#She's only in it for a few minutes but at least she don't die

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

Actress Frankie Hill as Lainie in Friday the 13th Part 5: A New Beginning

[supernovasilence]

Ok we all talk about the Pevensies' trauma at returning to Earth at the end of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and their trouble readjusting to life there again but think of all the funny/good parts too

They return from the country, and their mom is surprised when all her children hug her at the station. Even Peter, who thinks he's all grown up. Even Edmund, who went away surly and withdrawn. She doesn't know her children haven't seen her in over a decade.

They miss their dear Cair Paravel, but they absolutely do not miss its chamber pots. Indoor plumbing is amazing.

It takes a while to remember how modern technology works, though. How many heart attacks did the siblings give their parents or the professor because they walked into a dark room only to turn on the light and find the children sitting there in the dark. (They were by the window! There was still plenty of light from the sunset! They would have gotten a candle in a minute!) The kids sheepishly remember oh yeah electricity is a thing.

(Edmund has a new electric torch in Prince Caspian. He was so excited to get that torch. Almost more excited than you'd think a kid his age would be, and his parents expect Peter at least to tease him, but the siblings all agree light in your hand at the touch of a switch is terrific.)

Suddenly getting really high grades in some subjects and terrible in others. Their grammar, reading comprehension, spelling, vocab, even penmanship? Amazing. History and geography? They don't remember anything. One time in class Susan forgets Earth is round and wants to die.

Also they can never remember what the date is supposed to be because Narnia uses different months and years. They can estimate time really well by looking at the sun though, and Edmund at least can always tell which way is north etc without thinking about it (again, using the sun)

Okay but how many times did they go to pick something up or reach something and realize they are so much shorter and less muscled than they expect? It's a common sight to see Peter climbing on counters to reach a top cabinet, grumbling about how he's High King this is demeaning. (No he never takes the extra five seconds to grab a stool. He will climb that shelf.)

Peter and Susan being delighted because they are no longer almost thirty. (In a few years Edmund and Lucy will tease them about being old and their parents will not understand.)

Lucy doesn't have to deal with periods anymore for a few years yet. Susan might not either. Heck yeah

Lucy loves to climb into her siblings' laps and be cuddled. In Narnia she eventually she grew too big, but now she is small and snuggleable again. Peter is her favorite, and if she's upset, he'll tickle her and tell bad jokes until she's smiling again, but really she loves cuddling with all her family. She grew up without her parents; how many times did she just want to crawl into her mom's lap and her mom was a world away? Imagine the first time she realizes she can now. Or, imagine one day, a cold and grey sort of day, when the rain is pattering against the windows, and it sounds like the rain on the windows of the Professor's house, that first day they went exploring. It sounds like the day they played hide and seek. It sounds so like the rain on the windows of Cair Paravel, that if Lucy closes her eyes she can imagine she's back there, having tea and chatting with Mr. Tumnus before the fireplace of her room, and soon the rain will stop, and they will go out on the balcony and wave to the naiads and the dryads and the mermaids, who have come out to enjoy the rain and visit one other on the banks of the Great River winding past Cair Paravel down to the sea.

But if Lucy looks out the window, all she'll see is the rain over London, so it's not only a cold and grey sort of day, it's a lonely sort of day too.

Susan and Edmund are playing chess in the living room (and they must have studied with Professor Kirke, thinks their mother, because they certainly weren't that good when they left). Lucy goes over to Edmund, and oh dear, thinks their mother, now he's going to call her a baby and be horrible to her, but instead he picks her up and puts her on his lap without even taking his eyes off the chessboard; it's simply a matter of course.

"Doesn't the rain sound familiar?" says Lucy in a solemn, wistful way.

Their mother doesn't know what that means, but her siblings must, because Susan says, "Yes, Lu, it does,” and Edmund gives her a little hug with his free arm as she tucks herself under his chin to watch the chess match.

(Five minutes later there is a crash from the next room as Peter falls off a counter. Their mother does not understand the words he must have picked up from the Professor, but he's grounded for them anyway. His siblings have no respect for their High King, because they refuse to stop laughing.)

[thevoidstaredback]

Okay, so, crisis averted. Both of them, really. Red Robin had not asked or attempted to get any more of Danny's drink and the World Ending Crisis was less World Ending and more World Threatening. Either way, no one is hyped up in lethal amounts of caffeine and the world is in no more pieces than it had been before.

That brings attention to a new problem, though. It's uniquely Danny's problem and Constantine and Zatanna and Deadman won't stop laughing at him. He's also pretty sure that Raven is laughing at him in the privacy of her mind, so that's making him feel worse.

The problem is that every single hero that had been at the meeting a week ago that was not a part of the JLD has been overly concerned about him.

So what if he half died when he was fourteen and therefore will never look over either fourteen or eighteen? So what if he consumes enough caffeine to kill an elephant within a few minutes? What is he gonna do, die? That's not a real threat as long as he only fights as Phantom.

Ignoring the fact that he can, in fact, get hurt to the point of near death as Phantom. It's not like anyone knows that, though! Besides, ghosts run on god rules. They can't die, only fade when forgotten. People aren't likely to forget about most ghosts, though, even if they can't remember their names.

He's not gonna share that, though. Let Batman keep his contingency that won't work because the only contingency that will work for Phantom is the one he made himself. Tried and tested! He's marked it off of his Bingo Card.

Anyway. Heros and their kids/proteges have been trying to track him down for the entire week. He can't risk even leaving the House of Mysteries because the Supers are all probably listening out for him and they can't hear him through magic. It sucks. He just wants to go get a cup of coffee as Danny. The second he leaves, though, the Supers will be on him like bloodhounds. He'd leave as Danny, but the rest of the JLD don't know what he looks like as Danny and he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. Being stuck as Phantom was going to start causing issues to his human half if he doesn't get to leave soon.

Should he risk it? Is coffee that won't kill him really worth risking the Supers finding out his civilian identity? Sure, they wouldn't tell anyone, but he didn't like the idea of someone being able to pick him out of a crowd when all he wanted to do was blend in. It's why he avoided Gotham and Bludhaven, actually, but that's both self explanatory and another story for another time.

"You're still here?" Zatanna sat on the couch beside him. "You're normally gone by now. You can't not be tired of us yet."

He sighed and sunk down into the couch slightly. "Believe me, I'm tired of being stuck here, but I can't leave. I can't leave as a human because you guys don't know what I look like and, no offense, but I'd like to keep it that way. I can't leave as I am now because Superman will be on my ass quicker than I can blink!" He whined this time, "I just want a cup of coffee."

"What about your special brew?" Raven asked, coming into the room.

"I want to drink coffee as a human. That stuff will kill me if I drink it as a human."

"At least you know your limits."

"That sounded like a dig at someone, Z."

"It was."

"Why don't you just go out under a protection spell?" Raven offered, "We could cast one over you and you could leave. Superman can't hear through magic, so he won't be able to tell. Neither will Superboy."

Danny thought for a second. "You're a genius, Raven! Has anyone ever told you that?"

"A few times," she blushed.

"Well, it needs to be said more!"

Zatanna laughed. "Alright, kid, let's get you outside before you drive yourself crazy."

Practically vibrating in place, Danny waited for the protection spell to settle over him. The second it did, he was out the door and wandering the streets of whatever city the House of Mysteries decided to drop him as Danny instead of Phantom.

"Who are you," was not the question or voice he wanted to hear the second he stepped into the open as himself.

"Danny," he squeaked out through his absolute panic. He didn't dare turn around.

The sound of fabric moving minutely clues him in to the second person behind him. What the hell were these two doing out? It's the middle of the day and there's no attacks going on anywhere in Gotham!

"Where did you come from?" Robin asked.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! This was really bad! Why did the House drop him *here* of all places? Does it *want* him to die again? It was very painful the first time, thank you very much! "Illinois?"

"Was that a question or an answer?" Why is Red Robin here now?!

"An-an answer?"

"Ah, you guys are scaring the little guy!" That was Nightwing. They're surrounding him! Why is Nightwing here? This is Gotham, not Bludhaven. "Give him some room to breathe."

They did not, in fact, give him room to breathe. Maybe coming outside was a bad idea. If he gets out of this no more dead than he already was, he was going to move to the middle of nowhere and become a hermit. Smallville is a town in the middle of nowhere, right? He'll retire as Phantom and move to Smallville until the people get suspicious and burn him as a witch-!

Maybe moving to a big city would be a better idea. Or locking himself in the basement of the House of Mysteries. Yeah, yeah that's a good idea.

"-even listening?"

Oh shit. They were still talking to him! Now is not the time to panic! "Gottagobye!" And then he was running.

Good job not panicking, Danny.

Part 1 Part 3

[mapis-putellas]

𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒕

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 2700

Warnings: just general sickness

Summary: You force Alexia to get her flu shot. As a result of that, she gets sick, and she blames you. [requested]

You'd been nagging Alexia about the flu shot for days. It was flu season, and with her being a professional footballer—captain of her team, no less—she couldn't afford to get sick. But Alexia was stubborn, insisting she was too busy, that she didn't need it, that she didn't have time. It was every excuse in the book, her stubborn side flaring up in a way that you both found infuriating and adorable.

"I don't need the shot," she had told you one night, leaning back on the couch with an exasperated sigh. Her Spanish accent thickened whenever she was annoyed, and you had to admit, it made it all the harder to stay mad at her. "I am strong. The flu is nothing to me."

"Is that so?" you'd said, raising an eyebrow. "No kisses until you get it, then."

She stared at you, looking horrified. "What? No... cariño, don't joke." But when you'd crossed your arms and raised your eyebrow higher, she'd narrowed her eyes, muttering something colorful in Spanish.

"It's flu season, Alexia," you'd reminded her, with a tone that was half gentle, half scolding. "Just get the shot. It'll take five minutes."

"No kisses?" she asked, her voice small and wounded, and you could practically see her resolve crumbling. With a sigh of defeat, she muttered, "Fine. Fine, I will get the shot."

And so, the next day, she went to get the shot after training. When she came home, she immediately let you know she'd done it, even holding up her arm with a tiny plaster on it as proof, looking both proud and aggrieved. You'd rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, which had softened her grumbling... for a little while, at least.

But then, a few days later, it all went south.

You woke up to the sound of sneezing—a loud, dramatic sound coming from your left. Turning over, you found Alexia curled up in bed, her face flushed, her eyes watery, and her nose red. She looked at you with a pout that could only mean trouble.

"I am sick," she said, her voice hoarse, thick with her accent and stuffed up nose.

"Oh no," you murmured, brushing a hand over her forehead. "Alexia, you're burning up."

She batted your hand away with a weak swat, looking thoroughly offended. "This is your fault."

"Excuse me?"

"You... you made me get that shot," she said, sniffling as she rubbed her nose. "I was fine. And now I am not fine."

You couldn't help but stifle a smile, despite her glare. "You know the flu shot doesn't actually give you the flu, right? It's supposed to keep you from getting it worse."

"Does not matter. I was fine before," she muttered, rolling over to bury her face in the pillow with a sniffly huff.

"Alright, alright, come on," you said gently, tugging at the blanket. "Let's get you out of bed and freshened up a bit. You'll feel better, I promise."

She just groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "I don't want to feel better. I want to be left here... to die in peace."

You laughed softly, slipping a hand under her blanket to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Well, unfortunately, you've got me to help you feel better. So, let's go brush your teeth, hm?"

Her response was an unintelligible groan, and you had to practically drag her out of bed, guiding her to the bathroom as she shuffled along like a reluctant child.

Once you got her to the sink, she planted her feet, crossing her arms in a pout. "I don't want to brush," she mumbled, her voice small and congested.

"Alexia," you sighed, picking up her toothbrush. "Just open up, it'll only take a minute."

But she shook her head stubbornly, eyes narrowing at you in defiance. "No quiero. I don't want."

With a little smirk, you stepped closer, pressing her back against the counter as you gently took her hands, holding them in one of yours to keep her from pushing you away. "Be good for me, hm?"

She squirmed in your grip, cheeks flushing. "You... you're being a bully," she muttered, her eyes widening as she realized she was completely trapped.

"Oh, am I?" you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before holding the toothbrush up to her mouth. "Open up, love."

With a long-suffering sigh, she finally parted her lips, letting you brush her teeth, though she continued to glare at you the whole time, like this was the greatest injustice she'd ever suffered. You finished quickly, wiping her mouth gently with a towel before releasing her hands.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" you teased, giving her a soft smile.

She huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. "You're lucky you're cute."

You chuckled, attempting to guide her through to the kitchen, buts she stubbornly resisted, insisting she wasn't hungry. "I'm not eating," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest like a petulant child. "Not hungry."

"Alexia, you need to eat something before you can take medicine."

"I don't care," she muttered, turning her head away. But her defiance was cut short by a sudden sneeze, and you sighed, pulling a tissue from the bedside table and gently wiping her nose.

"See? You're miserable, and you'll only feel better if you take care of yourself." You smoothed her hair back gently. "Let me make you something light, just a little fruit and yogurt."

She grumbled under her breath, muttering what you were sure were more Spanish curses, but she didn't stop you as you headed to the kitchen yourself, deciding it would be best to just leave her in bed. When you returned with a small bowl of yogurt and fruit, she was curled up under the blanket, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Come on, just a few bites," you coaxed, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding out a spoonful.

With a dramatic sigh, she opened her mouth, taking a tiny bite and chewing slowly, her expression making it clear that she was doing this entirely against her will. "Happy now?"

"Very," you replied, feeding her another spoonful.

After she'd eaten enough to satisfy you, it was finally time for the cold medicine. You held up the small bottle, and she looked at it like it was poison.

"No," she said, shaking her head with absolute certainty. "I'm not taking it."

"Alexia," you warned, your tone gentle but firm. "It'll help you feel better."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing. "I don't need it."

You let out a little sigh, knowing you'd need to take a different approach. With a determined smile, you climbed onto the bed, straddling her lap and pinning her arms to her sides with your legs.

Her eyes widened. "What... what are you doing?" she stammered, clearly caught off guard.

"Ensuring cooperation," you replied, holding up the medicine with a teasing smile. "Now, you can either take it willingly, or I'll have to make you.”

She squirmed beneath you, cheeks flushing as she glared up at you. "You are... you are a tyrant," she muttered, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "I can't believe you."

"Oh, the horror," you teased, holding the spoon close to her lips. "Now, be good and open up."

After a moment of stubborn silence, she finally sighed, parting her lips just enough to let you give her the medicine. She grimaced as she swallowed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Disgusting," she muttered, wrinkling her nose.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Good girl. Now, back under the covers with you."

She scoffed, though you could see the hint of a smile in her eyes as she settled back into bed. "I will remember this, you know. One day, I will get my revenge."

You chuckled, tucking the blanket around her. "I look forward to it."

*

You'd barely left Alexia's side since she'd gotten sick. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her nose chapped and red from all the sneezing, and her voice, hoarse and scratchy, sounded pitifully weak. As miserable as she was, she still held a death grip on you, refusing to let you out of bed for more than a minute or two at a time.

"I'm not kidding, Alexia," you murmured, gently rubbing circles on her back with one hand. "I really need to pee.”

She just grumbled, shifting so her face was buried even deeper into the crook of your neck. "No. You can hold it."

You sighed, smiling despite yourself as she tightened her arms around you, determined not to let you go. Her hot breath tickled your neck, raspy and uneven as she tried to keep her congested breathing steady.

"I'll come back, you know," you tried to reason with her, running your fingers along her back. "You'll barely even notice I'm gone."

She lifted her head just enough to give you a pouty look, her eyes narrowed. "You leave... and I'll... I'll be alone. Sick. And alone."

You laughed softly, cupping her cheek. "You're so dramatic when you're unwell, you know that?"

She sniffled, her glare softening only slightly as she leaned back into your embrace. "I am sick because of you, so you should be here."

"Oh, so now you're blaming me again?" you teased, reaching for a tissue as she began sniffling more insistently.

"Yes," she said, sounding a little choked as you brought the tissue up to her nose. "You made me get that stupid shot."

You couldn't help but smile as she blew her nose, letting out a small huff when you dabbed her nostrils gently, trying not to further irritate the already raw skin.

"Okay, you're right. I'm the villain here," you said, pressing a light kiss to her forehead as she snuggled back down. "So I'll be right back to atone for my sins. Just give me one minute, alright?"

She pouted, but after a moment of hesitation, she finally relented, albeit begrudgingly. "One minute," she grumbled, watching you with narrowed eyes as you slid out from beneath her.

You were barely gone for thirty seconds when you heard her weak voice from the other room. "¡Cariño!" she called, her hoarse voice laced with a mixture of impatience and distress.

You hurried back, finding her curled up in bed with a fresh pout. She immediately extended her arms out to you, looking as needy as ever.

"Come here," she muttered, pulling you down as soon as you were within reach. "You're taking too long."

"Alexia, I was gone for less than a minute," you chuckled, allowing her to tug you back under the covers.

"Too long," she insisted, her voice muffled as she snuggled her face into your shoulder. Her nose brushed against your collarbone, making you realize she was probably on the verge of sneezing again.

You sighed, grabbing another tissue just in time to catch her next sneeze. She sniffled, her nose redder than ever as you gently dabbed at it again.

She winced, pushing your hand away with a small groan. "Ow. Stop. You're hurting me."

"I'm sorry, love," you murmured, brushing her hair back from her forehead as she closed her eyes. "I know it's sore. Just a little more, and I'll leave it alone."

She let out a tiny huff, shifting closer as she adjusted her head against your neck. "This is your fault," she muttered, half-asleep. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, yes. Entirely my fault," you agreed, pulling her tighter against you as she sighed in sleepy satisfaction.

For a moment, she was quiet, her breathing shallow and uneven as she drifted off. But it didn't last long. Within a few minutes, she was shifting restlessly, her forehead crinkling as she sneezed again. She groaned, sniffling miserably as she buried her face deeper into your shoulder.

"Ugh," she mumbled, her voice raspy and stuffed. "I hate this."

"I know, baby," you whispered, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "It'll pass soon. Just gotta hang in there."

She shook her head, her brow furrowing. "No, I won't. I'm... I'm dying." She looked up at you with those big, tired eyes, looking completely pitiful.

"Oh, really?" you teased, trying not to laugh at her dramatic declaration. "You're dying?"

"Yes," she insisted, her tone dead serious. "This is the end for me."

You couldn't help but smile as you wiped her nose again, ignoring her glare. "Alright then. Anything you want me to tell your teammates?"

"Tell them..." she paused, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned heavily against you. "Tell them... I went out a hero. Strong... noble."

"A strong, noble hero taken down by a common cold?" you joked, earning yourself another weak glare.

She let out a tiny huff, her head falling back to rest against your shoulder. "You are mean to me," she muttered. "When I am sick, you should be... you know. Nicer."

"Oh, I'm not being nice right now?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you resumed rubbing her back.

She sighed, her face softening as she nuzzled closer. "You are... a little. But I need more," she mumbled, her voice fading as she drifted off again.

For the next hour or so, you stayed snuggled up with her, her feverish body practically glued to yours. Her head was tucked beneath your chin, her arms snug around your waist as if she were afraid you'd disappear if she loosened her grip even a little.

Her breathing grew heavier as she fell into a deeper sleep, her face twitching every now and then when a fresh wave of congestion hit. She coughed, letting out a weak whine that made you squeeze her a little tighter.

You must've dozed off at some point because the next thing you knew, she was tugging on your sleeve, her expression both sleepy and grumpy as she looked up at you.

"Thirsty," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Alright, I'll get you some water," you murmured, starting to sit up. But as soon as you moved, her arms tightened around you, pulling you back down with surprising strength.

"No. Don't move," she muttered, her voice sounding even hoarser than before.

"Alexia, I need to get you the water."

She shook her head, snuggling closer. "No. Just... just stay a little longer."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, pulling her back against you. "If you don't let me go, you'll stay thirsty," you pointed out, trailing your fingers along her back in gentle circles.

She sighed, clearly torn, before finally loosening her grip with a pout. "Fine," she muttered. "But hurry."

You got up quickly, grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen before hurrying back to her side. She accepted the water gratefully, taking small sips as she looked up at you with a suspiciously grateful expression.

"Better?" you asked, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face.

She nodded, setting the glass aside before pulling you back down with a determined look. "Now stay.”

"Bossy," you teased, letting her wrap herself around you like a clingy octopus.

"I am sick," she muttered, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "I can be bossy."

"Alright, alright, fair enough." You gently traced your hand over her back, feeling her finally relax against you again.

For a few minutes, she was quiet, drifting in and out of sleep. But soon, she was shifting again, looking up at you with a soft, miserable pout.

"My nose hurts," she mumbled, sniffling loudly.

"I know, love," you murmured, kissing her forehead. "But it'll feel better soon, I promise."

She huffed, clearly not convinced, and nuzzled back against your neck, her nose brushing your collarbone as she settled in once more.

After a few more minutes, she started coughing again, her whole body shuddering with the effort. You held her close, rubbing her back in soothing circles until the coughing fit finally subsided.

"This is all your fault," she mumbled once she'd caught her breath, looking up at you with a halfhearted glare.

"Yes, I know," you replied, smiling as you kissed her forehead. "All my fault."

"Good," she muttered, closing her eyes again as she snuggled closer. "At least you know."

You let out a soft laugh, resting your cheek against her hair as she drifted off once more. Even sick and stubborn as ever, she was still your Alexia, your fiercely independent, soft-hearted girl who refused to let you go.

**

Tags:

@girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @ceesimz @marysfics @goldenempyrean @silentwolfsstuff @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[cregansdingdong]

dingdong hear me out, cregan and reader going through the honeymoon stage of their marriage in winterfell where he just cant get off her and they get it on (she gets on should i say 😜) EVERYWHERE and ANYWHERE. im talking in the stables just out of earshot of the lords in the courtyard, in the wolfswood surrounded by the beautiful northern countryside, in the council chambers, on the table, EVERYWHERE. I KNOW this man gets hot knowing anyone could catch them and that they couldn’t do anything about it because he is their lord. PLEASE GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

- fellow cregan worshipping anon xo

I HAVE THOUGHTS. THE GEARS ARE TURNING. I FEEL THEM TURNING. SEND HELP ANON.

Let's get something perfectly clear, my beloved, the honeymoon stage never ends with Cregan. Now, it might slow down after the birth of a few kiddos ten but in no way, shape, or form will your Lord Wolf ever be satisfied. That being said, you have my prayers, sorrows, and congratulations also my envy ofc if you both are ever caught getting your freak on. It's gonna go a little something like this...

ʜᴏɴᴇʏᴍᴏᴏɴ. (thoughts ver.)

NSFW stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

"We're going to—"

"I don't care." He grunts. Skirts lifted up the curve of her ass, his hips rutting into her at a pace desperate enough to bruise. They were both frantic, fucking like it was their last day alive. The council room was empty—which it usually was; only really filled when Cregan felt the need to call on his vassals. If it had been a regular day, Lord and Lady Stark wouldn't have had anything to worry about.

His wife presses her cheek down on the table, holding onto the oak edges for dear life, mewling of course, as he rocked into her like a man possessed. Controlled entirely by his need, by her whines for him, Cregan thought he could die a happy man right there in her snug cunt. He could. He wanted to, in a way, the last sensations in the living world being her velvety walls, clenching around him with every swift thrust.

They were loud as they always were—unintentionally. It was too good to remember any restraint. Not that it mattered to the Lord Wolf, he was the Lord paramount of the North. Who was going to tell him he couldn't make love with his wife? No one, but he could at least make an effort to lock the door first. Rabid grunts and the sound of his hefty balls slapping against her flooded the corridor as the entrance to the council room was opened. "Seven Hells—"

His bannermen. His vassals. The meeting. Gods. He forgot about the meeting. Torrhen Manderly turned right back around, narrowly avoiding whatever it was that Cregan flung towards the door—thankfully fast enough to stop the other men from following in after him. "Get out!" The door was promptly slammed shut, right as his wife lifted her head from the table, face flushed red in mortification. "Were we just cau—fuck!" Lord Stark still didn't care, reaching around to rub at her pretty clit as his cock resumed pistoning against her ass. And as she came for at least the third time that morning, the realization of getting caught was quickly erased from the front of her mind, Cregan's teeth latching on to the curve of her shoulder as he chased his release.

okay I can't help myself so here's a bonus bit:

Redressed and thoroughly embarrassed some twenty minutes later, Lady Stark emerges from the council room, expecting her handmaiden to be waiting—no. Gods. They'd waited. They'd actually waited. Seven bannermen, each one avoiding her eye more than the last, probably in an attempt to maintain whatever was left of her dignity. They made not a single sound as she walked sprinted by, nodding stiffly in respect to their Lady.

Cregan, however, did not share that same sentiment. Satisfied for the moment, smug, and seated lazily at the head of the table, legs spread comfortably as he sat back against his chair. He exhaled quietly through his nose once his vassals entered the room, the smallest of smirks written on his face that said more than his mouth ever could. "Where did we leave off last time?"

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[orbitsaturn]

"actually?" "yeah, actually."

─ in which you accidentally bump (fall) into someone you might know in an indoor climbing gym

"his arms look really meaty..."

modern au! kinich x reader abt 2.1k words!

final part of part 1 this can be read as a standalone!

your user is sparkling toots in this fic

──────────────────────

"I'M DODGING I'M DODGING!!" you yell over the call, hastily pressing multiple keys and moving your mouse quickly. it's been a while since you played with your friend, almightydragonlord, yes, cheesy username. but still, you enjoyed playing with him as he makes everything easier, really, EVERYTHING easier. he helped you with your builds the first time you met him, albeit much to your refusal (felt insulted when his so-called lizard, 'ajaw' called your characters trash) (it was actually ajaw but you refuse to believe how a lizard can somehow spell out the words l o s e r).

anyways!

the only response you can hear from the other side of the call is loud typing, followed by a brief. "mhm" from the almightydragonlord. he's quiet, the only time he really speaks to you is when he's giving you constructive criticism or the rare times he chuckles when you die during boss fights. which you respond by angrily yelling at him.

"toots, behind you." snapping out of your thinking, you quickly dodge the incoming attack hurled behind your character by the boss you both were fighting. with one more quick setup from the almightydragonlord it was instantly over, the huge numbers brought by his characters becoming more and more like a regular sight for you. welp! at least your daily boss fighting is done for the day.

"dragonlord I'm gonna go now! i'll see you later?"

"mhm, see you"

"as curt as ever i see! bye!!"

and with that, you ended the call. pulling off your headphones and doing your daily routine to hang out with one of your friends later in the day.

───

"hi mualani!" you waved enthusiastically to your friend who was at a distance. she also waved back with the signature smile that she boasts.

as you make your way towards her you feel a sense of suspicion by the seemingly mischievous smile on her face.

"guess what we're doing today!"

"what?"

"rock climbing!" mualani says, clapping her hands together eagerly.

"we're going rock climbing?!" you cried, quickly whipping your head to look over at the outfit you wore today, which was clearly not appropriate for some activity. furthermore, you've never rock-climbed before except for that time in elementary in the local playground.

wait.

you did have some experience in rock climbing. maybe you should just rely on your memories from your elementary school days! but that was years ago.. and your outfit might hinder you from movements that are essential for climbing.

"don't worry. i got some extra clothes in the back of my car." mualani winks upon seeing your worried demeanor "also it's indoors! so we won't be climbing on real rocks! haha!" she pats your back reassuringly.

upon hearing that you breath a sigh of relief. "oh thank goodness" you say dramatically clasping your hands together. you knew you'd actually be fried if it really was real rock climbing. after the brief chat you both share you quickly make your way to her car door, quickly sitting down and buckling up before the car starts.

always. remember. to. buckle. up.

was the mantra you always repeated before getting into a car when you were young. nowadays putting on the seatbelt was just muscle memory for you. whenever you get into a car you put on your seatbelt without thinking. a necessary habit honestly.

the ride was short, it only took a few minutes to arrive at the indoor climbing gym. funny enough you saw a car with the plate "drgnlrd" parked near the gym. who the hell names their license plate like that?! it's also the same name as the username your friend online has.

well, it's probably just a coincidence!

as you both head into the gym with no expectations whatsoever you were instantly baffled by the sheer height of the

fake rock climbing thingy?

you don't know what it's called but you do know you'll be able to conquer it. i mean, you weren't called the ruler of the playground for nothing! you were dubbed "sonic" by your peers back in elementary for climbing super fast on the rock climbing part in the local playground near your house.

it's safe to say you might be the best (worst) one in the room!

as you head your way to the changing rooms in the gym you notice a familiar figure high up on the rock.

"his arms look really meaty..."

"what are you looking at? let's go so we can climb sooner!" a voice from behind you quickly snaps you out of your thoughts.

oh my god. why were you even thinking about how some random dude's muscles look tasty?? get a grip!

as the both of you head inside you remember the time when almightydragonlord sent a video of him skydiving. yes skydiving, falling out of a helicopter type of skydiving. the area he was skydiving at looked really familiar too!

wait.

familiar?

as you retrace back to the video he sent you, the feeling of dread forms in the pit of your stomach.

lush green trees, tall hilltops, and the distinctive sight of saurians.

lush green trees...

tall hilltops.

SAURIANS?!

NATIVE TO NATLAN SAURIANS?!

HE LIVES IN NATLAN?!?

BUT YOU LIVE IN NATLAN TOO??

ugh! you even shouldn't be thinking about him when your supposed to be conquering the climbing wall soon!

"ugh.. let's not think about this today..." you grumble, quickly putting on the clothes mualani handed you earlier. as you make your way outside the room mualani is already there waiting for you,

"hi!! ready partner?" she smirks at you, dragging you to the rock wall (which looks even more intimidating close up) that you have to conquer.

gulp.

NO!! you can do this. you weren't called the ruler of the playground for nothing. you can conquer this. maybe think of it as a necessary level to beat! plus you have a harness attached to you right now! so you won't wall to your death if you fall. and! if the harness fails you know who to sue to get money.

with one more final nervous gulp, you start conquering (climbing) the wall. when you look up you already see mualani way ahead of you. oh dear, looks like you have a time limit to this level.

"wait!!" you cried, starting to climb the wall, with ease actually, this was way easier than you thought!

"heh. I might actually be the ruler of the climbing gym now!" as you smirk to yourself you notice some weird white powder on mualani's hands? "mualani, what's that stuff on your hands?" you yell out above, "oh! this is climbing chalk, it helps strengthen the grip of your hands if they usually sweat." she yells back.

sweat

sweat

sweat

you know that feeling when you're suddenly aware of how your hands produce sweat and it sweats right after? yeah, it's sweating right now when you realize your hands have the function to sweat.

"oh uh! that's fun" you reply nervously, the word 'sweat echoing throughout your head, the feeling of your sudoriferous (sweat) glands activating within your hands right now, it isn't mandatory to lather that white stuff when you're climbing, so it should be fine...

right?

yeah no, it's not fine you can feel your hands sweating right now, loosening your grip, BUT,

it's not mandatory to lather that stuff so...

"hellloooo!! up from above! hurry up!" mualani's voice snaps you out of your thoughts once again as you look up in response, "we're almost to the top y'know!" she yells making you realize that you were really high up.

and that makes you sweat even more.

but you prevail! you grab onto the next wall hold, and the next, but the feeling of your grip getting weaker every second was not concerning at all! (lie) but you were almost there! you're about to beat mualani and claim the title of the ruler of the climbing gym!

"watch i'm going to win," you say confidently, but in that moment your grip was already weak, weak enough to make your hand slip.

the last thing you see is mualani's shocked expression, followed by one of relief and confusion..?

...

..

.

a hand quickly snakes around your waist, making sure you don't fall to your inevitable doom.

"you good?"

a familiar voice brushes against your ear, your stomach dropping. a foreign feeling of heat rushing to your face due to embarrassment.

as you look at the person who saved you, you are instantly dumbified.

a beautiful mixture of green and orange meets your eyes, with long, thick, dark lashes that compliment the brightness of his orbs, creating a stark contrast that makes it difficult to look away.

wait.

beautiful amber green eyes with dark fluffy hair.

no way.

is he..?

"almightydragonlord?" you say breathlessly, staring at his face shamelessly.

"oh?" his arm unconsciously tightens around your waist, a look of surprise painting his face with the utterance of his online username. in a few seconds his face begins light up as he realizes your identity, "sparklingtoots?" a subconscious smile making it's way to his features, which in turn causes you to gawk even more at him.

oh dear. that smile is deadly.

"t-thank you?" you say confused, blinded by his smile. gosh, he was cuter in person, instead of falling to your death maybe you'll die by the brightness of that smile instead.

wait.

shouldn't you be falling right now?

you slowly look down at your waist.

a hand.

his hand.

the hand you complimented earlier without realizing it was him.

snaked around your waist to prevent you from falling, the proximity between you two was worse, your left side touching his right, his fingers gripping your waist tightly to secure you onto him, the feeling of his forearm around your stomach firm.

oh archons, he's built too?

"u-um, aren't you tired?! shouldn't you let go?! uh! I have a harness don't worry! and I must be heavy!" you say nervously, the close proximity between you two was not helping your conversational skills whatsoever!

"oh sorry, it was on instinct, I'll let go if you want to" he slowly releases his hold on you, careful to not make you drop unexpectedly.

wait, wait, wait, wait.

you're still really high up! you might actually faint if you start free-falling!

you instantly grab his hand, positioning it back on your waist again. "wait! actually please keep holding on, i think it'll be terrifying once i start swinging down." you look up at him, eyes that basically read, 'please don't drop me or else I might actually pass out.'

"you think i'd drop you without any warnings?" he looks at you confused, his hand keeping a firm grip on you once again to prevent you from falling. "i mean... you're carrying a full-grown person right now, so you might claim that you won't drop me on purpose but i don't know if your hand is gonna agree!" you say worriedly in response.

"don't worry i'm strong." he replies, trying to reassure your worries "do you see my pocket? there's some climbing chalk in it, use your hand to get some."

"uh, which pocket?! the front or back?"

"any."

you hesitantly reach into the front pocket of his pants, grabbing a handful of chalk which you quickly lather all over your hands. "now use one of your hands to grab onto one of the holds closest to you" he instructs, which you quickly follow. as you grab onto a yellow hold and then grab onto another one until you are free from his hold, you realize just how much your grip has improved, that you should've just slathered on some climbing chalk before you started climbing to prevent this whole fiasco from happening...

"thank you! um, almigh-"

"kinich."

"oh! thank you the almighty dragon lord kinich!" you tease. in response, he lets out a brief chuckle that you've always heard on the calls you had together.

"i didn't know you lived in natlan!" you exclaim, slowly making your way down the wall. "i thought you knew?" he replies confused, keeping watch of you to make sure he'll catch you before you fall again. "shhh.. i know you sent me that skydiving video months ago but i just realized until today! also, do you do that stuff often..? i mean... you had no hesitation jumping off the helicopter!" you ask him in curiosity, it's strange! most people would hesitate for a bit before jumping off! but this dude didn't even look worried at all!

"oh yeah, i do a lot of stuff like that, like bungee jumping, mountain climbing, sky di-"

"HUH?!" you look at him in disbelief. is he one of those adrenaline junkies?!

"i know most people are shocked, but I find extreme sports enjoyable." he says, looking at you with a gentle smile.

oh dear, you don't think you'll get used to that smile anytime soon.

as you both make your way down, you learn more about the almightydra- kinich, how his lizard ajaw was really the one who made the nasty comments about your characters (which you still don't believe), and how many extreme sports he does, which was a lot. and mualani also descended down quickly to make sure you were okay! as you near the start of the climbing wall you swear you're gonna kiss the ground once you make it back down.

"oh my archons." you collapse on the floor, heaving a sigh of relief, at least you know now to make sure you have emergency climbing chalk in your pockets... you really should invest in some if you're planning to climb more in the future...

as you are laying down on the strangely comforting gym floor you feel a cold object against your forehead. "are you free after this?" a voice above you says as you look up to see kinich leaning over you, water bottle in hand, pressing it against you. just as you were about to respond you were quickly cut off by another voice above you. "yeah she's free!" mualani chirps above you, giving a thumbs up to kinich which she then looks down to wink at you. "I'll be going now. make sure to tell me everything after," who then looks down to whisper at you, giving you a mischievous grin before walking away.

kinich then drops down beside you, turning his head to face you.

"lunch with me today?" he asks, which in turn you grin, "are you asking out on a date? the almighty dragon lord kinich! asking me out on a date! can you believe it?!" you tease,

"and what if i was?" he responds, his amber-green eyes meeting with yours.

"h-huh? actually?" you say surprised, taken aback by his forwardness. you knew he was curt but you didn't expect it to translate over to real life! "yeah, actually." he stands up, offering his hand to you. you grab his hand as he helps you stand up before facing him.

"also, don't worry, i don't do extreme sports with my car." he flashes you a grin.

──────────────────────

A/N!! OH MY GOSH HELLO EVERYONE. thank u all for the support from part 1, I hope you guys liked this one as much as the previous one!! I tried really hard to not make kinich ooc... (I hope I didn't..) I looked up his lore and stuff and found out he liked doing extreme sports! and the skydiving from the previous one I wrote was pretty unexpected BUT!! akshually (nerd emoji) "As a core member of the Scions of the Canopy tribe, Kinich is fond of extreme sports, and is said by his companion K'uhul Ajaw to have plunged headfirst off a cliff and lived to see it (LIKE!! THATS BASICALLY SKY DIVING!!)" quote the genshin wiki!! anyways I hope you enjoyed reading this.HAVE A GOOD DAY OR NIGHT!!

[sparklingblu]

Eroverse

Pt.3 - Alpha & Omega

Yeji x Male Reader (ft. Kazuha)

Good news. None.   

Bad news. Where do you even start?   

The worst would be the fact that you can't feel your body. Your eyes seem to be the only functioning organ. To add insult to injury, your whole body is bare, and your clothes are nowhere to be found. You curse yourself for not grabbing your clothes before you get teleported back from that boxing ring. No use regretting it now. Even if you manage to move your limbs somehow, you are trapped in a bar restroom butt naked. Can this day get even worse?   

To be honest, you expect yourself to develop some kind of resistance to all those headaches and pain after passing out four times in a day. Seems like there's no improvement. You can just hope no one comes knocking at the door. That leads you to wonder, how long have you been gone? The first time you encounter Rei or what seems to be Rei, it takes almost an hour. But at least she obeys every command you give so it isn't much of a struggle. The second time, however, you have to wrestle with Eunbi first before you finally tame her, as the quest had said. You are certain more than an hour has flown by.    

Your phone chimes with a notification nearby. No doubt from the 'Ero' app. You desperately want to check it but there's not much you can do when your body feels like a lump of clay. So, you continue doing what you initially were, staring at the ceiling. Funny enough, seeing the ceiling has become a kind of relief after losing and gaining consciousness multiple times. At least, it reminds you that you are alive.  

Once again, you can't help but think of all the unanswered questions that have piled up even more after your encounter with Eunbi. The voice that consistently keeps praising you after you complete a quest, the idols that you have met who are not actually idols. You are pretty sure about that now. Are they replicas? clones? Then what does that make you? A test subject for some crazy experiment that involve fucking idol clones? As usual, no answer.  

If you look at it from the bright side, ignoring all the pain and confusion, you have used two idols for your release already. Getting to fuck one idol should be considered universally lucky. But two? You had to save a nation in your past life for that. Whether they are real or not, they still look exactly the same so it doesn't really make a difference. However, the downside shouldn't be ignored either. If you try to complete one more quest, fuck one more idol, you might not wake up again. With each jump, your body seems to weaken. It starts with headaches and soreness and now you are paralyzed. Not really a price worth paying. You are not perverted enough to trade your life for sex.  

Actually, you might have passed that point already. If you inevitably have to die, you want to go out with honor. Not as a naked corpse in a restroom. "Oh, how did he die?" "I don't know, probably from jerking off naked in the toilet" Yep. Not a good idea.   

A few minutes pass and you start considering screaming for help. You have to sacrifice every bit of dignity you have but at least you won't die. Thankfully, it doesn't happen. Blood starts to flow again in your fingers and soon, you are well aware of the cold floor on your skin.   

You sit up groggily, propping yourself against the toilet for support. Taking a few deep breaths, you picked up the phone. The screen is full of cracks, it covers almost every part of the notification on your lock screen but without a doubt, it's from the 'Ero' app.   

"Congrats on completing your second quest. Please wait patiently for the next one"  

Typical. Just congratulations. Not to mention you nearly got killed. Thank you very much.   

Then your eyes move to the upper corner of the screen displaying the time, 8:48. You can't be sure, but you are certain no more than a few minutes have passed since you passed out. How is it possible? Even without the time you spent laying paralyzed, it takes at least an hour to do everything you have done with Eunbi. No wonder no one comes looking for you.   

Maybe time flows differently in whatever places you get teleported to. Another mystery. Your head starts throbbing, a sign of an oncoming headache. God, can that app let you off for once? There's a silver lining though. Your clothes lie in a pile in a corner. You have to shut your mouth before you start screaming with joy.   

After changing hastily and washing your face, you exit the room. Russell and the rest of the crew are still at their table, their voices getting louder by the second. The effects of all the drinks they had had are evident on their red puffy faces. They don't even seem to notice your absence except Russell, who raises his hand at the sight of you.  

"Man, you have been gone pretty long, you ok?" he asks.  

"Yeah, I'm fine.."  

"You sure? You look like you just woke up"  

He's not wrong but no use making him worried.  

"Trust me. I'm ok. Just a bit tired, i guess"  

"Have you been working late again?"  

Gosh, this guy cares about you more than your mom. You take this as your chance to get out of here.  

"Yeah, got some articles to finish. I have been procrastinating on this one I have to send tomorrow. Mind if I leave early? I need to sleep early"  

"Of course. Don't work too hard, huh? You still have to write a best-seller remember?"  

You simply smile and leave, grabbing your coat. The cold breeze offers you some comfort to the headache that's becoming unbearable. You just want to lay down on the spot and fall asleep. You walk back to your room, trying not to pass out on the way. The night is still young, and the sound of traffic and the chatter of people follows you everywhere. Ordinary people enjoying their lives unlike you, who have become a different person in just a day. You were a writer, not a good one but still an average Joe. Now, you fuck idols with the help of an app. Anyone who hear it will suggest you talk to a therapist, and you won't blame them.   

And what is it that makes the app choose you? You have no special abilities other than the fact that you can mimic animal sounds and that's not even a real talent. Perhaps luck has finally found its way to your ever unfortunate life. But can it be called luck with how you become a step closer to death with each quest you take on. 

You are so busy debating with yourself you are completely oblivious to your surroundings. If only you have turned your head to an alley across the street, you would have seen a dark figure with sparkling eyes that follow every one of your movements. A predator lurking in the shadows. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎  

A week has passed. The 'Ero' app is silent as ever. 

You find yourself expecting a message for another quest despite promising yourself you won't let your perversion lead you to your demise. You should really start thinking with your brain rather than your dick. 

Three days after your last quest, you even try to enter the 'Ero' app out of curiosity. The app closes automatically. After a few more tries, you give up out of disappointment and shame. Shame for trying to enter the app even after knowing the risks. Shame for being a hopeless pervert. 

You should just stick to jerking off to fancams and pictures, at least that way you won't be playing with your life or getting beat up by an idol. That's what you have been doing since you got smitten by those kpop girls but after the quests you have done, it becomes tedious. You will still pump a load or two after seeing Karina's tits or Sohee's ass but it's nothing compared to Rei's blowjob or Eunbi's titjob. You have become addicted.  

Ironically, you even find yourself dreaming of the darkness, the mahogany room and the boxing ring. This is what Eve might have felt when she's told not to eat the forbidden fruit, you think. Because forbidden things are the most tempting.  

You still write but no longer out of pleasure, just to survive. And that reminds you, you should stop eating take outs and cook something yourself for once. Your room was a mess but now it's a whole trash pile. Plastic boxes and cups from all the take outs you order lie in a mountain at the sink. The trash car comes, you are just too lazy to throw it out. And if you don't do something about that stack of papers on the table, it's gonna touch the ceiling soon.  

In short, you have become a mess. Every time your phone chimes, you would check it in a heartbeat, expecting a text from the 'Ero' app. But of course, it isn't. The app has gone ghost quiet. You are desperately seeking to complete just one more quest. One more idol to fuck. 

You rarely go outside and ignore all the messages your friends and colleagues sent you. There's only one message you want to receive which never comes. 

After a week of living like a vampire, a realization hits you. One so obvious you feel like an idiot not thinking about it sooner. All the problems you are facing are rooted from one single thing, the 'Ero' app. If you delete it, your suffering might end. You can even pretend everything that happened was a dream. 

So, you get out of the bed which you have been laying on for hours and grab your phone on the table. The sudden burst of light in the dark room as the screen opens leaves you seeing black spots. It is nighttime but you haven't opened your curtains in a while, so it doesn't really make a difference.  

You swipe till you land on the 'Ero' app. That little black heart icon. You press on it and the uninstall option pops off. 'Finally' you think. 'It's gonna be over. No more crazy stuffs' though a small voice somewhere in your mind keep insisting. 'But what of the pleasure that rivals no other? What of the idols you will meet?' 'Fuck this' you answer. It's true you are a pervert, but you are not hopeless. You won't die so that you can fuck some clone of an idol.  

Determined, you raise your thumb and nearly press on the uninstall button until-  

Your phone chimes. A notification on the top of the screen.  

"New quest ready, ready for your next adventure chosen one?" 

God damn it. Just when you are determined, this app has to come and ruin it. All the walls you have put up about not being a hopeless pervert crumbles in milliseconds. You want this after all. You don't want the app gone. You are just mas that it won't give you a quest. Now what you have been begging for a week is right in front of your eyes. You have to make a choice. Yes or No? 

This quest can be your last. A punishment for letting your dick makes your decisions. You can ignore it. Delete the app and go on with your life as normal. But will your life ever be normal after deleting the app? Who can say you won't be wondering what the third quest would be and which idol you would meet? And worst of all, you will become ordinary again without the app. No more magic portals to creepy rooms.  

You don't want to be ordinary. You have tried your best to become something others aren't all your life. Now, the chance has been presented to you. Your own personal paradise. All yours. No one else's.  

So, you tap on the message, opening the app to the loading screen with the black heart. Even the sight of it gets excitement creeping up your legs already. Then you close your eyes immediately before they get torched by that blinding flash. After waiting for a minute just to be safe, you open your eyes again. A text box sits in the center of the screen, instructions to your next quest. Except that you can't read them. 

The words are fuzzy and blurred. Some even completely redacted by black lines. It is as though someone has made them unreadable on purpose. What the hell is going on? 

This can be another challenge, a harder quest. Even more difficult than trying to defeat an idol who nearly crashes you to pulp. A higher risk of death. A tinge of regret starts to overwhelm you but it's too late. 

The all-familiar darkness envelopes you once again. Then comes the icy cold spike that tears through your organs. Your vision fades and you crumple like paper. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎  

Your old friend accompanies your wake. Of course, it's the headache. Fortunately, it isn't as strong as before or maybe you have just been out of touch you forget the pain. Nevertheless, you are alive.  

You don't get to celebrate much though because the sight that greets you when you open your eyes sucks the joy right out of your heart. It isn't the ceiling this time. At least seeing the ceiling would have been a comfort. What you see is anything but comforting. 

To start, you are not in a room like you were the last two quests. You are surrounded by marble columns that support the circular dome on top. A temple like those in Greek times. A huge part of the building has crumbled, giving you a clear view of what lies ahead.  

Your heart leaps. Before your eyes lies what you can only describe as an apocalyptic city. Actually, an apocalyptic Greek city. Smoke billows from several temples writhed in flames. Most of the bronze and marble statues lining the sandy paths are missing a body part, some have been completely destroyed. A colosseum crumbles to dust right in front of your eyes though you have no idea what a Roman structure is doing in a Greek city. It would have been a beautiful place if it's not for the fact that it looks like a war zone.  

The temple you are in is not holding out really well either. From time to time, debris would fall from the ceiling, and you can only hope the roof won't collapse on top of you. You try to move and that's when you realize you have been tied up. Looking down, you find yourself bound to a chair with metal chains, your hands at the back. Your legs are no exception either. They have been tied up as well. 

This quest is starting to look hopeless already. It would be so easy for someone to gut you right now and you can do nothing but watch. You could call out for help except that there isn't a living being in sight. Even if someone does come, you can't be certain if they are friends or foes. 

You remember the surge of strength that has come to you when you were at the brink of death. It would be really really helpful if you could get that kind of help right now. Though you doubt that kind of chance will be given twice. 

"Oh, he can't help you this time" As if reading your thoughts, a voice rings out behind a column.  

The owner of the voice emerges. A figure with fiery red hair wearing a top of matching color. The black jeans accentuate her slender legs. Her ruby red eyes fixed on you with a steely gaze. Yeji, the leader of Itzy. 

"Ehm....Yeji?" Obviously, the idol before you is not the real Yeji. But you ask anyway. 

"In a sense" She replies. "But that won't matter anymore after I kill you" 

Just wonderful. Another idol who wants you dead.  

"I gotta praise you though. You are pretty strong compared to those before you" 

"Others? What are you talking about?" 

"Oh, do you think you are the only one chosen by the app, chosen one?" She strains the last part just to sound sarcastic.  

"Look, I don't even understand what's happening much less answer your questions. I don't even know why you want to kill me" 

"Oh, you very much do" She snaps back. "Rei? Eunbi? The things you did to them. You are lucky I let you live this long" 

"I was just doing what the app told me to" 

"Oh, yes. That stupid 'Ero' app. You love it so much you walked right into my trap" 

The realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. The quest that arrives right when the app is nearly deleted. The distorted letters.  

"It's you" You say. "You are the one who set up this quest" 

"Correct" Her voice is dripping with glee. "Aren't I clever?" 

"Ok, Yeji....or whatever. If you let me go, I promise I won't-" 

"Oh, shut up. You will follow where your dick leads you" 

She's not wrong. Still, it sort of hurts. 

"There's nothing you will get out of killing me" You try the other route. 

"Oh, there's a lot I can get out of killing you" Yeji muses, walking closer. "And I will start by destroying the thing that have been distracting my kind" 

You don't know what she means but you don't need to wonder for long because with the flick of her wrist, your shorts come off. Look, you know some guys are really into the bondage stuff when the girl ties you up and all, but it isn't much fun when your partner is trying to kill you. But there's a bigger threat than getting killed right now. 

"Wait, you don't mean my-"  

"Dick? Yes. If it's gone, you can no longer bother us, right?" 

"You can't do that! It's illegal" 

"Look around you. You are no longer on earth" 

You are making empty threats, and you know it too well. But you don't want your bloodline to end with you. 

"Look, maybe we can make a deal or something" 

"Too late" Yeji unfolds her palm and a gladius, a roman sword, manifests out of thin air. She's definitely not human. 

You tilt your head in panic as the point hovers over your throat.  

"I should have just killed you but where's the fun in that?" 

Your breath hitches. You don't trust yourself to talk without blabbering out more pleas that will make Yeji even madder. And even worse, your dick is rock hard because of the adrenaline.  

"Bye bye" She raises the sword and brings it down on your springing mamba. You close your eyes. bracing yourself for the pain. But it never comes because a voice cuts through the tense atmosphere.  

"Wait!" Another female voice and running footsteps. You open your eyes. 

Behind Yeji is Kazuha, the japanese member of Le Sserafim. Her pink satin dresses look out of place among the ruins of the city, like a runaway bride.  

"Kazuha?" Yeji lowers the gladius. "Oh, let me guess. He sent you" 

"You need to stop this. Killing him won't stop our problems" 

"You don't know that for sure. One less candidate means less chance for the mark to emerge" 

"What mark?" instantly, you regret not keeping your mouth shut. They want to cut your dick off for christ's sake. 

"The mark of-" Kazuha starts to answer but Yeji cuts her off.  

"Shut up" Yeji snaps. "He's going to die anyway" 

"Stop this, Yeji. He's going to be so mad if he finds out" 

"So what? He has been a dick all those times. You still take orders from him?" 

"He can be crazy sometimes but it's our job to serve him" 

"Bullshit. You are just too scared to disobey" 

"Yeji, please" 

Kazuha's words have no effect. Yeji closes in on you again and raises her gladius. This time there's no escape for you.  

Then the strangest thing happens. A burst of energy erupts from your core, spreading to every cell in your body. All the fatigue and panic are gone. It's like being dipped in water when you are high. You feel pumped, ready to do anything. More specifically, ready to fuck anyone because the lust inside you has never been so strong. 

"It can't be..." Yeji backs away, dropping her gladius. Her face that of pure horror. 

You look down and nearly scream yourself. On your pelvis is an upside-down pentagram, like those used in cult rituals and its glowing red hot though you don't feel any pain. Further down is an even stranger sight. Your dick is literally glowing. Upon taking a closer look, you realize it’s surrounded by a golden aura like it's something powerful. All the chains binding you shatter to pieces, and you rise.  

"The mark" Kazuha mutters dreamily. "It's real" 

"No!" Yeji screams, falling down. "It's a myth. How could it be-" She picks up her gladius and instantly charges. You back away but there isn't a need. Because Yeji got thrown away as though hit by an invisible force. 

She crouches on the floor, panting. "This is madness" 

Kazuha just stands there frozen. Hey eyes fixed on your glowing cock. 

But you only have a single objective in your mind. Ruin Yeji. Use her. Punish her. She is nothing but an easy prey.  

"Stay away" Yeji shouts. In the end, the hunter has become the hunted. 

You close in, grabbing her wrists and pulling her up. Then you slam her onto a column. You don't intend to hurt her though. She's in for something much worse.  

"I will kill you" She mutters but the panic is clear as day in the way her words stutter. Grabbing her waist, you trace your lips across the pulsing veins of her neck all the way to her jaw. Then a bite on her earlobe. Yeji squirms. 

"Still want to kill me?" The question is left unanswered as Yeji's lips part to give way to your tongue, which invades into her oral opening. Yeji's pupils widen when her own tongue got tickled by the foreign one. Her screams come out muffled. Yeji tries to pull away but the grip of your lips on hers is stronger than ever.  

All the while, your hands make their way down to her waist belt, enjoying the feeling of her firm skin. Sliding down further, you slip into her jeans, squeezing that tone ass of hers.  

The writhing of her body is cut short when you slid a finger into her tight asshole, which makes her limp like a rug doll. At first, it's hard to move much with how hard her hole grips you but after a few pumps, it starts to oblige, allowing swifter movements.  

As you finger her asshole, you don't stop the mouth action either. You can no longer tell whose mouth is moister as your saliva got mixed from how long you have been tasting her. All that matters is you keep her mouth shut. The strands of red hair fall over, obscuring your vision partly but you press on, taking in her taste each and every second. Your dick is pressed flat against her tummy in this position and it's getting you even more riled up. You can take care of it later. 

With your unoccupied hand, you squeeze her soft cheeks, which fold like rubber under your touch. The pace of your finger that keeps fucking her asshole remains unwavering. In fact, its pounding her now the same way your cock would. At the same time, you are tongue fucking her. Both of her holes are stuffed and there's nothing she can do about it except produces more degraded sounds. 

Yeji's legs start to shake, inevitably nearing her peak whether she likes it or not. Saliva drips from the corner of her lips and a strand of the remnants connect your lips as your tongue exits her mouth. You are not letting her off. You just want to hear her moan. 

"I...will kill you..." Her voice comes out husky, so it sounds more like an empty promise than a threat. 

"Just shut up and cum bitch" Your thrusts become forceful. Perhaps you are hurting her but Yeji's moaning too much to care. Unable to resist the sight of her skin, you bite down on her neck, pitching up her voice.  

Finally, Yeji breaks. In a frenzy of pain and bliss, she lets out a carnal groan which rings out through the temple. Juice gush out from her pussy when your finger thrust in one last time. Each time her body convulses, she lets out a moan, each one louder than the last. She is still trembling nonstop even after you pull out, her jeans stained with her own bodily fluid. 

"Did you just come from getting your asshole fingered?" You ask. Yeji can only pant as she props against a column not to tremble from her legs that are on the verge of giving out. 

From the corner of your eyes, you can see Kazuha, her arms folded, watching the whole thing without a single word. She seems to be on your side for now. 

"Tired already?" You ask Yeji. "It's just starting" 

The mark on your pelvis glows brighter, the red rays casting a translucent glow on Yeji. With an iron grip on her shoulders, you turn her around, allowing you the view of her round ass in tight jeans. The stain on her crotch area makes the scene even more lewd. 

"Admit it, Yeji. All this time you have been a slut. My cock is all it takes to wipe that bitchy look off your face" Your cock presses against her clothed ass. 

"I swear I will kill-" 

You pull down her jeans just enough to expose her round butt, stealing the air right out of her lungs. Your palm connects with her supple flesh in a harsh spank, leaving a handprint in red. You deliver a strike for each word that leaves her mouth. It goes like this. 

"I-" 

Spank 

"will-" 

Spank 

"kill-" 

Spank 

"you-" 

The white canvas of her skin is now streaked with scarlet stripes. And you intend to keep it that way because the way her ass jiggle with each spank is too hypnotic to get tired of. The cherry on the top is how she keeps protesting even through the stinging pain. But you are gonna change it real soon. 

With one last strike, you pull back, admiring your handiwork on her ass, which is now the same fiery shade as her hair and tops. Yeji mutters another curse through shallow breath. This bitch is still as cocky as ever. 

Pulling her hair to tilt her head, you whisper into her ear. "Still resisitng, hmm? Should we move on to your next punishment?" Yeji's eyes blaze with fury. "Bastard"  

"So, we are doing it the rough way" You hold her throat in a tight grip with your other hand, restricting any more words from coming out of her vocal cords.  

You rest your rock hard cock between her cheeks, the glow it radiates merging with her reddened buttocks. "I'm gonna fuck your brains out now. And then I wanna know if you still want me dead"  

Yeji can do nothing as you enter her moist slit with one forceful thrust that ripples her cheeks. You don't know if she's a virgin or not but the way her walls hug you tight is giving you ideas. Nevertheless, you push on, breaking through the barriers of her fold with each thrust. It doesn't take much time for you to pound her freely with how wet she already is from earlier. 

Soon, you are hammering her cunt without a care in the world, solely focused on using her as your vessel for pleasure. You will take anything her body can offer and that will be her punishment, to become nothing but your cumdump. Resentment and triumph take over your movements and each thrust leaves her even more breathless despite being choked. 

You loosen your grip on her neck just enough for her to make audible sounds. "Still hate me?" You ask as you pull back all the way and thrust into her slit with all your force. She tenses, her back arched. She answers your question with animalistic sounds only a whore would make. 

"Hmm, you still got a lot to learn" You slip your hands under her top, reaching for her mounds. Yeji's tits aren't qualified to be called huge, but they are still big enough to fill your palm as you knead them. When you twirl her rosy nipples between your index and thumb, she mewls like an animal in heat which is only natural with the way she's getting bred. 

You slow down your thrusts, moving in and out slowly to enjoy the full feeling of her slick velvety walls that trace every inch you fill her up with. Somewhere far away, another building collapsed with a sickening crunching sound. A wave of hot air grazes your skin. But they can do nothing to disturb you from claiming Yeji's cunt thoroughly.  

Her walls start to contrast around you, the sign of an oncoming climax. You thrust with inhuman speed, empowered by the mark, as Yeji had called it. Jolts of energy course through your veins at every moment and you are surprised to find that you are not even sweating, much less tired. You can breed Yeji all day if she isn't already worn out and used up. 

Yeji's eyes roll up, her tongue hanging out in the perfect replication of the ahaego faces you see so often in certain animes. Another flood of her nectar pours out, coating your shaft. You keep fucking through her orgasm, chasing your own high. Yeji's body twists and bends but you keep her in position by wrapping your arms around her waist.  

The friction over her slick walls becomes unbearable and soon you are pumping jets after jets of your fertile seeds into her womb, all the way to the hilt. If Yeji sounds animalistic before, now she's no different from an animal. Guttural sounds betray her lips as she gets filled up to the depths she never knows existed before. When your orgasm subsides, she becomes motionless, her hoarse breaths the only sign of life. 

You pull out and cum drips out of her hole which is clenching onto air as if it needs something stuffed inside. Her punishment is a success. Yeji's got destroyed by the very thing that she wanted to destroy. As you stand there, grinning with victory, the adrenaline starts to drain out of your body. Your legs become sore, and the fucking headache is starting again. The mark on your pelvis dims and fades along with the glow of your spent rod.  

"We need to leave" You are so caught up in the joy of dominating Yeji, you forget Kazuha exists. She's still at her old spot, watching you with interest and a slither of worry. You quickly pull up your shorts though there's no point being shy now. She has seen everything. 

"Leave where?" You ask. "My quest is completed right? I will just pass out and go back" 

"It's not happening this time. He wants to meet you" 

"He?" 

"Look, we don't have much time. He will explain everything to you. I promise" 

"But-" 

The temple rumbles. More debris and dust fall from above.  

"Alright. Good idea" You and Kazuha make it outside just in time before the whole temple collapses. The sound of explosions and crumbling buildings ring out all around you. The air burns your lungs with each breath. 

"Ok, hold my hand" Kazuha says and you oblige. There's no point arguing when you are in the middle of an apocalypse. As Kazuha closes her eyes, a gleaming orb surrounds both of you and you spiral down into a tunnel of light. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

(Have been procrastinating on this. Anyway, enjoy~)

[signedkoko]

Hello! I saw that your requests are open. I got really attached to Vox after seeing episode two of Hazbin Hotel. Could you please do a headcanon, or a scenario about his reaction to his sweet human s/o who almost gets killed in the extermination? She’s really injured because she got in the way to protect a little demon or something. Now the angels are walking towards her to finally kill her. How feral would Vox go? And how would he react once she’s back in his arms again? If you want you can make it gender neutral so everyone is included!

I hope this is enough info! If it’s not please let me know :D

Vox X Reader [Romantic]

In which during an extermination you don't make it to the safehouse in time, and Vox decides to go out after you.

To someone so selfish and self-centred, exterminations are a big deal

There's a safehouse built just for the V's, and by proxy, who they invite, and you were Vox's only plus one

Sinners such as Vox were at their prime in hell; to die would be to lose everything, so they never risked being outside even an hour before it starts

Even so, he was getting anxious when you mentioned you were going to be late, but at least you'd still be there a few minutes before everything went to shit

But even with a few minutes to spare, he could no longer locate you through any device

Valentino was already saying they had to lock the doors now, and before they could fully shut, he slipped his way through the cracks and ran as if his life depended on it

Because, let's be honest, you were his life

There is no known way to kill angels

But when he sees you on your knees with a blade heading straight for your throat,

Messed up as if they'd been toying with you

Regretting not looking sooner, knowing you'd been hurt so badly because of his own selfishness

All he could see was red

There was a surge of electricity through hell, everything lighting up again as if it weren't doomsday

And then everything went dark, even the clocktower

Holding you with one arm and fighting with the other, he would defend for the remaining hours without a blink of rest

There was no known way to kill angels

Until Vox learned

Author's Note - I am assuming you meant sinner s/o, or at least I hope so! Thank you for requesting and please enjoy 🖤

[lacollectionneuse1967]

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @msauthor

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hello 👋 if requests are open do you think we can get another of The Summoned Demon? I've never seen a take on Danny being misunderstood and speaking a different language after a summoning and I'm really excited to see where you wanna take this. If not don't worry about it I have a vivid imagination hahaha

Take care of yourself man, this is also your mandatory water and food break ❤️

Danny runs for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes, attempting to find the exit of the caves. This would be easier if he could go ghost, but for some reason, his powers were disrupted when he tried to change into Phantom back in the cell.

He didn't know how, but the weird lights had messed with his core. It was almost like an invisible hook had attached itself to his navel. The thing yanked his power into the floor and walls, causing them to explode.

Thankfully, when the strange writing had vanished, a bit of his strength had returned, allowing him to tear through the stone bars. He couldn't go ghost, but at least some of his powers were accessible.

He had super strength, night vision (which would have been really helpful the day he was kidnapped!), and a few energy beams. It could be a better skill set, but if needs must. If only his Phantom stamina could transfer over.

Right now, he was using Fenton Stamina. There was a reason he was failing P.E. It showed how he was gasping for air, kneeling by one of the stone walls.

"Must...huff...find...exit....huff huff....escape!" Danny pants, attempting to crawl forward. "Must....check with a doctor about possible asthma...leg cramp! leg cramp!"

It wasn't going well.

Danny grips the meat of his calf, curling into a tight ball and silently screaming at it. The pain is annoyingly rippling across his whole body, causing his muscles to tense to the point he can only sit there and wait for it to go away.

All the while, he was mentally swearing up a storm.

After a few minutes, the muscles relax enough for him to feel some relief. Slowly unclenching his hands- afraid that if he got too quickly, the pain would return- Danny stretches out his leg. The ache is a distant echo as he slumps against the stone.

"I'm going to die in here," He whimpers. "I'm going to die from a kidnapping cult that thought it was a great idea to wait after my math test to take me."

While Danny wallows in misery, two glowing figures flout out of a nearby wall. A woman who looks to be wearing an outfit straight from the pilgrim's age and a man who may have once been a gentleman in the early ninety-thousands.

Danny's eyes widen at the blood staining the woman's head and dress. It's evident from the crack that runs along the right side of her skull. The man, meanwhile, looks more normal if it is not for the way one of his legs is twisted sickeningly.

"This one is young, " says the woman, shaking her head in pity. "It looks like he hurt his leg."

"I know how that feels," the man sighs, flouting until he is mere inches from Danny's face. "It doesn't seem he's been down here for long. Maybe there is hope someone will find him before the starvation hits."

"What do you mean starvation!?" Danny yelps. The two glowing people flinch.

The man gapes at Danny. "You can see us!?"

"Yeah? You're ghosts, right? I'm part ghost on my mother's side." Danny jokes, only seeing the woman cross herself before doing a slight hop and pointing at him with clear disgust.

"Witch!" She stretches, dragging out the syllables. He a bit impressed by how she puts her whole chest into that yell. Hell, he's even a little envious with how low she got her voice too.

"Not now, Mary," The man hisses at her. He reaches to touch Danny, but the boy avoids the contact, afraid of being overshadowed. That earns him a smile that seems oddly approving. "It's nice to meet you, lad. My name is Harold McConnell; I was an explorer attempting to map out Gotham's caves when I was separated from my crew. I broke my leg in the dark and starved to death. This is Mary, no last name. She and her family were moving from different American colonies when they passed over Gotham, and their carriage fell when the ground gave way. She died upon impact."

Dang, okay. Harold is oddly forward. Danny knows most ghosts are well aware of the specter's unwritten rules: Never bring up another death or share yours until a deep bond has been made.

A bit flustered Danny placed a hand on his chest, ensuring his fingers were spread so that they know he was a friendly ghost. He was not after their haunt or territory. "I'm Danny Fenton. Yesterday I was kidnapped by a cult from my classroom. They had me in warehouse then in a stone cell in a near by cave I escaped them but ended up gettng lost."

Marry lowered her hand, eyes wide. "A cult brought you down here?"

"Yeah, and I'm afraid they will find me," Danny mutters, looking over his shoulder. He can't see or hear anyone, but that does little to reassure him.

Harold's face tightens. "There are many monsters in this city."

"We can show you the way out," Mary offers, flying closer. Danny does his best not to stare at her gruesome features. It would be vulgar. "Does being half ghost- or a witch- make it possible for us to carry you?"

Danny blinks. "I think so, but I can walk-"

"Nonsense," Harold grunts, reaching out and lifting Danny from the floor. He throws him over his shoulder like he was picking up a flour sack. Danny squeaks. "Goodness, I forgot how it felt to hold something. I miss this."

Danny starts to protest, but Harold merely bounces him with a laugh, twisting around where Mary is flouting. "Onward!"

Mary smiles, floating alongside them. "We can go through the west caves to where my skeleton is. There is an opening that should lead to the center of Gotham's suburbs."

"Good idea, Mary," Harold compliments, flying right behind her at a much faster speed than Danny's running. "Listen, lad, we can't leave the blasted caves, but we can stare through openings. The suburbs are the safest place for you to pop out of."

Considering that his only other option is a mad group of cultists, a kiddy pool of blood, or a full ghost status from being lost in the caves, Danny doesn't mind.

He is saddened that they are anchor ghosts, though he suspected as much from the way neither had noticed his Infinite Realms mannerism. It means they are doomed to only wander the areas of their death, forever trapped in their sudden and abrupt demise.

"Thank you for helping me," He says, staring down at his hands. He can see the ground past him back, aware of the way Harold's muscular arms wrap around him without any warmth but not lacking in kindness. "I wish I could take you with me."

"That's a sweet thought, little one witch, but it's alright." Mary says, "We've come to terms with our fate. We even found love."

Danny peaks at her, noticing how adoring she is regarding the ghost, and she can't help but smile. "You two are together?"

"Aye. Mary comforted me in my final hours." Harold responds in a voice as fond and adoring as Mary's: "She was my reward for how I perished."

How romantic.

"I hope I find love like yours," Danny tells them just as they round a few corners and come to a deep drop. The remains of a carriage and five skeletons rest at the very bottom, making him heartache for the fact she had likely been alone with their bodies for centuries.

Mentally, he makes a pack to come back for the bodies and give them a proper burial—once he has his powers, of course.

"I pray that you do," Mary says, keeping her gaze away from the pit. She points upwards to a whole in the cave's ceiling, a few streaks of light peaking through. "Up there, my love."

Harold obediently flies upwards, twisting Danny so the boy's back is to his chest and his hands are supporting him on his bum. Danny's face turns red. "Sorry, lad, but something is covering the exit. I can not touch it, but you should be able to. Kick it until it breaks. It should only be a few layers of grass."

Danny coughs. "I'll try my best."

He kicks upwards, pressing himself into Harold so he has more leverage for throwing his legs upwards. They make contact with a heavy thump, his super strength giving him an edge.

"Donkey kicks, lad!" Harold shouts, "Both legs, nice and even."

He pulls his legs back again, putting more strength into his second kick. It shakes the ground above him as bits of dirt fall through, and the light streaks grow. Danny's legs go through once, twice, and on the third kick.

Danny cheers as the ground above him collapses, falling into the pit below. It's a reasonable-sized hole, just big enough that he will be able to squeeze through, but thankfully, the rest of the ceiling seems sturdy enough that he won't accidentally cause a sinkhole.

"Good job!" Mary cheers, clapping her hands. Harold lets out a deep and joyish laugh, helping Danny straight up by holding his waist and lifting him up through the hole.

He struggles to keep Danny upright when Mary swoops in, lacing her fingers and supporting Danny's feet. Her added assistance allows the ghosts to push him upwards, away from the darkness and into the light.

Danny rises from the ground with a laugh so cheerful he doesn't think he's ever been this happy to see sunlight, even when it blinds him.

It takes a couple moments to adjust his eyesight, stepping out of the ghosts' hold onto solid ground, but he can smell the sweet grass below his feet. He hears the tender psss of a meat on a girl. The alluring aroma of hotdogs-

Wait a minute.

Danny's eyes finally come into focus, and he stares into the faces of a surprise family just about to sit down for a BBQ. His eyes find the face of a very familiar teenage boy looking increasingly horrified by the second.

"Hey, you're the cult pants guy!" Danny shouts at him, twisting around to look down at Harold and Mary. "One of the cult sacrifices is here! I think he escaped, too!"

"Solitary!" Harold yells back, "You have more strength in numbers!"

"I don't know how he can help me since last time I couldn't understand his language- oh! Er, hello?" Danny looks down to where the teenager is once again, clinging to his feet, babbling in his fast-paced language. He presses his face against Danny's leg, rubbing himself there, and the Halfa is quick to try to push him away. "Dude! Dude! Personal space!"

"My word!" Mary calls up, scandalized. "Danny, will you force this young one into being your bride?"

"What!? No! Wait—" Danny looks back at the scene where Mary is once again making that same disgusted face while Harold is offering him a thumbs up and an eyebrow wiggle. "You can understand him!?"

"Yes, can you not?" Harold responds.

"Not even a single word. Would you mind translating for me?"

"I can let you know what he is saying, but I'm afraid the living won't be able to hear us." Marry cautions, sounding strangely apologetic and relieved in the same tone. "He's attempting to bargain for his family's lives in exchange for being your bride."

"Why would he assume I even want their lives or him!?" Danny yelps, finally untangling himself from the teenager and putting in some much-needed details. He makes a x with his arms, hissing when the other guy makes a move to follow him.

"Hard to say. He's not making a lot of sense- it's just pleas for a bargain.," Harold shouts, speaking louder now that Danny has moved away from the hole's edge. "It is best to put some distance between you and him."

"But what about you?"

"Don't worry about us; we've been here long enough. Escape while you can and be safe!" Mary yells over the cries of the rest of the family, who seem to have finally snapped out of their daze.

Danny looked at the two adults, the one pre-teen and a crying five-year-old, and decided he did not want to stick around for more screaming in a language he could not understand. "Thank you for everything you've done for me, Harold, Mary!"

"You're welcome!"

"It was a pleasure lad!"

Quick as a whip, Danny twists on his heel, racing for the fence and leaping over it. He's suddenly grateful for all the times he would sneak into Tucker's house as he clears over the wood in one smooth tug up and over, hitting the ground running.

He ignores the cries of the other humans behind him as he sprints down the surprisingly lovely suburban street.

___________________________________________________________

Jack Roux's hands shake as the demon disappears from view. He thought Batman had a handle on the cult and was free. But obviously, that wasn't the case.

When the ground first started to thump, he thought their garden had a mole or something, only to have his blood turn to ice when the ground gave way. Rising from the ground was the very demon that he had seen only two days ago.

His mother quickly ran to his side, wrapping Jack in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. His dad stood in front of him, likely wanting to be a shield between Jack and the demon. His little siblings crowed around crying in fright.

It had come back for him, even though he had assumed it was kind and likely was going to go after the others.

If I had been alone, Jack thinks, thankfully his father's quick thinking and fast-paced prayers had scared the thing away in time, I would have been taken again.

It's a bone-chilling thought.

[koipaper]

YANDERE ABBIE CONCEPT (OLD)

Pairings: Yandere! Abbie x Beloved (Yours/Your/Yourself)

Fandom: Fundamental Paper Education

Trigger warnings: Yandere behavior, Paranoia, Overthinking, Obsessive behavior, Worshipping, an OOC headcanon near the end, Manipulation, Guilt tripping, Probably OOC in general hhghd.

A/N: Despite being alive for only a few seconds, Abbie has become one of my favorite characters from Fundamental Paper Education.

‣ Stated in the introduction, Abbie is shown to be timid and the least intelligent in the class, as well as easily frightened in the animation as well. Him being a yandere is rather tame then most others.

‣ You're a student that had enrolled not long before Claire shows up, you never really noticed Abbie until you were paired with him for a partner project. Abbie was stressed and paranoid, what if he annoyed you with always asking for help? What if you just let him fail his part and he dies just like the other students here?? Oh gosh, he was terrified.

‣ The project was a take at home project, so you both agreed to exchange numbers and meet up at your house to get it done in time. Abbie arrived not a minute late, hands shaking like a leaf from his overthinking on the way there. You both greeted each other and sat down on the pillows you set up above the carpet so you both don't get sore. Abble couldn't stop worrying though. Almost everyone who has tried to help him has given up and left, what if your no different? However, to his surprise, you were very patient with him and even offered to work on the things he didn't understand.

‣ The rest of the night was fun, you both got to know each other a bit and you managed to finish the project within two hours. Abbie had told you that he wasn't smartest in the class, how usually his friend Engal would attempt to aid him but would fail because he was just too dumb to understand. So, you decided to help Abbie pass all of his assignments by doing it for him to save him from trouble. You already had his number, so you could just send him the answers before anything major like a test so he could write it down and pass. ‣ He agreed, and from then on, you both became best buddies! If only you knew that your little act of kindness caused an obsession to brew from the young man... ‣ How I write Abbie, his yandere traits would be Obsessive, Pathetic, Worshipping, Harmless, Dependent, Anxious, Clingy, and Tame. ‣ He sees you as a angel that was sent by heaven to aid him during his time at this wretched school, there was no denying it. He often praises you for how smart you are, as well as how kind and patient you are with him. He wants it all to himself... No one but him should be gazed apon with those loving eyes but him. You don't want him to feel like your abandoning him do you? ‣ Seen in official art, he was holding what seemed to be a love letter while Lana was pulling on his cheek teasingly. So maybe he writes love letters that he might one day send to his beloved to confess. These letters are his way to vent his feelings about you, since he gets too anxious to ever give them to you. ‣ SPEAKING OF ANXIOUS, I feel like Abbie would be in a constant state of paranoia that eventually you'll get fed up of helping him with his work. He'll die without your help! You don't want him falling to the hands of Miss Circle, do you?! Don't leave him, please! ‣ Abbie is quite obsessive when it comes to his crush on his beloved, he fantasizes about you, being in your arms, being able to kiss you, calling you his, he cannot wait! However, this is why he writes in a diary to prevent him from confessing too early. He'd die if you found out about his crush on you. ‣ Lana is no help either. If anything she more or so encourages Abbies crush on you (of course, she hasn't seen what lies beneath his lovey-dovey rambles about you, so she assumes that her best friend is just experiencing a normal crush.) If you ever come to her about Abbies strange behavior, She would shrug it off, saying that maybe he's just trying to show how appreciative he is that you stuck around. ‣ A bit OOC here (or just a personal headcanon of mine), Abbie's rather touchstarved, so affection by you feels like a high to him. Just a simple hug? He melts into your embrace. A small peck on the cheek? He's turning into putty as we speak. Holding his hand in the halls so you can get through a tough crowd? His face is flushing at the feeling. Even if the gesture is small, it fuels his obsession like wood to a fire place. He takes whatever he can get although, so there's that... ‣ Although, secrets can't stay secrets forever. You were invited to Abbies house to do another project just like when you first met. And you got curious and began snooping around his room when he went to get a drink for the both of you. Inside a drawer, you find a book labeled "DIARY: PLEASE KEEP OUT". You thought that maybe a itty bitty peak wouldn't hurt anybody, so you decided to read. ‣ Inside the first few pages were filled with words beyond words about you, mostly his thoughts about you. It was cute at first... until it started getting creepy.. The pages would be just word after word about how much he fantasized about you, how he felt every time he felt you were getting tired of him, and how he couldn't live long without you in his life before Miss Circle or any other of the teachers would kill him. He needed you, he wanted you, he would do anything just for you to be his. ‣ Before you could even react, a hand slammed the book shut causing you to yelp in surprise. Abbie stood before you, water in one hand and the diary in the other. His face was hard to read.

‣ His eyes were shaped like pinpricks, and tears were formed in his eyes, on the brink of spilling if you even dared to run. (His face is a ref to this.)

‣ "You didn't... You didn't see much, did you..?" He asked, his voice cracking and ready to break. Surly you didn't see much right?

‣ He hopes you didn't.

‣ He prays you didn't

‣ After all, he doesn't want to lose the only one who was patient enough to stick by him and his lack of intelligence. He NEEDS you to stay.

‣ He'll die without you, remember?

[liveontelevision]

Hello hello! If you are still taking requests I've been dying for an Alastor x reader where the reader was married to him when he was alive, and she outlives him quite a while before they reunite in hell, only for him to nearly die again when the angels attack. I love your work!

I've been wanting to do this prompt for a hot minute, sorry it took so long Anon :')

But here's a good long fluffy, angsty, fic to balance out how much of an ass Alastor is in Suffer lol

Curiosity Killed the Cat | Reader x Alastor

What caught your eye first, was how much whiskey he could down before losing his composure. You found yourself in awe, watching this charismatic stranger go round after round, only to end up on the dance floor with more energy than you had when you were sober. Truly a spectacle. Why don't you go tell him that?

"Excuse me-" You say in a sing-song voice, slipping by the stranger to beckon another drink your way. You may or may not have brushed your body against him in some sort of attempt to get his attention. It went unnoticed, but that's alright, that trick didn't usually work on the ones who had one too many drinks.

You decide the next best action is to sit at the seat next to him, despite there being multiple unoccupied stools at the bar. That’s something he has to question, right?

Of course not. You spent far too long trying to get his attention in any way, and he's either humming a song to himself or chatting with the plump, noisy, owner who would come by. They seemed to be close friends.. but she definitely wasn't his type. She looks like one to cause trouble.

You get a good scope of his character. He came in wearing a pristine trenchcoat, shielding an expensive-looking vest and tie combo. But, by now the tie had come undone and was draped across his neck. The heat of the whiskey might've gotten to him, he left his top few buttons precariously opened. You didn't mind that one bit. Next thing you spot; slightly messed hair and smudged glasses- bingo.

"Hey, birdy-" you finally muster some courage to get his attention. "-may I?" You pull out a handkerchief you usually have on hand, in case handsome strangers with glasses need a quick clean. It took you a good half hour to finally speak up, but he's looking you up and down as if you had just walked in. It takes a moment, but you see him finally decide you aren't a threat. He sits silently. Taking another swig of his drink, he looks at you with a smile. Does he want you to.. no harm in trying.

You bite at your lip, hesitantly reach out to his face, and carefully pluck the glasses from the bridge of his nose. He shuts his eyes as you do so. A man hasn't made you blush in quite some time. You decide to blame the drinks. Luckily, you have a task to keep your mind preoccupied. You're carefully swiping any smudges clear from the lenses when you hear his voice for the first time. Or so you thought.

"Mimzy, dear, do tell me who this little kitten here is. A regular?" You're assuming he's speaking about you, he's gesturing in your direction with his empty glass. The owner of the speak-easy, who you now know as Mimzy, trots behind the bar to top off his drink.

"For sure! What do ya say, kid, you're here.. on most weekends, ain't ya?" She turns to you, and you take a moment to confirm. You didn't think she'd notice, you don't come here that often. That's what you tell yourself at least.

"Got an eye on her tonight, Al? Sounds like someone's not goin' home alone~" She teases him with a quick jab, and he's quick to roll his eyes.

"Now now, she's been perched here for quite a while and has barely said a word to me, I doubt she's getting any more than a free drink." He sounds snarky, yet.. familiar..

"Al… as in Alastor? That radio host fellow? Well, I’ll be damned! I wasn't expecting a celebrity such as yourself to frequent little joints like this one." You comment, finally joining the conversation. You hear a throat being cleared dramatically and turn to the owner behind the bar. You laugh nervously.

"Not that- it's still a good bar- I.. Sorry." Good recovery. Your attention is taken to the hand outstretched to you, and you instinctively lean away from it.

"Kitten-" He beckons his hand, and you follow his eyes to his glasses that were still in your grasp. You let yet another nervous laugh and quickly pass them over. He slips them on with a satisfied hum.

"If I remember correctly, Al-" you attempt to mock the nickname you picked up from Mimzy. "- You have a broadcast tomorrow morning, no? You really think drinking like a sailor tonight is the best idea?" You weren’t concerned, really. You wanted to tease him a bit longer.

"Props to you for knowing my schedule." You realize how strange that might've sounded and quickly finish your drink to prevent any more embarrassing thoughts from slipping from your lips. "Are you implying I can't handle my liquor, dear?" He scoffs, beckoning the bartender over. He has them refill your glass.

"I'm sure you can, birdy, but you've been pounding down more drinks than I can count." You respond. You weren't one to flirt effectively. That, or he just happens to see right through your nerves.

"So, you've been counting, hm?" You realize you had outed yourself to watching him all night. You curse yourself quietly, hoping the music filling the room will cover your frustration. "Appreciate the concern, but I promise you, I'm more than capable of doing my job. No matter the circumstances."

While he seemed to be reading you quite easily, you had picked a few things up yourself. For one, he watches everything. And he seems to only drop his intel when he needs to. Or to mock you. And two, he's a bit of a narcissist.. quite an ego on this one. But that could work in your favor tonight.

"Well, fine then. I'll be up bright and early to listen to your broadcast. I doubt you can get through it with a hangover. Especially considering how much you've been drinking."  You state proudly. He lets out a chuckle, and despite how quiet it is, you can't help but appreciate his sultry laugh.

"Is that a challenge, kitten?" He purrs -ha- leaning his chin into his hand and slouching his body towards the bar.

"I mean if it is, there must be stakes." You say it as a matter of fact. "Let's say.. you cover my bill next time if I catch you slip up."

"Hm. Seems fair. You better be listening close, though, I'm very good at what I do." He enunciates his final sentence and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment, you consider this could be a bad idea.

"And when I win, what will be my prize?" He asks. You let out a little giggle at his cockiness.

"I'll tell you my name." He cocks his head to the side, an intrigue hitting him. Did he really manage to get this far without a proper introduction?

"I see your little detective game going on, I'll give you that. You are quite the observer. But you won't find my name just by looking." You say smugly. That's true for a number of reasons.

"I suppose you did leave that information out, hm?" He let's his eyes drop, as if he was trying to piece it together with what little information he had.

"I must say, you've got me hooked, kitten." He lets out a sigh, leaning back in his chair and finishing off yet another drink.

"Deal?" You hum, holding your hand out to him. He smirks, taking it into his own, not expecting a firm shake, but receiving one. He went on to press a quick kiss to your knuckles.

"Deal."

You went home alone after that night, but it was likely for the best. You were sure you'd see him next time, anyway.

Now that you had to tell him your name.

You thought for sure he'd at least stumble through a sentence, but no. He went through the entire show, even an interview with some big shot, and spoke perfect English. He talked like he'd never had a drop of booze his entire life and got a full night's sleep, which you both knew was far from the truth. You almost dreaded the next encounter, but at least you didn't wager anything too crazy. Sure, he'll see you differently after this, but if this were to go any further - what are you on about? You only met him once and listened to him on the radio occasionally at best. He's a perfect stranger to you. Let's not get too excited.

You find yourself seated in the same spot as before, shrinking into your seat and downing a few drinks to build your courage. You told him your mark. An awkward introduction, first and last name, made you feel like a new student at a children's school. He perks up, which is what you expected.

"Ah! So you're the famed physician! It's almost silly of you to call me a celebrity, you're the talk of the town, kitten." You groan, of course, he recognizes you. Everyone in this damned small town knows your name, your family.

You were one of the first women to complete their studies and practice medicine from your hometown. But to attend such high schooling in this time, your family had to be well off. And you were, in fact, well off. When it came to your love life, men were either disgusted by your pursuit of knowledge or took it like some fetish. You haven't approached anyone for years.. not like this, at least.

"You know, I spoke with your father a few-" You groan at the mention of him, cutting Alastor off mid-sentence.

"Don't be a fool, I heard the little interview on your show.. Can't say that was my favorite broadcast." Alastor had a certain segment where he would chat with some of the richer and more.. stuck up.. men in society. It wasn’t titled as such, you just noticed the trend of guests being pompous and wealthy. And your father was the perfect fit for that.

You didn't know this at the time, but Alastor was suddenly hit with some mixed emotions. There was more than one reason as to why your father was chosen to be on his broadcast. Alastor used his interviews to initiate close ties, and make powerful allies. If they weren't complying how he hoped, he would usually cut ties. Permanently.

Your father was definitely not a reasonable man, in fact, you made it a point to avoid him when you returned home. But did he deserve death?

"I didn't expect just the sight of me walking the streets to be as interesting as it is." You mumbled, leaning forward on the counter and drinking something much stronger than you expected. But the mentions of your father called for a hard hitter.

"You didn't?" He asked bluntly, twirling the liquor in his glass. You hum in agreement. Gossip spreads like wildfire here.

"Well, you've picked up some interesting feats. If you were hoping to go unseen, I would've put some more thought into my rags." He gestured to your clothing. It was definitely of higher quality, but it was something you were used to wearing while attending your school in a high-class city. You felt a bit embarrassed, placing your hands in your lap to subtly hide your body.

"And a beautiful doctor like yourself just 'walking the streets'? Some might be concerned for your safety." You tilt your head to the side at his words. Your confusion makes him smirk.

"I'm sure you're aware, kitten, but there seems to be a killer on the loose." He seems far too excited for the subject at hand, and it's almost noticeable.

"Hm. Guess I shouldn't be going out alone and talking to strange men, should I?" You say with a smile.

"I suppose you shouldn't." He shrugs off your words, getting another drink. You didn't even see him finish the previous one. "Though I must say, I'm glad you did. You've been quite the conversationalist." It's barely flirting, but it seems to leave you blushing a bit.

You went on to chat throughout the night, your drunken rambling turned to complaints about your father, and morbid details about what you'd learned in medical school. Both topics that you didn't realize intrigued Alastor to a personal extent. Later on, the rambles started to become incomprehensible. He decides it would be best for you to leave, considering you were refusing to do so and thoroughly embarrassing yourself in the process.

A giggling, stumbling mess, you were carefully lifted from your seat and brought to your feet with his assistance. He helped you out to the streetside, calling a taxi and bringing you into the backseat gently. He then went ahead and paid the driver, and turned at his heels to head back inside.

As he was reaching for the bar's door, a loud call forced him to turn back to the cab.

"Buddy, she's too sloshed to give me an address. You know where she lives?" Shit. Alastor looks to the bar’s door, then to the cab, where he spots you leaning your head against the window in the backseat. He sighs.

After insisting the driver keep the fair, Alastor brought you back out. He kept you standing with a hand on your lower back, as you gripped onto his shirt, far too small to reach your arm over his towering figure. He was cringing at the sight of his clothes becoming disheveled.

"Alright, kitten, where are you staying? I doubt you'd appreciate me taking you to your family home.." He was talking in a hushed voice, in the hopes that you'd have enough conscious to respond, but knew that likely wasn't the case. He looks around the area as if the answer would be in plain sight. He lets out a sigh of defeat when it clearly wasn't.

"Didn't even get to finish my drink.." He mumbles, pulling you closer to keep you stable enough to walk a few blocks.

There, sat a charming little motel. However, calling it charming was.. optimistic. Your memory, to this day, is in small flashes. Only certain things come to mind when trying to picture what went on.

You remember Alastor talking to the older gentleman at the desk. It seemed like they were acquaintances. Maybe they've done business in the past.

You remember him giving up after finding that the room he booked was on the second floor. Unwilling to deal with the staircase, he hoisted you up quite easily. You definitely remember that. How such a slender man can hold you in his arms with no strain.

You remember the room, it was cleaner than you expected. He seated you on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you to remove your heels. He didn't seem to go much farther than that. He could've removed your entire wardrobe with your state of mind, and you'd be none the wiser. How awful it must be, to live in a world where a man not making a pass, surprises you.

As far as you know, you drifted to sleep almost right after. You're pretty sure he wrapped you in the blankets, and you remember the faint touch of hair being brushed from your face. His hand was far colder than you would have expected.

Being in your occupation, you don't exactly have time to confront all the horrific sights you've seen. So, your body deals with those emotions in other ways. A common occurrence, you were plagued with a number of night terrors. Something seems different in tonight's regularly scheduled program, though. A radio static overwhelms your senses, and any horrifying disfigurations that were taunting you seem to fade into nothing. A yellow grin and glowing red eyes are the last thing you can see.

You woke up the next morning with an excruciating headache, an ache in your stomach, and sore feet. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you barely care about the makeup that you'd smudged beyond repair. You try to recall your dreams, which usually stay vivid in your mind for most of the morning, but.. there's nothing. And despite the killer hangover, you feel more awake than you have in ages.

The panic settled in after you ran your hands across the unfamiliar sheets. With a soft gasp, you observe yourself. Still fully clothed, you spot your heels set next to the door. You look around the room next, and you almost feel relieved, seeing Alastor seated in a lounge chair in the corner of the room. He had his nose in a book. It was better than seeing him lying on the other side of the bed.. wait, was it?

You let out a pathetic little sound, your voice too weak to form any coherent words. He sets the book on his lap, and your sad attempt at a greeting seems to catch his attention.

"Good morning to you, too, kitten. Sleep well?" You were sure he drank as much as last night. If not, more. How dare he look so put together?

"Morning. I-um.. I suppose I did.. I-I hate to ask, but did... did we-" you stammer out, and he quickly holds his hands up in defense.

"Heavens no, dear, I wouldn't dare defile a woman who can't handle her whiskey." You scoff at his insult but still feel disarmed by his reaction.

"So then.. the motel room?" You question. He cocks his head to the side, only now realizing that your memory must've gone from the previous night.

"Ah, so you really can't handle your whiskey.. Well, not to fret, dear. You weren't telling me where you were staying, and Mimzy seemed keen on me taking you elsewhere." In actuality, she was trying to play matchmaker. Thanks for trying, Mimzy.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, Alastor, I hate that you bought a room just for me.. I can pay you back." You sit up, running your hands through your mess of hair and letting out a pained groan.

"I'm sure you can, but I simply can't accept." He stands, tucking the book under his arm and walking to your bedside. You swing your legs over the edge, only to notice how close he seems to hover over you. You look up and realize how statuesque he was. You hadn't seen him in daylight. And his height is much more intimating when he stands.

"It was my pleasure, getting to witness you thoroughly embarrass yourself." He bends at the hips, a taunting smile across his face. You try to recall anything embarrassing you might've done the night before, but you can barely recall a thing. That did little to ease your mind.

"You'll have to tell me about it one day." You grumble, standing with his assistance. He offered to escort you home, and you happily accepted.

The two of you stand on your small porch. It's a quaint duplex you've been renting, you go on about how how the family who lives here travels for the summer and was more than happy to offer their home to such a sweet thing.

"Well, since you insist that I can't handle my liquor, it might be a better idea to find each other.. somewhere other than a joint..." you say sheepishly, your eyes wandering to anywhere but his gaze. When he steps closer, you finally fix your wide eyes on him.

"You don't want me to court you, kitten. You're a lovely, educated, pretty little thing, you'll be wasting your time, unfortunately." He doesn't sound insulting, he says it very truthfully. It only makes you want to see more. To ask him to come in, and stick around awhile. But you're aware he has a broadcast coming up soon. You wonder if he would've stayed by your side if you slept through it.

"I'll be the judge of that. Besides, getting coffee doesn't waste too much time." You decide to stand your ground. You aren't sure why he's refusing if he thinks all that of you. You see him look you up and down, then let out a sigh.

"Hm. I suppose. I'll be back here tomorrow morning since you're so insistent. Just remember I warned you-" He says playfully as he makes his way down the stairs.

"Curiosity killed the cat, my dear!" He calls out before giving another heart-melting smile. You nervously bite your lip and watch him walk off through the cracked door. Like a damned puppy, you couldn't help but watch him walk off. You quickly shut the door, after realizing how hard you were smiling.

-

This was supposed to be for fun. You were just supposed to be some extra company on occasions. And he knew you came with your perks. You were an heir to a decent fortune, it only made sense for him to befriend you. You were knowledgeable and smart, he could definitely benefit from your skills if he needs to do so. There were plenty of ways Alastor could use you if necessary.

But with every little dance, every little coffee, or walk home from the bar, it was making him nervous. Of course, he would never call it that, he's too disgusted by the pangs in his chest he gets around you. Unfiltered, yet still delicate and professional. Incredibly intelligent, yet still makes the silliest mistakes. You were flawed. You came from such a slob of a man, and the fact that you are so kind despite that amazes him more than you realize. You are more than willing to stand for your beliefs. For one of the first times in his life, Alastor admired someone.

He's not sure what conversations led to him agreeing to cook yet another dinner in your home, but here he was; standing at your door with a bag of groceries.

"Oh- you didn't need to do all that, you're always free to use anything in the kitchen." You greet him as he comes inside, where he sets the bag at a nearby counter space. You reach up and pull his trenchcoat off his shoulders, which he willingly surrenders to. It was a little action you took, taking his coat for him when he would stop by. He's come to expect it. You hang it up on the rack nearby.

"Nonsense, I'm sure you have plenty to work with, but I'm following a special recipe tonight." He insisted, already unpacking things, setting up pots and pans, and rolling up his sleeves. He pulled an apron from the bag last, and the sight of him all prepped for cooking leaves you weak in the knees. You want to see this every night. You want him in your kitchen every mealtime. You shake the desires from your head, pushing aside the dreams of domesticity that have been plaguing your mind recently.

"Can I help with anything?" You chime in, peeking around the corner to smile at him through the doorway. He shakes his head.

"If you feel the need to help, you're more than welcome to get the table set, but I am quite in my element here, kitten. So, not to worry." You were mostly listening to him, but one part of you kept your focus on his skillful knife practice, watching him chop vegetables in a nearly professional manner.

"Kitten? The table?" His words and his moving on to something else snapped you from your funk.

"Oh! Of course, yes." You stumble a bit but do as he instructs. It wasn't anything special, but the space was more than enough to give the ambiance of a good date.

Damn, this man could cook. He's cooked for you before, but something you couldn't quite put a finger on left you swooning at the sight of the still-steaming gumbo in front of you.

"Damn, you can cook." You're muttering, between bites. You almost can't taste all its decadence, digging in before letting it fully cool.

"Slow down, dear, we have all night." He says softly, despite bringing a spoonful to his own lips. You catch yourself staring at the sight of him eating beside you, enthralled by his enthusiastic hums.

"So where did this come from? I'm a bit suspicious of the finery if I'm honest." You place your elbows on the table, perching your chin on top of your hands. He scoffs in response.

"How rude. All my meals are of the highest quality. I simply haven't made this in quite a while, I thought tonight would be a good time to do so." He replies.

"A recipe for special occasions, hm? Would you consider this.. a special occasion?" You tease, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow. He looks confused, letting his eyes wander in thought for a moment. Was this a special occasion? Is there any specific reason he wanted to bring his own mother's recipe to some girl he's befriended? He pushes the thought aside, planning on mocking you like usual.

"Any night with you is plenty special, kitten." He hums, popping another spoonful into his mouth. He doesn't see your face turning red, but his oblivious flirting always leaves you flushed.

"In that case, when are you inviting me to your own home? I won't lie and say I'm not curious, Al." You set your finished plate aside and notice his eye twitch. You've been staring at him long enough to notice even his smallest ticks.

"Someday. I've a bit of a mess to go through before considering bringing any guests over." He brushes clean his already pristine top, as you stand and take his empty plate to the kitchen. With a sigh, you take yourself over to the sink to do a quick clean. It's the least you could do after such a lovely meal.

"If you say so." You try your best to sound calm, but you're slightly hurt by his constant rejection of letting you into his personal life. It wasn't all the time, but there were clearly things he refused to talk about. You want nothing more than to know him.

Lost in your mildly upsetting thoughts, you recklessly take one of his knives the wrong way, the blade slicing surprisingly easily down your finger. The shock takes you back more than the actual pain. These are far too nice for everyday cooking.

Letting out a quiet curse, you feel his hand brush over your own, his shadow casting over your entirety. "Such a clutz." You hear, his voice causing you to tense. You let him guide your hand under the water to rinse it, effectively caging you in place.

"Be careful, will you? These are my nicer tools." Interesting way to say it, but you were too focused on the fact that you could feel his breath heating the back of your neck. You simply nod, before turning the water off with your free hand. You turn your body around, leaning your back against the edge of the countertop and effectively facing Alastor. His hands stay planted on either side of you, making it a bit of a tight squeeze. You weren't sure what you were trying to accomplish here, but here you are. Neither of you seem to be moving away, though. He drops his head to look into your eyes. You're lost in them.

You reach your arms upwards, holding them around his neck as best you can, and you feel him willingly lean within your grasp. The moment is heated, you feel his breath against your lips as you pull him impossibly closer. His breath is quick, almost shaky. You've never seen this side of him. You'd never associate Alastor with the term nervous.

Nearly closing the gap, you feel a hand come to your throat and fingers gently holding your jaw. With a quick turn, he places a soft kiss on your cheek. It lingers for a moment, and even if it wasn't what you were expecting, you're gasping beneath his affection. The room seems to cool down for a moment. He steps away silently, pulling his things all together.

You may have made a mistake.

"Oh, Al- I'm sorry I didn't think.. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, i-if that's what happened there." Your words quicken, suddenly becoming anxious that you may have upset him.

"No, don't fret." He waves his hand dismissively, his back still turned to you as he keeps himself busy with a bit of tidying. "I'd be an idiot to not expect that, eventually." He almost sounds insulting, a little cocky.

"Why's that? Are you used to women just throwing themselves at you?" You tease but keep yourself from his eyeline.

"Well, yes- but, you've been especially touchy recently. And you seem to be acting like I make you.. nervous. Fidgety." His little observations leave you a bit embarrassed.

"It's not nervous.. exactly. Never mind that, though.. Does.. that interest you..? At all?" It takes you a while to get the question out and it still comes across shaky. You're response is silence. Fill it.

"H-How about a drink before you head off, hm?" You quickly shuffle to your liquor cart, looking for anything to drown out your essential confession.

"It does." You freeze in place, missing the cup entirely with your first pour. That was an answer neither of you were really expecting. You finally turn to him, seeing that he had looked away just as you did.

"So, that means-" you want him to elaborate. You want to hear him say all the things you've been dreaming of. That he wants to spend his free time with you, hold your hand, and kiss it with more than just a greeting in mind. To call you anything other than kitten. Well.. that last part you didn't mind as much.

"I've not prepared myself for such a conversation, but I.. enjoy your company. And your brains.. and you certainly aren't terrible to look at." He said he didn't prepare himself, and it was pretty obvious. This wasn't his usual taunting, his usually eloquent beats. He's pausing between phrases, to come up with the best words on hand.

"Jee, thanks." You roll your eyes, your smile still shining.

"I suppose you leave me speechless, kitten." You leave a radio host, a man who talks for a living and is quite good at it, speechless. This time, he sees the freshly pink hues across your cheek. He lets out a devious chuckle, one you recognize when he's about to do something you'd consider nefarious. He starts to approach you, his clean shoes clicking against the wooden floors being the only sound. You knew you weren't in danger, but you find yourself walking backward until you hit the table. Continuing to lean away from him, he towers over you, only following your avoidance until you are straining to stand upwards.

"Well?" You let out, your words barely a whisper. "Are you going to kiss me or not?"

That seems to shock him a bit, you see his shoulders tense just slightly. You watch him contemplate his next action. He let his hand snake around your waist, not exactly to pull you closer, but his touch still left you weak. With a soft kiss on your lips, he gave you no time to truly enjoy it.

"I hate to repeat myself, but I warned you, kitten. Curious little things like yourself deserve.. more." After processing his words, you're still melting to his touch despite how fleeting it was. He steps away.

"W-What- No! I thought you said you were interested! And that kiss- W-What were-" You throw a bit of a tantrum, but quickly calm yourself. "I don't understand, help me understand. Please.." You sound a bit defeated. He sighs, clearly pained that this conversation has to continue.

"Hm.. I don't believe I'm able to give you everything you need. But, you deserve everything you need. It's as simple as that." He's pausing between words, and his expression shows that he's still not exactly satisfied with how it came out.

You shrank in place and held your arms, your mind trying to scrap together any little hints to what he means. Maybe something he's mentioned in the past. But as elusive as ever, it still just doesn't make sense to you. He catches a glimpse of your upset appearance, then takes in the rest of your state a bit longer. You can feel his eyes on you, forcing you to nervously bite at your lip.

"Okay. Let's forget all that, then." You said softly, smiling the best you can and waving your hand dismissively. He obviously knows that you wouldn't lose these feelings as quickly as he'd hoped. He'd reassure you, you'll get over it.

But you couldn't. You tried, you did. You went on other dates, considering how many men were throwing themselves at you in the right bars. You kept your distance for a bit but still saw him at Mimzy's bar on the weekends. Despite all your potential suitors, you still only seemed to look forward to those nights with Alastor. You'd go as far as to complain about some unruly men to him. His disgusted reactions were a comfort.

You kept trying to pry his real reasoning as to why he wouldn't be with you. He'd admit to not being trustworthy, which you would always dismiss. He'd go on about the other men that would be a much better fit, and all with good reasoning, but you still wouldn't stop pestering him. Then, after a few too many drinks, he finally let slip his disinterest in intimacy. And from everything he's told you, this seemed different. It wasn't an excuse or an avoidance, it was the truth.

"So, you don't find me physically attractive?" You ask him, swirling your half-empty cup.

"It's not that, I assure you. I'd just prefer to shower you in other affections, I suppose." He seems a bit unfiltered tonight, still avoiding your eyes.

"Other affections, hm? Like what, birdy?" You were already enraptured. But you were kicking yourself for getting your hopes up at all. You can see his immediate regret in his words.

"Kitten-"

"Please? I'm just curious." You say sincerely, placing your hand over top of his. You hesitate for a moment, but he seems to not mind the touch.

"Well.. I'd like to buy you the finest things. Any book you're slightly interested in, any frock that draws your eyes, any accessories that would bring out your natural beauty- you deserve it. I want to keep you proudly on my arm throughout the streets, showing everyone that you belong to me. I'd like to cook you every meal, until the day I die." His drunken rants leave an obvious sparkle in your eyes.

"Well that all sounds lovely to me.." you say softly, twisting and turning his hand until your fingers are comfortably interlocked with his. "Simply put, you're not interested in sex?” He was taken aback by your bold words, looking around as if he were nervous someone would hear. “I’ve read about it before, there’s an interesting essay that describes this sort of phenomenon. I'll have to lend it to you.” Your calmness surprises him.

“Well.. Thank you. That puts an end to that, then. Go on and find a man who can properly bed you.” He tries to act just as calm, but his voice still seems a bit frustrated by the idea. You make an act out of tapping your chin and humming in thought.

“No, I’d much rather spend my time with you.” You say bluntly. He quickly chimes in.

“But, I-”

“Alastor, I’ve never met someone as arrogant as you.” You let out a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “If you’ll have me, however you want that is, I’d love nothing more than to spend my days with you.” You speak slowly, almost mockingly, trying to get this damned point across after so long.

He’s still quiet, opening his mouth to respond, then letting his lips shut again. He smiles at you. You couldn't ask for a better response. It was the sweetest smile you've ever seen from him, no sign of teasing or mocking you, no hidden intent, and just slightly bashful. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, in a sweet sign of acceptance.

Things went on after that without a hitch. Mostly. There were some kinks to work out, sure, but you were absolutely head over heels for him. No one’s ever brought you this much joy, and having this more intimate side of him, despite its physicalities, was more than you could ever hope for. He’d finally let you into his home after a while. It was near spotless and he was more than willing to show off the space to you. You wondered why he felt the need to stall this for so long. But you’re together now, hardly anything else matters.

As the summer came to an end, and you had to find somewhere else, you were invited to stay with Alastor. After walking freely around town, as promised, with his arm around yours, gossip spread as it always does. Another talk of the town, two unwed youths in the same place, sharing the same bed assumedly. It made you two snicker at the rumors. Living with him was heaven.

Following through his previous statements, he showered you in compliments, cooked every meal for you, and spent as much of his free time with you as he could. He offered little physical affection, little pecks here and there, and had no issue with sharing his bed. It wasn't long before you popped the question. Neither of you were really interested in the big fancy wedding idea, he was even comprehended by the marriage itself, but if anyone could wear down his nerves, it was you. That being said, Alastor did get you a ring that you were sure cost far too much. He brought up the idea of eloping. A little vacation just for the two of you. It sounded perfect.

“Birdy~ You let out in a sing-song tone, opening the door to your shared home. Every time you’d walk up to the house, you’d slow down, taking in your flawless reality every day. You’d hold your hand out to yourself, looking at the still newly polished ring, then finally entering your perfect home.

Although, it wasn’t perfect today.

You call out his name, no response. You know he should be home, so you peak around corners to no avail. You checked tables and counters, no note to be seen.

After setting down your bag, slipping your heels off, and hanging your coat after your quick search, you head to your room to at least change for the evening. You and Alastor usually go visit Mimzy on these nights, an unspoken routine.

On the way to your room, your tights hit a wet splotch on the floor. With a groan of disgust, you finally realize what you had stepped in.

Blood.

Of course, you’d recognize blood. It trailed from the door in front of you.

Alastor assured you this was his office and showed it to you on occasion. The door was always open when he wasn't home, and although you never felt the need to intrude on his personal space, something was clearly wrong. You swung open the door.

“No.”

You cover your mouth after your quiet refusal. You're silent, unwilling to believe what you're seeing. Your darling husband-to-be, kneeling over a stained and still wet corpse wrapped in canvas. His hands are covered in blood. Actually, his entire body is covered in blood.

How he managed to get in and out of the house without making an entire mess was a thought that managed to cross your mind in your state of shock. You glance up for a second to notice one of the heavy bookshelves pushed aside, a sort of patio doorway leading to the swampy area behind the house.

You look at the door, then to Alastor. Who’s giving you a wide-eyed face that pains your chest.

Say something, Alastor. Say something that’ll make this all okay. You're a deer in headlights.

He notices your eyes dart to the right, then back to him, staring for a moment longer. One thing is on your mind without his reassurance. You’re in danger.

Run.

You book it down the hall, clearly going to the exit. Both your feet soaked in blood at this point are tracking through the house. The moment was such a blur, that you hardly remember how far you got before feeling the pain of hitting the floor. You look down after scrambling onto your back, seeing Alastor’s hand wrap around your ankle.

“Hold on! You’re covered in blood, you’re a mess, just-” He sounds deranged. Who is this man? Surely not the one who’s been treating you so well all this time. He sounds anxious and angry. You’re face is stained with tears as he essentially drags you across the floor briefly, not considering his heightened adrenaline in these moments. You kick. You scream.

“Listen to me!” He grabs you by your arms, giving you a good shake. That seems to calm you down.. or at least quiet you down. You’re staring at him wide-eyed, your breath rapid. He has your attention, yet he’s not sure what to say. A pained expression grows on his face. You’re leaving him speechless, again.

“Let’s.. clean you up.” He scoops you up, and maybe it's the shock that leaves you so lenient. Or maybe it's all the good times blurring what you've witnessed. When you come to, you’re sitting in the bath, Alastor by your side, and running a sponge across your arm, thoroughly staining the water with blood. The sight brings a gasp from your lips, that feels like the first breath you've taken in hours.

“A-Alastor-” You let out weakly, your frightened expression now burned into his mind. “Was that real..?”

“It was-” He lets out a pained sigh, seeing if he could soften the truth. It's not possible. “-It was.” no words can save him from this.

“W-Why..?”

“He was rather unpleasant. A man with too much money, who wasted most of his time on hitting his women staff. He had his chance to make things right, I assure you, this is always the last resort.” That doesn't help for obvious reasons. You pull away from his gentle washing.

“Always? You've done this before?” Your voice squeaks as it comes out. You don't want to know the details. But you can't stop the words from spilling from your lips. He stands and rings the sponge out into the sink, watching the red-tinted water swirl down the drain.

“Yes.”

“How many times have you-” You stop yourself finally. You don't want the answer to that one. You don't want the answer to any of these questions. Unconsciously, your mind still seems to piece together every strange thing he’s done and said to you.

Your half-sentence is replied to with silence. He goes on to finish cleaning you up, helping you in and out of the tub, and drying you as best he can. He wraps you in his own robe and brings you to the bedroom. You’re mortified when you notice him guiding you by your shoulders to avoid the bloody footprints still on the ground.

Some time passes. You sit empty-minded on the edge of the bed, your eyes gazing down into nothing. Alastor leans against the vanity across the small room from you. He runs his hands through his hair, pausing and clenching some strands in his fists before moving on.

“I can..get all your belongings together, find you a place to stay. I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.” He finally says, breaking the silence and your endless train of thought. His offer seems reasonable, but you still feel hurt.

“You want me to leave?” You ask quietly, gripping the edges of the robe and shrinking into yourself. He’s shocked by your response, you can hear it in his voice.

“You want to stay?” He asks in response.

“I.. I love you.” You say weakly. It stings to say it out loud. And even more so to hear it. “Will you hurt me? I-If I go to the police? If I rat you out..?” What are you doing? You can’t ask a murderer that. Your mind is running on fear, especially after what you just said. You feel his hand lightly lift your face to his, flinching slightly considering you hadn't noticed him approaching you.

“I would never hurt you. I’d spend my days rotting in a jail cell if it meant you’re safe..and happy. I love you, kitten.” You aren’t used to seeing this face. It’s almost emotionless. You start to picture this face carrying out his murderous intentions. But there's a crack in his psychopathic mask. There's a hint of softness and anguish at the sight of you.

“I don't.. I don't want to leave.” You take a hold of his hand, still shaking and clearly unsure of your words. You hear a soft hiss leave his lips, clearly trying to conceal his reaction to the unexpected. “I don’t want you to be in jail- or.. I suppose I don't want you to be caught..?” You groan, holding tightly onto his hand. “I’m so confused, Alastor. I want things to be normal. I want to go back to when you cooked for me, and.. And go back to planning- o-our elopement…” You let out weakly. He doesn't respond at first, you force your eyes up to meet his. He looks heartbroken at the sight of you.

“I just want to pretend that none of this happened..Please, stop this. F-for me, please don't do this anymore.” Your voice becomes a whisper. His hesitation only makes it all worse. He responds once he feels your grip on him loosen.

“Okay- okay. I’ll clean up this mess, and- I’ll stop. For you.” You manage to give him a weak smile, before resting your head against his chest. After holding you for a moment he settles you into bed after you had essentially fallen asleep in his arms. He does as promised. Mostly. He cleans up the mess at least.

The next morning, you wake up and hope everything that happened before a nightmare. But, you feel his robe still wrapped around you, then notice Alastor’s side of the bed empty. It's real then. It was too vivid. And if it's real.. Then he’s stopping. Because of you. It’s almost touching.

You go on about your day, and he greets you as if nothing is wrong, making your breakfast as usual. He’s chipper and goes on to chat about his plans for today. He’s pretending that nothing went on. How often has he done this? Convincingly pretend that he didn't take a life less than twelve hours ago?

It takes you a few days. A few months.. years, actually. To accept what he had done. You never forgave him, but you accepted it. You had to go on and enjoy your newly wedded life together, didn't you? Alastor had a broadcast to work on, an audience to appease, and you had to work as a physician, helping locals from within their homes. Besides, he stopped the murders after you caught him that one awful night, didn't he?

Didn't he?

Police are at your door. A nightmare of a sight. You open it, putting on your best face. It wasn't as easy as it used to be, but your smile still convinced the public. Leaning against the open door and batting your lashes you greet them sweetly. your face instantly fell to their words. You almost hoped that he had gotten caught. But he didn't.

He's dead.

“Shot in the woods, ma’am. A hunter mistook him for a deer in the dark.” you'd recall these words later, but for now, your ears were ringing and your mind was absent. You thanked them and shut the door.

You can't recall how loudly you screamed and sobbed, or for how long that went on. You need to be held. You need him to hold you and that only pains you more. You mourned for days, canceling appointments, and not answering any guests who were there to offer empty condolences. You rotted in his home. He was so young. You were both so young, there was so much to look forward to in your future. It's all gone now.

The first place you went to was Mimzy's bar. A few months had passed, and all your good liquor had run out. Plus, a familiar face could be a good change of pace right now.

“Oh, hun!” An immediate greeting at the door, Mimzy brings you to the bar. It's a late night on a workday, it was essentially empty. “I'm so sorry for your loss. Everyone in town is worried bout ya! I'm sure you don't wanna hear this, but how are you doin'?” She was right. You didn't want to hear that. You hated that question.

“Fine.” You say squeakly. It was the first word you had spoken in weeks, you realize. She slides you your drink and you immediately down it. She tops it off just for it to be finished off even faster than the last.

“Slow down, hun.” She says, sliding a glass of water to you next. When you drink it thoughtlessly, the absence of alcohol has you scrunching your nose. “I'm sure this isn't the best time, but.. I got somethin’ for ya.” She disappears into some backroom before reapproaching you and your barely touched glass of water. She places an enveloped letter in your hand. Your name written in neat cursive fills its front and your hands start to shake.

“It's from Al. He wanted me to give this to ya. If he ever.. well, if this ever happened.” as she's speaking, you've already opened it and begun reading.

It was instructions. And a large wad of cash. Above the instructions, A small blurb about how sorry he was, how much he loved you, and prayed that you'd never have to read this. Then a list of how to thoroughly clean and dispose of all evidence in his shed.

“Did you know?” you ask Mimzy, your hands crinkling on each side of the letter. She nods. “He never stopped, did he?” You say in a hushed tone, mainly in disbelief to yourself.

“Well- not exactly, no. he was finishing somethin' up in the forest that one night.” Mimzy talks as if she's practiced this conversation. He must've kept her up to date with all this.

“He told me he would stop. He said he was doing it for me-” You grip at your heart, letting out a shaky breath.

“What important is that he loved ya, right? He was an equal opportunity killer, hun, he only did what he had to. It was for the greater good, ya know?” Mimzy was speaking far too calmly about this. you let out a flurry of curses, shoving the crumpled-up instructions into your purse before standing at the bar.

“You're all fucking psychopaths!” You yell out to the empty bar and leave the building in a huff. 

You needed to leave town. The two people you were closest to were both criminals. And being in this house was only hurting you more. You packed as much as you could, hand hovering over the phone to call for a taxi. You freeze in place. Then see your ring. You look at it for a moment, the light giving it a beautiful shine. With a defeated sigh, you set your bags aside and pull the instructions back out from your purse, straightening it out as best you could.

After finishing a very thorough cleaning, and questioning your actions through it all, you did everything on the list. You burned the letter alongside some other items that he told you to dispose of. You still aren't sure why you did it. He was never caught before and he must have cleaned up his job in the forest before getting shot. Maybe it was for the best. Let his radio persona live on. Let it be the last nice thing you ever do for him. You finally leave that hellhole behind.

-

You went on to live another sixty years, quite a feat if you must admit. You weren't much of a religious person, so passing in your sleep and waking up in the streets of Pentagram City, was a bit of a shock. After accepting the idea of an afterlife, you put the little details together. You were sure after all that went down in your youth, you would end up here. And if you're here, then maybe..

There are more important things right now. Lucky for you, you fell right in the middle of a bustling street. You scramble to your feet and quickly escape the speeding cars. Why were there cars in Hell? Why did it look so much like a big city you would visit at some point, how is it so human? There was so much to question, but you were desperate to find any sort of sanctuary.

You weren't sure why your first thought was to find the nearest bar, but something seemed to bring you in. You're almost disappointed in yourself for stepping into a club decorated as a 20s speakeasy. But it was familiar- nostalgic. A shrill voice draws your attention.

"Oh my stars! Get over here, doll!" The shriek brings your attention to the bar, where a slightly familiar face greets you. “What are ya gawkin’ at? It’s me! Mimzy? Get that tail over here!” Mimzy owns a club even in Hell? You approach her after some more beckoning.

"Long time no see! How long you been in?" She goes on. You observe her appearance as she speaks. She looks almost the same. The red eyes and sharp teeth were definitely new. You realize you hadn't had the chance to take in your own appearance, but clearly, it must've been similar enough for her to recognize you. Still questioning your position, you finally process her words.

"Oh- I just arrived actually. Lucky me to walk straight into your bar, hm?" You lean against the counter as she pours you a drink, a flurry of trauma and nostalgia turns to confusion.

"Wow! You had quite a life after old Al got you outta town, didn't ya?” She teased. You let out a nervous chuckle. Good old Al. You haven't thought about him in years. You were so young, so head over heels for this man you barely knew. You somehow managed to suppress all the bad times as you aged. Mimzy notices your face droop a bit.

"I suppose I did.." a brief smile meets the wedding band still on your hand.

"Well? Finally gonna reunite? Ooh! How romantic! You'll have to update me, sweetie!" Mimzy bats at you, letting out an excited giggle. You quickly shake your head, not processing any other way to respond.

"I-I can't- I mean.. Not after everything he’s done.” Your hands clench at even the thought.

“Sorry to break it to ya, but we’re all for a reason. You got plenty of time to forgive him, with the whole eternal punishment of it all.” Mimzy’s tone drops to a more serious one as if she’s heard that line before. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to rot in Hell with someone they love, you should see what he’s up to!” Her tone seems to immediately switch to something more chipper.

“Still, I uh.. I shouldn't. He’s been dead for so long, I’m sure he’s got some other dame cleaning up his messes.” Excuses. You didn't want to see him, because this is his fault. You're here because you helped clean up his space after his unfortunate death. Even when you had no idea, he relied on you. He trusted you to carry this burden for the rest of your life. Your rage was suppressed when you heard Mimzy's voice chime back in.

"Nope! He's been busy with uh.. his work. Still wears the ring, though~" She hums, tapping her finger to emphasize her words. You look down at your own hand. Why did you still wear yours, again? You never remarried, but mainly because of the trust issues that were instilled in you for the rest of your life. Maybe it wouldn't be a terrible idea..

“N-No, I just cant..” You let out louder than you meant to. Mimzy shrugs off your panic. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare room, would you, Mimzy?”

-

Mimzy did in fact have a spare room. You stayed in one of the ratty rooms about the bar, alongside some of the demons that rented the rooms for their own business. You realized, after finding a mirror, that you were portrayed with some feline features, nothing too disfiguring. Once you saw your new form, Alastor’s voice, every single time he beckoned you with kitten, rang throughout your mind. You couldn't bring yourself to look at yourself for the first few months. This was Hell after all. Eternal punishment can manifest in several ways.

Mimzy was still a clear supporter of Alastor, so she had a radio set up in your room already. No matter how hard you tried, you realize pretty early on that Alastor had some power over the radios that force his broadcasts to be the only thing streaming. You heard it all. The screams of souls being torn apart, his constant gossiping and cruel words making fun of other demons.

But damn, if it didn't feel like living again. Waking up every morning to the sound of his voice on the radio, before you can truly decipher what he’s talking about, it almost feels like a normal life. But then you hear the pain in those demons that he’s mercilessly tearing up. Sometimes, you see Mimzy cheering at the radio like some sports game is being narrated. You try to avoid her when she’s doing that.

Things were comfortable for many years. As comfortable as Hell can be, at least. Alastor became a distant part of your daily routine, you'd hear his broadcasts all the time, but only in addition to the other bustling city noises. It all seemed to cancel out after a while. You worked with Mimzy, picking up at the bar when she had to run off. In exchange, you stayed in that room indefinitely. You two seemed to become friends again, despite your living history. It became clear to you that what happened when you were alive really didn't matter down here. You all made the same degree of mistakes and you all learned that you’re here for the same reasons.

You went through extermination days as best you could, only having one face-to-face interaction. That day, you were already on the verge of death from falling debris and trying to escape a specifically insistent exorcist. She had you cornered. You shut your eyes, wincing at the upcoming angelic weapon you saw her raise at you. Only feeling a slight sting across the bridge of your nose and cheek, you open your eyes to see her flying back towards the portal to heaven. You can't believe you got that lucky. You’re still in disbelief at the entire scenario, but unlike most wounds down here, your face was permanently scarred. It was small, barely noticeable! Mimzy says.

But you knew not everyone had this much luck on extermination day. After noticing the silence on the streets, during the most recent extermination, you nervously left the bar. Everything was empty. The portal had opened closer to that hotel you’d heard of. And the exorcists were going straight to it. You scoffed, walking back into the bar. They’d finish off those demons there quickly, so you still wanted to hide. As you barred yourself up in your room, you remembered Mimzy telling you about her visit to that hotel. About why she visited the hotel. Alastor's there. You try to not panic. It’s been decades, why are you worried about him? Besides you know how powerful he is, you've picked up his whole radio demon shtick from others. He’ll be fine.

Then why are you so restless?

A loud knocking at your door shakes your entire core. You keep yourself hauled up in the corner of your room, covering your ears and squeezing your eyes shut. You still hear a voice call your name from the other side of the door.

“You gotta come see this! The angels are gone!” It's Mimzy. it's far earlier than usual, you were almost worried it was some new tactic they picked up. You crack the door open just slightly, and her small frame pummeled the door open. She paces your room, rambling words that you barely catch, and she shoves her phone to your face. You have to take it from her shaking hands to get a glimpse. It's hard to see, but it's very obviously footage of Alastor fighting Adam. His body is warped through the drone’s camera, and you watch him fade away into nothingness after one blow. There was no audio, You couldn't hear what happened. Considering you weren't familiar with his shadow antics, you had no idea what actually happened to him.

“You gotta find out if he's okay! I can't go back to that hotel, you gotta do it!” she sounds frantic, taking her phone back. “What? Absolutely not! I'm sure he's fine.” You wave your hand dismissively, despite the hesitance in your voice. Everyone's in Hell for the same reasons. Your mind goes back and forth on the possibility of forgiveness.. of mending burned bridges.

“The videos from a few hours ago, those angels are gone! Ooh.. He's just gotta be okay..” You didn't realize how much Mimzy actually appreciated Alastor. Whether it be the protection he offers or their actual friendship, you aren't sure. But she's clearly worried about him. You just aren't ready.

Mimzy spent the next few days begging you to go down there and find him. And you refused every time. She mentioned going to Cannibal Town to visit his "Gal Pal" and even she hadn't heard from him. He's disappeared before, just recently too, You're sure it was just like his last seven-year absence. Even if you were getting a bit worried, you'd never admit it. There were no broadcasts, there was no public trash-talking from the Vees, it was just.. quiet.

“Didn't you love him?” You stare at Mimzy, in disbelief that she just said that.

“Excuse me?” That seemed to strike a nerve. And maybe she meant to do that.

“I remember you two in my bar, you were two peas in a pod! I've never seen him like that with any gal, hun. That's not somethin' that just goes away.” Mimzy takes your hand from across the bar. “Please, go check on him. Maybe it'll be like a final hurrah, but I just gotta know if he's okay.” You look around the room as if someone would offer to go in your place. But she's right. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't missing his broadcasts. You let out a dejected sigh.

“Okay.. okay! Fine.” You huff. An immediate change in attitude, Mimzy lets out an excited exclamation and pours the two of you drinks, to celebrate her pushy victory.

-

You take in a deep breath, looking around the new hotel's exterior. It was much larger than the previous one and more lavish. You hesitate before knocking on the door. A series of whispered voices, then scrambling feet, follow the door opening. It's the princess of Hell. You weren't expecting Alastor to greet you, but you still feel a bit disappointed.

“Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Ho-” You quickly interrupt.

“No! Nono, sorry.” You laugh Nervously. “I'm not here for the whole.. redemption thing. Is.. uh…” You peek around her shoulder, seeing a few demons you recognize from the commercial, but no Alastor.

“Is the radio demon here..?” You finally ask quietly. Charlie still seems a little hurt from the interruption, but just because you're not interested in redemption doesn't mean she won't try to convince you.

“Alastor? Sure! He's been in his tower since we reopened.. So, he's probably up there.” She explains, pulling you into the building despite your refusal. “I can go get him for you! What's your name? I'll tell him who-”

"That's actually okay! I was sent to check up on him, so.. if he's alive, then that's all I need to hear!” Mimzy will just have to be satisfied with that. You're chickening out. If they're saying he's fine, then that's good enough for you. The longer you're here, the more anxious you're becoming. You're worried he could pop out of nowhere. Which is a legitimate concern apparently. 

“Charlie!” A greeting comes from behind the blonde, and you see a red-clawed hand engulf her shoulder. “Already a new resident? How exciting! What unfortunate sinner has found themselves here as a last resort.. today…” 

You know that voice. Of course, you know that voice. He looks fairly similar to how he did when he was alive, the hair was new. Ditto the antlers. A deer? They turned him into a deer down here? You almost want to laugh. Maybe being in Hell for so long has turned your sense of humor that crude. You're staring with wide eyes. He whispers your name so quietly that all you can really take in is his lips forming the word.

“Hey, Al! She was just looking for you! I think she might be worried, right?” 

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up-

“I.. was! But I see he’s clearly fine now, so! I should get back to Mimzy’s-” 

“Mimzy? You're with that trainwreck?” a low voice comes from the bar, interrupting the conversation. The cat demon behind the counter scoffs at you. “Nice ears.” They fold down involuntarily from embarrassment.

“Kitten.” You immediately turn at the sound of Alastor’s voice, shivers thoroughly covering your body. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but it clamps shut. His eyes widen for a moment, looking around the room to see how almost every resident had gathered to witness the new face. You start to back away to the door.

“This may not have been the best idea.. T-thank you, princess, it was nice meeting you.” with a blink of your eye, Alastor’s arm is around your shoulder. 

“Why of course! Thank you for visiting! I'll escort you out!” His chipper attitude startles you, and you feel almost insulted by his eagerness to have you leave.

“Oh! Well.. come back anytime! Our doors are always open!” You hear Charlie call out as Alastor takes you outside the building. Before you even have a chance to protest, you're suddenly in a recording room. Your mouth is still open ready to scold him, but instead, you examine the dizzying change in scenery. Your eyes finally drop to Alastor, who had taken both your shoulders and let his head drop from your view. He startles to mumble.

“W-What are you-”

“Why didn't you tell me you were here?” His head finally lifts and you catch his perplexed expression. Pained eyes paired with a strained smile, it's almost frightening.

“W-Well, I.. it was just-” 

“When did you arrive?”

“A few.. decades ago..?”

“Decades?” His voice goes low and static. You pull away from his grasp as his voice changes. “You shouldn't be here. There has to be a mistake.” His voice returns to normal, and he starts to pace the room. Mumbling more nonsense to himself, he starts gripping at his hair. 

You watch this for a while, before finally approaching him. You take hold of his arm, effectively stopping him in place. Pulling down his arm, you feel the grasp on his hair loosen.

“Calm down. You're pulling your hair out, again.” You say softly, brushing his hand clean of stray hairs he had torn out. Reaching forward you attempt to brush his hair back into place. Your hand pauses, hovering just by his cheek. You want to hold him. He seems to follow your hand when you decide to quickly distance yourself.

His eyes look bloodshot and demonic. How could you still possibly be getting lost in them?

“You shouldn't be here, kitten. You’re here because of me.” You flinch at his words, despite how true they are, you manage to feel some underlying guilt.

“Yeah.. Mimzy just wanted to know if you were alright. And you seem just fine. I should go.” You say bluntly, taking hold of your arms and going towards the door.

“Why didn't you find me?” His words cause you to stop.

“Sorry, you weren't exactly the first thing on my mind when I woke up in Hell.”

“Kitten, I-” His voice seems to drop the radio static. It sounds entirely too familiar.

“-don't call me that.” You snap, biting at your lip unconsciously.

“I'm sorry.” He finally says. “It was.. irresponsible of me to lie to you. I made a mistake.” He sounds more embarrassed to admit he messed up. His ego makes you scoff.

“Yes, it was irresponsible. It was downright cruel, Alastor. I had to live with the burden of your murders and had to die with the consequences.” You turn back to face him, a rage that had been boiling for decades finally spilling over. “I did so much good after you died. It has to be your fault I'm here. I never told the cops, I followed your ridiculous instructions, and it was the worst decision of my life! And now I'm paying for it. For being too far in love to realize that you were just using me!” You've had this conversation in your head so many times, that you have no issue saying exactly what you want.

“No!" He stops himself before he can shout anything else. "I assure you, that isn't the case at all. I love you more than I can put into words, kitten, can't we just-” Alastor reaches his hand out to you and you quickly lean away. You spot the ring on his finger.

“Love? You used me to make sure your record stayed clean! That's not love.” You hiss.

“I did it to protect you. I gave you everything you needed to remove yourself from the situation if anything were to happen to me. You said you went on to do good, and I believe you. That was because of me! The letter and the money were both for your safety- I was helping you.” He isn’t exactly shouting, but his tone is certainly sending chills down your spine.

“You don't get to take credit for my life! I should have never come!” You fling your arms up, turning back to the door. He grabs your arm and turns you back to him, a tight grip on your shoulders. He opens his mouth to seemingly scold you, and you're ready to bite back. You notice him scanning over your facial features, and his expression seems to falter.

“What happened to you?” He runs a clawed finger delicately across the scar on your cheek. It had faded but was still visible. You wince at his touch, which makes him pull his hand back.

“Oh, don't act like you care.” You mumble.

“Of course, I care.” His soft response forces a pained groan from your lips. 

“All these sweet words you’re saying.. I-I don’t know what to think with that ridiculous smile.. I can't take you seriously!” Your voice is beginning to crack, losing the strength to have this go on.

“About that-”

“I hate you.” He flinches at your words, Out of everything you’ve said, you don't understand why that seems to silence him. He grips onto his chest, his coat and shirt scrunching into his fist. You watch him drop his head, bracing himself on his desk that he had stumbled to. You’re sure he’s being dramatic. Hamming it up to get some sort of pity. A sigh passes your lips.

“Um.. Alastor… I didn't mean to-” His act only fools you a little bit. You wonder if you’ve let out too much steam. If he really-

Before you can finish any other thoughts, he collapses to the floor.

“Fuck-” You quickly move to his side, flipping him to his back and helping him at least prop himself up against a wall. “Should I get-”

“Don't tell the others.” He breathes out, putting his hand up dismissively. With the wave of his hand, you see the blood across his palm. Your eyes follow the source to a continuously growing stain on his top. The sight of blood didn't seem to bother you after everything. “Just help me up.” 

“O-Okay.” You do as he says, helping him stand. Almost feeling like an instinct, you pull his coat off of his shoulders. He struggles to keep up with the movement but still gives in. He quickly loses his strength and stumbles to the small couch nearby. You almost enjoy watching him stubbornly refuse your help.

“I.. might require.. some assistance.” He says it so softly you almost want to ask him to repeat himself. Even if you understood him just fine.

“You're asking for help?” You correct him, placing your hands on your hips.

“I don't need help.” He snaps. You would've been offended if you knew he was just to flustered to admit it.

“Then what do you need?” You sit beside him on the couch, placing your hand on his blood-stained shirt. He immediately winces.

“For.. you to stitch this up.” You start unbuttoning his shirt, your hands grazing the fluff of his chest with a mild curiosity. You finally get the full scope of a completely untreated slash that would've surely killed any human if left untreated. But for an almost immortal demon, it was just a painful nuisance. Very painful.

“From your fight with… You want me to help you stitch this up?” You ask because that it seems near impossible to do so, even with someone of your medical history. It's wide and seems to be covered with specks of gold. It feels like small shards of glass when you swipe your hand over him.

“.. yes.” He says quietly. You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him. He’s reckless, too stubborn to have looked at the wound because of its reminder of his defeat. And you know that's exactly why it got this bad. No matter how small, Alastor sees the smile growing on you.

“I missed your smile.” He says softly.

“Please stop saying things like that.. You're confusing me.” You make sure to speak your words quietly as if you don't want them to be heard. A small demonic creature rushes to your side, holding a tray up with the essentials to properly treat the slash. It stays perfectly still once in your reach.

You went to work, after some proper scolding, trying your best to keep the process as painless as possible. Every so often, you wonder why you are being so careful with him. He doesn't deserve your tenderness. Your thoughts are stopped when you see his hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you away. His face is scrunched, a hiss passing by his tormented smile. You must've hit the wrong spot while lost in thought. Your eyes fall to his ring, again.

“Why did you keep this on?” You ask, examining his hand that’s still engulfing your wrist.

“It reminds me of you. And yours?” His voice is hushed, still recovering from the pain. You realize he has a full view of your own hand, your wedding band sitting just as clear to him.

“It.. reminds me of what you did to me.” You hear a quiet groan in response to your words, and he releases your arm, gripping the couch in its stead. You keep going.

“I'll admit, I was worried about you.. after the battle with Adam. Maybe it was Mimzy getting me all worked up..” You finally admit. You don’t want him to think you’ve spent your whole life and death hating him. But why would it matter either way?

“I can't be killed, you had nothing to worry about.” He replies, not willing to comment on your sudden vulnerability. Not in this position. All you can do is laugh at him. He's clearly talking out his ass.

“Looks like you got pretty close to it.” You scoff. His ears flatten, and he looks away like a stubborn child.

You finish up after an hour. It felt much longer. The silence with quiet quips mixed in, the surprisingly intimate moment, it was suffocatingly uncomfortable.

“I didn't want to come here. I was perfectly content in being in Hell. I didn't expect this form of torture.” You say, setting everything back onto the little tray presented to you. That little demon had been standing there this whole time. You notice it started shaking a while ago.

“Come now, you're being dramatic. You chose to find me, did you not?” He says, sitting a bit taller with the regained strength.

“I'm not being dramatic! You try to avoid Mimzy's constant nagging! I hear your voice everywhere, see all the ads for this hotel, and they made me a damn cat, Alastor!” You feel yourself starting to lose your composure, gripping your hair and letting out a pained laughter. “H-how unfair is that..?” You let out a weak chuckle, feeling tears well in your eyes. He pulls your hand away from your hair, brushing his thumb across your ring as he holds you for a moment longer.

“Completely unfair. Your appearance may be.. unappealing … to you, but your face is still the same. Your eyes still bright as usual, your smile just as sweet.” His sincerity is muddling your thoughts. Those thoughts that warn you he’s hurt you before. And now he’s a cruel overlord, he’ll hurt you again tenfold. You feel his thumb drag along your lip after realizing you had leaned in towards him.

“Still biting your lip, hm?” His static fades again, and you wince at the raw skin he's brushing over. Old habits apparently don’t die hard.

“N-nervous tick, I guess..” His closeness leaves you a bit breathless.

“Do I make you nervous?” His tone confuses you. There’s an underlying sense of worry, a genuine concern for your well-being. But you’re still distracted by his strange smile. You don’t have much time to think any further about it before you’re startled by gentle lips against yours. It’s quick but is more than enough to let out a flood of feelings you’ve been suppressing since the day you left your hometown. He looks at you with a sly smile on his face.

“I’m still mad at you.” You say quietly.

“I know.” He kisses you, again.

“Y-You don’t have to-” He interrupts you with another kiss.

“I know.” Still holding your face you barely take in his next words with a clear head. “I miss you.” Another kiss, just to throw you off this time, “I miss having you at my side.

Stay.. please.”

There was no way you would drop everything to live with a man you were barely married to in life. That didn't stop you from seeing him more, though. You were actually.. kind of glad to see him. To patch things up, even just a little. You’d visit, sneaking around at first to avoid any interaction from the other residents of the hotel. They were all more than intimidating to you. Especially considering one of them was the king of Hell. Alastor was more than happy to keep you away from him, though.

You updated Mimzy on how he was when you left that first night, but you left out the unimportant bits.. Like the giant angelic slash across his chest. You didn’t need Alastor to tell you that you shouldn't be going around spreading that information. A true accomplice. When Mimzy noticed you were visiting him to the point where you couldn't cover the bar when she needed you to, she was more than happy to kick you out. You knew exactly what she was doing. She didn't want you homeless, but you were essentially left with nowhere to go. Except for the hotel.

It wasn’t the worst thing to happen.. Things almost seemed normal. Alastor had lots of sucking up to do, even though he wouldn't call it that. He was definitely working at it. Making you breakfast like before, treating you like even higher royalty than he ever could while alive. He has the power to do so now and he fully intends to use it. And it’s working.. A little bit.

Okay, a lot.

You’re shocked that he still seems the same after becoming the powerful overlord he is. You’d love to convince yourself that none of that mattered, his status in Hell or what happened when you were alive. That you could just forget mortality to look forward to the potential future facing you. It’s easier said than done.

You're still struggling with your nightmares. Even more so in Hell, likely another form of punishment. Something about the hotel seemed to subdue some of them actually. As if the air were clearer here. It only helped most nights, though. Whenever you woke up in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, clutching at your heart, there was only one thing to calm you. The radio at your nightstand would play a specific song. One that Mimzy was fond of, so you heard it most nights at her bar on Earth. Whenever you heard that, you knew he was there. He was waiting for you.

"Birdy?" You knock on his door, which seems to open slowly just from your touch. Alastor is sitting contently in front of his firepit. This wasn't the first time you've found him in the middle of the night.

"Another one, my love?" He tilts his head up slightly, the book he had in his hand shutting immediately. You nod your head slowly, already approaching him. Your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders is dragging across the ground. You give him a look he recognizes, and he nods at the implications. Without caution, you let out a tired whimper and plop into his lap. He pulls the blanket over your entirety.

Getting completely comfortable, he adjusts his arms to pull his book back to his eyeline. With your head nuzzled against his shoulder, you're too tired to conceal your little habit of purring. He doesn't mind, though. He loves it.

♡♡♡

Another big boy for ya 🫶

Human Alastor is really fun to write for, I had to do some research tho lol

I tried to keep Alastor's sexuality in mind, so I hope I represented it well. That's always something that makes me nervous when writing for Al 😬

Taglist!

( @vififofum / @thornwolfy235 / @tinywolfiegirl / @chipper-chip / @bat-boness / @misfitgirlwrites / @nayomi247 / @lonelynmisunderstood / @escapistoftherealworld / @b4ts1e / @hamthepan / @kyo-kyo1 / @looking1016 / @polytheatrix / @littledolly2345 / @lillianastuff / @yourlocalcryptidbee /@0strawberrysorbet0 / @themageofblood / @jayyyayaysblog / @floralsightings / @azmosposts / @8har0ley8 / @actuallyspiderwoman / @sirenetheblogger / @christineblood / @kaytemchugh / @cimadreamer / @simpdevil66 / @azmosposts / @m3ow1 / @acrazyartist / @redfoxwritesstuff / @4k1to / @meesachan / @corvusskid / @alientee /@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx / @alon3lylov3r /@sapphireravensworld / @mjmdragons / @catticora / @carrie0-1 / @shamblezzz / @cassandras-nest / @the-maladaptive-daydreamers /@str4wberry-t00th-anon / @voxrei / @raythegay / @whoknowswhoiamtoday )

[leah-lover]

Drive to survive. Leah Williamson x F1!reader

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

You have always been a Ferrari girl. Ever since you were a kid, you loved everything that had to do with Ferrari. Your room was Ferrari themed, most of your birthdays were Ferrari themed, and your favorite race was Monza. Little did little you know that one day you would race in Monza but for Mercedes.

You remember a couple of years ago when Charles won at Monza. You remembered as you screamed the Italian national anthem as all the Ferrari team did.

5 years later, you were in the paddock at Monza after a crazy race calendar. You had hoped that you could sing the British national anthem this time around and do what many want you to do, which is win your first race.

As you go in your car, you taped on the number 6 in your helmet, a ritual you developed after the crash. It reminded you that you had people who rooted for you, people you loved and they loved you back. Leah couldn't come to this race this time around because she had a game a few hours before.

At the race lines you were at p3 which wasn't bad. Max Verstappen was p1 then lando norris then you and Hamilton in behind you. As the lights were red, images of the crash, the fire, the hospital, Leah’s worried face, all came rushing to your mind. You gripped your wheel as hardly as you could and breathed through your panic.

“ Calm down, please calm down “ you whispered to yourself.

You tried to breathe but it was all too much, the helmet was suffocating you, the car was suffocating you, you couldn't breathe, you froze. You were back there in the race again, helpless, almost dying.

Suddenly you remembered what happened in the morning.

“ Baby I wish I could be there.” Said Leah through facetime. She was in bed, with only a blanket covering her chest, she still had bed hair but she was all the more beautiful.

“ I wish I could be at your game. It's an important qualifier.” You responded.

“ Don't worry I will crush it and so will you. Maybe you will be on the podium. It's achievable with p3 or at least podium.”

“ I don't know. I still freeze, that crash still haunts me”

“ I know darling. You said I saved you that night right. Just remember me. Remember my face, remember that I love you and that I am so proud of you.”

“ I love you too baby.”

“ Leah.” You whispered to yourself as the lights turned green.

“ For Leah.” You whispered again as you advanced forward.

By turn one you overtook lando and took p2. You kept your focus and your position keeping a closer distance to max.

“ Box box.” Said your assistant.

As you entered the box it all came back to you again.

“ Fire, crash, max, die “ you whispered to yourself. You gripped your wheel again and breathed through your anxiety.

“ You know what you are doing this for mate you can do it.” Said your team principal through the radio. And that managed to pull you back again. You stepped on the pedal, focused, and determined to win.

It was only a matter of time for you to overtake max. P1 was your position with 10 minutes in the race. You pushed through, no thought in your head but the checkered flag.

“ It is here in Monza. The home of Ferrari, her favorite car. She won. She, the woman. Who walked out of fire only a few weeks ago. She escaped fire, she escaped death, she came back to f1 to win and she did. The first ever woman to win in Monza, the first ever woman to win in formula one. Congratulations to you.” said the commentator as you crossed the checkered flag.

Tears streamed down your face. You did it. You won despite your anxiety and PTSD.

“ Thank you. Thank you Toto. Thank you Mercedes for believing in me. We won, we did it. “ You said as you went through the cool down lap.

When you got out of the car you stood on top of it and with your fingers put the number six over your chest as fireworks went behind you. It was for Leah, this win is because of her. You then jumped to meet your team and celebrate with them.

Later you did an interview.

“ Congratulations on the win. We noticed you always have number 6 on your car, helmet, suit and when you won you did number 6 as a celebration. What does that mean?” Asked the reporter.

“ Well you know I was in a fiery crash a few weeks back and the love of my life, the woman of my dreams, helped me survive it. She was the reason I walked out of the fire, she is the reason I am alive and she is most definitely the reason I won today “

“ Can we know who she is?”

“ She is Arsenal's number 6 and England captain Leah Williamson.”

“ Congratulations on the win, and we, all the women, are thankful to Leah helping you get here.”

You then went to the podium, stood proudly as you sung the British national anthem, got a champagne shower and headed back to the garage.

Leah Williamson. My girl ❤️. Congratulations on a well deserved win. You went through a lot to be here. Proud of you.

[starflower-witch]

Soulmate (part 2)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've been searching for your soulmate for what feels like an eternity, yet now, instead of reveling in the moment, you’re consumed by a desire to understand who she truly is. This overwhelming curiosity leads you to make a significant mistake. After all, as they say, "Curiosity killed the cat."

Word count: 2026

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of killing and kidnapping.

You went through a whirlwind of emotions in just a few minutes.

First, there was excitement and surprise. You had finally found her!

Then came confusion. Why had she pretended to be someone else? Was she just playing with you?

Sadness followed. she seemed like the type who enjoyed toying with the minds of her victims for fun.

Next was fear. Had she tricked you into letting your guard down to kill you? Was she planning to steal your magic and get rid of you once and for all?

That final thought triggered your fight-or-flight response. Your eyes shifted color, enveloped in a golden mist, and you bared your teeth at the older woman. You had chosen to fight.

“Harkness!”

If she was going to kill you, you were going to make it as difficult as possible for her.

The purple witch watched your attempts to escape her magic with amusement. She had a feeling about what might have triggered your anger, but she decided to tease you a little longer before explaining anything.

“Yes, love?” she said, smirking.

"Free me, now! You two-faced witch!" You summoned an explosion of golden mist, a desperate attempt to regain your freedom, but it was futile. Agatha's magic was far stronger than yours.

“What a mouth!” Her smile widened. “Didn’t your mommy teach you any manners?”

"I'm sorry, your highness, my mistake," you shot back, fury burning in your eyes. "I should’ve said bitch instead!"

You decided to use explosive magic again. This time, golden mist engulfed her, but an equally powerful burst of purple mist from her hands extinguished your magic in an instant.

She raised her index finger, shaking it from side to side in front of your face. "Don't be so impatient, pet. We'll have our fun eventually. Let me just get a good look at you first."

Circling around you like a shark eyeing its prey, she drank in every detail of your form. From time to time, she made a few appreciative noises, clearly savoring the moment.

"Am I approved?" you snarled.

"Definitely!" she declared, clapping her hands together. "Destiny spoiled me rotten this time."

For a brief moment, her words made you blush; at least she liked what she saw.

Trying to regain focus you quickly shook your head. Liking her approval was nice, but right now, you needed to escape.

You rolled your eyes and looked away, causing her to frown at the loss of eye contact.

"Don't." She gripped your chin firmly, turning your face back to hers. "Don’t deprive me of your gaze."

You wanted to laugh at how corny that sounded, and you were about to, but something stopped you.

Her eyes glowed with a mesmerizing purple that left you completely captivated.

You'd heard that Agatha’s eyes could only reflect anger and greed, but as you gazed into them, you started to wonder if those rumors had been wrong.

"You’re scared." you said without thinking. She laughed, but you smiled knowingly. "You are!"

"I’m incapable of such a thing," she snarled, her gaze hardening as her expression turned sharp. "Why would I be scared?" She released her grip on your face and took a step back.

"I would like to know too," you tilted your head, voice laced with mock curiosity. "Why would the great Agatha Harkness be scared?"

“I’m not scared.” This time, she was the one to look away.

Sensing an opportunity, you couldn’t resist teasing her back. "Oh! Don’t deprive me of your gaze, beautiful. I might just die if you do." She laughed.

Her laugh woke something in you. Like some type of spark that started on your abdomen and spread like wildfire, tingling through every part of your body.

You had heard that soulmates often shared a special connection, so it didn’t surprise you when Agatha's emotions began to flow into you as well.

The shared emotions were just the beginning of the bond that the two of you would experience as time went on.

It was a connection that would grow deeper with every moment, intertwining your souls in ways neither of you fully understood yet.

Focusing on the emotions you could read in her, you noticed a few of them swirling around.

There was amusement, desire, and… fear? but why? What could have the great Agatha Harkness so terrified?

You noticed her standing still for a moment, as if processing this newfound connection.

The intimacy of it was overwhelming for both of you, as if you were standing naked in front of each other.

Her expression changed, there was something softer in her eyes now. Something close to… Vulnerability.

"You looked for me for so long," Agatha said, her voice suddenly fragile, something you'd never expected from her. "No matter how many times I escaped, you kept looking for me… why? Why didn’t you give up on me?"

So that was it. That was what she was scared of. She thought that after meeting her, you'd lose interest, deem her unworthy of your search. You shook your head softly. "Harkness… I don’t…”

"Answer me"

You sighed, gathering your thoughts. "I wanted to meet you, to talk to you. I thought maybe you weren’t interested in soulmates… in me," you admitted. "but if you really wanted to be left alone, I needed you to say it to my face. I didn’t want to give up without even trying."

"Now that you've met me, what?"

You hesitated. "Well… I think you're really beautiful and you're clearly an impressive witch, but I don’t know who you really are."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "I’m exactly what you're seeing right now."

You shook your head. "I saw something different not long ago. Did you forget, Agnes?"

Her expression darkened instantly. "Don’t call me that"

"Then explain to me what the hell that was! Why the act? Why lie to me?" Your voice trembled with hurt. "If you wanted to get rid of me, to kill me, I would have preferred that you stab me in the front!"

Agatha flinched at the pain in your voice. "I wasn’t planning anything." she whispered, her voice laced with hurt. "That wasn’t me."

"Then who was it?" you pressed, refusing to let it go.

Agatha tried to avoid the topic. "It's a long story…"

"I have all eternity." you shot back, determined to hear the truth.

Her eyes flared with frustration as she glared at you.

"I lost a fight to a witch, and she put a spell on me!" Her voice rose, trembling with anger. "I was trapped, playing the role of the nosy neighbor, unable to control myself, my actions, or what I said!"

"How did you escape, then? Why are you here now?”

Agatha placed a hand on your cheek. Her touch was electric and warm, sending shivers down your spine. The sensation made you feel unexpectedly calm and protected.

"You freed me," she whispered. "Your soulmate mark… the magic on it… it got me out." You moved your head away from her hand.

You didn’t believe her for a second. The idea of the greatest witch in all the continent losing a fight to some random witch? That was the ugliest lie you had ever heard. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Really?” you scoffed, voice dripping with disbelief. “You, the infamous Agatha Harkness, losing to some random witch? You expect me to believe that?”

She held your gaze, her face serious, almost pleading. “It wasn’t just any witch,” she said softly, her voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "You don’t understand the kind of power she has… what she can do.”

You were ready to tell her that you weren’t buying her lame excuse and that her act wouldn’t work on you this time, but then you noticed something else.

Agatha had lowered her guard for just a moment, lost in her thoughts and the memories of everything she had endured during her fight against that witch and the torment that followed.

You seized the opportunity to cast a spell, breaking free from her hold. Instantly, you stepped back and conjured a golden shield around yourself.

Agatha regarded you with surprise, her expression a mix of admiration and amusement.

“Sneaky little mouse.” she taunted, her hands glowing with purple energy as magic swirled around her fingertips, crackling with intensity. “I was having an emotional moment, you know?”

“I’m sorry, dear. I saw the opportunity and took it” you smiled at her. “I’m just trying to keep myself safe.”

“And you really think a shield will be enough to keep me away?” she said, a sly smile creeping across her lips. With a smooth flick of her wrist, your shield dissolved into shimmering particles, leaving you exposed.

Raising your hands in surrender, you tried to play it cool. "Please, Harkness, I think you're a bit over the whole kidnapping thing." you said, attempting to sound casual. "Just let me go."

You knew if this turned into a fight, you'd be the one to lose. You needed another strategy, something to get you out of this situation in one piece.

"Sorry, pumpkin," she said, her voice laced with playful menace. "But I can't let you loose. Someone might steal you away from me, and I can't have that."

“I would love to stay with you, I really would…” you began, taking cautious steps backward. “However, I don’t want to die just yet.”

A wicked smile curled on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she stepped closer.

“You’re scared.” she taunted, echoing your earlier words back to you.

“I’m at the mercy of the most powerful witch I know; how could I not be?” you shot back, trying to maintain a brave façade.

“Weren’t you searching for said witch all this time? Why would you be scared now that you found her?”

“Because you seem interested in me,” you replied. “And let me tell you something I learned long ago.” You placed a hand behind your back and began to trace sigils in the air, the magic swirling around your fingertips. “If you ever pique the interest of the great Agatha Harkness, you might as well dig your own grave.”

Her laughter rang out. “You learned that?” she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. “How fascinating.”

“It’s not a lesson I took lightly,” you replied, your focus unwavering. “The stakes are high when it comes to your kind of interest.”

She raised her hand and snapped her fingers. In an instant, she was behind you, her grip tight around your wrist stopping you from tracing any more sigils.

Her other hand slid to your neck, tilting your head upward. It wasn’t necessary, but the groan that escaped your lips made it all worth it for her.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the look of pure satisfaction on her face as she held you firmly, savoring every second of control she had over you.

“Oh, but you thought you could outsmart the powerful witch, didn’t you?” she murmured into your ear, her breath warm against your skin.

Her sultry voice, soft and alluring, wrapped around your thoughts like a spell, clouding your judgment.

For the first time, you truly felt the danger of being in Agatha Harkness's presence.

You felt utterly confused. You wanted to know if she was just toying with you, or if this was as confusing and intense for her as it was for you.

What was really going on in her mind? You would never know.

Wait… you could answer that question yourself, couldn’t you?

Then, without hesitation, you casted a spoken spell to enter her mind.

The fear that flashed across Agatha’s face was immediate. She quickly spun you around, trying to stop you, but it was too late.

“Could you be more stupid?!” she shouted, frantically attempting a counter spell. But you were already slipping away, losing consciousness.

"See you around, pumpkin…" you managed to say with a big grin, just before everything went dark.

She screamed your name and grabbed onto your body as it went limp in her arms. Now, you were inside Agatha Harkness’s mind.

(Honestly, I wasn’t planning on making a part 2, but you all have motivated me to keep writing. Thank you!)

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 25

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Poorly written smut; Pregnancy symptoms; Pregnancy exams; Mild angst

A/N: I hope others laugh at this as hard as I did while writing it. Even if you don't, it's okay. I was greatly amused and I'm not ashamed.

Another cold night, but at least the house was on a hill and surrounded by trees on most sides; a large structure with a gated driveway. The fire was roaring and everyone was bedding down for the night in the same room since the last few times of sleeping in different rooms or on different levels had proven problematic when quick escape was needed. Carol chose to lay closer to the fireplace so you and Daryl could have the bedroll to yourselves—when you actually chose to go to bed.

“Has anyone seen Daryl or Y/N?” Lori asked after laying an extra blanket on your bedroll.

“She probably had to pee again.” Carl giggled from his sleeping bag. 

“Do you need something, Lori?” Carol sat up, hugging herself from the cool air when her blanket fell a little. Carol knew exactly where the two of you were and she would make sure you were left alone there.

You had gone from touch me not straight into don’t stop touching me. While Daryl felt pride in the fact that you only had eyes for him, he may or may not have been beginning to wonder if you could possibly break his dick. It had been nearly three straight days of a constant desire for him. That day alone, you had begged him to take you straight into the upstairs bathroom of the huge house and stuff you with three fingers, fucking two orgasms from you within moments. The two of you had filed back in with everyone else before your absence was even noticed. 

Everything had barely been brought from the vehicles before you were saying you needed to pee, tapping one finger against the middle of Daryl’s palm as you took his hand. A clear signal. Five minutes later, you were bouncing on his cock (with a little help) while he was sprawled out by a tree.

And now, Daryl was panting harshly, not even bothering to tuck himself away before or after he slid down the wall and landed on his ass. You were still bent over the sink, thighs a sticky mess, his spend leaking from your deliciously abused cunt. Grabbing your panties, leggings, and sweats to drag them up over your hips was almost impossible. Almost. You dared not ask your poor partner. 

You had been insatiable for him, needing his hands on you constantly. You seemed to be in a perpetual state of arousal, and god did he feel good. He had not complained a single time, even when it was clear he was tired or worried about something else. He took care of you first and foremost. And well, he was getting laid, so it wasn’t like he got nothing out of the deal. But as you turned to face him in that very moment, he just looked wrecked. Like if he tried to satisfy your urges one more time, he might literally die. With a fond smile, you stepped toward his outstretched legs and tapped the sole of his boot with the toe of your own. 

“Get up.” The look he gave you from beneath his lashes wasn’t angry. Far from it. It was reluctant and exhausted but he began to lever himself upright without a word, one corner of his mouth drawing upward for a brief moment when he was standing before you, seemingly awaiting your command. God, you had to admit that it was causing some seriously hard to ignore feelings in an area that had many times already been thoroughly fucked. You kept your eyes on his even as his pretty blues followed your hands toward his cock. He made no move to pull away or complain but you could have sworn you saw his entire body melt when you began to gingerly tuck him away. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.” You planted a kiss on his cheek. After everything he’d done for and to you that day, it was the gratitude that made him blush. You couldn’t have stopped the giggle if you tried. “Let’s go get some sleep, okay?”

“Ya good, then?” His hand came to rest on your hip, eyes questioning. 

“I’m better than good, Daryl. You,on the other hand, are about to fall asleep standing.” The archer didn’t argue. He must have known he was swaying on his feet. Driving and lugging around supplies and taking care of you, he had to be bone-weary. Regardless of your discomfort, the ache already returning in full force, you wanted him to rest. He was trying so hard to take better care of himself at your request—eating full meals, sleeping a little more, wearing more clothing when hunting so he stayed warm—that you didn’t want to be the cause of fucking up all you had worked so hard to instill in him. “Come on, sleep time for you.”

He simply nodded and let himself be led from the room with quite the yawn. It was all eyes on you the moment the two of you stepped foot inside the large den, the warmth of the fire overwhelming any anxiety the stares could have even remotely caused. Arousal was quickly dampened by the lure of impending sleep and warmth. Dary was not taking watch, set to hunt the next morning, so you’d have him to yourself all night. 

He let you under the blankets first, assisting you down until you were situated on your side. When he climbed in after you, he took his usual position and angled himself so that your belly could rest on his stomach and hip while you could curl right into his chest. As wound up as you had been only moments before, your body was now succumbing to the siren call of sleep. You just needed to take care of one more thing. 

“Daryl?”

“Hmm?” Even that simple acknowledgement was somehow slurred. You had really worn him out. 

“Sleep late and then go hunting, okay?” You wondered how hard you’d need to fight him. He gave in on a great many things as the pregnancy progressed and you became more and more uncomfortable, but hunting was his time to recharge. You didn’t want to take that away from him, but you were also afraid of him spiraling back into bad habits.

“Okay.” He breathed, sounding more than half asleep. You blinked against his chest. So, you just needed to fuck him senseless to get him to agree to important things. Noted. 

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“I love you.”

He was already softly snoring, his warm breath disturbing your hair.

When you awoke, the sun’s warmth could not compare to the heat of the flames from the night before, but it was still welcome. It meant you had survived into another day. The fact that you were still firmly pressed against Daryl was an absolute bonus. It was well into the morning and he was still absolutely sound asleep. You weren’t worried that he was sick, even if the others most likely had their concerns. They were all accustomed to greeting him when they stepped outside to start the day or finding him completely absent on a hunt. You knew exactly why he slept late.

You felt him inhale deeply and begin to stir, grumbling something you didn’t understand. Pulling away to stretch, you felt a tug on your skin, drawing your attention to your chest, where your shirt had pulled from your flesh but was still stuck to Daryl’s button-up. “What the fuck?” The mortified look on the archer’s face said that he was thinking the same thing you were. You didn’t remember cum getting on your shirt or his, but you weren’t exactly thinking straight either. “Where’s your bag?”

Daryl jerked his chin toward the area just behind you. The man may have opened up around you and Carol but if anyone else saw this, even if they didn’t choose to laugh or tease—which was unlikely—you feared that Daryl would shut down and pull away from you.  

“And mine?” You asked, biting your lip.

He cleared his throat, the sound stuttering. “S’there too.” His back was to everyone but he’d know who was there. He had a way of identifying people through breath and footfall that was truly impressive. You, on the other hand, had to crane your neck to scope out the area. Carol was putting away some leftovers the best way she could. Lori was sitting with Carl, a math book on the kid’s lap. Glenn was laughing with Maggie in the doorway. Too many people. Daryl would likely run away, never to be seen again.

“Okay, first thing’s first.” You pried the articles of clothing apart, wincing at the nearly imperceptible sound that was likely heard by no one but sounded like a chainsaw to your ears. “I’m gonna go under the blankets so you can reach my bag for a different sweater. May as well grab your shirt while you’re there.”

“Gonna think you’re suckin’ my—”

“Well, you have two choices.” You whispered. “We can get up, grab our clothes to go change, and hope for the best. But we will have to walk past Glenn.” You peered around Daryl’s head to find Glenn and Maggie exactly where they had been, only T-Dog had joined them. “Or we can try and change under these blankets. I’ll giggle and mention Thumper, and they won’t think anything of it.”

“Right.” Dary didn’t seem convinced but kept the blankets high over both of you while he reached across your head, snagging both of your bags by the small strap at the top. He dragged them over and riffled through them, swallowing convulsively while pulling out shirts for each of you. “Got ‘em.”

“Okay, this might be a little tricky, but it’s doable.”

It was indeed tricky, but it was also indeed doable. The blankets were over your heads as you changed, with your originally planned giggles easily shifting into real ones. Thumper had joined the party and seemed to be aiming for their dad’s crotch each time your bodies touched. You could have sworn you heard a huff of a laugh from Daryl a couple of times as well. With a chuckle of hold still, you made sure the buttons of your partner’s shirt were even and patted his chest.

“All jizz free.” You whispered with a nod, feeling his fingers brush your skin while he pulled your pale blue, long sleeved t-shirt down to cover your belly.

“Gross.” 

“You say that like it’s been in your mouth before.” The look on his face had you laughing out loud and Daryl throwing back the blankets before the others could assume anything more was happening. The archer clambered off the bedroll and stretched, then held out a hand to you. You swatted it away. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit. My back hurts.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “M’goin’ huntin’. Ya stay close to ev’ryone else, ya hear?”

“I will. I promise.” When you met his eyes, they were full of such softness that you could almost feel it on your skin. He was taking each promise you made to heart and trusting you to keep them. And you would, even if staying inside made your skin crawl sometimes. Hell, being outside made your skin crawl. With the hormones taking over, you were fighting a losing battle, so you might as well choose the side that kept you and Thumper safe.

“Alright then. Be back ‘fore dark.” Daryl grabbed his crossbow from against the nearest wall, brushing a hand over the top of your head before it latched onto the top of his bag to hoist it off the floor, his gaze still meeting yours. “Promise.”

So this was a thing now. Promises between you. It both terrified you and filled your heart to the point of nearly bursting. You gave him a nod whilst fighting back the tears you knew would come the moment he was out of sight. He didn’t need to worry that he’d done something wrong. And he would because Daryl was still learning how to process anything that didn’t hurt. He was definitely still working on his social skills if his bark of what’re ya lookin’ at toward Glenn was anything to go by. Both he and Maggie looked at you with wide eyes but you just waved it off.

“Ignore him. He doesn’t know how to people. You know that.” 

“Well, he sure knows how to Y/N.” Maggie chided, smiling as she sat down next to you. You chuckled nervously, struggling to sit up so you could shove the dirty clothing into your bag.

“Shush. We just get each other and it was a long road to get to this point. Plus, I think he likes Thumper just a little.” The baby was active, already missing Daryl’s presence which would never cease to amaze you. “Who’s doing laundry today? I’d like to help.”

Maggie was already shaking her head before you could finish speaking. “Daddy needs to check you out. You’re almost 36 weeks, Y/N. You could go into labor anytime. Ask him what you can do and what you can’t and then we’ll worry about laundry.” You made a whining noise in the back of your throat and almost plopped back down on the bedroll but thought better of it at the last minute. It took so much effort to sit back up.

“Fine. Can he come now?” You sighed.

Maggie gave you a comforting smile and squeezed your shoulder. “Sure. Let me go get him.”

You nodded with a tight-lipped smile. She was absolutely right. Thumper’s arrival was growing closer and closer by the day; the hour even. And you were scared. What if something went wrong? You’d seen in the movies that the baby could get stuck. The cord could be wrapped around their little neck. Your pelvic structure could prohibit a natural birth and you would need a cesarean section. Were there even supplies for that? What about sedation or local anesthetic? What if Daryl decided then that it was all too much and ran? You couldn’t do any of it without him, you knew that now. 

“Easy, young lady.” Hershel soothed, already having knelt beside you at some point. “You’re white as a sheet and hyperventilating.”

“S–sorry. I’m okay.” You stammered, leaning back on your hands so he would have access to your belly. “Just— I’m scared shitless, Hershel.” As per usual, his steady hands hovered until you nodded your permission for him to roll up your shirt. The moment the cool air hit your skin, there was movement below it, a hand or foot pushing up hard enough that you could actually see it. 

“Well, they’re definitely active.” The old man chuckled. “Let’s see if we can check the heartbeat around all that wiggling.” You laughed but it was real, muffled by the fear welling up in your chest. “Well, the heartbeat is great. I need to do an examination, both external and internal. I will explain everything before proceeding. Would you be alright with that? We can go in the downstairs bedroom with Maggie or Beth if you would be more comfortable.”

Maggie was already leaning in the doorway with Glenn, giving you a nod that she was fine with being present. “Yeah, okay.” You started trying to get up on your own but that proved to be futile. Before you could even ask, Glenn was holding out both hands. “Thank you.” You whispered. This was all so personal and it felt like you shouldn’t be going through any of it alone. “Has—did Daryl leave already?”

“He may still be outside. Rick grabbed him for something. I’ll go check.” The words came out so fast that you barely caught them before Glenn was gone and Maggie was helping you lie down.

“I mean, can this wait if he isn't here? I don’t—” The tears came before you had any means of stopping them. You couldn’t sit back up without assistance so you just pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes and sobbed, chest heaving and body trembling. You wanted Daryl, after trying so hard to prove you could handle things without him. You needed him.

“The hell’d ya do to ‘er?!” 

You had never been so relieved to hear that irritated tone. Gasping for air, you reached blindly for him, his hands wrapping around your forearms to pull you up and against his chest. 

“Nothing, son. We were going to do an exam to check the baby.” You opened your eyes to see Hershel standing several feet back with his hands up, palms out. Maggie wasn’t glaring but she looked serious, ready to defend her father. “It would be invasive and she was frightened. We wouldn’t have done anything without her permission.”

“I just—wanted you—I wanted you here.” You hiccupped, gripping his shirt tighter. There was a jerk of his body and then the sound of the door closing. You were alone with him.

“M’here.” He didn’t move other than to pull you in tighter, the hold would have been uncomfortable any other time but it was exactly what you needed at that moment. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“He—he needed to do something inside. It wasn’t that—I didn't think he was gonna hurt me and Maggie was here, but it just felt like something you should be here for too. Like a huge event in all this.” You sniffled, wiggling a hand free after a bit of struggle so that you could wipe your face on your sleeve. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted to hunt.”

“Nuh uh. Wanna be here more. The fuck he need to go inside for?” Now he sounded more than irritated, as if Hershel was trying to take advantage of you in some way. 

“There’s gonna be a lot of that, I think. I mean, if everything goes well, the baby’s coming out of my vagina, so I guess he needs to be all up in there to make sure it’s ready or something? Doesn’t it mention this in one of your books?” You pushed against his chest, but he hesitated in letting go. Finally, he dropped his arms but kept a hand on the top of your stomach. Thumper’s movements slowed to flutters.

“Ain’t had much time for readin’, Sunshine.”

You were in the middle of rubbing your eyes when you slid them to the side, your nose scrunching and mouth tilting into a smile. “Sunshine?”

“S’that or ‘pain in my ass’. I ain’t picky.” He huffed, picking at a thread on his tattered button-up. 

“I’ll take Sunshine, thanks. You’re adorable, Daryl Dixon.”

“Ugh, don’t get sappy.” He curled his lip, pulling away when you reached for his face.

“You already took it way past sappy, sir.” When he kept that small distance, you grabbed his collar and tugged him forward to press a kiss to his mouth. He reciprocated without hesitance, a small reassurance you reveled in when it came to your relationship. “Thank you for not running.”

“Ain’t a pussy. Told ya from the get-go that we’d handle it.” His forehead was against yours, the tip of his nose nuzzling your own. “Called ya Sunshine back then too.”

“That, you did.” You recalled the memory fondly. God, he was such an asshole back then. Still was in some ways but he was yours. You distantly wondered if he always had been. “Just needed a little help bringing out the inner romantic.”

“Don’t push it. Don’t got a romantic bone in my body.” 

You hummed, done with teasing him for the moment. “I guess we should let Hershel do what he needs to and get it over with.” You bit your lip, sliding it back and forth between your teeth. “Will you stay?”

“Course.” His knuckles gently grazed your jaw and then he was up and opening the door, jerking his head toward you to invite them back inside. “Don’t make ‘er cry again.” He warned, taking his spot beside you and helping you lie back.

Hershel only smiled. “I’ll try my best, son.” Maggie wasn’t there but came in, carrying a bowl of water and a cloth, before the old man could do anything. “There’s a couple of things I need to examine. First, I’ll do an external examination. I’m going to palpate your abdomen, feel the position of the baby. At this stage in the pregnancy, we want to ensure the baby is turning into a head down position. They should come out head first, not feet. Is it alright for me to continue?”

You nodded quickly. With Daryl there, the anxiety was held at bay. The man formed a physical wall between you and the fear that wanted to suffocate you, whether he knew it or not. He was watching intensely as your shirt was lifted, the veterinarian’s hands moving with a knowledge you were surprised to find he possessed given he had only dealt with animals. He was likely reading just as Daryl had, probably more. 

You winced when it seemed he was squeezing around the baby’s form, though the touch was gentle, feeling Daryl tense beside you. Your hand found his immediately and he settled. 

“Ev’rything good, doc?” The archer’s voice was just shy of a snap. He muttered an apology when you squeezed his fingers.

“It seems the baby has mostly turned to the correct position. Have you felt any increase in pelvic pressure or need to urinate?”

“She’s been pissin’ like a racehorse for weeks.” Daryl huffed, earning an elbow to the ribs.

“No more than usual.” You clarified. Hershel nodded.

“It’s unlikely that the baby has dropped then. I have limited experience with human patients but I have had wives that gave me children. When they dropped, it was described to me as a sudden weight deeper in the pelvis. They could breathe easier and felt hungrier, as there was more room in the upper abdomen. The need to urinate increased even more than it already had throughout the pregnancy.” You were nodding, Daryl was squinting, soaking it all in and filing it away. “Just let me know when you feel those changes, okay?”

“Okay.” You answered quietly, this time feeling Daryl squeezing your fingers.

“This next part will be invasive, and I’m sorry for that. I need to check your cervix, see if it’s softening or dilating.” When Daryl didn’t comment, you were sure those were terms he had read. You vaguely knew what they meant from the movies you had seen. “I can have Maggie remove your—”

“I got it.” Daryl interjected, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles before releasing your hand. You watched him move, biting your lip when he pressed one knee between your feet and reached to grab the waistband of your layers, bringing all three down in motion. You had to think of anything else to keep Hershel from seeing what Daryl had the ability to do to you. Placing your clothes by your feet, the bowman cleared his throat. “Make it quick.”

Hershel smiled and shook his head while washing his hands with the soap and water Maggie had brought but he said nothing about Daryl’s protectiveness. Perhaps he understood how fragile the archer’s ability to handle his emotions truly was, and with that knowledge, he saw no reason to put further strain on the young man.

“I’m going to begin the pelvic exam now. It might be a little uncomfortable.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes with a smile when Daryl’s arm wiggled beneath you to wrap around your shoulders. Hershel was right, it truly was uncomfortable. It wasn’t at all like what you had imagined, which to be quite honest, you thought it would be more like being fingered by Daryl. This was in no way pleasurable. First of all, it was Hershel. Secondly, there was pushing down just below the baby while at the same time, moving two fingers. It wasn't just uncomfortable. It was really uncomfortable. At one point, you whimpered ow and had to grab Daryl’s forearm to keep him from lashing out. 

Finally, it was over. Hershel was washing his hands again. “The cervix is softening, which is exactly what we want at this stage according to my reading. You’re not dilated, which is also what we’d like right now. That could begin to change in a few days, and that would be okay. There’s no way of really knowing exactly how far along you are but based on what I know of you, and keeping up with the calendar the best I could, you are right at 36 weeks.” You nodded, smiling softly as Daryl reached forward to push your knee down, urging you to close your legs even while he never looked away from the old man. 

“That’s good, right?” You asked, struggling to sit up until Daryl looped an arm behind you again and easily got you there.

“That’s wonderful. It’s my opinion, which isn’t the best mind you, that you could safely have this baby anytime now.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, watching all the color drain from Daryl’s face beside you. “Daryl?”

“You alright, son?” Hershel’s expression showed concern but his eyes were laughing. He knew the look on Daryl’s face and he knew it well. “It’s okay to be nervous. You’re a first time father. It will be—”

“G’on, old man. M’fine.” 

You chuckled. “Thank you, Hershel. I feel a lot—” Moving to sit up straighter, you looked down when you felt cold against your skin. Two quarter-sized wet patches were clear on your pale blue shirt, just over your nipples. “What the hell?” Even Maggie’s eyebrows were raised. Daryl just looked as puzzled as you did.

“That’s colostrum.” The old vet answered as if you knew what the fuck that meant. “It’s the first thing your breasts produce to feed the baby when it’s born, before the actual milk comes in. This is a good sign that your body is getting ready.”

“Like—soon?” You gulped.

“It doesn’t have an effect on the timeline, one way or another. It just means your body knows what it’s doing. You may want to ask for some breast pads on the next run or just fold some cloth for your bra.”

“Wait—so that wasn’t cum?” It was out of your mouth before you had processed a single word of it. Hershel’s brow furrowed, Maggie doubled over laughing, and poor Daryl was three seconds from jumping out the window. “I’m just—oh god, just leave us to die in here, thanks.” You could still hear Maggie laughing after the door closed but luckily she had nodded in reaction to your pleading look to keep it to herself. When you looked at him, Daryl's elbows were on his knees and his face was in his hands. You could see the red flush traveling all the way to his ears. “It wasn’t jizz. Yay?”

“Just—stop talkin’.”

“I love you.” 

“So ya keep sayin’.”

[imfinereallyy]

I wonder if you look both ways (When you cross my mind) pt. 4

part 1 part 2 pt. 3

this one i am excited for, i hope you guys like it...

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

February 1991, Chicago

Robin has a particular hatred for winter rain. It’s cold, damp and makes everything grey. She doesn't mind the rain in the summer—where it makes everything smell fresh and makes all the greens look bright.

Winter rain, though? Belongs in a circle of hell.

Admittedly, it's more than the way the downpour chills her to the bone. It's always a bad omen, a sign of what's to come. Most people find her paranoid, except Steve. He always nods his head in understanding; Robin can't tell if it's because he just understands her or because the winter rain makes his bones ache.

Robin shakes the water out of her hair as she walks up the steps to her apartment with Steve and Eddie. The bad feeling in her stomach doesn't ease up, creeping further and further up her throat until she worries she might choke on it. She takes her time going up the six flights of stairs, taking deep breaths, convincing herself that everything is fine and it's all in her head.

By the time she makes it to the door, Robin feels lighter.

Pushing through the doorway, Robin lets a small smile rest on her lips as her eyes look around to see who's home.

Her eyes land on Steve, head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

It's then she notices Steve is home, but Eddie isn't.

Steve lifts his head, tears in his eyes. "He's gone, Robs. Eddie left."

The rain could eat shit. Fuck.

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

June 1996, Chicago

Robin waits until Steve leaves and a few minutes extra before making her way into the living room.

She knows the bastard is still here; Robin saw it coming from a mile away.

Trudging towards the couch in Steve's boxers and what she is sure is her ex-girlfriend's t-shirt, Robin smacks Eddie upside the head.

Hard.

"Ow! What the fuck, Buckley?" Eddie squirms, rubbing his head with a pout.

"Oh, shut it, Munson. You know that a slap is the least of your worries. You better believe something on you will be broken by the time you leave again." Robin huffs, her face going red.

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Will you at least come talk to me before you cause me more bodily harm?" He pats the spot on the couch next to him like it isn't Robin's fucking couch.

Robin begrudgingly decides he's right and plops down next to him with a glare. "Trust me, Munson. We will be doing plenty of talking. And by we, I mean me."

"Don't you want to hear my sid—Ow! Birdie, for the love of god, stop hitting me." Eddie rubs his arm.

"No."

"No you won't hear me out, or no you won't stop hitting me?"

Robin levels him with a look so vicious that she is almost certain if he holds eye contact any longer, he will be set on fire.

Eddie's shoulder's slump, "Right."

Robin huffs through her nose, trying to fight back a smile. She will not crack around this idiot, even if torturing him brings her a special kind of joy. "Munson, unless the reason was 'if you didn't leave, Steve was going to die,' then you don't have a good reason."

A small smile makes its way onto Eddie's face, and Robin lightly slaps his knee. "Why are you smiling? You don't get to smile right now."

Eddie deosn't even flinch, "Nothing, it's just you specified Steve dying, and not the two of you or anyone else. Like Steve dying would be the issue. It's nice to see some things never change."

"You see that's where you're wrong, Munson." Robin gets really close in his face, "We've only gotten worse."

Eddie's smile is a full-blown grin now. Robin can't help but be a little charmed.

If Robin is honest with herself, and Steve encourages her to do so more often, she really misses Eddie. Despite her being angry at him, she's happy to have him here to be angry at. But once she's over that, she will be kicking him the fuck out of their apartment.

Something twisted lands in Robin's stomach as she makes her way back into her spot on the couch. Eddie doesn't get it that he left them. He left not just Steve but Robin, too. They were best friends, and suddenly, he's gone.

And on top of that, Robin had to watch Steve crumble, and it just isn't something she thinks she can ever get over.

For years, Robin watched Steve pick himself up over and over again. Resilient, brave, and sometimes a little stupid. That's her Steve. But after Eddie left, she was worried that this time he wouldn't get back up.

She can't go through that again.

Unfortunately though, Robin fears she might need Eddie's fucking help with something.

These boys will be the death of her.

"No more smiling, Munson. This is serious." Robin clears her throat.

"Right." His grin slips off his face. "You were saying you wanted to do the talking?"

Robin looks to the doorway, nervous. As if Steve is going to walk through any moment, despite not leaving all that long ago. She just knows how dates with Drew go. Sometimes Steve will come home early, frustrated and quiet, closed off in ways she hasn't seen in a long time. Other times he won't come home for days, Drew deciding he needed some alone time with Steve.

Robin isn't sure which she hates more.

She shakes her head, knowing she is being unreasonable—not on the hating Drew part (which is really what it is, down to its core) but on Steve coming back early. No matter what happens between Steve and Drew, Robin knows he is dreading coming back to this apartment with Eddie in it or, even worse, with Eddie gone.

"You're going to help me."

Eddie's eyebrows furrow, and Robin almost expects him to question it, to demand answers. Instead, he surprises her. "Okay, what do you need?"

Robin takes a deep breath, "We need to get Steve out of a bad relationship."

Worry falls over Eddie's face, "Is he okay? What happened? Is she hurting him?"

Ah. Robin forgot about that part. Eddie doesn't exactly know about Steve's sexuality. It isn't like the man isn't out—Steve has been out to their friends for years now—but it feels wrong to tell Eddie without consulting Steve yet.

She is going to have to work around it.

"Steve's...fine." Robin doesn't reall know actually. Lately, it's been like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk about Drew. She fucking hates that man. "He's unhappy, though. This person isn't good for him, and I think me saying it isn't enough."

Eddie rubs a hand down his face, "And how am I supposed to help that? Steve doesn't exactly want me around." His arms gesture towards the room in a dramatically flair.

Oh, this silly, silly man, Robin thinks. Unfortunately, he's exactly what Robin needs—more specifically, what Steve needs.

"True."

"Okay, hurtful."

Robin waves him off, "I'm not going to lie to you, Munson. We are both pissed at you. But I am worried about Steve. And I care more about him than I am angry at you. Despite all the shit you did, he cares about you. Because this is Steve. He cares a whole lot and gives a whole bunch without expecting anything. And he deserves better. And I think—no, I know, if he has two of his oldest friends showing him that, maybe he'll listen."

Robin fails to mention that regardless of how this plan goes, she will have her revenge on Eddie, to, ya know, even the score.

Eddie huffs through his nose, "Okay. Of course, I'll help. Besides, I was already planning on sticking around. I don't want to run away, not this time."

"Good." Robin lets a small smile slip onto her face, "Besides, you're a terrible athlete. Don't know why you insist on trying."

A dry laugh escapes Eddie, "Wow, thanks, Bridie. Missed you too."

Robin pushes him playfully. "If you're gonna stick around, maybe I'll hear you out, Eddie. But not now. Not yet. Don't know if this going to be long term; consider this a temporary truce."

Robin expects him to whine and contest it, but instead, Eddie looks delighted. "You called me Eddie."

Robin groans, "Don't ruin it."

Eddie grabs her hand, their rings clanking against each other, and gives it a squeeze. "Sorry, no take backs."

Robin says nothing, but squeezes back.

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

i don't get to write her pov very often, but it is so fun. next update we will finally get a peak into Eddie's whole deal. Tag list is closed, but you can put notifs on the first part, I always put the link on the there.

tag list! (closed):

@stevesbipanic @withacapitalp @emryyyyy09 @brainfugk @blueberrylemontea-fanfic

@slv-333 @thetinymm @connected-dots-st-reblogger @helpimstuckposting @dreamercec

@goodolefashionedloverboi @stripey82 @little2nerdy @anne-bennett-cosplayer @resident-gay-bitch

@ghostquer @sourw0lfs @devondespresso @yesdangerpls @themoonagainstmers

@lingermirth @steddiecameraroll @my2amgaythoughts @stevah-hawcett @steventhusiast

@adealwithher @antonymeanonyme @stevah-hawcett @samsoble @mugloversonly

@stripey82 @anaibis @mycatsstolemybiscuit @flustratedcas @alfhitchblonde

@s0ft-strawberries @slavicviking @theheadlessphilosopher @friendlyorange @lunaraquaenby

@l1lpip @emmabubbles @arepaconchocolate @scooby-dum86 @awkwardgravity1

@thesuninyaface @hallo-spaceb0y @dykelips @bookbinderbitch @valinwonderland