

“Alright. Well, he’ll help you to bed of course, let me know if you need anything, and let me know if it starts to bleed profusely. As a matter of fact maybe you should sleep in the same room together.” She throws the idea out there as she cleans her area. “It would be smart in case you do wake up in blood, you’ll wind up and faint then bleed out.”

You turn to look at Logan, who only shrugs. It was up to you.

“Yea… I guess that would be a good idea.” You sigh a little, not exactly excited to have to sleep near Logan for the sake of your life.

“Alright then, well you two have a good night then.” Logan shifts behind you, then lifts you again as the nurse shoves a bottle into his pocket. “Only two a day, painkillers, she doesn’t have to take them, but she should only need them for the next two weeks.”

“Thank you, Ronda. Good night.”

“Good night.”

He places you on his bed, making sure you’re comfortable sitting before going to his drawer and taking out a shirt.

“Go ahead and take those off, they’re covered in blood.” He tells you, and you hesitate before looking down, your shorts ruined from blood, then you shift a little to make space and remove them, it’s painful. “Here, shirt too.” You look down again, yes, of course the shirt was ruined.

You sigh a little, pulling your shirt off over your head before quickly taking the shirt from him and replacing your last shirt. “I’m sorry for what happened-”

“How did you know?”

He freezes, and stares down at you.

“Know what?”

“That she was in my room.”

“I didn’t know. I was going in there to see how you liked your room but walked in on her kicking your ass.”

“For your information, I was kicking her ass.”

“This says otherwise.” He points to your thigh, wrapped in bandages, and you chuckle a little.

“Yea, if she hadn’t stabbed me though, I would’ve won.”

“I’m sure you would’ve.” He tells you, moving around the bed after switching off the lights to sit next to you, and he lifts his shirt off over his head, giving you a moment to look down at his toned abs before looking away, his shirt barely covering his eyes for a second.

“Wake me up if you need me.” He tells you, opening the pill bottle and handing you two pills.

“Thank you.”

“Do you need water?” You shake your head, taking the pills dry before he turns off his bedside lamp. “Okay, then good night.”

“Good night.” You echo, lying down next to him after turning out the lamp on your side as well.

And as your eyes close, the pain in your thigh subsiding, he falls asleep way before you, the bed shifting as he moves his weight closer to you. Except he doesn’t touch you like you expected him too, your body stiffening at the thought.

Behind you, his hand pauses as he sees you stiffen, you could feel his hand had gotten closer, the only reason he hadn’t touched you was because of the fear he could smell off of you. Fear he knew he would have to demolish.

[cuppajj]

Thoughts about BY 5 and 6

So I finished the episode at an unhealthy morning hour, and now after getting my full sleep, I can fully share my thoughts!

And of course, spoilers for the newest episode!

First things first, I want to talk about Burning Spice himself. A while back, I made a post about my hopes for him and how I didn’t want him to be a temperamental meathead, but instead a smart and calculating person who took from his extensive knowledge of history to psychologically destroy as much as physically. Did we get that?

Kinda, kinda not. Spice isn’t another Purple Yam like I’d hoped, he has more character than being just angry, but the hotheadedness does remain most of the way through. He reminds me of a strongman anime villain, the kind whose braun speaks more than brain, but still capable of strategy. Most of that strategy comes from Nutmeg Tiger though, as Spice is mostly interested in fighting Cheese from beginning to end. There’s no moment where he messes with her mind directly and picks apart her vulnerabilities beyond surface level “you hold things dear to you that I will destroy”. Which, implication is that he was more focused on just fighting, which in the context of how/why he is the way he is, kinda makes sense.

And about that, I’ll address it briefly: So we learn that Spice’s corruption, at least the straw that broke the camel’s back, was that he got bored watching history unfold. I think it’s very cool! While I was interested in a little more nuance behind his boredom, sometimes villains don’t need a complex reason for why they do what they do. It does make Spice less sympathetic than Mystic Flour though, so it seems like not all Beasts may be equal in cause and backstory. However, stuff about him may be explored later, since he’s going to be back.

So I would say that Spice isn’t as one note as I’d hoped, but he is a simple villain. A simple and very very fun and scary villain, but there could’ve been a lot more to his character in this story that made it lacking for me. I know BY chapters are usually short, but there could’ve possibly been more time showing the parallels between him and Cheese beyond a dialogue or so. It would’ve been really cool if Spice addressed those directly, using it against Cheese. Making her rethink/relive the trauma of losing everyone and mentally destroying her… like what if there was an exchange in the prison cell when she was at her lowest? What if Smoked Cheese had either been incapacitated and unable to speak, or in a separate cell so Cheese could be entirely at the Beast’s mercy? (We DID get a bit of that when Cheese realized how apathetic he was and what he saw in her soul jam, but that was more of a disgusted shock than a mental breakdown.) Smoked could help her out of her turmoil later (an exchange between him and Spice could’ve also been awesome), but Spice leaving mental damage on Cheese would’ve further spread the idea that he also values breaking things internally.

But, I guess Spice is just destroy destroy destroy to the point where he doesn’t really care about anything else, which is… fine. Admittedly not my cup of tea because it’s so basic, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy his motivation. I hope we get a little more nuance next time we see him.

Anyway love these sprites!! I wished we got more related to the first two, it shows a mellower and/or ironically colder side of him that I think would’ve really helped amplify his fear factor. Spice is all fun and destruction but the oh shit comes from him showing more of the calculated side he used to have.

But speaking of Golden Cheese, I’ll talk about her next.

Overall I really liked her story here! I love seeing her in action and on her own, and her interactions with Smoked Cheese were fun to see! Smoked Cheese was extra fun, I loved how he had sass while still caring for people beyond his kingdom’s entourage (his voice and mannerisms remind me of tfp knockout it’s crazy). I was also happy to learn how the soul cheese worked, since that was a question I had from last episode. It appears Smoked isn’t in his body, but his soul is projecting a physical form given mass that relies on Golden Cheese’s power. Very interesting, and I wonder if he’s just going to stay out now, or if he’ll return? And what of the others too…

Now, something I will say about Cheese is that while her character arc made sense for her in a bubble, I feel a similar thing like I did with Spice that it could’ve been much better. Personally, while Cheese staying true to her greediness and immense care for her treasures is a good thing to power her up, I don’t think it made her as bigger a person than Spice than she could’ve. What would’ve been cooler and more thematic for her character would’ve actually been accepting that destruction and the loss of things she cares about is a natural part of life.

What I mean by this is that while Spice embodies destruction, Cheese essentially embodies creation, which are two polar opposites that have their place in the universe. Antagonizing one or the other should come with a deeper approach to the message, and frankly, antagonizing destruction in its entirety is a very black and white angle. Destruction can be inherently bad and tragic, yes, but it can also pave the way for new life and new things to be created. Plantlife grows back after a forest fire. You can build something better upon the ruins of what was before. For Cheese, her kingdom could’ve been lost/destroyed, but she could’ve accepted it and strove for a newer and better kingdom. Which, in some parts she did, but my philosophy also applies to people lost too.

Death and destruction was a prominent theme in Cheese’s backstory, and much of her Golden City arc was confronting that. I suppose this is a separate talk for another time, but to put it simply, she didn’t have an arc about accepting those who were lost, moreso about striving to bring those who were lost back. The story ended with her promising to bring her friends back, instead of accepting that she lost them and focusing her strength on protecting those she still has with her. That last part could’ve actually been what the Spice story led to, with her first wanting to find a way to bring everyone back, but deciding by the end of it that she can protect the memory of her kingdom along with the living friends she still has. Smoked Cheese could’ve even helped her with that, showing that he cares for her over himself, leading to a heartfelt goodbye between the two. This is just a wishful image, but it would’ve been a really good way for CRK to tackle a deep theme and touch a lot of people’s feelings. But what we got was a lot simpler, with both Spice and Cheese’s characters and themes, which I guess makes sense. Some stories (or the game itself) don’t really want to be anything super deep in narrative, and that’s fine as long as they’re still fun, which this was.

Lastly I will say, I fear the awakening thing will get a little predictable and repetitive from here on out. Beast is a threat for the first chapter, continues to be a threat up until Ancient does a power of love and friendship introspection and transforms into a stronger version of themself. I hope one of them will be a little subversive in this—I don’t know how, I just hope these great stories aren’t bogged down by predictability!

But anyway, those are my thoughts about BY 5 and 6. Overall a great story, I’m so happy to get Spice and Cheese action because they’re two of my favorites, Smoked Cheese was fun, and I’m looking forward to the new Shmilk stuff we will be getting around the anniversary. After that I really hope Eternal Sugar is next, I have a bunch of thoughts/hopes for them too!!

Anyway thanks for reading!

[luciferlightbringer]

Love in a Hopeless Place

Chapter 12

Hey! I'm so sorry that this chapter took a while! This week was a lot and smut takes a lot of energy for me to write because I care about the details and all. But now it is here! Also, I was gonna put a more cute/loving gif of Lucifer for for this one but then I saw this was and I couldn't stop laughing, so here we are. Enjoy~

Chapter 11|Chapter 12 (FINAL CHAPTER)

Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader Word Count: 5.3 k CW: Slowburn, Angst, Prostitution, Hurt/comfort, trauma, fluff, depression, anxiety, insecurity, kissing, SMUTTTT (penetration, oral, handjobs, sub/dom, sex toys)

By the end of the day, all your things had been moved over to the hotel. Lucifer had offered to put your things in his room, but you had asked for your own, both because you wanted to have your stuff separate for now... and part of you wanted a separate place to be if you after Lucifer ever had issues come up. You didn't anticipate it happening, but the anxiety that came with a new relationship, especially your first healthy one, left you needing some time to adjust. Lucifer, being the good man that he was, respected it, but not without a little pouting, but you reassured him that you would still be spending every night sleeping by his side.

By the end of the day, you were tired, and honestly, so was Lucifer. The physical and emotional toll of the day had caught up to the both of you and you went to bed early that night. Snuggling up in each other's arms.

The next morning, Lucifer woke up early, excited, with a plan for the day. Lucifer got up and got dressed for the day, gave you a swift kiss on the lips as you laid half awake in bed and whispered, "I have some things I need to do today, but see you later. Ok? You're booked out with me starting dinner time, got it?" You nodded sleepily. He kissed you again, deeper this time. "I love you, Duckie." And then he left to go pick up supplies for his plan with you later.

A little bit later, you finally woke up and laid in Lucifer's- Lucifer and YOUR's bed... that would take some while to get used to. You heard a faint sound of commotion down in the lobby. You decided to get up to see what all the commotion was about, throwing on a basic shirt and shorts. It had been forever since you had gotten to have a slow day and wear clothes that weren't required to make you look like a sex toy, the change was really nice.

You skip downstairs to come face to face with a couple of familiar faces... some of your friends from the brothel! Gemma, Natalie, and Katrina, had all come also wanting to move into the hotel and give redemption a try. They saw how Lucifer and the others had fought for you, and they wanted in on that kind of support, even if they were still going to work at the brothel. You hugs them all and cried happy tears.

"You, uhhh... wouldn't be willing to spare one more hug, would ya, Babydoll?" You turned around at the familiar voice to see Larry standing behind you.

"Larry!" you hugged him, "What are you doing here?"

"Well.." he said sheepishly, "Truthfully, I've been losing the heart to run that brothel over the last several decades... Although business is already up a lot since it got out the Lucifer used my place, haha! We will see what happens... I am still running it, but... I might not be trying to find any new girls is all. Learning about this hotel here... gave me something else to try out... if... you are ok with me being here... that is..."

You smiled at Larry and hugged him again, "Of course I am! Every sinner is welcome here! Just one thing though... my new boyfriend might not be too fond of you calling me Babydoll anymore."

Larry laughed, "Fair enough, wouldn't want to upset him, I already know what that looks like, yeeshh," he said playfully pulling at his collar, "How about just 'doll'?" You nodded with a laugh, "That should work". You helped Larry and the other girls move in most of the day. Luckily you were distracted enough that you did not see Lucifer pop in and out the the hotel several times with supplies.

Eventually it came dinner time and you went off to your own room, to shower and get dressed for the event with Lucifer that night. You walked into your room to find a beautiful black and red dress with matching shoes and a bag next to it with a note saying:

Got you a little something for our first official date, I hope you like it. Love, Luci <3

Your heart swelled, you had no idea how your life had ended up like this, but you were the happiest you had ever been. You sighed happily and went to take a quick shower, did your hair with simple makeup and put on the dress. It fit your dimensions perfectly, like scary perfectly, and had no tag.

Did he have this made for you? This was going to be a lottttt to get used to, you were dating a King. Oh my god, you were dating a King. No... you were dating Lucifer, he could have been a sinner just like anyone else and it wouldn't matter to you. He could fall to an even darker pit of Hell and you would follow him. This must have been how Lilith felt all those years ago. You finished getting ready and you heard a knock on your door at your usual time.

You went to go open the door and saw Lucifer standing in front of you, wearing a more simple suit that was still just as sexy as his normally outfit, but with more black and red details to match you. As you catch his view, he catches yours, and you both look at each other with jaws agape as you take in each other's beauty. Lucifer was so happy that the dress fit you, and in all. the. right. ways. He gave you a prideful smile.

"I'm glad I got the measurements correct," he said with a smirk.

"So it was custom made, how did you know my dimensions?" you smirked back at him.

Lucifer raked his eyes up and down your body, "I'm just... good with spacial awareness." He wiggled his eyebrows.

You chuckled and nodded with a cheeky smile, "Wow, I never thought such a nerdy sentence could sound so hot~" you purred.

Lucifer got a little flustered, "Oh shut up," he grabbed your hand and putted you into a deep kiss. You two stood in the kiss and embrace for a few minutes before Lucifer pulled away, breathing heavily.

"I don't want to get too ahead of myself, we have an itinerary to keep to" Lucifer says as he taps his cane on the floor. Before you can ask what he meant, he teleports the both of you to a secluded room with large windows that overlook the Pride Ring, music softly playing in the background, Swan Lake.

You looked at the view and smiled, "All this for me?" you ask.

"Oh this is just the beginning of our night, my love. And yes, you deserve this and much much more," he kissed both of your hands before taking you to your chair. You and Lucifer ate dinner together, spent hours listening to music, flirting, and eventually got up and started dancing together. This made Lucifer think about how things used to be with Lilith, but he could appreciate that it was different, it was with you.

He dips you and kisses you deeply, running his hands down your frame. His body had been aching for yours all day during the preparations for the night, but he knew he had to be patient just a little longer. We wanted so desperately to claim you, but also, to fill you with all the love and pleasure that he could muster. It was the least you deserved.

Lucifer pulls his head back to be able to look at you as you look up at him, his eyes full of love as he smiled down at you, "I love you my darling, and from this day on, I will make sure you never go a day in your life where you doubt that."

You felt tears well in your eyes, "I love you too, King of Hell, King of my heart. I will do everything in my power to be by your side and love you." You kiss him again as he ends the dip, standing you back upright.

"Are you ready for the rest of the evening?" He said with some flirty mischief in his eyes, wiggling his eyebrows again.

You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, "Oh I am."

Lucifer tapped his cane and you both teleported back to the hotel, in front of your door. "I have one more outfit for you tonight, get changed and come to our room in ten minutes," he asked trying to hide the excitement in his eyes at his plans for you. You nodded.

Lucifer kisses you again, deeper than all of the others, barely able to keep himself from taking you right there in the hallway. He parts and walks back to the room he called both of yours. You smiled and watched him walk away before going into your room. On the bed was another new outfit, who had put that there while you were gone? It was Angel, Angel wanted to help

On your bed, was a simple but elegant robe, the type of robe you would find at a spa or something, and nothing else. What was he up to? Before putting on the robe you also put on a set of lingerie that you had gotten a while ago, just for him to see if he had ever wanted to have sex with you back when he was still paying for your time, but now he got to see it for free, and that made you even happier.

You slipped on the robe, and after ten minutes, you walked down to your shared room with Lucifer and knocked on the door. Lucifer called for you to come in, and you opened the door to the room filled with lit candles, rose petals on the floor, a table over on the side that had stuff on it covered in a cloth, and Lucifer standing near the side of the bed, also wearing a robe that matched yours, this hat and cane off to the side. All you were able to see was his chest exposed down to the V in the robe and his black arms up to his elbows and his black legs to to the knee where they started to transition to white.

You laughed as you walked into the room towards Lucifer, "What is all this?"

Lucifer looked you over, Hells he wanted to rip that robe off of you, "Well... I wanted this all to be special. I know I could just toss you on the bed and probably have my way with you but... I want this to feel different... I don't this to feel like just another job... I want it to feel like love."

His words left a pang in your heart, you got close and cupped his face "You don't have to do all of this for me to feel like that, everything about you makes this feel like love... frankly... I struggled most of the time to see you as just a client... after a while I hated that you were because I wanted for it all to be real."

"Just for both of us to find out it was real the whole time," he said as he nuzzled into your hand, "I love you, and I'm going to spend the reset of the night and every day after showing you just how much I do." Lucifer then pulled you into a deep kiss. Both of you start to explore each other's bodies with your hands a little before Lucifer stops you again.

"Hells, you make it so hard to stop, but I have a plan here," he clears his throat, he is already shaking a little out of excitement and nerves, "You have spent a lot time using your body for others and I want to make you feel good, so I was going to give to a message. Does that sound ok?"

You melted, hell he was sweet and really hot, how could he possibly get more hot? "That sounds amazing actually..."

Lucifer's eyes lit up, "Great! And then uhh... whenever we move on to other activities... I may have uhh... gone with Asmodeus to get like... a bunch of new toys! Hahah... we don't have to use them now, if you don't want to. I just wanted us to have options..." he said pointing over at the covered table on the side.

You looked over at the table and then back at him with lust and mischief filled eyes, tucking a hair behind his ear, "We should probably get the massage started before I start perusing those toys," you purred.

Lucifer's face turn red and his loins stir, he gulps hard as he walked you over to the bed. As you laid down, you looked at Lucifer as you slowly shrugged off your robe and tossed it to the side, leaving you in only your lingerie as you laid down on the bed with your back and ass to the sky. Lucifer raked his eyes across your body and gulped hard again, this is the first time he had seen you this exposed since the night you met, and the memories alone did not do you justice.

He jumped up on the bed beside you, swiping your hair away from your back and covering his hands in massage oil before starting to rub into your back, and beginning his goal of feeling every inch of your body with his hands. He started to work his way down your shoulders, neck, lower back, and it felt amazing for him to touch and for you to experience.

As he moved his hands around your curves, he looked for points of tension and pain, and used a little magic to help in aiding his hands in relaxing you and making your body feel good. His touch feels incredible to you, even without the magic, and you can't help but moan and sigh as he worked your muscles. The attention he gave your back alone was already enough to get you turned on, even though you already had been pretty turned of from all the kisses, but you felt yourself starting to get more wet.

Lucifer held back a moan as he hear you start to sigh at the pleasure of his hands on you. He loved that he was making you feel good, making you feel pleasure. He wanted to worship you, your body. Your body was the alter to the entity that he now wanted to worship for the rest of his life. He felt himself already start to get drunk off the feeling of your soft skin, your beautiful muscles and curves. His hands started to explore more down an arm, down to your hand, working at your palm and trailing kisses down from your shoulder to your wrist before moving to the other arm and repeating the process there before doing the same down each leg.

You continue to moan and sigh as he moved across your body. The massage felt so good but your pussy continued to ache for him, every time he got close to your entrance, you started to shake and moan more. This was not lost on Lucifer, he loved seeing you quiver beneath him, and he wanted to badly to just dive into you... but not quite... he needed to torture you a little more.

He quickly snapped the back of your lingerie top and before you had time to talk, he quickly flipped you over and got on top of you. He straddled you as he slowly undid the tie on the front of his robe and slipped it off of him, leaving him completely exposed above you. You were now able to see the entirely of his well sculpted body, chest, back, hips... and his cock that was already hard and erect for you. Hells it looked incredible, you just wanted it in... so many places... He gave you a long and passionate kiss, with some exchanging of saliva between your mouths, tongues exploring each other before he starts to work to massage to front of your body.

The touch on your front was much more sensual thought than it had been on your body. Lucifer slowly kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, down to you breasts. Lucifer removed the lingerie top the rest of the way before massaging around your breasts, playing with your nipples, kissing and nipping around one, before putting his mouth on it and sucking on it. The nerves in your nipples felt like they were on fire and that each flick of his tongue made your loins start to throb as you groaned. You started to weave you finger though his blonde hair tugged at it a little. He took his time before moving over at repeating the process on your other nipple.

You felt like you were going crazy with lust at this point, you had never been so desperate for someone to enter inside of you. You opened your legs a little, hoping for him to take the hint to just dive in... to devour you.

Lucifer chuckled to himself as he felt your legs shift open, he decided it was time to start ending your torment. As he finished his attention on your second breast, he traced a hand down your stomach and down to your mound, moving the fabric of your thong out of the way before starting to tease your entrance.

You start to pant and groan louder, "Luci, baby please... Please touch me... put your fingers in me... I can't take it... Mmmm.... pleas-uhhH!!!!" You moan louder as he cuts you off mid-plea by sliding a finger into you, and starting to pump it in and out. He was now able to feel just how wet you were.

"Mmm, all of this wetness for me? With how much fucking you do, I wouldn't think you would be such a dripping mess for me, I'm so honored," he purred as he stared up at you from your chest, mischievous lust dancing across him face, burning in his eyes. Slowly, Lucifer added a second and then a third finger into your dripping hole as he continued to finger you and he continued to kiss and nip his way down your stomach and down your thighs. curling his fingers up into your G-spot making you cry out with pleasure.

As soon as his mouth reached your thighs, he removed his fingers, getting better access to bite and kiss his way up your thighs towards your dripping mound, he was pussy drunk just looking at your gorgeous entrance. He looked up into your eyes as be positioned his mouth just above your folds.

"Oh my love, every inch of you is the most exquisite and radiant treasure... are you ready for my tongue to ruin you?" Lucifer growled.

"Yes... Luci, yes please... ruin me... eat me..." you whispered.

Lucifer gave you a wicked smile, "Good... because I've been starving since the day I met you, and it's time for me to eat my fill." Lucifer then enclosed his mouth around your folds and starts to swipe his tongue up and down your entrance before plunging his tongue deep into you.

You let out a scream of pleasure as his tongue assaults your entrance, it was incredible and he had barely started. Every touch from him set your body on fire. You grabbed onto Lucifer's golden locks as he lapped at you with a vicious hunger, as if he had not eaten in eons and your juices were his only source of food. Your screams of pleasure made him rock hard and he started to grind his own crotch against the bed to alleviate some of the need.

Seeing this, you make the decision that you wanted to take a more active role in the pleasure. You figure out how to flip Lucifer on his back, which caught him my surprise, and then you crawled up onto him so that you were hoovering your pussy over his face and were able to get access to his dick.

Lucifer grinned wildly at the sight of your mound hoovering above him, and grabbed both of your thighs to encourage you down until his mouth locked onto your folds again and his tongue was about to gain access to the inside of you again.

At the same time, you reached down and grabbed his dick, which caused Lucifer to moan deeply beneath you. As you started to stroke him more, Lucifer moaned more, and started to thrust his hips up into your hand. You guys try to match each other's pace with each other's pace of licking and pumping.

Lucifer pulled out his favorite trick, which was elongating his tongue inside of you and snaking it around until he heard you sharply inhale, indicating that he had once again found the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. He locked in on that spot and gave it as much attention as he could muster, even though he was finding it a little harder to focus due to the incredible feeling of your gorgeous soft hands on his throbbing shaft.

You and Lucifer continued like this for a while, an symphony of moans and sighs building between the two of you until you couldn't take it anymore, you needed him inside of you.

"Luci... uhhh... baby I need you... Oh hells... I need to feel you inside of me.." You sighed. Without another thought, Lucifer moved his hands up to your stomach and pushed you back onto the bed. He flipped around and crawled up to you, giving you a deep and hungry kiss as he spread your legs apart, finally ripping off your thong completely and discarding to the side so that it would not be in the way anymore. You loved getting lost in the taste of your juices on his tongue.

He broke off for a moment, panting, readying himself, teasing his cock at your entrance. He looked up into your eyes, a fire raging of lust and love as he growled.

"I've wanted this since the moment I saw that gorgeous sinful body of yours, since the day that the divine powers made it so that you were the one that ended up at may door, above anyone else. And now here we are, you naked in my bed, begging to feel the blessings of my cock inside of you? Oh well then I will RUIN you like this every day for the rest of your life, you hear me? This is your eternal punishment now, in my bed, slobbering, drunk off of my cock. Now tell me, darling, tell me what it is you truly desire?!"

You cried out, "I want you to fuck me Lucifer Morningstar!"

And at that, Lucifer started to slide into your entrance. You both moan loudly as you make connection with each other. Lucifer could on contain himself as his wings started to unfold from his back as he railed you. He looked down to see your head thrown back and your eyes rolling, and again he could not contain himself as his demon form emerged. Horns sprouted from his temples, eyes red, claws sharp, and a sharp black tail twisted out from behind him and wrapped its way around one of your thighs.

You looked up to see the new view of his, his angelic an demonic combination of features were so beautiful and terrifying in the sexiest way possible. His hands glided and squeezed along your body, kissing your legs as he held them up. You felt yourself starting to unravel.

"Luci-, oohhh... baby... it's soooo goodd.... I... I'm gonnnaa..." you tried so hard to hold yourself together a little longer.

Lucifer looked down at you with red eyes and growled with a smirk, "Cum for me, baby... let me finally claim that pleasure of yours... I'm so close..."

At his encouragement and growl, you threw your head back and moaned loudly as you felt yourself completely unravel, cumming and contracting around his beautiful cock. As you scream and your walls tightened around Lucifer, he felt himself also come undone as he felt waves of pleasure take him over at he hit his climax, emptying himself into you.

Lucifer then collapsed and rolled over to you side to breathe, "That... was... amazing..." he gasped.

"Ya... it was... fuck..." you weren't ready to had your hands off of him. You pulled him close and started kissing and making out with him again. He rolled back into your embrace to kiss your lips. After a few minutes, hands started to trail around each other's bodies again and you both started to let kisses roam as your bodies grinded against each other. You guys were both ready for another round.

You took Lucifer's shaft back into your hand and you started to pump un and down on it, and it did not take long before it was rock hard again in your hands. You then flipped onto you hands and knees at you continued to stroke his cock, still glistening and wet from your juices. A bead of pre-cum started to form at the tip, which you swiped off with your tongue, causing Lucifer to let out a pitiful moan and grab onto your hair.

"Oh baby... please.." he begged. All of the dominance and power he had earlier was gone, leaving the submissive desperate man you remembered meeting the first night. This reminded you of your plan from that night, you eyes glittered with mischief.

You slid your mouth around the head of his mouth, swirling around the tip before taking as much for his dick into your mouth. Lucifer was already losing it at the tip, but when you dove deeper around him he let out a long pitiful moan.

"Fuccckkkkkkk babyyyyy... ahhhh!!!!" he cried. You continued to pump your mouth up and down his mouth, some times removing your mouth completely to lick up the side from base to tip, and taking his balls into your mouth before returned back to filling your mouth with his cock. After several minutes of this, you stopped and slipped you way off of the bed.

Lucifer looked at you confused and in a happy daze as you walked over the the covered table and removed the cloth. The table was filled with more toys than you had ever seen in your life. The options were limitless, but you were looking for one thing in particular. You scanned the table until you found that you were looking for.

You grabbed a strap on and held it up, and gave a sly smile over to your prey that was still a slobbering mess over on the bed. Lucifer's eyes lit up and he gave you a dazed nod. You then took the strap on and started to secure it to you before strutting back to the bed, letting the shaft sway from side to side.

Lucifer slipped off the bed and got in his knees in front of you, taking the plastic phallus in his mouth to kiss and suck on it as well as the surrounding skin of your hips. You enjoyed the view of Lucifer on his knees in front of you for a minute, before you reach down his hand to tip his face up and make him you up at you.

You smirked at his submissive gaze up at you, "Up. On the bed," you commanded.

Lucifer nodded and scrambled onto the bed on all fours, his back arched and and up and ready for you. You grabbed a small tube from the table before slowly making your way back to the edge of the bed, putting a dollop of lube on your fingers before starting to massage his entrance. He gawked and moaned in response, especially he you started to work a finger in, and then two. It had been forever since Lucifer had been pegged, and hell did he miss it. He loved being at someone else's command, not needing to think for a minute. It was pure bliss.

You then started to spread some lube around the plastic of the strap on tip and shaft, making sure there was enough as not to hurt him. You positioned yourself to tease his entrance while you reached forward and grabbed around his throat, pulling him back, and you whispered in his ear.

"Now... are you ready for me to take you back to Heaven, darling?" you growled in his ear.

"Y-yes... yes mommy," he whimpered before you let go of the grip on his neck and slowly eased yourself into him. Lucifer let out a long moan as you slid into him. He dropped back down to all fours, and as you started pumping, he matched your pace in response. He felt so full and high on the feeling of you inside of him. As he got used to it, you started to pump faster and faster, his moans getting louder and louder. You waved your fingers through his hair, griping it and pulling his head back as you railed him, the grip of his hair making him moan and cry even louder, tears of pleasure running down his cheeks. Lucifer reached down and started to stroke himself as you pounded him. You took his other arm and held it behind him, forcing his face with squish into the bedding, muffling his cries.

After a while, Lucifer couldn't take it anymore, "Baby...oh hells... I need... mmmm... I need to fuck you... I beg of you." It made you so wet to see him like this, to have this power over him and to be pleasuring him in this way.

You cocked your head to the side and stopped you momentum while inside of him, and you pull him back up so you could whisper in his ear, "What is the magic word, Luci?" you purred.

"Mmmm... ahhh... p-please?" she whined. You obliged, removing yourself and replacing him on the bed on all four. Lucifer made quick of work of getting you in the same position you had just had him in, but with both hands behind your back as he quickly entered you and began pounding you again, screaming and moaning. You were sure the whole hotel could hear you, but you guys didn't care. It didn't take long until you both were reaching climax again and came at the same time before falling on the bed again in an exhausted heap.

Once he caught his breath, Lucifer pulled you in close, to cuddle against your naked body. Your bodies felt like magic against each other. He wanted to do nothing else other than hold you the rest of the night, you guys had the rest of time to try out the rest of the toys. He found your hand and laced his fingers in with your as he looked in your eyes. All you saw in each other's eyes was love and joy.

"y/n, I love you so much. Now and forever."

"I love you too, Lucifer."

You pulled Lucifer into another passionate kiss.

As you drifted off you sleep in Lucifer's arms, you whispered "I'm so happy we found each other, found love... in a hopeless place."

THE END

(unless?)

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Thank you all so much for the love I have gotten for this story! This is beyond anything I ever thought I would see from this and I am so happy. Some people are interested in a 2-5 years later chapter, would anyone be interested in that? This would be a chapter 13 that I would probably be posted in a few weeks. Let me know in the comments. Also! I will be starting my next Luci x Reader story in a few days, "Talk to Me", which will focus on a Fallen Angel Reader. Let me know if you want tagged in Chapter 1 of that! xoxo, dany ❤️

Taglist:

@froggybich @wonderlandangelsposts @glowinthedarkbones1150 @marydragneell @crescent-z @superdinosaurnacho @jam0001 @kyo-kyo1 @so-get-this-sammy @tiredlillypad @kelppsstuff @loquacious-libra @pinkhoneydrop @luleck @writer-girl99 @lavenz @stormz369 @littleladydemon @soujiswife @melday0105 @luluxx118 @sseleniaa @futureittomainn @cktkat @zaneyyyy @uravitsy @liecoris @starlitvenus @hannahrose130 @elleofdragons @butch-medusae @concentratedconcrete @erosamasan @stranger-chan @lxkeee @holyspacething @hulyenl @leximus98 @lu-ferri12 @mixplara @katnisspeetaprim @rebecca-hvnstn @roboticsuccubus83 @nekemewlita @femboyfatalle @thelethex @cryptidghostgirl @snowlotr @bangchansdirty-slut @glowymxxn @mcueveryday @hotvillianapologist @oneiric-rotaerc @wolfdaddyalphasworld @sleepypottersworld @wisterialagoon @theredviolets @theperfectmangovoid @lemonmoonmochi @sapphireravensworld @ezi0724 @undertalephanjackandmark-blog @apatcheworkofproblems @aquaamethyst96 @sashaphantomhive @randomstranger703 @cherry-4200 @herbalsingularitea @sophiaj650 @cimadreamer

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Taking Care - Part Four - human!Alastor x human!fem!reader

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD! MINORS DNI!

Go to Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hello! I know this chapter is quite long, but I realized that after writing it and decided not to split it into two separate chapters. Please make sure to pay close attention to the trigger warning, as the beginning is a bit intense. I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable while reading it. I hope you enjoy it! ❤️

Words: ~6300 TW: time specific views on women, domestic abuse, murder, violence, gore, masturbation

Francis's footsteps echoed through the silent forest, his breath heavy as he was desperately looking for a way out. Alastor told him one single word after he untied him: Run. And that's what he did. He ran as fast as he could, hoping that maybe he could escape. Maybe there was still a chance for him, but frustration caught up to him when he realised there was not a single clue in his mind about which way to go. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins. The scent of damp earth filled his nostrils, mingling with the coppery taste of fear on his tongue as he ran, his body numb against the biting cold. His breath caught in his throat as branches clawed at his skin, the sharp crack of twigs beneath his feet only deepening his sense of impending doom.

He stumbled, his legs weak from all the running, as he hardly hit the cold ground. He tried to get up, but his body felt weak, exhausted from all the running.

Whistles echoed in the forest, getting closer with every moment. The idea of escaping suddenly felt so dumb, the realisation painfully getting to him. Alastor knew this forest like the back of his palm - of course, he wasn't going to be worried that his victim would escape.

He cheerfully came closer, looking around like a cat toying with a mouse, pretending not to notice its futile attempts to escape.

He stopped whistling when he found Francis on the ground, crouching down to his level. He placed a hand on his shoulder with a gentle and yet...devious smile.

"My my my, look at you. You're completely out of breath. You look exhausted..."

Francis tried to find his words, but everything that came out was only panting. He couldn't even find the strength to stand back up on his own. He was completely worn out and at Alastor's mercy. "I... I can't... can't run anymore..." He managed to stammer out in between pants, his breaths coming out short and quick.

"Tired already?" Alastor’s voice dripped with mock concern, his fingers tracing Francis’s trembling shoulder like a predator savouring its prey. His smile turned sickly sweet, eyes narrowing in mock disappointment. "Such a shame," he sighed, brushing his fingers lightly over Francis’s skin. "We were just getting started... I had so many games planned for us."

Francis laid his head on the ground, tears starting rolling down his cheeks, as he sobbed, realising this was the end for him.

Alastor chuckled to himself as he noticed the tears rolling down Francis' face. Seeing him crying because of him...pleased him. With a sadistic smile, he put a hand under Francis' chin and lifted his face up, to make him look at him. "Aw...What's wrong, my dear friend? Why are you crying?"

"Please..." he managed to say. "Please, don't..."

Alastor only smiled, leaving his head to fall back on the ground. With a hard kick, he hit the man in the stomach, making him roll over on his back, screaming in pain. "Now, now... No need to make such a fuss..." Alastor's heel dug into his stomach, keeping him in place. He leaned over him, looking down with an overly calm smile.

The man's eyes fell on the big object in his arms, the moonlight making it shine. "You've noticed my pretty little friend here..." He lifted the axe up just a little, waving it from side to side, as a way to taunt him. But Francis didn't react anymore, the last bit of hope in him leaving. He just stood there, looking at the sky, trying to ignore the horrible pain that shot through his body.

Alastor's smile faded slightly, and he huffed in disappointment. "Ah, you're no fun... I expected more of a reaction out of you. I guess you've completely given up at this point."

Alastor raised the axe high, watching as the moonlight glinted off the blade, savouring the moment just before impact, the tension thick in the air. The axe bit deep into Francis’s shoulder, and the forest reverberated with a scream so raw it sent a shiver down Alastor’s spine. He paused for a moment, savouring the sound, his breath catching in the thrill of control. "Ah, there it is," he whispered to himself, almost tenderly, "A voice worth breaking."

He repeated the motion, the axe came down hard on Francis's other shoulder, and with a sickening crack, the bone shattered. The snap echoed through the trees like the snapping of a dry branch, followed by Francis's agonized scream. His body convulsed in shock, blood quickly soaking through his shirt as the jagged ends of his broken clavicle pressed against the torn muscle. Each blow sent shockwaves of pain through Francis’s body, his nerves alight with agony, but there was something worse—the suffocating realization that this was the end, that nothing would stop the next swing from severing the last thread of life clinging to his body.

Alastor's blows became erratic, but Francis's body was unable to react anymore, the shock slowly overcoming it. Slowly, his screams began to fade, the sickening sound of the axe hitting his body slowly conquering them.

Alastor raised the axe high, grinning as he swung it down with all his might toward Francis's neck. The first strike tore through skin and muscle, but it wasn't enough. Francis's head lolled to the side, blood pouring from the jagged wound, his eyes wide and glassy. Alastor, undeterred, pulled the axe out with a wet sound, and swung again. This time, bone crunched, and the head fell, rolling a few inches away from the twitching body.

The silence finally settled back over the forest, as Alastor's ragged breath echoed slightly. He took a few steps back, crouching next to a tree, trying to catch his breath. As the blood pooled around the lifeless body, Alastor’s mind began to wander, the rush of violence slowly melting into something else—something darker. His thoughts turned to you.

The adrenaline pumped through his veins, his skin burning against his clothes, a feeling of arousal slowly filling his body. He palmed his clothed, erected cock, the thought of you finding him like this, even if impossible, intoxicating him.

He wished you'd see what he's done for you, only for you. You deserved to know what kind of man he was, what he was willing to do for you. He’d let you watch, let you decide the fate of those who hurt you. He wasn’t just killing pests—he was erasing anyone who dared to dirty your world. Even if you didn’t ask for it, even if you begged him to stop, he’d continue… because he knew what was best for you.

His breath quickened, heat pooling in his body as his thoughts fixated on you. He convinced himself that you'd understand, that you'd appreciate how far he'd go for you. His hands twitched, craving the touch of something more—of you, of your approval. He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, letting the thought of you fill every corner of his mind. You’d see him for who he really was—the one who protected you, the one who cared for you enough to stain his hands with blood. The idea of you watching him, knowing his devotion, made his pulse race.

A low sound rumbled from his chest as your face flashed through his mind. His breathing grew heavier, the intensity of his fixation on you overwhelming him. His desire wasn’t just physical—it was something more profound, a twisted need for you to see him, to understand why he did this. The violent act itself was for you, and that thought alone pushed him over the edge, his body trembling with dark satisfaction.

This wasn’t just about the kill—it was about you, about proving his devotion in ways no one else could. Bloodied hands meant he was worthy, a protector who'd stain his soul so yours could remain pure. You had to see him, understand him. Only then would you realize how deeply he cared.

A few more pumps, and he finished. His hand slick with cum, a loud moan escaped him, the pleasure crashing through his body. His mind cleared, the intoxicating rush now replaced with a cold, creeping unease. He took deep, ragged breaths, staring at the sticky mess on his hand. For a moment, he allowed himself to linger in the afterglow, the dark warmth of victory washing over him. But the pleasure didn’t last, couldn’t last. It curdled in his chest, the weight of what he’d done sinking in.

Shame gnawed at him, creeping in slowly like a cold fog, wrapping tighter with each breath. At first, he tried to push it away, tried to bask in the satisfaction, but it lingered, curling around his gut, pressing deeper. He had never felt this kind of arousal after a kill before—it felt foreign, wrong in a way that unsettled him. His fist clenched reflexively, trying to dismiss it as adrenaline, a momentary lapse, but there was a darker whisper at the back of his mind. A whisper that told him this feeling wasn’t just a fluke. Maybe, just maybe, this was who he truly was.

At first, the satisfaction drowned out the guilt, a dark warmth spreading through him. But as the adrenaline ebbed, something colder took its place, gnawing at him. This...this wasn’t just about them. It was about you. The thought curdled in his stomach, the lingering pleasure twisting into something he wasn’t ready to face.

"Damn it..." he muttered quietly, wiping the cum on his bloodstained trousers. For a moment, he stood still, his breath uneven, his mind clouded with the lingering thought of you. The fantasy of you accepting this part of him, even enjoying it, clung to his mind like a shadow, but deep down, he knew better. You’d never understand why he did this, why he needed to do this—for you. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he resigned himself to waiting. He wouldn’t force you, not yet. You could play your part however you wanted, but in the end, it was always going to be him deciding how this game would finish. You might not know it yet, but he would make sure you saw—one way or another.

You looked at your own reflection in the mirror, your eyes scanning your face for every sign that the bruise was still visible. You moved your head from side to side, comparing each cheek just to see if one was more swollen than the other.

It wasn’t the first time you had done this, and a part of you wasn’t sure if it would be the last. You had learned how to hide your scars—painful, vivid reminders of a past you desperately wanted to escape. As you turned your head, you could almost feel the sting of past hands and the echo of past words. Would Alastor’s touch always remain gentle? Or would the softness of his hand one day become something else?

Even if it wasn’t him, it would be someone else—this was your fate. You were destined to serve and nurture him, no matter the pain you might endure.

You looked at your reflection—you were pretty. Especially now that you looked like someone else. You didn’t resemble the waitress who had narrowly escaped assault the night before or the woman who had been abused throughout her childhood. Tonight, you looked like someone who could attend a fancy party without a care in the world.

And if you were honest, you didn't quite dislike it at least for a night.

You checked the clock: 19:35. You've been ready for twenty minutes already. There was not a single thing you could've checked anymore, but where was he?

He wasn't too late, but you expected him to be earlier here. That's why you got ready so fast. But you would've spent a few more minutes inside, just so you wouldn't seem too eager to see him.

But he wasn't here. The anxiety crept on you when you thought that maybe he just lied, to make a fool out of you. Or maybe he was sick, and since he doesn't have your phone number, he couldn't announce you.

You looked at your reflection once again. Would he like you? Maybe it was too much makeup. Maybe you should've done something more discreet. Or maybe it wasn't enough. No, no, less is better. Your products weren't that expensive anyway so putting too much might make you look like a cheap woman.

Your hand ran over the pearls on your neck, as your eyes fell on the other pair you had to choose between. You thought for a moment if you should change them. The simple, white ones were good and classy. But the green ones were more vibrant. No, keep these ones. Classy is better.

He's not coming.

The room suddenly felt warmer as you thought about it. The dress suddenly felt itchy and the shoes were uncomfortable. Maybe you should change them, but you had to try more pairs on to decide... No, it's too late for that.

19:40.

The black gloves on your hands were long, simple, above your elbow. You've seen many actresses wearing them and you really liked it. But... did they make your hands look weird? You looked at your hands. They kind of do, you thought.

19:42.

Maybe you should take them off... But what if everyone wears them? No, you'll take them off there if that's the case. But you should take some rings with you then... To wear them on your bare hands. But maybe...

A knock.

Your heart stopped. You quickly got up, looking around yourself, making sure you didn't forget anything.

Another one.

You ran to the door, glancing into your purse to make sure you had your lipstick.

Another knock.

You open the door. When Alastor finally appeared, his smile felt like a beacon in your swirling sea of anxiety. You couldn't help but smile back, your mind going blank for just a moment. He looked so marvellous in this black suit, a crimson shirt underneath the coat.

As Alastor’s eyes lingered on you, a wave of conflicting emotions surged through you. Could this really be a new beginning? Or was this just another façade, hiding the same pain you had always known?

"You look absolutely ravishing, my dear~" he finally spoke, his smooth voice and charming Southern accent making every word even more pleasant. The warmth of his compliment was a stark contrast to the chill of your past, leaving you to grapple with the uncertainty of whether this moment was a fleeting illusion or a step toward something real. He leaned down as he always does, taking your hand into his, and placing a small kiss on your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours.

You chuckled. "Oh, you’re too kind!"

"Forgive me for being late, my dear. That little ol' car refused to start."

"It's alright," you said locking the door behind you. He took your hand and looped it around his arm, holding you close to his side. As he walked, his eyes occasionally glanced at you, still admiring the way you looked. He chuckled to himself quietly, unable to tear his eyes away.

"You really do look amazing," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "Those pearls, that black dress... and those shoes-" He let out another chuckle, his eyes falling on your shoes. "I have quite a weakness for a woman in nice shoes."

Your cheeks burnt as you tried to content your smile at his words. "You're flattering me... I'm sure every woman there would outshine me in no second."

He huffed in amusement, glancing down at you. "Oh, you are far too humble," he teased, "but I must say, I’m quite happy that you’re the one I’ll have on my arm all night." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "And for the record, I truly doubt any woman there could outshine you, my dear. I’m willing to bet everything on it."

You only smiled at his words as he opened the car door for you. As you stepped into the car, Alastor's eyes followed you, admiring the way you moved, the way the light from the streetlamps hit your face, making your skin glow. He chuckled quietly to himself, before closing the door and making his way around to the driver's side, climbing into the car himself.

As he began to drive, he stole a glance at you, his smile widening slightly. "Feeling nervous, my dear?" he asked.

"A little... I’ve never been to a party like this before," you admitted.

He chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. "Ah, I see. Well, I can assure you, my dear, this party will be far more interesting than your average ones." He paused for a moment, before continuing. "But don't you worry? I'll be by your side the whole time, you won't have a thing to worry about. I promise."

You smiled at his words, your anxiety wearing off just slightly. You took the pocket mirror from your purse, checking again if the bruise is not visible.

"I must say, you’re quite the makeup artist," he chuckled. "You could probably give those beauty counter girls a run for their money." His voice pulled you from your trance.

"Yes, I... I was inspired by Greta Garbo... I really do appreciate her makeup style."

Alastor turned to you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, Greta Garbo. Classy choice, my dear. She does have that elegant and timeless style." He chuckled and turned back to the road. "But that's not what I meant, darling."

You looked out the window for a moment, thinking of what to say. "It takes time to master hiding bruises... but once you learn, it’s quite a useful trick, isn’t it?" you said, a small smile on your lips as you turned to face him.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly, the knuckles of his hands turning white. "Yes, I suppose it does..." he said, his voice low. "Although I must say, I'm not particularly fond of the reason for learning those tricks."

"Well... It's always good for a woman to have some tricks in the sleeve... for a reason or not."

Alastor huffed, his eyes darting to you for a moment before returning to the road. "Perhaps you’re right... but I still don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of a woman having to conceal her pain like that." He paused, his grip on the wheel tightening once more. "It bothers me, my dear. More than you can imagine."

Your eyes never left him. You rarely heard men talk like this and something told you it wasn't just an act - not just a game to try and earn your trust.

"There it is," you heard him say, his smile returning. He pulled the car to the side, his eyes returning to you as you scanned the somewhat concealed building, muffled jazz music drifting from inside. You could see some people at the entrance, talking and drinking, their exquisite attire making you feel a bit self-conscious.

"Don’t worry, my dear," he said softly, making you turn your attention to him. "You won’t have to worry about a thing inside."

You nodded and waited as Alastor got out of the car and walked over to your side. He opened the door for you, offering a hand to help you out. He chuckled as you stepped out, his eyes taking in the full view of your dress and the way it hugged your figure. "You really do look beautiful, my dear..." he murmured, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

You made your way inside, as Alastor walked by your side, his hand hovering gently on the small of your back as he guided you to the entrance. He spoke to the bouncer, a word or two exchanged between them, before the bouncer nodded and moved out of the way, allowing you both to step inside.

As you walked in, Alastor leaned down slightly, his voice a soft whisper in your ear. "Just stick with me, my dear. I'll take care of everything."

As you step inside, the room greets you with a haze of cigarette smoke and the rich, brassy pulse of jazz. The low murmur of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air, blending with the lively swing of a trumpet from the corner stage. Dim lighting casts shadows across the faces of well-dressed men and women, their pearls gleaming in the smoky glow, flappers in silk dresses twirling on the dance floor. The scent of cheap whiskey and perfume merges into the heady atmosphere. You feel the electricity in the air—a sense of freedom, rebellion, and secrecy as if you’ve entered a hidden world.

"It's a speakeasy, right?" you asked as Alastor leaned in to hear you more clearly.

"Yes, my dear," he said, his lips brushing gently against your ear. "One of the more elegant ones, if I do say so myself."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as you stepped into the speakeasy for the first time, despite the knowledge of its illicit nature. The thrill of the forbidden, coupled with the allure of the hidden world before you, made your heart race with both anticipation and a hint of nervousness.

As you and Alastor made your way through the speakeasy, his eyes scanned the crowded hall, taking in the sights and sounds. It wasn’t long before something caught his attention—a lively figure in the middle of the room, surrounded by a small group of admirers. Alastor recognized her instantly: Mimzy.

Alastor’s grip on your back tightened as he observed Mimzy. Dressed in a dazzling silver dress with intricately curled blonde hair, her laughter echoed through the room. A group of men hung on her every word.

Alastor leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. "You see that woman over there?" he murmured, his eyes never leaving Mimzy. You looked in the crowd, as your face lit up at the sight.

"Is that... really Mimzy?"

Alastor nodded."Indeed it is, my dear," he confirmed, his voice low. "She's quite the social butterfly, isn't she?"

"Can I... Can I meet her?" you asked, like an excited child.

"Of course, my dear," he said, his hand gently guiding you towards where Mimzy was standing. "But I must warn you, Mimzy can be a bit... much."

Your smile grew wider as you approached. "Oh, Alastor... I've always wanted to meet her!"

He led you towards the group of people around Mimzy. The woman's sharp eyes caught sight of you both, a smile immediately lighting up on her face.

"Well, well, well!" Mimzy said, her eyes darting between you and Alastor. "Alastor, fancy seeing you here!"

Alastor chuckled, his charismatic smile never faltering. “Mimzy, it’s been quite a while.” The group around her dispersed quickly, the men obviously intimidated by Alastor's presence, but Mimzy stayed put, her eyes locked on yours.

“And who is this lovely lady you have with you~?” She questioned, tilting her head.

Alastor chuckled, his hand still gently resting on your back. "This lovely lady is my companion for the evening," he said, his smile never once wavering. Mimzy's eyes darted to you, taking in your appearance. Her eyebrows raised slightly as she looked you up and down. She stepped a little closer, a sly smirk on her face. “You know, Alastor, you never told me you had a lady.” She chuckled, crossing her arms in front of her chest, her eyes flickering between the two of you.

Your cheeks started to burn at her remark, the way she was acting as if you weren't even there made you feel a little insignificant. Alastor could sense where Mimzy was going with this, and he wasn't particularly thrilled about it. He tightened his grip on your back ever so slightly. "That's because it hadn't come up in conversation," he said, his voice still polite but cool.

Mimzy laughed, her eyes still on you. “Oh, Alastor, you’re such a gentleman. Not one to kiss and tell, are you?” She stepped even closer, almost pressing up against you. “And what’s your name sweetheart? You seem far too pretty to be with someone like Alastor.”

You smiled politely at her. "My name is (Y/n). It's quite a pleasure to finally meet you! I've always been a fan."

Alastor's eyes flicked between you and Mimzy, his smile still in place but his patience was starting to wear thin. Mimzy let out an exaggerated gasp, her hand coming up to her chest, a fake look of shock on her face. "A fan, sweetie? Well, I'm flattered, really, I am. But how on earth did you end up with Alastor of all people?"

You were taken aback by her question, looking up at Alastor as if asking for some help, and you could slightly see his eye twitching as he eyes the woman.

"Um... We..." you started, not sure if you should tell how you two actually met. But before you could continue, he took a step forward, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "That's none of your concern, Mimzy," he said, his voice as polite as always, but with an undercurrent of steel.

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly as Alastor pulled you closer to him, a small frown tugged at the corner of her mouth. "My, my, Alastor, there's no need to get all defensive on me, I'm just simply trying to get to know your companion." She looked you up and down once more, her eyes lingering on Alastor's arm that was wrapped around you. "The two of you make an... interesting couple."

You looked away as you could feel the mockery in her voice. Alastor's smile faltered for a moment, his grip on you tightening imperceptibly. He knew Mimzy's intentions all too well. She was trying to get a rise out of him, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction. "We make a perfect couple," he said, his voice smooth but with an underlying menace. "And our business is no concern of yours, Mimzy.”

He leaned towards you. "Now, my dear, why don't we go order something?"

Alastor gently steered you away from Mimzy, who stood there with a mix of surprise and irritation on her face. He led you away towards the bar, ordering a drink for himself and a non-alcoholic cocktail for you. As he waited, his arm still around your waist, he turned to you.

"I apologize for Mimzy," he said, his voice low. You smiled softly, trying to stop thinking about it.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer her question about how we met... I didn't want to embarrass you," you said slightly, looking in the crowd.

Alastor chuckled softly, his arm giving you a gentle squeeze. "No need for apologies, my dear," he said, his voice low and amused. "I appreciate your consideration, but nothing is embarrassing about how we met. Mimzy just can't help but meddle in things that don’t concern her.”

You smiled at him as the bartender brought the drinks. "I'll be back in a moment, dear. Some associates are waiting for me," he said as he rubbed your back, walking towards a small group of men.

You turned your attention to Mimzy as she approached you, she stood beside you, leaning against the bar. "So," she said, her voice falsely cheerful. "I have to ask, sweetie. How'd you and Alastor meet?"

You smiled for a moment, thinking of an answer. Lying wasn't really an option as you would probably be easily caught with that, so you figured the truth, embarrassing for Alastor or not, would be the best. "We met at a diner..." you said bluntly, hoping that would satisfy her.

Mimzy's eyebrows raised in surprise, obviously not expecting such a mundane answer. "A diner? How... mundane. You're telling me you're dating Alastor - the most notorious and desired bachelor in the town - because you met him at a diner?"

You cleared your throat, looking at the coloured liquid in your glass. "We're not... dating."

Mimzy's eyebrows shot up in surprise once more, her interest piqued. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, stepping closer to you. "You're not dating? Don't tell me you hooked up with him or something?" She raised an eyebrow, silently judging you.

You frowned your eyebrows at her. "What? No..." you protested. "I..."

Mimzy smirked, a wicked gleam in her eye. "So, you’re just another notch on his belt? How charming." She chuckled, taking a sip from her drink. "Do you know how many girls have come and gone, thinking Alastor would fall in love with them? Oh, sweetie, the list is endless."

You looked away, your eyes kind of watery at her words.

Mimzy smirked as she saw your sudden change in expression. "Oh, don't tell me you thought differently? Alastor's a notorious ladies' man. He'll get what he wants from you, and then toss you aside like everyone else." She chuckled, taking another sip from her drink. .long list of conquests, sweetie."

"Mimzy?" Alastor's voice echoed from behind you, making her eyes widen in surprise.

"Alastor! I was just having a little chat with your... friend here."

"Quite the chat, I presume?" he asked, feigning nonchalance, but you could see the anger seeping through his calm expression.

"Well... I think I should go... It was quite the chat, dearie!" she said, quickly disappearing in the crowd, as your attention returned to the drink in front of you.

Alastor watched as Mimzy scurried off, a scoff leaving his lips. He hated the way she acted. His gaze returned to you, a frown on his face as he saw the downcast look on yours. He placed his hand on your back, gently rubbing a small circle between your shoulder blades. "Are you alright, my dear?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving the glass, not daring to look at him as your eyes threatened to spill a few tears.

He moved closer to you, his hand still rubbing your back, his other hand coming to gently rest on your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. "Hey... look at me," he murmured, his voice soft and gentle, his expression filled with concern. "How about we go somewhere else?" he suggested and you nodded. The last thing you wanted was to break down here in front of so many people.

He gave a firm nod, and his hand moved to the small of your back, gently guiding you towards the exit. He led you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close.

As you walked away from the bustling speakeasy, he led you to the car, helping you get inside. He slid into the driver's seat, starting the car. He glanced at you, noticing your downcast expression. He reached over, gently grabbing your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

Hey," he said softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "You know, you can talk to me, right? Whatever Mimzy said..."

"She said nothing... We just chatted for a bit..." you said, your eyes still on the window. He sighed and started driving, silence falling over you.

"Mimzy... can be a handful sometimes," he finally spoke."Don't listen to her words, my dear. She doesn't know the first thing about our relationship." You slightly looked at him for a moment, the "our relationship" feeling so wrong right now, but you stayed quiet.

You notice he takes a forest road, your heartbeat increasing slightly. "Where... where are we going?"

He glanced at you for a moment, noticing the slight change in your expression. He could sense your anxiety. "Somewhere more quiet," he answered, his voice calm and gentle. "A place where we can talk... without interruptions." The car slowly continued down the forest road, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the crunch of the gravel beneath the wheels.

You took one of your gloves off, playing with it as your mind raced. For a moment, the worst scenarios flooded your brain and the idea that there was nothing you could do was sending shivers down your spine.

The car came to a stop in what looked like a bayou. It was quite secluded and away from any passersby.

"We're here," he said, his voice soft, as he turned to look at you. You looked around, your eyebrows slightly furrowed. The place was beautiful, with fireflies dancing in the moonlight as it filtered through the dense foliage. The gentle sound of water lapping against the banks added to the serene, almost magical ambience of the setting.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His hand gently squeezed yours. "Come on." He opened the door and exited the car, walking around to your side and opening the door for you.

You cautiously got out, the chill air biting at your exposed sleeves. You took a few steps, and your eyes locked on a bush. You got a bit closer, only to be met with the sight of a few deers, peacefully grazing.

"Looks like we've got some company," he said quietly, watching as you got closer to the deer, snapping you out of your trance. He placed his coat around your shoulders, the warmth engulfing your body.

"What is this place?" you asked, turning to face him.

"This place," he said, his voice soft and tranquil. "Is a special place. A place where I come to... think, to be alone." He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on yours. "I thought you might like it. It's quiet, calming, and... away from prying eyes."

You stepped back a bit. "Alastor... you got the wrong idea..." you whispered, looking at the ground.

He tensed slightly as you stepped back, a frown forming on his face. His smile faltered for a moment, surprised by your words. "What do you mean, my dear?" he asked, his voice slightly shaky. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what was going through your mind.

You sighed, trying to find your words. "Mimzy told me about... the choice of women you have," you said. "It's really not my interest to be here... just for a few nights."

His frown deepened as you mentioned Mimzy's words. He knew exactly what she might have told you and it angered him. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "Is that what you think this is about?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and irritation. "You think you’re just another notch on my list?"

"If I'm being honest..." you said, freeing yourself from your grasp and making your way to the car, leaning against it. "I've only known you for a week... We haven't even talked outside of the diner. You can't blame for getting the wrong impression."

He took a step closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're right," he said, his voice slightly cold. "We haven't known each other for long. And yes, maybe you misunderstood my intentions." He paused for a moment, his eyes studying you intensely. "But is that really all you think I see you as? Just another one of my conquests?"

You looked down, a tear falling down your cheek. "What else could there be...?" you whispered.

"You honestly believe I brought you here just to use you and toss you aside?" he asked, his voice laced with indignation. "You think I'm that shallow, that callous?"

"I don't know, Alastor!" you snapped as you broke down. "Every damn man I met wanted nothing more from me! Should I even expect anything more?" your eyes opened wide as you realised you shouldn't have raised your tone. You quickly looked away, preparing yourself for the worst. But no pain came your way. No harsh words.

He took another step towards you, his hand gently caressing your face. "I'm not those... pathetic excuses for men, you've dealt with before, my dear."

You sighed. "I was supposed to marry someone... someone my father wanted, but I didn't..." you said. "He was rich, smart... any woman's dream... And I actually tried to get used to the idea... He nearly put me in a coma because I refused to be with him while he was drunk." A soft sob escaped your lips. "My parents disowned me... Called me a failure because I refused to be a punchbag like I was my entire life..."

You rested your head against his chest, Alastor's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. He felt your tears dampen his shirt, but he didn't care. Your words, the memories of your past abuse, hit him hard. He remembered the fear his mother felt, the pain she endured, just like you had. It made his heart ache and his anger flare.

"A woman's job is to obey..." you whispered. "That's what my father told me while I was in the hospital... Luckily, the bastard died before the wedding..."

He cupped your face with one hand, forcing you to look up at him. "You don't have to endure any more pain, my dear." His thumb gently brushed away a tear from your cheek. "Not anymore." Alastor’s gaze was intense, sending shivers down your spine. “I will take care of you, my dear. Like no one ever has before.”

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @starryhiraeth @lafy-taffy @harmfulb1tch @martinys-world @n0tmentallystable @xalygatorx @venusdandy @l3rittany @eris-norwega @maulsgf

[sunny44]

All these years (Part 1)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Ex girlfriend! Reader

Warnings: anxiety attack, fights, brake ups and maybe other things.

Summary: Separated by a disagreement, Charles and Y/n meet again after years apart and all the feelings they had repressed come flooding back.

Next Chapter

Having to go back to Monaco was certainly not in my plans.

I had sworn to myself the day I left that I would never go back, but I had never actually kept that promise.

His family lives there and I've never been able to stop seeing them. Of course, I made them promise never tell him that I was still visiting them and they kept their promise.

I know this because I never received a call or an angry message.

Charles Marc Harvé Perceval Leclerc.

My first everything.

And I mean that in the literal sense of the word.

My first friend, my first kiss, my first boyfriend, the guy I had my first time with.

But most importantly.

My first and only true love.

When I moved to the house next to them, we connected as soon as we were introduced to each other.

We never had many friends because we knew we had everything we needed in each other.

He was the best boyfriend a girl could ask for.

But one thing about him was wrong.

His lack of understanding at times.

Charles was always a calm, fun guy who could make my shitty day 100% better.

But in March 10th, 2018.

That was the day everything we had went down the drain.

Charles was focused on getting his first year in Formula 1 off to a good start and I was focused on getting a job since I had just graduated from architecture school.

And I received the best offer a recent graduate could get.

It was an internship at an architecture firm.

The problem was that it was in Milan and Charles and I lived in Monaco and because of Formula 1 he wasn't going to leave.

I remember exactly the day I went to tell him excitedly that I'd got one of the best jobs I could ever want.

But Charles, contrary to what I thought, didn't have the best reaction, in fact he was very upset that the job wasn't in Monaco.

That's when our fights started, me because he didn't understand how important he was to me and an offer I couldn't refuse.

And him for saying that I'd ruined all our plans.

That day we'd had a bad fight, but the next day when I went to talk to him to try and sort it out, we fought again.

He said that I was the worst person he had ever met, that I would be a horrible wife and that our children would be ashamed to have a mother like me.

That day I cried so much that I had a horrible anxiety attack and had to go to hospital because of shortness of breath.

And he never showed up.

From that day on we never saw each other again, five years passed and here I was returning to Monaco for the wedding of Arthur, Charles' younger brother.

He and Carla were getting married after a year of being engaged and I remember how happy I was when he called to tell me that she had accepted and thanked me for helping him choose the ring.

I knew I would meet him there, I just didn't know if I was ready to see him.

Even more so in a situation like this.

"So, are you ready to see Charles?" Kika sits on the bed while I pack the last of my clothes.

"Certainly not, but what choice do I have?"

"You could have chosen not to go."

"I couldn't do that to Arthur, he was the only one who always supported me in everything, unlike his brother." I sighed, remembering him. "And I want to go, I want to see him marry the love of his life."

"I understand, and I know he'll love that you're going."

"But one day it would happen, we have so many things and people that keep us connected, so it took a while to happen."

"But you'll be fine."

"I know."

"Why are you getting so many clothes?"

"Because I don't know how long I'll have to stay there."

"What do you mean?" she asks confused.

"Because my father always convinces me to stay longer than I want to."

"I see."

"Well, I have to go soon, it's a long drive to get there."

We said goodbye and I got straight into the car and started driving there.

It was going to be a long trip.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Road tripping to Monaco”

Who wants to be on the tag list of these new story? I've already got it all written so I plan to post a chapter a day until it's finished.

[a-killer-obsession]

Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 11 - Two For One Special

The best things come in twos :)

WC: 3.4k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

A/N: yes I know this isn't how snake dicks work, but also he's not a snake so 😤

It'd been a few days since Kid had announced your official joining of the Kid Pirates, and the crew had welcomed you with open arms. While you hadn't had much chance to get to know them, you had become decent friends with Quincy, Hip and Emma, who had accompanied you on several shopping trips over the last few days so you could stock up on all the things you needed, like clothes, sanitary items and furniture to be delivered to the Victoria Punk in a few days. Right now the Punk resided in a dry dock, being coated by Rayleigh in preparation for the journey to Fishman Island. It was nice having the guarantee that the crew would make it to the New World unscathed, given the low success rate for pirates passing through. As predicted, Rayleigh had been thankful for Kid's help in getting Cammie out of the auction house, even if it hadn't been his intention. It would take another day for the coating to be finished, and in the meantime the crew had been staying on Sabaody. You'd even had the chance to visit the amusement park with the girls, and Quincy may or may not have fingered you in the ferris wheel, a lady never kisses and tells. You liked Quincy, she was fun. If you were gonna sleep with anyone on your own fruition, outside of the big four, it'd most likely be her. A little bit of pussy, for variety.

You spent the first few nights staying with Wire, since fucking him when you should have been resting did in fact turn out to be a mistake, and Wire was the least likely to jump you when he knew you needed time to recover. You were offered your own room, now that you weren't a prisoner, but you didn't feel comfortable being on your own in a place known for kidnapping and selling people. Kid wasn't happy about being separated from his ship, because it meant he couldn't work on your collar, but it was just as well since you weren't up for being free-used right now anyway. It was nice spending more time with Wire, he wasn't as stuck up as you initially thought, he was actually pretty easy to get along with now that you were a crewmate and not a prisoner. He hadn't allowed himself to get close to you when there was risk of you being a traitor and being disposed of, but now that you were a permanent fixture he was allowed to let himself care about you. He wasn't as cuddly as the others, but he was good company. Last night though Heat had practically begged you to spend the night with him, and pinky promised he would be on his absolute best behaviour, so you'd relented.

Heat had kept to his word, not going any further with you than cuddles and some pleasant making out, and now he slept soundly beside you in his wyrm form, forced on his back by his horns, his long tail hanging off the end of the bed. You were nestled up against him, wearing one of his old shirts with nothing underneath. You owned clothes now, but the boys all had such soft shirts that were so oversized and comfy to sleep in. While he was on his best behaviour, you were feeling a bit frisky. You were well aware that your period was close, and it was making you antsy. You didn't know how keen the boys would be on period sex, so you decided to take advantage of the short amount of time you had before your cycle started. You were already cramping lightly, so it wouldn't be long. Not to mention you usually had quite painful periods, so you usually didn't want to be touched due to how miserable you felt.

You also had a curiosity after the gangbang, after watching Wire toy with the slit that hid Heat's cocks. You wondered what it looked and felt like inside the slit, and since Wire had done it, surely it was okay to toy with - it certainly seemed like Heat had enjoyed it. Quietly you pulled the blankets off him and straddled his pretty mauve tail. His scales were always so beautiful, you loved to run your hands over them and admire the iridescence. He was especially beautiful in the sunlight, when his whole tail sparkled with that iridescence. Heat stirred a little in his sleep as you lowered your weight on to him, but didn't wake yet. You ran your finger over the closed slit, feeling bad for a short moment for invading his privacy, before remembering how many times you'd woken up with Heat's dick buried in your cunt.

You used your thumbs either side of the slit to gently pry the scales apart, a little surprised at what you found inside. It almost looked like a pussy, the tip of the higher cock where you would expect a clit to be, the other tip lower where you would expect the vaginal opening. It seemed like they were laid one on top of another, the shafts going up towards his belly. Pretending it was a clit, you fiddled with the pointed tip of the upper cock, making Heat whine in his sleep. You pushed your fingers in further, between the two shafts, feeling the piercings and bumps that lined the lower side of the upper shaft. It was warm and a little moist inside his sheath, a bit like a pussy. No wonder Wire liked to toy with it, and it made you feel flustered to technically be inside him.

Leaning down, sliding your butt a little further down his tail, you held the slit open and flicked the upper cock with your tongue. You pushed your tongue between the shafts, tasting the musky slick that coated them, a taste you were familiar with whenever Heat was in this form. You sucked on the tip, feeling it move as his cocks sprang to life and tried to slide from the slit. The more you worked at his cocks, the less you could get inside him, until both phallus were proudly presented. You took turns sucking on each one, listening to Heat's quiet whimpers, until his own moan woke him.

“[Y/n]?” He groaned, hips wiggling and fingers gripping at the sheets as he realised the situation, “ohh, fuck, fuck [y/n], that's so good.”

“You're so pretty, Heat,” you cooed before focusing on the lower cock, bobbing your head as your hand worked the other. Heat whined and whipped his tail excitedly against the bed, one of his hands burying in your hair and beckoning you to swallow more of him. You let him guide you, wanting to please him and hear more of his cute little whimpers, gagging occasionally as his tip hit your uvula. You'd had a lot of practice these days, and could almost take all of him in this form, the thinner tip far easier on your throat than a human cock. Your eyes watered as finally you were able to successfully meet his base, and Heat let out a high pitched whine that was your only warning before his grip on your hair tightened, holding you against him as he emptied right down your throat. His other cock likewise spilled out, drenching your face and hand with a stream of cum.

When his grip finally loosened you pulled off with a pop, licking at the cum that dripped on your lips with a fiendish smile. Heat sat up and kissed you fiercely, before licking a wide swipe up your face to clean off his cum. It aroused you to taste his own cum on his tongue, and you ground your bare cunt against his tail and the base of his still exposed cocks. His hand slid down your front, catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it up and over your head. He dipped to suck on your tits, groping each of them and squishing them together, pressing his face against the valley he created. He had to be careful of his horns, but mostly they just pushed flat against your clavicle.

“I could die happy in these tits,” he sighed, “fucking incredible. You're so beautiful.”

One of his hands travelled down your soft front, until it could cup your mound. His fingers slipped between your folds, and he groaned against your nipple as he felt how soaked you were. His cocks were twitching back to life as he heard the wet squelch your cunt made as he pushed two fingers inside you, pumping you deep and slow. You were practically dripping on his hand with how wet you were, bouncing slighting to try fuck his fingers faster. Heat added a third finger and stretched you out more. He focused on pleasing you, using his other hand to rub your clit as he watched your face contort in pleasure, your mouth making a pretty little ‘o’ as you hit your orgasm and shuddered against him with a gasp.

“Heat,” you panted against his chest as he pulled his fingers out of you, “I- I want your cocks.”

“Plural?” He questioned with a raised brow. You'd never asked for both.

“Plural,” you confirmed, nipping at his neck and making him groan until he gave in and pushed you onto your back beside him, quickly rolling to take his place between your legs. He spread your legs wide and rut his lower shaft against your soaked cunt.

“Relax for me, treasure,” Heat cooed, holding both cocks squeezed together in his hand and pressing the tips to your entrance. He was overly excited to bury both of his dicks inside you at once, but didn't want to hurt you by being too hasty. The tips slid inside you easily, the tapered ends meaning that the first quarter or so of his lengths only amounted to about the girth of his human cock. It was when he pushed in further that you began to feel the stretch, and you made a low groan as he bullied his cocks inside you. You gripped his forearms bruisingly tight as he stretched you out, his combined width being even greater than Wire's as he reached the thickest part. It was easier for him to press the rest in once you'd eased enough to accommodate, and Heat let out a stuttered breath as he stilled with his cocks deep inside you.

“Fuck, you're so perfect,” he groaned, “so good to me, my perfect treasure.”

“So.. so full,” you whined, “feels good, hnng.”

“Yeah? You like having both my cocks inside you? Stretching you out, like the good little slut you are?” Heat purred, slowly pulling most of the way out before sliding back in again. You made strained groans as he fucked you slowly, your belly bulging from how full you were, fingernails digging into his arms and back. “Fuck you take me so well.”

Heat was barely moving but you were so full that every inch of your inner walls were being pressed against, and it was driving you to madness. He'd hardly entered you and you already felt like you were going to cum again. Your legs wrapped around his tail at the same time as you grabbed his horns, and you pulled on them to bring his face closer, capturing his bottom lip with your teeth and tugging on it. “Harder,” you growled, “fuck me harder, Heat.”

“Fuck,” Heat groaned as he picked up his pace, the bed underneath you creaking with every thrust as you started to scream like a bitch in heat, the whole inn would no doubt hear you. Let them hear, you were in heaven, cock drunk as Heat fucked you hard, pulling what felt like endless orgasms from you as you cried out. “I wanna see you covered in cum,” Heat groaned, “can I finish on you?”

“Please,” you whined, “wanna- wanna be painted. Paint me Heat, give it to me.”

“You're such a good girl,” Heat cooed as he pulled one last orgasm from you, making you go limp as you panted, dazed and blissed out. He pulled his cocks from you, making you whine at the emptiness, before he held them in one hand and jerked himself off. Heat made deep grunts as he fisted himself, releasing volatile ropes of cum over your belly and breasts as he quivered above you. With a contented sigh he rolled to your side, breathing heavy next to you. Your hand lazily ran through the cum, rubbing it over your breasts as you sleepily groped at them before falling limp again.

“I thought you were taking a break,” Heat asked.

“I was, but I woke up horny,” you explained, “I'm always like this when I'm about to get my period. It'll probably come in a few hours.”

“Boo, that means Kid will want you staying with him,” Heat pouted.

“Oh? He's into period sex?” You asked.

“He likes blood,” Heat replied, in a tone that made you think he was a little confused that you didn't realise that.

“I could just not tell him,” you suggested mischievously.

“He'll smell it a mile away,” Heat sighed, “there's no avoiding it. He'll treat you good though, he's well practised with periods. You'll be spoiled for sure.”

“Well then,” you giggled, “I guess I can't complain about that. Though I get the feeling you'd spoil me too.”

“I'll spoil you after,” he promised, “my pretty treasure. In the meantime…” you giggled and squirmed as he leaned over and licked a long stripe up your belly, cleaning off a lot of his cum and tickling you in the process, “... I've got a few more hours until you get Kid-napped. But I'm gonna have to groom you first,” he made several more licks all over your breasts and tummy, “before I get you all messy again.”

A couple hours later and just as predicted, your period had come. Heat offered you some weed and more sex to help with the pain, which you happily accepted, resulting in a round of dizzying, giggly, shower sex. After that the two of you met up with Wire and Killer, the four of you heading off to do some shopping. Kid had ordered them to find you an appropriate weapon, and for your training to start as soon as the crew were back at sea. You knew you were good with a rifle, from all your hunting trips with your dad, so you were on the lookout for a suitable one. The boys had also noticed that you were decently strong, not to mention the potential of your armament haki, so they were also looking for a close combat weapon that took advantage of those strengths. You weren't very fast or agile though, so they also had to keep that in mind. The boys had high standards though, and it felt like it was going to take all day to find weapons they approved off. They couldn't decide on the type of weapon either - Killer wanted to train you with swords, Wire wanted to train you with something long like a spear, and Heat wanted you to get something that would just look cool and take advantage of your strength, like a battleaxe.

The rifle was the easier weapon to find, your eye caught by a beautiful single shot rifle, the wooden parts made from the blue stripes of one of Sabaody's giant mangroves, trimmed with silver metal that had been delicately engraved with florals. It was a beautiful gun, and close to what you were familiar with using back home. Right now it was slung over Heat's back - the boys wanted Kid to inspect it before you were allowed to use it. You felt a little like a princess with the way they were all treating you like some precious thing, it was nice to feel like they all had your safety in mind. Not to mention it was such a beautiful gun that they were worried someone would try to snatch it from you, and without knowing your fighting capabilities they didn't want to risk that.

Heat and Killer were currently debating a battle axe Heat had found, while on the other side of the store you followed Wire, who was examining the range of polearm weapons for sale. You hummed to yourself as you walked behind him; despite your cramps you were in a good mood, you felt truly special with the care the boys were taking to choose your weapons.

“Someone seems chipper,” Wire noted as he pulled a spear from the rack and inspected it, “have a good morning with Heat did we? We certainly all heard you, and by the sounds of it he either he fucked your brains out or murdered you, and I'm gonna guess it wasn't the later.”

“Actually, I'm feeling quite proud of myself,” you replied with a grin, “I took both of his dicks today.”

“Oh, in the same hole?” Wire put down the spear to give you his attention, this was far more interesting than weapon shopping.

“Yeah!” You smiled, running your hand down the staff of a halbert. Now that you looked at it, it was quite lovely. It was made from that same blue wood, and the silver axe-like blade featured ornate cut outs that could be mistaken for matching your gun. A weapon like this would give you a lot of options; it was long, so you could keep enemies a little further away, it had the blades either side for swinging motions that took advantage of your strength, and it had the long spear tip for stabbing motions. “What about this one?”

“I told you you could do it, good job, proud of you,” Wire pressed a kiss into your hair before looking at the halberd and pulling it from the rack, “Looks well made, I think this would suit you nicely.”

“And it matches my gun!” You beamed.

“It does indeed,” Wire offered a soft smile. He liked how enthusiastic you were about learning to fight, he appreciated someone willing to stand up for themselves instead of relying on others. As much as they were all treating you like some delicate, precious thing, Wire had high hopes for your fighting capabilities, and if you selected the halberd it meant he could train you himself. As much as your pussy was the hot commodity you were kept on board for, he was growing quite fond of you, and he didn't want to always be worrying about your safety when they got to the New World, so he'd make sure you had all the skills you needed to hold your own in battle. “If this is what you want, I'll teach you to use it. Give it a hold, see how the weight feels.”

Wire handed you the halberd and you held it with both hands, Wire gently shifting them to the correct positions along the staff. “Feels good, not too heavy,” you hummed, “I think I could work with this.”

“You look good with it,” Wire noted, “OI, KIL, HEAT, GET YOUR ASSES OVER HERE.”

Heat put the axe back on the rack and the two of them scurried over, playfully pushing each other as they moved. Wire made a gesture with his head for you to hand them the weapon, and Killer took it and looked over it carefully. “Not bad,” Killer mused, before handing it to Heat to look at, “This what you want?” Killer asked you.

“Yeah, I like it,” you replied as Heat handed it back.

“You look good with it,” Heat praised.

“That's what Wire said!” You giggled.

“I agree,” Killer added, “of course Kid will want to check it over, but I think we're good here.”

“Yay!” You squeaked, messing around with the weapon, “Look! I can stab AND slice! It's a two for one special! Yippee!”

“You're fucking adorable,” Heat laughed, ruffling your hair as the men made their way to the checkout counter, “you're gonna look so cute covered in our enemy's blood.”

“Aw, thanks Heat,” you smiled, standing on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek. Heat had a cute pink flush for the next hour, every now and then touching the spot on his cheek like he was remembering the feel of your lips there.

[Next Chapter] - coming soon

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Hiatus Notice - Ship Full of Monsters will no longer be on scheduled Tuesday releases for a little while. There will be sporadic uploads when I have time until my real life chaos is over in about a month, thanks in advance for your patience ❤️ Once real life stuff is over it'll go back to being on a schedule~

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[justcallmecj]

Seeing Your Dragon Form: Dormleaders

Heyyyy~ Back with another chapter! Here, this is when they saw your full dragon form for the first time. Now, this chapter is a bit special. It'll be separated into 3 or 4 parts. One for the Dormleaders, one for the vice's + Ruggie and Floyd, another for the first years and a last one for anyone left. I'm also thinking about one for the teachers + Crowley. This one is the Dormleaders. You can take this as romantic or platonic, your choice.

Also, I'm gonna describe what you look like in Riddle's section so I don't have to in others. Just refer back to his section for imagery.

Riddle

He was certainly shocked, that's for sure.

He's only seen dragons in drawings or in the media, and even then they were mostly the mainstream kind of dragons. Ice isn't the first thing people think of when they think of dragons,

You had taken him to a small clearing of trees in the forest behind NRC since there was plenty of space where you didn't need to worry about hurting someone.

You towered over him, and he himself is pretty short so it made the difference even greater.

The usual cold air that followed you had increased in temperature, making it harder for him to be close to you.

Your horns became larger and sharper, like huge icicles. Spikes ran down your back just as sharp as your horns. Your tail swayed behind you and your eyes gleamed a dangerous e/c color.

Despite all this, you showed no signs of being hostile towards him. When he looked into your eyes, he saw a playful glint in them. Like you were studying his reactions and getting a kick out of it all.

He quickly put himself together after the initial shock.

You brought yourself down to his height and placed your head peacefully on the grass in front of him. He slowly made his way closer to you.

Gently, he placed a hand on your head. Despite the cold feeling, it didn't hurt. He sat next to your head and found himself quickly easing into a sense of safety and security. You laid your wings around him, enclosing the space and basically trapping him, but he didn't mind.

You made gentle, humming noises and he found the shaking feeling began to make him sleepy. He no longer was shocked about how you look like this and the drowsiness of his daily activities caught up to him. He curled up in the crook of your long neck.

"Thank you, for trusting me with this sight. I know how you feel, but you don't need to worry around me. Have a good nap, Y/N. I'm not to far behind you anyways."

Leona

You truly are an oversized lizard, huh?

He did whatever he could to keep the shock off his face, and it worked. You would've believed him, if you hadn't known him so well.

He didn't realize, but his tail stayed close to the grass, his ears twitch in your direction. More than a few of his muscles tensed.

He wasn't scared, just weary. He's always wondered what would happen if Malleus got pissed off at him enough to turn dragon mode. Now he just associates the thought with a sense of danger.

You could pick up on this though. You've always had a strange ability to do that when it comes to Leona. Your next goal? Be as non-threatening as possible.

Your tail gently curled around your hind leg, you sprawled your wings out in the grass around you and you brought your body close to the ground.

When he looked at you, he could clearly see the message you were trying to tell him. He understands you can't talk in this form.

He approached you. His muscles loosened when he touch your snout and your eyes closed, showing contentment.

Gently, he ran his hand up and down your scales. The skin on his hands pricked from the cold, a feeling he still wasn't used to.

His ears picked up on the faint hum you made. A smirk found its way on his face, and he didn't try to hide it.

He spent a bit of time petting you. He saw it as revenge for all the times you pet him with no warning. But, much to his demise, you didn't see it as anything spiteful. You quite enjoyed the attention.

"Hm. Fine. I'll stay with you for a while. But that's only because Ruggie won't come get me if I'm with you while you're like this."

Azul

He was...hesitant..to say the least.

He was nervous to see what you'd turn into. That's not meant to sound mean or judgemental, he wouldn't judge you. You don't judge him, why would he in turn?

More so, it's just that he doesn't know how he himself will react and doesn't want to hurt you with a negative reaction.

He knew you were nervous about yourself for a long time. But, you decided that if he saw you comfortable with yourself, he'd become a bit more confident as well.

It took a lot of convincing from you to lead him into the forest clearing. Even more for the Twins not to follow.

Once you two were there and he backed up to give you space, seeing you transform was the most stunning things he's ever seen.

A white mist covered you and a dark shadow on the inside(you) grew and changed shape. Into the shape of a dragon. When the mist cleared, he saw you.

Your e/c colors stared him down. You did what you could not to freak him out, but you didn't have full control of every habit of yours.

He could feel a few flight reflexes kick in. He stayed in place though. (You praised him for that later)

You sat. You kinda reminded him of a dog with the way you sat and waited patiently. Your tail rested motionless, wings calmly at your sides. Your head tilted to the side. To Azul, it was kinda cute. Like looking at a sea guppy.

He stepped closer, but kept a slight distance. You weren't offended, you knew you needed to take things slow. And you knew he was more worried about you than himself.

In an attempt to show him that there was nothing to worry about, you stretched out one of your arms, careful to watch your claws, and held it in front of him. Like how a human reaches out a hand to a scared animal. (Ironic since he was more human than you rn)

He got the message. He approached you and placed a gentle hand on your arm. The cold was somehow a comfort. It sorta reminded him of the cold waters in the Coral Sea. Slowly, he leaned into your touch and found himself calm. All worry faded away and you came close to him and gave whatever your equivalent of a smile is. It warmed his heart.

"I see. I hope none of my actions hurt you. You were very brave to show me all this. I hope one day, I can be like you with myself."

Kalim

He was certainly the most excited to see your dragon form.

He's never seen a dragon before, and The Land Of Scalding Sands doesn't have any legends or stories regarding dragons, so it's been an obscure concept to him.

He, without hesitance, followed you to the clearing in the forest and patiently waited for you to feel you were ready.

He held his breath as you transformed and only released it when he saw you were okay.

The dragon he saw standing in front of him. Blew. His. Mind!

Even before you could entirely orientate yourself he quickly threw himself onto you and wrapped his arms around your long neck, which was barely close enough to the ground for him to reach. (Especially since he's short)

He talked to you about everything and anything for 2 hours straight. He didn't mind that you couldn't verbally respond, it actually gave him enough time to learn what different ques you made meant. You nodded and shook your head for yes or no questions, you flopped your tail when you meant 'maybe', and your wings flutter lightly when you don't know how to respond.

He even learned what the meaning behind certain sounds meant.

"Sorta wish I had seen your dragon form earlier, but better later than never! Right?...I wonder what Jamil's doing right now?" Cue to Jamil who's freaking out because Kalim didn't tell him he was leaving the dorm.

Vil

He had come to know you pretty well. Despite that, he realized that he never actually asked you anything about your dragon form.

He's definitely thought about it, but never wanted to ask you for fear of making you uncomfortable.

When you told him you really wanted to, he worried that you may have been forcing yourself for him. You quickly reassured him that that wasn't the case. He then agreed to come with.

Seeing you morph was beautiful to him.

You were beautiful.

Your beautiful white scales tinted blue when the sun hit them at a certain angle. Your horns glistened with an icy nature, your eyes shone with a slight glaze of white over them. (Rook explained to him how this protects your eyes from the sun)

All he saw was pure, icy beauty. In a way, he couldn't comprehend why you've been self-conscious about how this form looked. Then he remembered how he gets when people comment negatively about how he looks, and how it can take a toll after so long.

He came to a resolve. To make sure you never again see anything negative about your dragon form!

With quick, confident strides, he approached you. Looking up to meet your eyes, he gave you a sweet, caring face.

He then began to fawn over you. His usual uptight behavior fell to allow his more caring side to take hold so that he could make sure you knew just how beautiful you looked. He commented on how well you seem to take care of yourself, your huge size meaning there was more to admire. Your horns looked like you took gentle care of them. Your snout looked adorable to him. The spikes running down your back, were sharp to the touch.

Those are all examples of how he expressed that he saw and took notice of all your beauty.

He sat on the grass in front of you and allowed you to place you snout in his lap as he gently rubbed your head while whispering sweet compliments to you.

"I hope that, never again, do you see anything wrong with your own beauty. And if anyone tells you other wise, just send them my way."

Idia

You want him to leave his room??? Whyyyyy?

He always thought seeing you in your dragon form would be the coolest thing ever. But he didn't think he'd be dragged out of his room by you and forced into the forest.

We couldn't have just done this somewhere at Ignihyde?

Then you transformed, and he no longer remembered why he was upset.

The fantasy loving weeb in him came out and he started to freak out.

He had a split second of hesitation, ice and fire don't mix and he could feel the ice on you, but his weeb took over and he rushed over. He was no longer shy with you.

His mind was going a million miles and hour and he asked you question after question. Until he realized that you couldn't talk. Which honestly bummed him out a bit but he quickly recovered.

Soon, he took to simply admiring you while you soaked up the attention he was giving you.

His warm fingers lightly slid across your cold scales, sending a shiver up his spine every time, but he didn't mind.

It shocked him when you reached out an arm and pulled him close to you. You held him against your side while you curled up like a puppy.

"Um, okay then. I guess we can stay like this for a bit. But, I do still have some games I need to play later, so not all day, okay?"

Malleus

You had zero problems with him. It actually went the smoothest with him.

When you two were having a conversation a while back, he had questioned if you had a dragon form like he did. You had explained to him that you did but you were to shy to show anyone. He had asked why and you told him that after so long of people bad mouthing you about how you look in fae form, you became hesitant for anyone to see you as a dragon.

He talked about his form in an attempt to help you feel comfortable. He also told you that you'd never need to be scared with him because he's just like you. That made it easier for you to get where you are now. Finally ready to show.

You took him to the clearing and asked him to back away so you wouldn't hit him.

The way you transformed was different from his. He created a puff of smoke around him, you made a mist of ice.

Once the mist faded, he quickly took in every detail about you. How sharper your horns are compared to his, your serrated claws. The white and blue tint of your scales while his a black with purple tints. (Well, that's what Lilia has told him.)

He immediately took to feeling your scales and tough skin, wings and tail. You didn't mind, not like you had a lot of feeling in those areas. He's a dragon to, so he knew exactly where he needed to avoid.

You were a lot more different from him than he was expecting. His scales were rough while yours were smooth. Your horns sharp, his rounded. Your wings were more angular and his were longer.

He didn't mean to get as analytical as he did, he was just really curious. After realizing how he was acting he took to talking to you. Unlike others, he could understand majority of your draconic growls and rumbling. You could actually hold a proper conversation with him.

Eventually, you began to get tired. Your eye lids drooped and you struggled to keep your head up. He saw this and told you it was fine to fall asleep.

He actually turned into his own dragon form and curled up next to you, intertwining your tails. Together, you both fell asleep there on the grass.

"I never thought that I would meet someone so like me, even if we are different. Thank you, Child of Dragons, for coming into my life."

[macabr3-barbi3]

Nothing I Can't Handle Chapter 3 [Alastor/Reader]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54337009/chapters/140790502

Lucifer comes to visit and Alastor is totally normal about it- and you decide what you want!

Tags: Reader-Insert, Alastor in Rut, Non Sex-Repulsed Alastor, Rough Sex, Possessive Sex, Biting, cunnilingus

Since you asked to be tagged! 💕 @littlecat21 @fairyv-ice and another tag for the lovely @fraugwinska bc she is the literal BEST 💝🔥

Chapter 1 🦌 Chapter 2

You should have seen it coming.

Alastor, while still seeming a bit uncomfortable with the idea of showing you attention outside of the periods of time you would spend in your bedrooms, seemed more subdued. Calmer. He no longer stalked around the hotel like a feral beast; he seemed more willing to be part of little activities and such that Charlie planned; he didn’t avoid you like the plague as he had when he first proposed his deal to you. During his ruts he was possessive and almost doting, making sure to keep you fed with homemade meals and snacks and hydrated so you no longer had to provide those things for yourself. He would drape his silk robe over your shoulders the moment you entered his room, always an admiring glance to the monogrammed ‘A’ settled over your heart.

You did occasionally get to leave his room now- his inner animal apparently sated enough with the idea that you were properly mated to allow you out of his sight for short periods of time. God forbid you spoke with anyone though- you ran into Husk one evening on the way back from the kitchen for a snack and honestly thought Alastor might eat him with the volume of his snarl before teleporting you back to his room, to his bed.

Outside of the ruts he was mostly normal. You thought nothing of the faint static feedback you heard speaking with Angel at the bar, a bit tipsy and hanging off the spider’s shoulder while you laughed. Paid no mind to the disappearance of a sinner you were having a conversation with at a party you attended with the group, turning to find him having vanished and assuming that he just wandered away. Gave Alastor a smile any time that he spooned more jambalaya into your bowl at dinner time, laughing at the way he glared at Husk if he commented on it.

You were having a great time though, still ruminating on what exactly you wanted to get out of the deal. He had stopped pestering you about it after the 3rd rut, but there wasn’t much you wanted or needed for yourself- the Hotel offered you protection and friendship, you were sexually sated, you felt no need to try to bargain for power or money. You’d been considering either asking for something small- just a token, a trifle, something to show that you didn’t really need anything in return from the deal- or something grand. Something like asking for Husk to be released, for him to find a way to end Angel’s contract with Valentino. For him to maybe at least try to see you as someone more than just what his body craves, try to see you like you see him. An object of not merely animalistic lust but affection.

You were decent at keeping your personal and business lives separate, and despite your own feelings you knew that the deal with Alastor was business. You did your best not to let your true emotions known during the times you were sequestered in his room, when he gave you that sly, knowing smile before sliding the robe off your shoulders, when he sank his teeth into your shoulder and mumbled that you were his, his mate, perfect and lovely.

You were absolutely not getting lost in that fantasy. You were helping him- that was all he expected to come of it.

That was what you thought, anyway, until the Devil did what he did best and fell right into the middle of things, fucking everything up for everyone.

Lucifer’s visits to the hotel were few and far between, but you should have anticipated some kind of tension between him and Alastor the first time he visited after you made the deal to help him with his ruts.

Charlie’s father was a sweet guy, for being the king of Hell. A little awkward, a little eccentric, a lot handsy. Not in any way that was disrespectful, of course, but he was quite liberal with his hugs and handshakes and placing of hands on a back or shoulder when standing next to someone or guiding them somewhere. For the most part you were perfectly fine with it; perhaps a blush here or there at the proximity of the man sometimes, but you had no reason to brush him off or ask him to stop. You even had some actual conversations once in a while, discussions about books and art and anything else that seemed to strike his fancy. You never thought you would have anything in common with the literal Devil.

He was making his way down the line greeting everyone, pulling you into a tight hug when you offered him your hand. “Always great to see everyone, beautiful, but especially you!” He pulls back to look at you at arms length for a moment, his eyes traveling your face. “Ya know, I’ve been meaning to ask-”

“Ah, his Majesty has seen fit to join us for an evening!” At the sound of Alastor’s voice Lucifer stiffens, pulls away from you- his question forgotten in favor of fucking with the Radio Demon. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Surely you have more pressing matters to attend to.” He gives a pointed glance to the head of a rubber duck that pokes out from the front of Lucifer’s jacket pocket.

“Well, Alastor , I’m the King of Hell and I do what I want.” He sneers the other demon’s name, shoving the duck deeper into his pocket. “If I want to join my daughter and her lovely friends for a night I’m going to do just that.”

Alastor slides an arm behind you, the warmth of his hand making a home on your lower back. “By all means, then, join us! This way, my dear,” and he guides you away from Lucifer with gentle pressure, leaving the monarch behind to greet the rest of the hotel inhabitants as Niffty climbs him like a tree.

You shoot Alastor a sideways look. His last rut had ended weeks ago, the next not meant to happen for another couple months at least. He was testy like he sometimes got right before the rut happened, where the animal instincts and unfamiliar hormones were flooding his body in preparation. Antagonizing, a little possessive.

He leads you to a lobby couch, everyone else filing in behind the two of you and finding their seats. Lucifer sits in one nearest to Charlie and gestures frantically at you to take the cushion next to him- before you can even decide, Alastor has shifted his shadow to fill the vacant seat.

“How thoughtful of you!” He crosses his legs, settling back into the softness of the sofa. “I must say, sire, I never imagined you would wish to be seated beside me but of course-”

“I wasn’t fucking talking to you,” Lucifer snarls, but Alastor has already patted the cushion next to himself for you to occupy. Once you sit, the shorter demon leans forward, trying to catch your eye. “I wanted to ask if ya still wanted to come see the library at the manor!”

“Oh gosh, I totally forgot about that.” One of your more recent conversations, a discussion of literature and lost texts, had led to Lucifer offering to show you his manor sometime, the vast library a mere portal away. “I’m absolutely still interested!”

Alastor stiffens beside you, his neck snapping with the speed he turns to look at you.

Charlie lights up with excitement. “Oh you will absolutely love it,” she exclaims, leaning so far forward in her chair you think she might fall out of it, Vaggie placing a supportive hand on her back to prevent exactly that. “Dad, can we all make a trip of it? I think everyone in the group could benefit- I can’t believe I never thought to invite everybody-”

“Whoa, Char, slow down!” He chuckles, reaching across the space between their seats to clasp her hand. “I’m not opposed to the rest of your little friends coming to visit sometime too! But I was really hoping for a little one on one time with this one here.” He shoots you a wink across the Radio Demon’s lap. “Whaddya think?”

Husk notices before you do, a muttered “ah, fuck” before surreptitiously shifting himself slightly in front of Angel Dust, who poked his head up over the feline’s shoulder to watch anyway. 

Actually, everyone notices before you do, even the oblivious King. There’s a whining feedback noise that permeates the air, Vaggie and Charlie are settled back into their seats, and Lucifer is staring in horror at Alastor, who, when you actually turn to look at him, is staring at Lucifer like he means to dismember him. His claws are dug into the fabric of his pants, his smile sharp and dangerous , occult symbols hovering in the air around him.

You feel like you should speak before Alastor does something stupid like trying to murder the king. “I-”

Just like that the moment has ended- the feedback stops, the lights return to normal, occult symbols disappearing in a wisp of smoke. Alastor stands in a fluid movement, turning on his heel and bending at the waist to get eye level with Lucifer. “What a delightful offer. I’m afraid I will be in need of our darling inhabitant’s help at that time.” His smile is tense, words forced between them.

Not one to be put off by a razor tipped grin, Lucifer grimaces at Alastor. “We haven’t even set a date yet!”

“A shame, truly.” He straightens up, holds a hand out to you that you don’t even think about not taking. “I’m afraid we have much to discuss before any other plans are made, dear.”

“There have been no plans made!”

“Farewell, everyone!” He pulls you to stand beside him and with a swirl of darkness you’ve vanished, rematerializing in his bedroom. He crowds you against the door, tall body caging yours with arms on either side of your head and leaning into the space between your shoulder and neck. “You need to choose what you want from our deal,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. “You’ve been putting it off for whatever silly reason you have, and I demand that it ends. Pick something.”

You close your eyes against the sensation of him and feel the hammering of his heart where he’s pressed against you. “It’s not- not time for your rut,” you say. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“The rut be damned. If your half of the deal is unfulfilled, if I can’t give you something that you want, then the deal is void.” He nearly snarls the words into your shoulder, the frustration apparent in his words. “You can decide to end this at any time and I can do nothing about it.”

Your hands come up to his chest, meaning to push him back, but you pause. “Alastor-”

“I have no power over this deal until your benefit is claimed. Should you have decided to entertain that kingly oaf I would have to sit idly by knowing that you are in his domain instead of mine, where you belong.”

“I didn’t know that,” you tell him, and then your brain catches up with what he’s said. “And what do you mean, ‘where I belong?’ This was just meant to be- you know, your ruts. I wouldn’t just fuck off and leave you messed up if you can’t accept anyone else but I didn’t think you wanted anything more than that.”

“I didn’t.” Alastor hisses the word into your skin, like it’s your fault you’re in this situation. “I was content to simply let these cursed ruts run through with your assistance with none of the pesky interference that feelings would bring. But you’re just so… good.” He laughs and the sound seems painful to him, vibrating against you. “You’ve thrown yourself into it with such gusto and enthusiasm, you offer me no complaints, you indulge my every whim even when we aren’t isolated from the world together, and you aren’t even getting anything out of it.”

Everything clicks into place- for you, at least. His actions towards you, his behavior towards Lucifer this evening, how possessive he’s been during the ruts and between them. Something had changed over the course of your deal; he wanted it set in stone to tie you to him, to make sure that you wouldn’t end your arrangement and run off with someone like Lucifer. To make sure you wouldn’t leave him, that you were bound to him and the deal you had made.

It should have been alarming. It wasn’t- the knowledge that he craved more, as you did, made a pulse of heat run through your body. 

“Okay,” you agree. “I see the problem, I understand- and I know what I want.” He raises his head from your shoulder finally, eyes narrowed at how agreeable you seem to be and his grin tense. You give him a sweet smile. “A kiss.”

Alastor says nothing, watching you with his suspicious gaze before he takes a deep breath. “You’ll waste the benefit of such a deal on a mere kiss? Don’t joke with me-”

“Who’s joking? I would ask for nothing if I thought you would let me. If this is what will give you the reassurance that I don’t plan on going anywhere then I’ll give it to you.” You let your eyes trail down his chest, lower your voice to a whisper. “Don’t forget to ask me where I would like my kiss to be.”

His breath catches in his throat and his gaze goes dark, raking down your frame like his claws have done so many times. “Do you know how many sinners in the hordes of Hell would have taken the opportunity to bring me to my knees with the deal that I offered you?” He brings an arm down from its position bracketing you to trail his fingers along your neck, over your breast, down your side and rest possessively on your hip. “Is that what you would ask of me as well?”

“Only temporarily.”

He chuckles low, the sound rumbling in his chest. “As you wish,” he says, and in a flash of movement he is sinking before you to his knees, hands running carefully over your body as he descends. He hooks his fingers in the top of your skirt, drags it to the floor along with your panties and then wraps a hand around your calf to prop your leg over his shoulder, bringing the heat of your wetness closer to his mouth. 

He rests his head against your thigh, hooded gaze moving from your desperately slick folds to your face, blushing and nervous despite having asked for exactly this. You had done this before, splayed in his bed with his face buried between your legs, but the angle was different- he could still see you, he wasn’t lost in the throes of his rut and mindless in his hunger for you. What if he didn’t like it when he wasn’t at the mercy of his instincts? What if he-

Alastor’s tongue, long and deft, comes out of his mouth to lick at the skin of your thigh, making you jolt and look back down, not realizing that your gaze had drifted. “You’d best pay attention, darling,” he mutters. “I might take offense should your attention wander.” 

Then he’s angling himself, slotting his mouth against you, and you would make a thousand ill-advised deals to feel this forever. His tongue slips in easily with the arousal that drips from you, the strong line of his nose brushing against your clit with every subtle shift of his head to get deeper, taste more. He pulls back enough to press a finger into you gently, sucks at the nub of your clit before sliding his tongue back into you beside his finger. The movement makes you moan, hands finally coming away from where they’ve been scrambling against the wood of the door to twist between the locks of his hair.

Accustomed to what he likes during his ruts, you run a finger up the tines of his antlers and he groans into you, low and sinful and fucking perfect. “ You,” he mumbles against you, between kisses to your slick lips and presses of his tongue to your sensitive spot, “will simply be the death of me. Look at me.”

You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed again, and they fly open; the sight that greets you threatens to be your undoing. His eyes are glazed where he watches you, antlers having branched out beyond his ears, tongue pressed flush to your slick folds. His free hand comes up to lift your other leg onto his unoccupied shoulder, the motion putting you into an awkward lean against the door as he drags you closer to his hungry mouth.

“Wait- Alastor-” You try to use your grip on his antlers to pull him away to reposition but only succeed in making him grip your thigh tighter with the hand that doesn’t have fingers inside you- with the position change he’s added another, tongue still twisting dexterously alongside.

You start to move from the door and you panic a moment, thinking you’re falling, before there’s a firm pressure at your back and hands coming to rest in your hips. When you turn your head to look you’re greeted with the dark wisp of Alastor’s shadow, glowing grin unaffected by the words that follow your sharp intake of breath. “No need to fear, darling,” says Alastor’s voice from the shadow. “It’s merely here to keep you steady.”

You let your head fall back onto the shadow’s shoulder as Alastor continues to take you apart, hands fisted in his hair and on the base of his antlers, thumb gently stroking when you can manage the mental capacity necessary to not just be at his mercy. A particularly harsh suck to your clit has your legs clenching around his head, inner walls spasming on his fingers and tongue as he pulls you towards the edge of orgasm. “Fuck, Alastor-”

The moan that responds comes from the shadow but vibrates through your body starting between your legs. “Let me hear you, my dear,” comes his hot whisper next to your ear. “We don't often focus on you like this, do we? Just that one time during my rut. An egregious error- one I mean to rectify immediately.”

He angles your hips again, pulls his tongue from the clench of your body to focus on your bundle of nerves. “To have you during my periods of need is no longer enough- I wish to have you beneath me, around me, always. The thought of losing you to that regal imbecile drives me to madness that claws at my very soul. I’ll have to be sure to lay my claim in a way that is… indisputable.” His voice rasps next to your ear, the shadow a perfect transmitter of his thoughts and words while his mouth is occupied.

“Alastor-” You mean to warn him of your impending release, the coil of tension that threatens to snap with the briefest of pressure. “Please, I need-”

“Go on, dearest,” his shadow purrs while his tongue circles your clit in hard, fast swipes. “Come in my mouth, show me how beautiful you are in your pleasure-”

Your body shakes in the hold of Alastor and his shadow, voice leaving you in a strangled cry as you obey, your release making your entire body tensing wherever it can- your hands in Alastor’s hair, legs around his head, cunt around his fingers. He licks you gently through it before he pulls back slowly, expression satisfied looking up at you before he lowers your legs to the ground, standing and making sure he has a solid hold on you when his shadow vanishes. “How are your legs, darling, can you stand?” He walks you over to the bed and lays you on the mattress, an admiring glance cast across your frame. “I’ll never grow tired of seeing you splayed across my sheets.”

“I’ll never be tired of being splayed across them; looks like our interests align, how handy is that?” He meets your smile with his customary one, and you hold a hand out to him and pull him closer, quickly working the buttons of his shirt and letting him slide the garment off his body. “Do you know why I agreed to the deal with you?” You wait for his bemused nod before you undo the button of his trousers. “It wasn’t anything to do with your power or what you could offer me in return. Or even the orgasms, as wonderful as they’ve been. So do you know why?”

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me,” he murmurs as you shimmy his pants down his legs, hissing when you drag his undergarments down as well and his erection springs free. 

“I said yes,” you say, pulling him down so he kneels on the edge of the bed, “because I wanted a chance to be closer to you. That’s what I’ve been getting the whole time- I didn’t need anything else. Though the kiss was great,” you say with a wink, wrapping a hand around him and guiding the head of him into your slick heat.

“Fuck-” Alastor cuts himself off with a hiss as he sinks into you, fucking into your pliant body and grinding down when he’s sunk to the hilt. “Delightful woman- you always surprise me. So wet and tight around my cock every time you take me. So lovely and perfect, my-” He stops himself, burying his face in the space between your neck and shoulder, his favorite place to be. 

“Your mate,” you encourage him. “I will be- if you’ll have me. Even without the deal- ahh, fuck -” You interrupt yourself with a moan when he angles his hips, hitting the sweet spot inside your body. “I’m not going anywhere- I would have helped you regardless of the deal, regardless of the favor you asked of me.” You rock your hips up into him, let him reach further inside. “Whatever you will give me I’ll take, Alastor. Let me be yours- always. That’s what I want.”

“It’s yours,” he groans, “I would give you anything , darling. Anything.” He fucks himself into you harder, growling into your skin. “Let me give it to you.”

“Please,” you beg him, your second release a hair trigger away. “Fuck, Alastor please- I’m yours, your mate, please-”

“You’re mine, fucking- mine, always, fuck-” He spends himself with a snarl in the tight heat of your body and you follow shortly behind, a cry of Alastor’s name on your lips as you let yourself fall apart in his embrace. His teeth pierce the skin of your neck where they always do- and really, you should ask him about that, find out if it's a cannibal thing or a deer thing so you can decide if you’re less okay with it, even as hot as it is.

The only sounds for a bit are harsh exhales as you both try to catch your breath, tracing your fingers up and down the exposed skin of his back, pausing every now and then when you come across a scar. “This was… different,” he says quietly. “From the times during the rut, I mean. The ache, the need for you still burning but not through every fiber of my being in a way that cannot be ignored. I feel more in control of myself with you now, without it.”

“Which you like?”

“Very much so. My ruts are enjoyable with you, darling, but the feeling of being so lost in my baser instincts can be overwhelming at times.” He pulls back from your shoulder to watch your face as he speaks. “You being so accommodating to it helped and of course I don’t wish to stop, but I do believe I prefer us like this.”

“I do too. Speaking of baser instincts though, are you going to turn into some jealous beast again if I want to visit Lucifer’s library with everyone else?”

He heaves a deep sigh. “I suppose despite his obvious interest in what belongs to me I won’t stop you. A proper chaperone should get the message across to his royal idiocy, as should my mark on your neck.” He brings a hand up to run his fingers over the pulsing bite he’s left, and you shiver at the feeling.

“You should really be nicer to him.” You tilt your head up to press against his chest and listen to the steady thumping of his heart. “I have no interest in the King of Hell; you demand enough of my time.”

“As it should be- I did tell you I would take offense if your attention wandered.” Silence again for a few minutes until the demon atop you speaks, his voice rumbling pleasantly where he’s pressed against you. “You know, I can feel in our bond that the ‘kiss’ you requested doesn't count for our deal” When you shoot him a confused look he rubs his thumb against your hip bone. “I do believe it needs to be something tangible, as much fun as we had. Have you any other ideas?”

You sigh. “Dammit. Okay, just- something small then. I really don’t need anything else out of this.” You think for a moment, still tracing the scars on his back when an idea comes to you. “What about something like a bracelet? Or a ring or something- a piece of jewelry I can wear that will alert me if you’re hurt somehow.”

Alastor turns his head to watch you with a raised eyebrow. “What would you want with such a thing?”

“The whole point of this deal was to make sure that you were in peak, ‘not-sexually-frustrated’ form to take on the Vees, right? And that hasn’t happened yet so when it does I want to make sure you’re safe,” you tell him, and he hides his face in your neck again. “I meant it, Alastor- I care about you, I want to know that you’re okay. Always. That’s what a good mate does, right? I brushed up on my ‘deer mating habits’ knowledge.”

You can feel his smile. “Yes, I suppose that is true. Consider it done- for real this time.” He snaps his fingers and with a pulse of green magic there’s a silver band on your right pinky finger, an etched design that looks like Alastor’s antlers on them. “Should I ever find myself in danger or injured, the ring will alert you. I’m not sure what you expect to be able to do with that but regardless- our deal is officially set.”

You admire it for a few moments before humming an affirmative and letting your arm wrap back around him, fingers resuming their journey across the expanse of his back muscles.

“This deal could span decades,” Alastor finally mumbles into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. “You truly think that your feelings on the matter- your feelings about me- won’t change in that time?”

You sigh into his chest, allowing him to maneuver the two of you so you lay in the bed normally. “They won’t. And even if they did, the deal is done- I collected on my benefit,” you say in a sing-song tone, with a wink and a wave of your ringed hand. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Yes, well. I’m sure that’s nothing I can’t handle,” he says, tightening his grip around your waist, and you muffle your laughter into his chest, having finally gotten what you wanted all along.

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Y'all this chapter took so long to write. This is NOT proofread once again me and Grammarly were beefing because she doesn't understand fanfiction. Nonetheless, it is 12 am MST and here it is. Now for an overall warning, this chapter talks about so much that I was to let everyone know that I meant for this to be a dark series. That was my goal. I'm so sorry if some of these topics seem like they're too heavy for you. If you feel overwhelmed, disgusted, or just find it hard to read please remember that it is okay and you are loved. This chapter mentions miscarriages, eating disorders, gunshot wounds, suicide, etc. I love you all and stay healthy. I will try to post my 500 followers post soon! Not proofread because eepy. YOU'LL read my chapter unedited and you'll like it! (hopefully). Thanks for reading. -Love you all, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #3 > Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

WARNING: miscarriage, eating disorder, catholic guilt, bisexuality mention??, period underwear, stalking, marital problem, divorce, sexual harassment, guns, knives, gunshot wound, This bitch shoots someone, suicide, mention of a skull, blood so much blood.

Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days.

Word Count: 6,296

Seven to Four Years Prior- January 10, 20XX

Heather had to get out of Norfolk. She felt suffocated under her father’s watchful gaze and helicopter ways. He was a hard man to love and hard to be around in general. When he drank, she used to pray that he would forget about her, so she became quiet. She didn’t have many friends here anyway, so she took you out of the equation and knew no one else would know her name. 

So, with a heavy heart, she moved her life away to Richmond. She changed her major to nursing and killed that quiet girl from Norfolk. She fabricated real lies that sometimes she couldn’t separate from reality. She stared at girls silently with longing and played it off as admiration if she was ever caught. Catholic guilt stopped it from growing into anything else. 

She was slow to open up about her feelings and showed people an extroverted sorority girl nursing graduate who liked to go to bars on the weekend and let men’s hands pull at her hips desperately in dark corners. 

Now, at twenty-four, she only thought about one thing: how good her stomach looked in this dress. She had thinned out tremendously since the move. At first, it started due to not having enough money to eat anywhere except the shitty university cafeteria. Then, it warped into something else. During its worst moments, she would log her calories or purge food moments after eating it. She could look into mirrors afterward and feel she was achieving something remarkable. Then, sometimes, she would also look at her face and think, ‘Is that what I look like’? 

But tonight, she wanted to do something different, something fun. Having told her sorority sisters this, they all jumped on board quickly, agreeing to meet at the bar around 10 p.m. that Saturday. They were thirty minutes late. 

Heather was gently fiddling with the hem of her short black dress, her eyes flickering towards the entrance every so often as she waited for them to walk in. This year, she wanted to be happier, less suffering in silence, and a little more smiley. So yes, she wanted to have fun with people she called friends. Despite all her efforts, she was sure they could see right through her sometimes. She swallowed nervously as she nursed a margarita. 

The next time she looked at her phone, she saw texts from her former sisters saying that work had been hectic and that they needed to reschedule for another time. So now, Heather Alexander was right back at square one: alone. She glanced down at her dress and frowned slightly at its tight material. It was the kind of dress that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable. Something always felt wrong with that. Heather always secretly knew that she felt an attraction to women and men, but she always felt guilty at the thought. 

She sighed as she debated her next move when she saw him. He was the prettiest man she had ever seen. He had soft masculine features that almost looked slightly feminine, a uniform clad against his chest, and a charming boyish smile as their eyes met. Heather whispered a silent prayer that he would like her as he approached her and introduced himself as David Hernandez. How could she not fall for him instantly? Deep brown eyes, pink lips, dark skin, and a low rumble in his voice made her feel like giggling. 

It wasn’t long before the two of them were getting married. They spent a few months together in domestic bliss. He got some time off from work, and she kept her last name, and they were… happy. 

At least they were happy for six months, and then her world shattered around her as David was deployed to England. She cried herself to sleep the night she heard, and David stroked her back softly to calm her. Heather didn’t want him to leave her and see someone better overseas. She was sure that women would throw themselves at David’s feet, begging him to kiss them, touch them, fuck them, like whores in the street of Babylon. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, looking at him the way she looked at him, talking to him the way she did in his ear late at night. She begged him to try and find some way out of it, scared to lose what was rightfully hers, but he couldn’t. He left that week.

At first, it was just six months, but then it stretched out into a year of deployment—a year spent being faithful to a man across the Atlantic. She called him when she had time, wrote letters to him, sent him emails, and constantly contacted him in any way she could. 

When he got home, it was clear that all her efforts had gone to waste. David was distant. He would sulk in corners of their home on his phone. He would lament on and on about how England felt like his home and how he missed it. She couldn’t stand it. This house they bought together was his home, and it always had been. Why was he struggling to see that? 

The more he talked of his deployment, the more Heather became frustrated with him. Then he started to go out more. At first, it was just to speak with some Army friends on base a few spread-out weekends in the month. Then it was every weekend. 

Heather found that the only thing that could keep him home was sex. So they had sex constantly, like animals in heat. Disgusting and rutting against each other any moment they could. However, the second that it was over, he would withdraw again. He would get dressed and say he had to get to the base. 

Then he was coming late, drunk and slurring, as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and woke her up with sensual touches and dirty talk. She took this as a good sign he was coming home to his wife. He was fucking her and no one else. But slowly, he stopped coming home. He would call her late at night to tell her he would stay with a friend for the night. The following day, he would come home smelling sweet. 

Heather felt lost, searching desperately for something to save her marriage. She was devoting all of her love to a man who no longer wanted it, and she could feel him falling out of love with her. 

Her saving grace was the morning that she found out she was pregnant. She called David with tears in her eyes and told him softly over the phone, and she heard him laugh for the first time in months. And just like that, he was back. 

His soft touches, kisses in the grocery store, and dancing with her in the living room were all back. Her devoted and dotting husband had returned home to her. She could feel the dark cloud of the past couple of months dissipate and the sun shining on her. 

That light lasted a good three months. Heather sat up straight as pain coursed through her body, thundering in her abdomen as she shook David awake with tears streaming down her face. Something was wrong with the baby; she knew it. He drove her to the hospital as fast as he could, but it was too late. She had already miscarried.

Heather took a small sabbatical from work and took time to think about her life. She would stare out of their living room window blankly for hours. David was attentive at first, coming home after work and tending to Heather’s broken spirit. But he soon became bored of that routine. 

When Heather returned to the pediatric oncology unit, David was notified that he was being deployed again to Okinawa, Japan. He was packed and ready by the end of that month. She didn’t see him off at the airport, picking up an extra shift at the hospital to distract her from the fact that he was leaving her again. 

David called her two months into his leave to tell her he wasn’t happy. He wanted a divorce. Then he hung up before she could get a word in. That’s when it all started. Her obsession with consuming anything romantic was almost debilitating. She would visit bookstores and attend readings at the public library, sometimes calling off from work to sit at home with her romances. That’s when she saw you again. She thought that you would have stayed in Norfolk. You had once told her that you loved the water. You liked how it could look gloomy and promising on different days, with mist rolling off the surface. 

She tried not to talk to you. She did. She didn’t want to scare you away like she scared David away. No, no, no, she was sure it would all work out this time. So she loved you from a comfortable distance, watching you from her car on the weekends at night, leaving you her gifts on your windshield—a silent courting. 

She couldn’t help herself on Valentine’s Day. She had slipped into Nicole Smith’s room without Adeline recognizing her, and she gave the table with Adeline’s purse on it a gentle knock with her hip. Heather apologized quickly, telling her not to worry. She promptly dropped to the floor to gather the spilled contents from Adeline’s bag, and she slipped a labeled key connected to a keychain that read ‘or die’ into her pocket. Once she had copied the key, she quickly returned the original to its owner. 

She felt electric when she entered your apartment on Valentine's Day in a dark outfit, a hood covering her face, and four dozen rose petals in a container. She breathed in your perfume as she perused through your bathroom. She traced the spine of every book she could touch on your shelves. She gently dove into your dirty hamper and quickly pulled out a pair of dirty underwear, blood on the inside of them as she shamelessly slipped them into her pocket. Then she got to work spreading the petals throughout your apartment. By the end, she stared at her work, panting lightly as she lay across on your rose-covered bed. 

She had to have you. 

Present Day- March 5, 20XX

Derek and Spencer managed to get to the public library an hour before closing. They pulled your coworker, Valerie, aside. She was a pretty brunette, glasses resting on her face delicately as she stared at the two men with a soft look of disappointment. She knew that if they were here, they had yet to find you, and the thought made her feel like breaking down in a fit of tears. She fought the urge to cry as Derek asked her a question, sliding a copy of the Polaroid you had received on your windshield. “Do you happen to remember anyone coming in with a Polaroid camera?” 

Valerie stared at the Polaroid with a soft frown, trying to remember something helpful. Spencer spoke quickly, “Sometime around January fourteenth, maybe?”

Valerie chewed on her bottom lip before the memory washed over her, “Yes! Yes, oh gosh, she was blonde, I think. I remember telling her we didn’t like flash photography in the library. I only saw the back of her head, but I remember the back of her head and the flash of a camera.” 

Spencer tilted his head slightly and nodded at Valerie’s words, processing the information silently.“Are you sure it was a woman?” Spencer asked softly before Valarie enthusiastically nodded. 

“Yes, it was definitely a woman who took the picture.” She confirmed in a soft voice before she looked down at the Polaroid with a gentle tenderness in her eyes. “She baked me cookies last week, you know?” She looked up at the two men with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. “My cat is sick, and she made me cookies to make me feel better.” She laughed sadly as the tears started to fall. 

Derek placed a soft hand over Valerie’s and gave her a tender look, “We’re looking for her,” The words caused a shaky sigh to escape Valarie’s lips as she pulled her hand away quickly and stood up. 

Her cheeks were red as she cried out a soft “Excuse me.” before she turned on her heel and hurriedly left the room. 

Spencer picked up the picture and stared at you in the photo. The way your hair shined in the fluorescent light, your eyes and smile trained directly on the person you were talking to. You were personable, and the thought made his stomach turn. He looked over at Derek as Spencer handed the photo back to him. 

The two men walked out of the library silently, and Derek let out a soft sigh as he watched the sun starting to settle against the horizon. Spencer walked beside him with his hand stuffed in his pockets, and his head hung a little low in thought. 

Derek broke the silence first, “We should get back to the station to see if JJ and Rossi have anything,” 

And then they rode back in contemplative silence after that. 

March 6, 20XX

You weren’t sure if it was day or night anymore. All you knew was that you were starting to feel uneven. Every creak of wood, settling of pipes, and rumble of the house had your back straightening against the bed. You were sure that Heather would fly in at any moment and touch you. 

A million options weighed heavy in your mind at the scenario; you could fight back again, but that would get you sliced again or worse. You could go with it, zone out as much as possible, let her have her way with you. That option made your head spin with nausea. You had to find a way to get out. 

You licked at the gash on your lip, gently exploring the cut with your tongue until you could feel the warmth of blood again. You pushed your tongue back into your mouth and looked over at your day-old apple on the nightstand, half-eaten and brown. You tenderly took a small bite that wouldn’t require you to move your lips too much. 

You didn’t have much of the day-old meal left; a half-full water and this apple was all you had. You chewed softly, fighting off the nausea that threatened to creep in due to the morphine. 

You tried to remember anything that could be helpful to you. It was hard to think of high doses of morphine. You had played with the knob often; when you were ready to sleep, it would go up, and when you were up, it would turn down. But lately, you just wanted it to be turned up. 

You tried to think of when Heather came into the pink room. She always stuffed her keys into her pockets. A plan was in the making: Get her out of her clothes, and you could get the keys. 

You nodded a little despite your discomfort with the idea of her touching you again. You just had to seduce her a little, which should be easy considering that she was ‘in love’ with you. The only problem with that plan was that you had a mangled ankle and a body running on morphine; she didn’t. Heather’s temper was quick when you talked back, and rage followed if you did something against her liking. 

Maybe begging would work. No, you tried that already. Why would begging work? Perhaps you could hurt yourself just enough to force her to take you to the hospital. But that didn’t work either; she was a nurse. She wouldn’t incriminate herself like that, would she? Maybe total submission would be the key. 

Convince her that you love her back and somehow ask to be let out with her supervision, but that could take forever. 

You started to cry softly as you set down the core of the apple and laid down, wishing to pull your legs to your chest, but the pain of one ankle and the chain around the other made that physically impossible. 

You cried until you felt your eyelids become heavy, tears still slipping out of your eyes as you fell into a morphine-induced sleep. 

March 6, 20XX

JJ paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board, occasionally flicking her eyes over to the photos pinned to it as she tried to chase what was likely to be a loose end. The number that had called yours and left a message full of sobs had been a burner. 

Spencer had tried to tell her to eat something this morning, but as the clock’s hands crept towards nine a.m., she still didn’t feel hungry enough to try. She sighed out another frustrated huff as Emily appeared in front of her. “If you sigh like that one more time, I think I might have to force a croissant down your throat.” 

JJ gave her another dramatic sigh before she put her hands on her hips: “I’m sorry, I just feel like we have no leads. We know it's a woman, but Adeline isn’t likely to be the unsub, and all her coworkers have alibis. It just feels like we are running around with our heads cut off.” 

Emily smiled and gave her a gentle nod of understanding, “I get it, but you pacing around like this isn’t helping anyone. Let’s get you a drink, coffee, or maybe something to eat.” 

“People who eat breakfast consistently are twenty-five percent likely to be more productive at work,” Spencer spoke up from a desk not too far from the two women. 

Emily pointed over at Spencer, “See? You’re making Spencer freak out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Spencer frowned at the comment before looking back at a file on the desk. 

JJ’s smile was slow as she let her hands fall to her side and let out a soft, “Fine.” She agreed as Emily walked over to the precinct's breakroom, JJ following her. 

Derek was clicking a pen obnoxiously in an off-beat rhythm. He was about to say something when his phone started to ring on his desk. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?” 

“Hi, uhm, is this Special Agent Morgan?” Adeline’s voice was shaky through the phone. 

Derek relaxed slightly as he set down his pen. “Yeah, Adeline. Did something happen?” He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she would call the number he had left with her if nothing happened. He was too focused on the case to think of any other reason anyway. 

“Yeah, maybe? I was talking to one of the nurses about something today, and I recognized one of them. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but it was an old friend from college. She was more Y/N’s friend than mine, but I talked to her a little.” Adeline’s voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “I mentioned that she was missing, and Heather had a weird reaction. She smiled for a second. I swear, she said she was sad to hear that, but she looked… well, for a second, it just seemed like maybe she was happy.” 

Derek picked the pen back up again, ready to write down a name. It wasn’t much, but they could visit her. “What was her name again?” 

“Gosh, it was Heather something… Heather, Heather, Heather,” She bit her lip as she tried to think back. “Alexander! Heather Alexander.” 

Derek wrote it down and muttered quickly, “We'll look into it, thanks.” As a goodbye, he let Adeline quickly thank him over the phone before he hung up and called Penelope. 

Penelope, quick as always, picked up on the first ring. “Center of divine intellect,” was her greeting. 

“Good morning to you, too, baby girl. Listen, could you get Heather Alexander's address? Adeline Smith called saying that she had a strange reaction to hearing about our girl going missing.” 

“Easy,” was her answer before Derek could hear the sounds of keys being tapped against and a soft humming sound emitting from Penelope’s lips as she pulled up the address: “4432 Lake Margaret Pl., Chesterfield, Virginia.” 

“You are an angel, Garcia.” 

“I always aim to please,” 

“And you never fail, baby girl.” 

JJ had begged Derek with her eyes to let her go with Spencer. It was just an interview, not even an interrogation, just to see if the connection between you and Heather went deeper than old college friends. So why shouldn’t she go? 

Derek wasn’t one to put up a big fight, so he let her with Spencer. It was only thirty minutes away anyway, so if they needed the team it wouldn’t take too long for them to show up, right? He stayed behind on the phone with Garcia, who was doing her best to see if Heather had any criminal history on her record. 

As the car rolled around the cul de sac, Spencer’s eyes struggled to look away from the plethora of plants in the fenced-in front yard. Pink anemones were scattered amongst daffodils, and what looked like daisies were blooming side by side. JJ rolled the car to a stop, parking it against the curb. 

“Pretty yard,” She muttered as she took the keys out of the ignition. Spencer nodded a little; he had to admit that Spring came in a close second to Fall as the superior season in his mind. The flowers growing after frozen earth had kept them dormant, the welcomed feeling of the sun getting slightly warmer. It was still somewhat chilly at ten in the morning as he stepped out of the car with JJ, but he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day weather-wise. 

His head tilted back a little as he stole a glance at the blue sky above them and smiled before stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head toward the house. JJ smiled and walked beside him, happy to be out of the precinct and in the early morning air.

Heather was washing the paring knife she had used on you in her kitchen sink, facing a large bay window in her living room. She swiped at the hardened blood and frowned a little at the memory. Why was she so upset with you? She could hardly remember herself when she got angry like that. 

It was almost fitting, her flying off the handle over something so simple as you not being ready for her love. Was she no better than a man? Had she gotten so accustomed to men's vile and sharp ways that she had somehow forgotten how to be gentle? 

She felt her hands shake as a voice came into her head, whispering her worst fear: She was worse than her father. 

She let tears blur her vision at the thought as she rubbed the knife harder with a sponge, shaking her head quickly. No, no, no, no. She was not like that man. She was not cold like that man. She was lovable. She felt love. She felt overwhelming love for you. She had felt overwhelming love for David. 

Her downward spiral was cut short as she lifted her weeping head and saw a black SUV parked in front of her yard. She quickly wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled lightly as she gently slid the knife into the dishwasher, watching two people get out of the van. 

Heather’s eyes were glued to the blonde at first, pretty and fair in the morning sun before her eyes flickered to the man beside her. She recognized him immediately. She was sure it was the same man she almost ran into at the hospital yesterday. 

She dried her hands as she walked around the kitchen island. As they got closer, her head arched to see how close they were. Panic was running through her veins. Her gun was in her room upstairs, loaded. She just had to get upstairs; her feet were quick to try and run upstairs and stash it somewhere close before they could ring the doorbell. Just as the idea seemed plausible enough, the bell rang through the house. 

Heather let out a silent scream of panic as she smoothed out her shirt, fixed her hair, and caught a quick glance of her pretty face in the mirror near the front door before she swung it open with a pleasantly fake smile on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned both of their faces as she smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hi. My name is Jennifer Jareau. This is Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could ask you some questions.” JJ spoke clearly as she flashed her badge at Heather, a slight smile on her lips as she looked into Heather’s eyes. Spencer recognized her, finding it strange that he had almost run directly into the beautiful woman at the hospital just the day before. 

Heather laughed softly and nodded as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let the two agents inside. “Of course,” Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the edge of the door tightly, half tempted to slam it directly in their faces and go upstairs to shoot Catherine and herself to freedom.  

They weren’t on to her yet; she was sure of that– especially given their lack of people– just two against one. She was quick to shut the door behind them before leading the two of them into her living room. “Can I get you two any water? I have some juice.” 

The two agents shook their heads in a polite ‘no, thank you’ way as they sat on the sofa across from Heather. Heather sat on a chair with a soft “Okay” as she eyed them carefully. “Am I in some kind of trouble here?” 

“No, We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an old college friend of yours, Y/N L/N.” 

“Well,” She smoothed out her long skirt slowly, remembering to breathe normally, “What about her?” 

“Had you been in contact with her at all? Did she mention anything about someone following her?” 

Heather let out a gentle laugh as she shook her head, “I haven’t really had the time to reach out to old friends lately,” 

Spencer’s interest peaked as he joined the conversation, “How come?” 

Heather’s gaze became a little pointed at the question. Of course, the man has to ask her, “I lost a baby recently, and my husband was deployed soon after, so forgive me for not becoming pen pals with someone I knew at eighteen.” The words were direct and vicious, but she couldn’t help herself. She blew out a soft sigh before she let out a gentle and timid, “I’m sorry,” 

Spencer licked his lips nervously as he leaned back against the sofa slightly, trying to resist the urge to disappear into it. Self-isolation wasn’t uncommon for women who had recently suffered from a miscarriage. That feeling more than likely increased as her support system was ripped away from her. 

JJ gently touched Spencer’s knee before she cut the tension. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Alexander. We’re just trying to piece some information together.” 

Heather ran a hand through her hair before she gave JJ a tight-lipped smile. “I understand that; I’m sorry. Would it be alright if I ran upstairs for some medicine? I feel a headache coming on.” She spoke fast with a tense voice, trying her hardest to pass it off as pain with a rub of her temple. When JJ nodded, she stood up and headed upstairs as calmly as she could manage. 

JJ looked over at Spencer, watching Heather walk away carefully. “She seems angrier with men than anything.” Her voice was slightly amused before Spencer frowned. 

“Doesn’t mean she’s in the clear; stalking is often a form of intense infatuation, but it's also used as a way to control something. She’s struggling with two things that could be our stressors: she’s craving control or dependency. She-” The soft ringing of his phone cut off his whispered rant. He answered it, happy that at least it was just Garcia calling, hoping for a better lead than his ongoing hunch. 

He stood and looked at JJ, who was mouthing for him to go outside, “Hey,” He answered as he slipped out of the front door. 

“Hey, nothing is coming up anywhere on Heather’s record for criminal activity—sorority sister, wife, nurse, clean as a whistle. However, considering we don’t have much right now, I decided to see if she had any warnings at work.” 

“Right,” Spencer looked over his shoulder at the front door as he walked away to stand in front of the garage. 

“Well, last month, she got a write-up for stealing some morphine; her supervisor forced her to go see a therapist after Heather said that she was using it for some leftover pain she was experiencing after her miscarriage. But Heather never showed,” 

Spencer was walking a little further down the driveway as he listened to Garcia talk on the phone, counting the number of windows in the house. His eyes narrowed slightly to try and block out the sun before he looked away. He licked his bottom lip gently before acting on his little hunch, “Could you check her credit report? See if there are any purchases that you can find that seem odd around March third?” 

“Could I check her credit report,” Garcia repeated with a laugh, “Hold on, boy genius.” 

Spencer could see the top of JJ’s head from the bay window, and he turned away slightly, finding ease in the fact that she was still there. Something felt off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She went to the store, but nothing crazy. Bought,” He could hear typing, “Bleach and rubbing alcohol.” 

Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek as he asked, ��When was her husband deployed again? Did she buy anything from a florist around Valentine’s Day?” 

“Husband was deployed December first and,” she hummed gently before she sighed, “Bought some flowers on Valentine’s day, rose petals.” 

Spencer felt that feeling when something connected in his brain, a rush of adrenaline as he felt his hunch slowly turn into a plausible accusation. The roses were just that, roses. But the bleach and rubbing alcohol? That’s a recipe for chloroform right there. And finally, Heather’s husband was deployed at the beginning of December, stressor number two. It made him feel slightly hopeful about walking back into the house. “Thanks, Garcia.” He said as his feet reached the end of the driveway. He hung up the phone, walking back towards the house at a fast pace when the familiar and startling 'crack' of a gun reached his ears. 

His hands drew his gun out of the holster, running back towards the house. He pushed the front door open with his foot as he heard the thumping of footsteps running on the stairs. He rounded the corner to the living room before lowering his gun as he saw JJ bleeding from a bullet wound in her thigh. 

“JJ!” His voice panicked as he reached her groaning side, kneeling low to the ground next to her. “What happened?” 

JJ shook her head quickly, “I’m calling for backup. She ran upstairs. She didn’t even try to,” her eyes squeezed shut tightly as a sharp pain rattled through her inner thigh, “Just go!” She urged him as she reached down for the phone in her back pocket, her free hand pressing on her gushing wound to try and slow the bleeding. 

Spencer’s eyes were filled with uncertainty as he let out a soft, “No, I’ll stay here until everyone gets-” 

“Spencer, go!” 

Spencer felt his spine straighten at the second command. He gave her a grim nod as he stood up, readied his gun, and started for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and calculated as he ascended, pink light flooding the floor as he approached the top of the stairs. He could hear gentle begging in a voice too soft and thick to be Heather’s. 

“Please, Heather, please, my love. Don’t, please don’t.” Repetitive cries for mercy made his legs move faster until he approached an opened door. The regular-looking bedroom door gave way to a steel one just behind it before revealing the scene of what looked like a demented love nest. 

Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the scene. Gun pointed carefully at Heather as he spoke, “Heather, put down the gun. You love her. You don’t want to hurt her. You know that.” 

Heather jumped a little at the sound, her pistol clicking softly as her sweaty palms tightened their grip. She was quick to turn her body around to face him with the gun aimed directly at him as she spoke. “Don’t pretend like you know me or her. You don’t know our relationship. She wants this just as much as I do.” 

“You know she doesn’t look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.” 

Heather’s eyes drifted to you, chained to the bed, watching as you hyperventilate softly. Heather felt her bottom lip quiver before she looked back at Spencer. “She’s just scared. You’re making me do this. She knows you’re making me do this.” 

Spencer’s eyes drifted to your crying form on the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet as you stared at him with wild eyes. He glanced over at the morphine drip next to your bed before his eyes settled back on Heather. His lips parted to say something more, but she cut him off quickly, “Put your gun down, and I won’t do it.” 

Heather’s body language gives her away as she motions for him to put his gun down, her eyes crazed and large, her hands shaking and rigid against her pistol. “I’m not going to-” 

“Put your fucking, gun down, or she dies,” Heather yells so loud that it elicits a soft sob from your lips, your arms coming up to protect your head, ready for the shot to be administered and for your brains to be blown out in front of Spencer in that very moment. 

Spencer holds up both of his hands at that; he swears he can hear the soft sounds of sirens in the distance as he lowers his gun to the floor slowly, his foot gently kicking the gun away with a soft ‘clack.’

“Now you,” his calm voice says as he raises his hands, inching closer. Tears stream down Heather’s face now as she shakes her head gently. 

“I have to,” Is her tear-soaked reply as she keeps the barrel pointed at Spencer’s head, her fingers twitching lightly as they move for the trigger. Your shaking voice cuts through the scene, and Spencer is pretty sure it’s the only thing that is stopping him from diving for his gun a few feet from him. 

“Heather, baby,” Your voice betrays you as you speak the pet name, coming off a little too forced, but you continue anyway. “He can help. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. We can be happy, and we can get away. He can help, right?” Your arms relax around your head slowly as you look over at Spencer, who nods silently. 

“I can, but you have got to put your gun down.” 

Heather chokes out a strangled sob as she looks over at you, watching as you smile at her. You know it’s forced, but Heather can only view it as the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—a great parting gift. 

She feels spit thick on her tongue as she evaluates her options: kill Spencer and go to jail. Kill you, and she might not have enough time to kill herself. Killing herself seems like the best plan out of the three, so she holds her gun steady at Spencer as she looks at your now bleeding smile. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost so human that you feel your heart clench in pity before that clenching feeling turns into pure anxiety as you see the movement of her arm. Spencer’s feet aren't quick enough for him to tackle her to the ground as Heather raises the gun to her temple and pulls the trigger. 

Her body drops to the edge of the bed, sliding down it as you feel blood coat your legs. Your ears are ringing, and your mouth is wide open as you scream. At least you think you’re screaming. You can’t hear much but a pathetic muffle of the sound as the ringing in your ears increases.

Your hands are quick to try and wipe off chunks of what looks to be part of a skull off of your exposed stomach, and you can’t seem to stop staring at Heather’s limp body at the edge of the bed. The image of her mangled head oozing blood has you gagging softly, feeling yourself getting ready to be sick before you feel two hands cup your face. 

You’re screaming or sobbing; you can’t tell anymore as Spencer Reid’s face blocks the view. He keeps your face steady in his hands as you try to read his lips, your breathing heavy as he strokes your hair gently. His voice creeps in through the ringing until you eventually hear the soft repetition of, “I got you, look at me. Just keep looking at me; you’re safe.”

You feel your breathing slow, your arms reaching up to grab him before your eyes roll back as your body slumps against Spencer’s, and everything is engulfed in black.

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