#also she is very calm & gentle but every time one of us leaves the room she'll get up to observe where we go

[taketwo1983]

This is why I love tumbler

yes i Am paying real money to make you all look at our new dog. we've had her for 3 hours and if anything happened to her I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself. her name is Tater Tot

[heathermason6060]

Serial Killer!Rick Grimes x f!Reader Smut: Trophies

Warnings/Mentions: Murder, use of alcohol, Rough sex, choking, slapping, biting, hair pulling, spitting, overstimulation, Rick is a sadist in bed and gift giving is his love language, but also just likes to see you wearing belongings of people he's killed

Summary: Rick gets tired of putting his kill trophies in a box, so he puts them on you instead. Then you fuck.

Notes: I finally got around to finishing this yippee! There's 2 smut scenes, first is kind of short and tame, and the one at the end is a few pages long and contains the more aggressive parts. Somewhat proofread!!

There were many routines in your life, and the lives of the people around you. 

Rick was no exception. 

Any time he'd leave the prison he'd go through the checklist in his mind; revolver, ammunition, his machete, water and a little bit of food. 

And his cassette player, with that single tape. 

Every note of the unnamed female's voice was engraved deep into his brain. He knew every hum and breath, every strum of her gentle fingers across her guitar. 

It was just some tape he'd found. Didn't have a sentimental meaning to it from life before, wasn't some artist he was a fan of. He found it in that old rundown music store the two of you spent a night in back in Atlanta, and he took it. 

You'd seen him with it plenty of times but you'd never actually seen him listen to it. You never gave it a second thought until you were on a run together, driving in silence down the long winding back roads.

You asked if he wanted to play his tape on the car stereo, and his friendly calm demeanor was instantly replaced with that look you'd only seen very few times. 

“No.” The look on his face was enough to change your entire mood for the day. 

His later attempts at cheering you up were only met with feigned smiles and laughter, something he was quick to pick up on. 

“Why don't we go see that river you told me about, long time ago.” He looked over at you in the passenger seat, giving you that trademark Rick Grimes smile. 

“Oh, if it's not out of the way, yeah.” You shrugged. It was clear you were still feeling unnerved by the ice thrown in your direction for seemingly no reason.

“If there's as many fish as you said there were, then it don't matter.” 

“Okay, yeah, should be fun.”

Rick grinned when he could sense your attitude reaching a more positive level. “Alright. River first thing in the morning. Know of any place around here we can camp out for the night?”

“There's some old camping grounds a few miles up from the entrance point to the river. They used to set up tents near this fishing shed, tents are probably gone but the shed won't be. There's a few larger cabins up the same road but I have a feeling they're probably occupied. Was a real nice place.”

Rick nodded and continued driving. 

He said, come wander, with me, love

Rick closed his eyes as he sat in the front room in the largest cabin. If his timing was right, they should be walking up the steps now. 

Now at the door. Now opening the door. Now walking in. Now they saw him. 

It was careless, what he was doing. Careless. You were asleep down the road in that little fishing shed, you could wake up at any minute and find the bedroll next to you cold and empty. Get worried, wait a few minutes, then get out your gun and come looking for him. It was stupid. 

He just couldn't help himself. It'd been so long. 

He opened his eyes.

One woman, three men. The first man was scrawny, easy. Rick could take him out with little to no effort. The woman was a bit chubby, but very short. She looked horrified already, she'd be easy too. 

The other two men would be a bit of a challenge. Tall and well built.

Their mouths moved as they stared at the strange man sitting in their house. He could make out a few ‘what’s but that was about it. 

He caught them off guard by walking right up to them. 

First big man caught a knife to the head. The other pulled his gun and shot, barely missing Rick's shoulder. 

Rick yanked the knife free and grabbed a wrist, pinning it against the front door, smashing over and over against the wood until his grip spasmed, and the gun fell with a clatter. 

The woman was pulling at him like a sick dog. He reared back and elbowed her in the face, breaking her nose and knocking her unconscious. She fell to the floor with a thud, and the scrawny man dropped to check on her. 

Rick turned back to the man he had pinned against the wall. He was angry, cursing, little white bubbles of foamy spit spraying from his lips. A trembling hand reached up, desperate to poke an eye or anything that could potentially stun Rick, only succeeding in ripping out the buds in the older man's ears.

He set his jaw as his heart began to race. Now it would get sloppy. 

Rick reared back, and slammed his head forward so hard he felt the bridge of his nose instantly crack against his forehead. Blood spewed from his nose down his face, spraying Rick in the process. 

The man reeled before collapsing. The hard part was over. The easier ones were more of a chore.

Rick stood back and admired his work. 

The woman had a plastic bag over her head, but it was still obvious she'd been bludgeoned. Poor thing, didn't even wake up before she'd been so brutally slaughtered. 

The scrawny man had his neck snapped. It was by complete accident, Rick didn't expect him to be so… fragile. He laid in the living room next to the woman and the first man he'd stabbed. 

Rick looked down at the dog tags in his hand. They were fake, he could tell that much. Ordered at some flea market from cheap metal. The back had worn away to copper.

He balled up the rest of his rope and stuffed it in his duffle bag before finally leaving, the pleads and begging falling on deaf ears.

It took their people three days to find them.

“You, that's the man that killed Javier. I saw you leaving the same night we found him.” 

That didn't alarm you. You knew Rick had killed people before. The words that followed soon after were a different story.

It was the third day of your scavenging run. The first day you spent on the road looking for a spot. The second day you spent on the river, mostly fishing and picking out places on a crinkled old map to go on the third day. 

You'd just woken up, eyes still foggy with sleep as you walked out of the fishing shed to see Rick standing in front of a small group of people.

“Your man was a threat to my people.” Rick used the barrel of his revolver as he spoke like some sort of pointer rod, making the three strangers flinch each time it aimed at one of them. 

“No. You tied him up like a skinned deer, was he still alive when you cut his stomach open?” Their leader's questioning was cut off with a quick gunshot to the head. 

You gasped, not expecting that, and brought your hand to cover your mouth. 

“No!” A blonde woman shrieked and fell to her knees beside her lover's limp body. She looked up to Rick then, venom in her spit as she spoke. “You're worse than the dead ones!”

Rick killed her just as well as the silent man behind her. Then it was just you and him, and now you were the mute.

You weren't thinking, really. Your eyes were still wide and burning from not blinking, staring into the pile of bodies that had been alive only seconds ago. 

“Hey, you alright?” His voice was back to normal and you blinked, seeing he was now knelt beside you with that familiar look of compassion. That was the Rick you knew, not that cold thing that used his body only minutes before. 

“Yeah, just, I wasn't expecting that.” You breathed. Your lips and fingers felt numb, despite it being a warm October day. 

Rick nodded, looking down at the dirt between his feet. He chewed on the inside of his cheek before speaking.

“I keep forgetting you're not as… seasoned as the rest of us.” 

No. That wasn't it.

You were no stranger to killing, but the people you killed were in self defense. 

What Rick just did was cold blooded murder. And the way he made it seem like the most normal thing a man could do had your chest feeling tight.

“I'm hungry.” It was all you could think to say. 

He snorted at that, taken aback by your words. “Hungry? Okay. You okay staying here for a few? I can go search that old country store down the road.”

You nodded, glancing at the bodies only a few feet away. He followed your gaze and squeezed your knee to redirect your attention back to him. 

“Keep your radio on. I'll just be a little while, okay?” He smiled when you nodded. “Don't use your gun unless you have to.”

You were thankful he drug the bodies away before he left. 

Come wander with me. 

Rick took a deep breath.

It had been two weeks, his self control was slowly slipping. He'd gone a year without killing once, when Carl was born. At the time it was easy. 

The old brown house, threatening to crumble at any moment from the massive amounts of dry rot and termites, was a perfect place to look for people out on their own. They loved staying in the inconspicuous hole in the walls, places that you would never notice unless you were desperate and terrified. 

He moved out of the shadows and dug his knife into the base of a skull. They died in his arms and he held them there, closing his eyes as the struggles grew weaker and weaker, until they finally stopped all at once.

He opened his heavy lids to see a woman screaming, her hands covering her mouth from the opposite side of the small living room.  The buds in his ears prevented him from hearing most of it. 

Rick let the lifeless body slide from his arms, and stood. He was quick as he walked towards her, grabbing her by her hair and letting out a disappointed ‘tsk’ at her state of shock. She could have easily escaped but she chose to stay there and wail.

He came from the sunset, he came from the sea.

Rick held her against his chest as she squirmed in his arms, pounding her fists against his chest, her movements futile, weak from starvation and dehydration. He closed his eyes again as he held her there, dragging his knife up the base of her spine. He could hear her screams now, they'd transformed from anger to terror, dry screeches as she pleaded for her life.

Rick found his thoughts drifting to you, and now it was your voice humming in his ears, replacing the unknown feminine voice he'd grown so accustomed to. 

You truly were a sight to behold. Even if it was just in his mind. 

A sharp kick to his knee snapped the image of you out of his mind, and sent him into a state of anger. He opened his eyes and gritted his teeth before yanking her head to the side, looking down at her soft tanned skin. 

A mother Mary coin sat at the base of her throat, dangling on a thin chain, only for a second before Rick gently took it off. 

She jerked against him as she realized she was bleeding, streams of warm blood gushing down her neck and chest. 

Her already weak movements became weaker as she bled out, only managing to give a last ditch attempt of escape when his knife was removed from her throat. Her jerking against him stilled, and he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes glued to hers as he watched her blue eyes turn glossy.

Rick took the earbuds from his ears and put them in the back pocket of his jeans, along with the necklace. 

He wouldn't need to put his trophies in a box anymore.

You smiled in surprise as you looked at the jewelry in your open palm. 

“Do I seem the religious type?” You mused, running your finger over the gold oval. Mother Mary. You didn't expect Rick to think of you when seeing something like that. 

“No.” He hummed, a soft smile on his lips. He looked so sweet then, the orange reflections of the campfire dancing across his face. 

You wanted to question him, ask him where he found it and why he decided you were fit to wear it, but your lips closed when he moved to put it around your neck. 

He was gentle, gentle as he moved your hair over your shoulder, and gentle as he closed the clasp and brushed your hair back in its original position.

“Thanks Rick. It's really pretty.” Your fingers stroked the charm at your neck, the metal warm from being in his back pocket. You decided then you didn't care to know about the where or the why, the hows or why there was dried blood on the back of it. 

“Dinners ready. Go get Daryl and come eat.” He brushed your hair behind your ear and smiled. He was looking at you, but not really looking at you. 

“Okay.”

You managed to drag Daryl down from the watchtower for dinner without much complaining. But to your confusion, the group only stayed around the table for about ten minutes to chat, eat their roasted trout and canned asparagus, and then they left. Not one at a time either. 

When you finished the last few bites of your dinner, Rick took you into the warden's office, a nice secluded space with comfortable chairs and a pretty brown desk table.

You looked up from the table to see Rick walking back with a bottle of wine in hand, a sly smile on his face.

You raised a brow and smirked as he poured it into two plastic cups, setting yours in front of you before sitting down. 

“This what I think it is?” You teased, taking a sip of wine to cool your nerves. You were anxious as hell, although your calm and amused exterior didn't show it. 

Was Rick Grimes, leader of your group, seriously flirting with you? Beyond the usual innocent playfulness? 

“Depends on what you think it is. Date? Yes. Work conference? No.” He took a sip. 

“So, you just tell them all to stay away from here? They know?” You suddenly blushed at the idea of the group knowing Rick was sweet on you. It felt like dating the cool kid in school all over again. 

“Well, not exactly that, but yeah, they know.” He looked at you then in a way that made you nervous. It was the way he used to look at Lori. All soft eyed and smiles.

You barely knew him, like really knew him, you hung around Carol, Carl and Glenn more than anyone else, it just felt too out of place for you to hang out with Rick or Daryl. That role was better suited for Maggie or Michonne. 

When he had asked you to go out on that run a few days ago with him, just him, you were stunned. And now here he was, serving you dinner and fancy wine like you were his wife. 

“Why? I mean, why me?” 

He furrowed his brows and looked at you thoughtfully, as if he didn't quite know the answer himself. He took another sip of wine before answering. 

“I don't know why. I just know I like you.” 

You grinned a bit at that. “You like me, huh? It's cause of my Kardashian looks isn't it?”

Rick laughed and shook his head. “Kardashian looks huh? Yeah, sure.” 

The tension from your end quickly faded the more you talked. 

You couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of guilt the more Rick flirted with you. Lori had died not too long ago, and even though he seemed completely fine, you worried it was him finding unhealthy ways to cope. 

You didn't know he already had a lifelong coping mechanism, and you were another thing entirely. 

Murder was always common in the apocalypse. You'd seen more victims of humans than you could count. 

Moving into Alexandria though, it seemed like almost every time you went outside the walls you'd find a new dead body a few miles away, obviously done by a human and not the dead.

“Jesus.” Daryl muttered, using a stick to move a dead man's head to the side, showcasing the dramatic knife wound to his cheek. 

“They're getting closer to home.” You muttered, looking down at the body near your feet as Daryl poked at it. 

“Yeah.” He agreed. He dropped his stick and stood up, shaking his head. “Sorry sonvabitch that did this better hope he don't come any closer.” 

That night Rick gave you another piece of jewelry. A silver thumb ring, long but not visually remarkable. 

“This is actually really pretty.” You said as you slipped it on your thumb, opposite hand of the other ring Rick gave you in the past. 

“Yeah?” Rick grinned, looking over his shoulder as he took the dishes from dinner to his sink.

He'd invited you over for dinner. You appreciated it, it had been a while since you had time alone with the man. You'd begun to miss him and his daring flirtation. 

“Yeah, don't need to worry about it snagging on anything either. Can wear it when I go out.” Your fingers continued fidgeting with the ring, spinning it around your thumb as you watched him clean up. 

He dried his hands and walked over to you, offering out a hand, an act that made your stomach do flips. “I'm glad you like it.”

You took his hand, warm, his fingers so large and thick they made yours look like they belonged to a pianist in comparison. 

He led you from your seat at the dining room table to his living room, leaving you on the couch while he went to dig through a basket.

You watched him from your spot on the couch as he put a DVD in the player under the living room tv. You wondered then, would they be gone all night? Carl, Michonne, Daryl? Did he tell them to find somewhere else to sleep for the night? 

You blushed wildly at the idea of everyone in Alexandria knowing Rick was trying to have sex with you. 

“How long will they be gone?” You blurted.

Rick turned to you after turning on the TV, a brow raised. “Couple hours. Why?” 

“Well, if it's gonna be a sleepover I gotta get my stuff.” You laughed nervously, cursing yourself for sounding so awkward and timid. 

“I didn't plan on it, but,” he groaned dramatically as he plopped down onto the cushy couch next to you, “-the idea is tempting.” 

You realized you were wrong in your assumption that he was trying to get laid. Fuck. That was embarrassing.

He seemed open to it though, right? Or were you just so touch deprived that you were fooling yourself into reading him the wrong way?

You watched the first Twilight movie and laughed most of the time, but you caught Rick watching intently at the baseball scene. 

“I'm so pissed the outbreak had to happen when it did. We were two months away from the sequel. Two months! That means they finished it and it's on some hard drive somewhere, never to be seen.”

Rick smiled at your complaining, that same look of strange admiration on your face. 

You still didn't know how to react to it, on one hand, it was extremely flattering and you were starting to get turned on, but on the second hand it rationally was a little off-putting. Maybe he really did just have a thing for you, maybe it was just as simple as that. 

His gaze should've made you blush and swoon, and it definitely did, but… there was something about it that set your teeth on edge. Far too intimidating.

“Maybe we'll find it one day.”

“That would be the day we have a real slumber party. Popcorn, sodas, everything.”

“Yeah? Gonna braid each other's hair too?” He teased.

You scoffed and playfully punched his shoulder. The man didn't even budge, like he was made of stone. “Can you braid?”

“Damn good at it.”

You gaped at him in amused disbelief. “No shot!” 

“C'mere.” Rick's knees spread and he tapped his shoe on the floor between his feet. 

You gulped some wine before quickly shrugging, and got on the floor, your feet tucked neatly under your butt. 

His hands felt illegally good. He brushed your hair over your shoulders and ran his fingers through it, from your roots down to the ends. Each time his fingertips ran down your scalp you were given a fresh wave of goosebumps, and when they brushed against the back of your neck you visibly shivered. 

Rick wasn't lying. He managed to give you a beautiful braid, working with what was given to make something you'd be happy to wear on a fancy date. You ran your fingers over the braid and scoffed in shock. 

“It's so pretty.” You admired the way the necklace he had given you back at the prison was on full view, no longer hidden or covered by your hair. It sat right at your collarbone, and the neckline of your black and red dress framed it perfectly.

When Rick said ‘wear something nice’ for dinner you immediately panicked and went to Rosita. She picked out a beautiful dress for you, it was classy but not over the top, pretty to look at but also comfortable to lay around in. 

You looked at him in the mirror in front of you. He was looking at you again, but different this time. 

Less wholesome admiration, more… desire. He had little readable expression but the bit you could read had your lower stomach flipping with excitement. 

You turned to face him and took a second to appreciate the way the black button up shirt hugged his muscles just so slightly. It wasn't the cover of some smutty werewolf or vampire novel, but fuck, it had your knees feeling weak. 

“Told you.” 

It took you a moment to process what he meant, but when you did, you smiled and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you did. Where'd you learn to braid like this?”

“Same place they taught me how to pick up women.” He winked. You both laughed. 

You ended up back on the couch with a different movie put in. Neither of you were paying any attention to it though, your focus slowly shifting to each other.

“Think they'll be back soon?” You had the courage to flirt all of a sudden. 

Maybe it was the wine that had loosened you up, or maybe it was the fact he looked so hot in that shirt and smelled like sandalwood and jasmine. 

“Hm, maybe.” He flirted back, an edge of tauntful tease to his voice. “Why?”

“Well, usually after a date goes this well…” You trailed off and wiggled your eyebrows. Your boldness surprised the both of you, and he couldn't help but chuckle. 

“Yeah? What's that?” He hummed, his smile slowly fading when he looked from your eyes to your lips. 

“Girl shows the guy a good time.”

“That right?” He leaned in, and you could smell his cologne stronger than before. You closed your eyes and bit back a sigh. 

“Maybe, I don't know. Never been on a date this good.” You leaned in, mirroring his movements, looking down to his lips. 

“How about the guy shows the girl a good time, huh? How about that?” His voice was breathy then, warm and smelling like expensive wine. 

You nodded and he smiled, breaking past the last few inches to kiss you. 

He was so soft. His hands cupped your cheeks with a featherlight caress, and his lips were equally as gentle. He moved them against yours, his tongue slipping out to trace along your wine stained lips. You parted your lips and moaned at the feeling of his tongue in your mouth. 

Rick guided you on your back, just as gentle as every man you'd seen on all those romance movies you pretended to cringe at. His hand under the small of your back had a wave of wetness seeping out of you, you had underestimated how truly touch starved you were. 

It wasn't long before he had led you up to his bedroom. You were astonished at how neat everything was. Bed was made, sheets looked fresh out of the wash. 

He had his revolver laid out on his dresser along with a few other melee weapons, his machete, axe, and a long dagger. Everything was perfectly organized. 

And there, in the duffel bag peeking out from under his bed, sat his cassette player. 

Once the door was closed behind him he wasted no time in undressing you, popping open the buttons on the back of your dress. He moved slow and meticulously, brushing the sleeves off your shoulders to plant a few kisses on the warm skin there. 

You sighed at his touch and pressed your back against his chest, aching to feel him envelop you in his warmth. 

He took his hands away from your sides to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt but you turned and placed your hand on top of his. He looked at you curiously and you returned a sheepish smile. 

“You look really good in these clothes.” 

He grinned when he realized your intentions and he left his shirt buttoned, save for the three at the top. 

Rick looked unbelievably sexy then, a few golden curls of chest hair visible from the slit in his shirt, his hair slightly ruffled from your hands, and a face so blown with lust that you could touch yourself to it for more than one orgasm. 

Then he had you on his bed sprawled out for him, your arms lying above your head as you watched him unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. When he pulled the zipper down, and pulled his cock out, you literally whimpered at the sight. It was beautiful, like the picture perfect example of a male penis. Perfect girth, perfect length, even the mess of brown and blonde pubes were stunning. 

You could go on forever about Rick Grimes’ dick. 

He gave a smug smirk as he moved to take his place over you, pulling down your dress the rest of the way and immediately planting his smug little face between your legs. 

You gasped and threw your head back against the mattress. He nuzzled your clothed clit with his nose, inhaling your scent and sneakily stroking his dick with his right hand. With the other he held onto your left thigh, fingers digging into the skin there.

He took his time working you up, licking and sucking and even once nipping your clit through the fabric of your panties. 

You were a whimpering mess by the time he pulled his head away and went to take your panties off. 

He stopped your hand and you looked up at him, brows furrowed. 

“These look really good on you.” He smirked. 

Your head fell back into the mattress when he pulled your panties to the side. Thank GOD you took the cute panties Rosita offered you. If you were wearing one of your practical sets of underwear you would've died from embarrassment.

He rubbed his finger through your folds, gathering your slick to rub across your clit. You let out a pathetic whine and grabbed fistfuls of cotton sheets beside your head. 

He took his time. He slipped in his middle finger up to the knuckle, curling it painfully slowly. Bless Lori, or whoever the fuck taught him that. You were definitely coming tonight. 

“Rick, ah, mmm, god.” A hot puff of air from your lips blew a stray lock of hair from your face, a result from your braid having become messy. 

He tsked once and drew his finger back, wiping the wetness off on the head of his cock. 

You were basically on the edge of your seat at this point, leaning up on your elbows to watch every move he made. 

He ran his hands over your torso, ignoring your breasts which made you whine in disappointment. 

His eyes flicked up to you, and you were filled with an unexplainable sense of anxiety. Like there was something in you, dating way back to when you needed instincts to survive. Your instincts were telling you that you needed to leave, now. You were in danger. 

Every hair on your arms, thighs, the back of your neck, they all prickled. Your upper lip twitched, as if it wanted to pull back and show him your teeth.

“You just tell me to stop, and I will, okay?” His voice was low. 

Your blood ran cold.

“What?” You whispered, your bottom lip trembled, and you found breathing became a difficult task. 

He repeated himself, his voice still just as low, that same dangerous look on his face. He moved quickly. 

He was inside you before you had time to adjust, his hand covering your mouth to muffle the pained noises you made. He groaned into your neck and buried himself deeper inside you, his dick twitching as your walls spasmed around him. He pulled out slowly, savoring the tight drag of your hot cunt, before plunging back in. 

Rick was rough, rougher than you could have ever predicted. It was so strange, earlier he was so soft and gentle. He fucked you hard and rough like that for a few long minutes before flipping you over on your stomach. 

His hands were on your hips. His fingers digging painfully into your soft skin. He used his upper body weight to render your lower half helpless beneath his open palms. 

He groaned as he watched his dick disappear back into you, his eyebrows knitted tightly together and his mouth hanging open. 

“Je-jesus christ.” Your moan was strangled in your throat as his hands closed around your neck. 

You didn't have time to take a preparation breath, he squeezed quick and hard, immediately cutting off all blood and air flow to your brain. You tried to pry his fingers away and off of you but he didn't relent, only squeezing harder. 

Your vision blurred and your head swam with thick panic, you dug your fingernails into the back of his hand until his grip loosened.

The lungful of air you sucked in felt fresher than any breath you'd ever taken. You didn't have long before his fist was in your hair, yanking your head to the side to stuff your discarded panties into your mouth. 

You whimpered in protest but he just shoved your face into his pillows and plowed deeper into you. 

It wasn’t quick at all, quite the opposite. 

He fucked you like that for what felt like hours. It was realistically maybe twenty minutes, but that was still a long time to get fucked. 

Your body trembled underneath him from the exhaustion of back to back orgasms. He had already came inside you once, and you felt a small sense of relief, but he didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He just moaned into your neck and continued battering your insides.

You were spent. Every part of your body ached, your pussy felt raw and your clit throbbed painfully. Your stomach and chest chafed against his comforter, and right before it got too much he flipped you over.

Rick looked down at you like you were a painting he finally finished after months of perfecting.

He slid his warm rough hands over your chest, pinching your sore nipples, squeezing your red breasts. 

His eyes found your necklace and he rolled his hips, earning a muffled whine in response. Then they found the ring on your middle finger, and rolled into you again. The thumb ring on your other hand. Your body shivered when he slammed his pelvis forward.

You couldn’t respond in any way, you pulled your panties from your dry mouth and panted, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

He changed completely after he finished. He peppered kisses all over you, sweet and soft against your cheeks, down your neck and chest, tender and soft on your nipples. 

He took care of you after, he cleaned you with a cool rag and brought you one of his white t shirts to change into. He silently asked you to stay the night with more gentle kisses after you attempted to leave.

You shouldn't have been snooping, you knew it was wrong.

The song felt chilling after what you’d witnessed throughout your time in knowing him, and the night you'd shared. 

You sat at the foot of his bed and listened, unaware of the way your fingers had begun to twitch around the tape player. 

Something about it felt wrong, like you were listening to Gloomy Sunday after hearing the legend surrounding it as a child again. Your heart raced as the song finished and you put the cassette player back where you found it, in his duffle bag at the foot of his bed. 

You made it down the stairs before you rounded the corner and smacked right into a large chest. 

“Jesus woman.” 

You let out a breath when you saw it was Daryl. Covered in dirt and smelling like cigarettes and gasoline, a familiar sight that sets you at ease. 

“Shit, sorry.”

He'd been slightly annoyed at the way you startled him, but something had caught his eye and his irritation faded. 

“Y'alright?” He grunted, looking at you with a raised brow. 

“Yeah, I'm okay.” You nodded. He eyed you suspiciously before leaving without a goodbye, heading up the stairs to Rick's room. 

“He's not here.” 

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look down at you. “Where's he at then?”

“I don't know.”

You found out the reason for his staring when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror. You'd need to wear turtlenecks for the next few days. 

Rick was thrown off his game without his music. He was more aggressive, sloppy, and hateful in the way he killed. 

“Please!” His voice sounded pathetic. It made Rick curl his top lip in disgust as he watched him squirm against his restraints, the bodies of his loved ones littering the ground next to him. 

“Don't leave me here.” He begged as the chill of night crept through the thick trees they found themselves in. It carried the smell of rain, rotten leaves and cigarette butts. 

“Give me one good reason.” Rick held his bloodied machete as he observed the man. 

Young, maybe early twenties. Black hair, a black ‘beard’, which was too patchy to really qualify as one, and an orange sweater. The sweater had been mostly stained a reddish brown from his blood, and the blood of his friends, which all had the mercy of a better fate than what awaited him.

His body sagged as he twisted against the pine, his wrists burning and bruising from the frayed rope. 

“I'm a good man. Never done anything wrong. Never killed, never raped anyone-”

“Aw, well, ain't that nice of you?” Rick sneered, slipping the machete in the back of his belt. “How gracious.”

“I got a dog, man, please.”

Rick chewed on the inside of his cheek before taking his machete back out again. 

The man erupted into more begging and crying as Rick approached him. He let out a short lived scream before looking down to see his hands were now freed and in front of him. 

“Wh-”

“Ten seconds.” Rick's revolver felt firm in his grip. “Ten,”

The man stood stunned for a moment, holding his aching wrists, his eyes darting from Rick to the bodies at their feet. 

“Nine.” Rick's voice was louder then, like a father giving his child one last warning to start acting straight. 

“Eight!” 

The man took off through the woods, and there was no reason to count any longer. 

You ran your fingers over the cold metal in your hands. It was stunning, something you never would've dreamed of holding before the outbreak. A gold chain, thin but strong. Not dainty enough that it could be broken off with a snag.

Small red beads dangled from the chain, twelve rubies spread out along the length. They looked like little drops of wine.

“Where did you get this?”

It was the first time you'd asked him a question before thanking him for his gifts. 

He silently took the bracelet from your hands and clasped it around your wrist, his fingertips ghosting over the veins of your arms.

“In a jewelry box. That neighborhood I stopped at last week.”

You watched his fingers part from your wrist and the dangling rubies sway. You knew it was a lie. 

“You ever get stuff like this for anyone else?” 

He chuckled and leaned back on the couch, his eyes never leaving your form. “No.”

You looked over your shoulder at him and sighed, unable to keep the smirk from spreading on your face when you saw the way he was looking at you. “You know, I really like sweets too.” 

He raised a brow and broke into a grin. “Sweets, of course,right. What, chocolates? Candy?”

“Mhmm. Dark chocolate with sea salt. Or, chocolate with raspberries.” Your mouth watered as you recalled the old luxuries you'd once taken for granted. 

“Alright. Noted.” 

Being alone with Rick in his house was something that should've scared you. Especially considering what you'd seen in the past, and the darker side of him in bed. 

But looking at him in his form fitting white tee-shirt, the fireplace covering him in a warm orange glow, your degenerate lust filled brain made none of that matter. 

“C'mere.” His hand beckoned you to him from its spot on the back of the couch. 

You hesitated for appearances, not wanting to come off too eager, before eventually giving in and leaning back. 

His arm slipped from the couch above you and wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his embrace. 

You rested your cheek on his chest and inhaled the smell of his cologne. It was deep and dark, you recognized it as his bottle of  “Leather and Embers”, whatever the hell that meant. As you savored the smell he pressed his face into your scalp and soaked in your smells, rose and eucalyptus shampoo, wisteria lotion. It was so light and feminine and so utterly you that just the smell made his dick twitch in his jeans. 

“Gonna go on a supply run with a few others tomorrow. Need some ammo. You wanna join me?”

“Depends.” You pretended to think about it for a second, a playful smirk on your lips. “Who’s all going?”

Rick hummed and squinted, playing along with your thoughtful act. “Me, Carol, Aaron, Glenn, Maggie. Daryl might come, hasn’t decided yet.” You snorted at the idea of Daryl ever turning down work. 

“All of us gonna fit in that itty-bitty car?”

“Taking separate cars. Cover more area that way.” His hand gave your shoulder a slight squeeze and you looked up to see him leaning in for a kiss. You met him halfway and smiled against his lips as his other arm wrapped around you.

You grinned, full of pride, as you walked through the gap between two small houses to find Rick, holding two ammunition boxes. One was half full of buckshot shells, the other completely full of 9mm ammo.

He started searching the first house on the block, so he should be at the third right about-

You froze in the doorway as you took in the scene in front of you. 

You could see the back of Rick standing in the center of the dining room, the bodies of one man and two women laid across the long table in front of him. 

He was taking earbuds out from his ears and putting them into his back pocket, his hands so covered in blood that his fingers seemed to melt together. 

You must've made a noise because he turned around. 

What was once a look of serenity instantly turned like the tides of an ocean. His eyes no longer resembled a warm blue sky, instead a clash of dark and stormy gray.  

His lips moved in the form of your name, but you didn't react. 

You looked from body to body, taking in the gruesome ways they'd been killed. One woman had her throat slit with so much force that you could see bone. 

Another had countless stab wounds in her chest and a few on her neck. It looked angry, and much more violent than anything you'd ever been unfortunate enough to see.

 The man had been gutted, his organs sloshing out of him to lay between his body and what you assumed to be the body of his wife.

Your body didn't react when his hands grabbed your shoulders. You didn't even notice that he'd approached you, his hands raised, his knees slightly bent to make himself appear smaller, less of a threat.

When he turned you around to lead you out of the house you caught a glimpse of three chocolate bars in a plastic bag sitting at the front door. 

“I need you to look at me.”

You blinked and took in your new surroundings. You were sitting on the hood of your car, his bloodied hands on your knees. The contrast of deep red against your skin had a groan catching in your throat. 

Rick's voice snapped your name and you looked to his face. He looked prepared, as if he'd imagined this scenario countless times before. 

“What you just saw-”

“I know.”

“No, you don't. I had to, I-”

“Rick.” The coldness of your voice had him forgetting the way he'd been frustrated at you for interrupting him again. “You don't lie to me. Not me.” 

His face softened, but he felt an uncomfortable tightening in his throat and chest. He nodded, his eyes falling away from yours to look at your knees. 

When he saw the blood he drew his hands away as if he'd been stung. 

“You killed them and you liked it.”

As quick as a snake his hand shot out and grabbed the base of your throat. His eyes were back on yours now, freezing you with a cold stare. “It’d be in your best interest to forget what you saw here.” 

Your body didn't react the way either of you expected it to. You grabbed at his wrist and let out a whimper, your thighs clenching together so hard they trembled. 

His grip loosened as he saw your form tremble under him, not from fear, but arousal. He furrowed his brows and looked back to your eyes, studying each and every flicker in them. 

It was an unsteady standoff, neither of you knowing which move to make next. He experimented and tightened his hand again, earning another whimper from your lips. 

He took it a step further and with his other bloodied hand, he slipped his fingers between your knees, gently spreading them apart. 

With your thighs spread he filled the gap with his waist. He hooked two fingers in the belt loops of your shorts and tugged you down the hood closer to him, your pelvis bumping against the semi he had growing in his jeans. 

Rick groaned at the contact and leaned in to plant his face in the crook of your neck, his hand departing from your throat to trail down your chest. He toyed with the gold coin of your necklace, rubbing his fingertips over the warm metal. 

“Rick-”

“No, shh-shh-shh, you were being so good.” He groaned, his jeans rubbing your thighs as he softly pushed against you.

“I just, a shower, let's wait-” 

He growled in your ear and squeezed your thighs so tightly you let out a yelp. “No, think I'll have you right here.” 

His words sent a shiver down your spine and before you could react, he pushed you flat on your back. 

You were finally there, your muscles relaxing and your eyes closing, ready to surrender to Rick and let him have his way. But as always, something had to go wrong. 

The gurgling sound of a walker snapped you from your daze. 

Rick pulled away from you and used the machete from his belt to take out the first two. 

“Rick!” You called in a nervous voice, your eyes locked on the group of walkers behind the car. 

“Shit. Alright, get in.” He cursed and opened the passenger door for you. You slid into the seat, pulling your knees back just in time to avoid the heavy metal door being slammed after you. 

Your eyes followed Rick round the front of the car. Then, as if he was playing some weird joke, he took his hand back from the door handle and ran back into the house.

“Fuck.” You whispered, watching three walkers follow him to the door. You had your hand on the car door handle, ready to jump out after him and help, but before you could dig out your knife he reappeared in the doorway.

You shook your head when he finally sat down beside you and started the car. 

He plopped the bag in your lap and you stared down at it. 

The three chocolate bars. 

“I know you said dark chocolate, salt and raspberries n’whatnot. But this is all I could find.” He said it like he was apologizing, like he was dissatisfied with his findings. 

“Rick, I haven't had chocolate in so long that it could be some nasty rainbow white chocolate with sprinkles and I'd love it. Fuck.” You unwrapped the first bar and snapped off a small square. 

As soon as it hit your tongue you moaned, completely forgetting the scene from earlier. It was your favorite type, something you hadn't had in God knows how long. 

Rick smiled fondly as you swirled the chocolate around your tongue, looking at you the same way he'd looked at you at dinner, the same way he used to look at Lori. 

You were blissfully unaware, your eyes closed as you savored the flavor.

He bit his bottom lip and looked back to the road ahead, slowing down as he passed the road that the others had gone down. 

He raised a hand out the open window to Glenn, who'd returned a thumbs up, going inside to gather the others to head back home.

“Want a bite?” 

You smiled sweetly as he looked back to you and the open Butterfinger that was in your left hand, your favorite chocolate in your right. 

“Indulging ourselves, are we?” He smirked playfully as he took the Butterfinger from you and took a heaping bite. It was so big he'd taken half the bar and you scoffed, smacking his shoulder. 

“Geeze! Talk about being indulgent!” You teased and snatched the chocolate back, finishing it off with three more bites. 

 You ate your sweets in silence, and soon it had turned from a comfortable silence to a thick cloud of tension when you pulled up to the gates of Alexandria.

He called your name and you forced yourself to look at him. 

Rick's expression was hard to gauge. 

It almost seemed like a mask, now that you'd seen what he was capable of doing, it felt like you were sitting beside a stranger. Your heart sped up, you were suddenly scared of saying or doing the wrong thing, sending him into aggression or something worse. 

“Yeah?” Your voice sounded foreign to you. Almost as foreign as the way Rick was looking at you. 

He waited a few painfully long moments before the essence of a smirk formed on his lips that were still speckled with blood. “I'm making dinner tonight. You should come.”

You blew out a lungful of air and nodded. “Okay, yeah, I will.”

“Wear somethin’ nice.” His voice was barely a whisper. You didn't have time to ask him to clarify before the gates opened and he drove you in. 

You felt a bit ridiculous in your dark blue dress. It was extremely snug, almost uncomfortable, ending right at your knees, drawing attention to the curve and dip of your hips and waist. There was no one else for dinner, thank god, because you felt seconds away from a panic attack.

Fettuccine noodles with Carol's homemade alfredo sauce. Despite your painful anxiety you wolfed the creamy noodles down, along with a heaping glass of dark red wine. 

It was painfully tense. You found yourself wondering how the car ride home had been completely fine, it hadn't been awkward at all, not until you pulled up to the gates. It might have been the adrenaline and shock. 

Now it had worn off and you were finishing your second glass of wine, praying for the buzz to kick in so you wouldn’t feel like you were on the verge of an anxiety attack anymore. 

“Can we talk?” His voice made you jump. You looked up from your empty plate to his face, which had been thoroughly cleaned of the blood from earlier.

You didn't respond verbally. You gave a small nod and he inhaled deeply, his eyes falling from your face to the table. 

After a moment he looked back up to you. 

“I need to know you won't… you won't tell anyone. Things are still pretty tense here, these people already see me as someone to watch out for. I don't need them fearing me.”

“Fear could be a good thing.” You don't know why you said it. 

He managed a slight smile, clasping his hands together in front of his chin. “Yeah. It can be. But not this type of fear.”

“So what are you? Jack the ripper of the apocalypse?”

Rick cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest, his fingers tapping on his biceps, covered in a thick black sweater. 

“Alright. Nevermind.” You sighed. You finished off your wine and scratched your chin absentmindedly, still looking at his face. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Long time.”

You managed to hide your shock, and nodded. “Before the outbreak?”

He nodded, his eyes not leaving the silverware crossed over his empty plate. 

He didn't look guilty or ashamed like one logically should be. A bit uncomfortable, uncertain, a hint of worry and dread. You knew he was praying this conversation would go well and he wouldn't have to do anything devastating to secure keeping his position in the group as the fearless, honorable leader. 

“Did Lori know?”

Now he looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “No.” Of course she wouldn't have, what a stupid question. 

“Okay.” It was quiet until you finally gained the courage to address the elephant in the room. “Rick, are any of us in danger?”

Your question caused a drastic change in his demeanor. He leaned forward with an expression that was a mix of hurt and assurance, and you already knew the answer. 

“No, of course not.” He breathed, his hands tentatively crossing the table. “I would never hurt any of you people. You're my family. All of you. Even those,” he waved a hand over his shoulder, “stuck up pricks Deanna led.”

You wanted to believe him. You had no choice, honestly, you had no other option. You knew Rick was a good leader, even if he made rash and emotional decisions. He always listened to the opinions and advice of others, he always took their says into account. If he hadn't done it this far, there was no reason to believe he'd start doing it now that you knew. 

You weren't justifying it by any means. What he did was vile, monstrous, egregious. Nothing would ever change that. It just wasn't the old world anymore, you had bigger problems to worry about, as ironic as it sounded. 

“Okay.” 

You closed your eyes as he rounded the table and put his hands on your shoulders. You wished you could just turn your brain off, wipe your memory and forget, and your stomach churned with nausea. Not at the memory or knowledge of his little weekend hobby, but at the realization that it didn't bother you as much as it should've.

“Can I make it up to you?” His breath warmed your ear as his palms slid up and down your biceps. 

God, you were sick. You were disgusting. 

“Yeah.”

Carl was home, and so were Carol, Michonne and Daryl, so you led him back to your house across the street. 

Your house was almost an exact mirror image of his, same porch, same paint, same layout and everything. In fact, your bedroom window was a straight shot across from his. 

You shivered, remembering the times you'd play with him through your window, randomly flipping him off or giving him a thumbs down for no reason at all. It was so innocent.

A tingle spread through your core knowing the man who'd make silly gestures and faces at you through his window at night just to see you laugh was the same man who had gutted humans for kicks. 

You stood in your room, looking at his black window across the street as his hands worked to free you from your tight dress. He chuckled at the sight of your ass stuffed in the fabric, running his hands down your waist to grab the bottom of your dress and pull up. 

“Where'd you get this thing?” He mused, attempting to fix your hair from the battle of pulling it over your head. 

“Tara. She found it on a run, said the color suited me.” You snorted.

His arms wrapped around your now bare body, hands cupping the soft flesh of your breasts and kneading. 

“Hmm.” His face nuzzled in the back of your hair, inhaling your clean scent and enjoying the way it felt against his skin. You were just his polar opposite, so soft, sweet, where he was hard and rugged. So kind, patient, his pretty feminine contrast. 

You were trying so hard to hold it together and not beg him to fuck you the same way he'd fucked you the other night. You craved it. 

Ever since he had you that night you craved it. Craved the raw pain and utter helplessness. You craved more.

“Rick.” You whispered, placing your hands over his, their position still tender and gentle over your chest. 

“Hmm?” The sudden feeling of his knee between your thighs made you moan. He pressed it up higher, pushing firm against your panties, the soft gray pair that was far too tiny to wear in any other scenario. 

He grinned against the back of your neck at the realization, you'd put these on just for him.

“Speak, sweetheart.” He breathed, parting your hair to kiss your neck. 

Rick was doing a good job of making it hard to remember what you were planning on saying in the first place. He kissed down your neck, his hands sliding down your torso to rest on your hips to guide you forward towards your bed. 

“Got you something.” He muttered into your neck before he pulled back to push you on the bed. 

He dipped his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a folded napkin. He glanced up at you, his eyes almost looking hesitant. 

You swallowed hard and watched him unfold the napkin, his movements slow, until he knelt on the floor in front of you and showed you his gift. 

“Oh.” You couldn't think of what to say. Earrings, small orbs that were a deep red color. On either side of the orb sat two diamonds, much smaller than the rubies.

“You like ‘em?” He urged, looking up at you, eager, desperate for your approval. Like his life depended on you putting them on. 

“Of course I do.” You nodded, and took them from the napkin in his open hands. 

His lips bloomed into a smile as you put them on. His eyes followed each move you made. 

The second you put the last one on he was on you, his lips on yours, a hand on your throat giving a gentle squeeze that sent excitement fluttering in your stomach.

You groaned, tilting your head back to give him better access. Wordlessly begging him to squeeze harder. 

He didn't get the hint, only dipping his head down to kiss the bottom of your chin. 

“Rick.” You drawled, your head dizzy and light from his touches and kisses. 

“Hmm.”

“You know how,” you sucked in a sharp breath as he nipped the skin below your ear, immediately going to kiss the reddening spot in an apology. “The other night you- you were rough?”

He pulled back, his hand relaxing around your throat, his fingers unfolding to simply press against the side of your neck. 

There was a look of sympathy, regret maybe. He nodded, his eyes soft and locked on yours. “I shouldn't have, I'm sorry. You're just…” he sighed, the sound coming out with a shudder. “Was it too much?”

“No.” You immediately answered, shaking your head. “I liked it.” Your words had an obvious affect on him. The sympathy was gone, completely replaced with building excitement. 

“I want that again.” 

He closed his eyes. His fingers twitched against the side of your neck before slowly bending back into a firm grip around your throat. 

“Don't, don't hold back this time, please.” 

When his eyes opened you got that same shock of fear you felt the first time, but unlike the first time there was no uncertainty. 

You whimpered when you felt his hold on your neck loosen. “I can take it.”

He took his bottom lip between his teeth, his jaw flexing as he bit down. Putting on a good show, pretending he had to think about it. Pretending he was cautious. He knew what he would look like if he dove right in without hesitation. He'd look like the selfish, self indulgent man he truly was when it came to sex. 

He raised his eyes to yours, his lips splitting into a grin. You mirrored his expression, your heart hammering against your chest, grinning as he slid on top of you and onto the bed. 

“Tell me to stop an’ I will.” He reminded. 

“Not gonna happen.”

He chuckled, low and deep in his chest. His lips found their place back on your neck, and his hips between your thighs. 

You groaned the second you felt his dick through his jeans pressed up against you. The sensation was rough, almost painful the way he ground against your thin panties. 

The feeling of your nipples being pinched had you squeaking in surprise, your back arching. There'd been no warm up, just an immediate burning pinch.

Then a twist. 

“Oh, god!” You groaned deeply, your eyes clenching shut. The pain radiated much further than just your nipples, shooting down your breast tissue, almost all the way over your entire chest. 

“Sounds so good.” He muttered, planting his feverish lips against the cheeks of your scrunched up face. “Such pretty noises.” 

You put on a brave face, keeping your mouth tightly shut as he tested your limits, switching between pinching and twisting your sore buds. 

He was impressed. You whined and groaned, but you never told him to stop. He released them and you sucked in a breath, your back relaxing back into the mattress. 

“You have no fuckin’ clue,” Rick spoke, kissing down your chest. “How sexy you are. How sexy that was.” 

You wrapped your fingers in his curls as he kissed your sides, clenching his hair in your fists when he opened his mouth and gave a hard bite on your waist right below your ribs. 

“Fuck!” You gasped. Your legs instinctively bent at the knees, clenching around his torso under his armpits. 

“Too much?” He hummed, releasing you from his teeth. He rubbed a finger along the bite mark and you winced, but shook your head. 

Rick couldn't help but chuckle at the look on your poor pretty face. “Don't feel like you've got to impress me, sweetheart.” 

“No.” You shook your head again, quicker this time. “Not that.”

“Good.” He went back to working you over, planting kisses down to your thighs. 

Your body was beginning to relax at the gentle touches of his lips on you. But true to his nature, Rick ripped that feeling away, sending electricity through your heart and heat through your core when he sunk his teeth into the inside of your upper thigh. 

Right below your panties he bit, over and over, sometimes just a nip, then a rough, teeth-gritting bite on the other thigh. 

You were unbelievably wet. Your hole burned, desperate to have something inside it, anything.

His fingers grabbed your panties and tugged them down, and you got exactly what you'd prayed for. 

The middle finger, his longest, slipped into you and pulled out a moan from your lips. He watched your face as he curled it, each curl and drag making you come more and more undone. 

He'd be content to finger you for hours. Watching the glint of red on your ears when you'd turn your head, or the glimmer of gold under your collarbone when you'd arch your back. He almost came when he saw your fingers wrap around the golden pendant.

You were having the time of your life, squirming on your bed as he knelt between your knees and made you come. 

“Oh, fuck, Rick!” You gasped, bending your knees again, wanting to wrap your legs around something, a waist, a head, but they were empty and you just slammed your knees together when the cord in your belly snapped. 

“Shit.” Rick cursed, watching your face as you came. The faces you made, it made his chest tighten and the smallest, faintest, tiniest lump form in his throat. You were too beautiful. Too perfect, covered in his trophies, his trophy. All his work in the last year perfectly laid on your naked body. 

You moaned behind closed lips, your eyes finally opening as your orgasm died down.

Your stomach flipped at the sight of Rick sitting there, staring at you. His eyes flicked up to yours when he saw them open. His shoulders rose and fell heavily, his nostrils ever so slightly flared. 

“Rick?” You breathed his name, blinking away the fog in your eyes. 

The image of him spreading your knees with his hands, those beautiful big hands, and crawling up your body set your core on fire again. You felt more wetness leaking out of you as he pushed his hips back between yours, forcing a soft moan from your throat. 

He fumbled with his belt, leaving it through the loops, knowing you liked the clinking sound it made when he fucked you. 

Your heart leapt into your throat when you saw the first flash of his dick. It looked much darker in the dim lighting of your room and the sight of his thick pubes made your stomach flip again. It was so masculine, so primal, it drove you insane. 

“C'mere.” Rick huffed before kissing you again, tearing your gaze away from his dick. 

You hummed into his lips, wrapping your fingers back in his cold hair. You'd succeed in making his slicked back hair messy, and thick curls fell down his forehead and tickled yours. 

He smelt so good, his shampoo and his cologne. His breath as well, which led you to believe he'd brushed his teeth when he used your bathroom. With your toothbrush. 

Even though he was sliding the tip of his dick around your slippery pussy, the thought of him using your toothbrush made you blush. 

“Mmm, hah-” He grunted as he pushed into you, spewing out a string of curses as your walls squeezed him the way he'd squeezed your neck. 

You felt a bit of pride at his reaction, and bit back a smile when he pressed his forehead against your shoulder to steady himself.

The feeling of his heavy cock sitting unmoving inside you finally sets your mind into a blank state. You breathed through your lips, slow and deep, trying to control your racing heart. The anticipation was killing you. 

“Did you mean it?” He spoke, the sound of his low voice startling you. 

When you didn't immediately answer he rolled his hips, and you moaned. 

“When you said you can take it?” He continued, his hands moving from their place on your hips up your sides. 

“Yes.” You answered with an eager nod. 

He breathed out, and grinned, looking down at you with a sleazy and cocky expression. “Should've fucked you a long time ago.”

Before you could agree he pulled out an inch, and slowly pushed back in. You whimpered and tilted your hips upwards, already becoming greedy and impatient. 

He teased you like that for a while, barely pulling out, slowly pushing back in, and it soon had you a whiny mess.

“Harder.” You whined, your fingers curling repeatedly around a lock of his hair. 

“Yeah?” He hummed with a smile, pulling back out a little further, but still pushing back in just as slow. He pulled back out and caught you off guard by slamming back into you, making you see stars and birds. 

“You like that? Huh?” He drawled, pulling back out even further, fucking his dick into you with another brutal thrust. "This what you want?"

You didn't respond with words, only nodding and moaning. 

The quick and rough snatch of your chin in his fingers had you sobering up real quick. He forced you to look at him, his pupils blown, his open lips in a breathy smile. “Asked you a question.”

“Yes. I love it. I love it Rick.” You babbled, nodding faster. “Please don't stop.”

He dug his thumbnail into your chin, holding your face in place as he thrusted into you. His index finger slipped between your lips and forced your mouth open. Before you could react he was spitting on your tongue, and using his finger to slide down the back of it. 

You gagged, a short and easy gag that wasn't uncomfortable. You could feel his dick twitch inside you at the sight and sound of you gagging on his finger. 

He fucked you normally for a minute, his pace rough and deep, but still not fast enough for your liking. 

“Sit up.” He grunted. You don't know why he even told you to because he was already moving you for him, grabbing you by your hips and moving until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet planted on the floor and you in his lap. 

The new angle had his dick much deeper. If he was only a few millimeters longer it would've been unbearable, but the pain was sharp and you loved it. 

“So pretty. Pretty girl.” He cooed, squeezing the flesh of your hips as he rolled his hips up against you. 

The image of him still fully dressed and you completely naked on his lap brought you closer to orgasm. As much as you loved it he was getting hot, and he had to take his jacket off and throw it behind you. 

The white T-shirt that was a little too small was just as hot. 

You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt so you wouldn't fall backwards and moved on him, lazily raising your hips in a way that complimented his own movements. 

Each time you moved back down he'd move up, forcing himself as deep as possible, deep bolts of pleasure shooting through your core each time you sank back down. 

Oh, finally, finally.

He picked up the pace. 

He gripped your hips and started moving you on his own, bouncing you up and down on his length. 

“Oh, god.” You blurted, tightening your grip on the front of his shirt. His rough mound of pubes dragged against your clit each time he tugged you down against him, and you were close. 

“Gonna -”

He quickly cut you off. “Gonna cum for me?” He breathed, and one hand left your hip. He dropped you down on his dick and started using the strength in his thighs and core to fuck up into you. 

You didn't have time to wonder where his hands went before his left one was in your hair, and his right was around your throat. 

He squeezed, much harder than before. Your face immediately felt tight and hot, and you had to fully open your mouth to gasp down air. Thankfully he was only cutting off blood flow, and you could still breathe. 

Not that it mattered much, because he quickly took your breath away with a slap to your face. 

You came hard and with a sharp cry, your thighs squeezing his waist as your hips jerked in his lap.

“That's right.” Rick hissed, and wrapped your hair around his fist and yanked. 

You didn't think it was impossible to reach a second high in the same orgasm, but you did. Your head spun as your body trembled against him. You couldn't process much of what happened, your mind was too fuzzy, your body buzzing to the point of shivering, twitching, and he slapped you again. 

You cried out, your eyes snapping open to find his face. 

He looked so beautiful. Face red in the dim lighting, that sexy stubble, his eyes dark with dilation. He looked just as ruined as you, but he was holding it together far better. 

“S’it okay?” He slurred, his movements slowing as he took a moment to rub your red cheek.

You never in your entire fucking life thought you'd enjoy being slapped on the face. And certainly not by a man. But you didn't just enjoy it, you loved it, you loved the feeling of Rick hurting you and getting turned on by it. You loved his wide hand making your cheek burn. 

“Stings a little.” You admitted, your voice raw from your vocal orgasm. “But, I liked it.”

“It stings?” He grinned lazily, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “Was being gentle.”

You groaned, jerking your hips forward and earning a low grunt from Rick. 

“Told you not to be gentle.” 

“You're right.” He leaned in and kissed you, deep and firm. He pulled back, but not before catching your bottom lip in his teeth and pulling you back with him. 

He rolled you over on your stomach and pushed back into you, taking a moment to kiss your shoulders and neck before getting back to screwing your brains out. 

You pushed your ass into him, eager to feel him as deep as you had when you were in his lap. It worked, the tip of his dick slipped past the curve of your walls and rubbed against the soft spot inside you. 

You should've pissed before sex, but it was too late for that now. You'd have to wait. Besides, the feeling was a guilty pleasure, something you'd feel embarrassed to admit, feeling him fuck into you when you needed to pee made each thrust feel ten times more intense. 

He wrapped your hair around his fist again, his movements extremely deliberate and precise, the same precision as braiding your hair. 

Rick used the grip on your hair to yank your head to the side. You let out a little yelp, and his other hand slid under you, finding your throat again. 

“How's it feel?” he lowered himself down to your ear. He held your head in place with your hair, his grip tightening and pulling every so often, bringing sharp tingles down your scalp and neck. 

“Having my hand around your throat.” He breathed. He kissed around the back of your neck, the tips of your shoulders, his hips slamming down against your upturned ass. 

“Feels so good.” You rasped, pushing yourself back into him to prove your point. You shoved your pillow to the side so your nose wasn't covered anymore, enjoying the feeling of air on the side of your hot face. 

“Is that right?” His teeth dug into the skin above your shoulder blades. "Love these hands?"

You couldn't answer. He'd tightened his grip around your throat and it wasn't just blood cut off from your brain anymore. 

“You know what I've done with these hands?” He groaned after you clenched down around him at his words. The feeling you got and the reaction you gave to his words was morally reprehensible. It was fucking disgusting. 

“Know how many?”

You should've felt ashamed that you came after that. But you didn't. Not at that moment, at least. Your walls squeezed around him and you tried to moan, but it was strangled out of you. 

It felt like seeing God, or something holy and ethereal. Your vision was flashes of white and black, flickering like strobe lights, your head felt like it was about to explode with pressure. Your eyes burned, but your pussy felt amazing. 

All you could do was grip onto the sheets beside your head and enjoy it, and pray you didn't pass out and miss the best post-orgasm glow of your life. 

Rick let out this strangled groan behind your head, his brutal bulldozing of your spasming cunt growing sloppy. He squeezed your throat harder as he came into you, fucking each drop back up inside you as he fell down from his high. He drew out every single wave of pleasure, even to the point of it becoming uncomfortable for him, his dick burning and tingling with overstimulation. 

His hand left your throat, and your head throbbed as the blood and oxygen rushed back up into it. You groaned, soft and pained, pressing your forehead into the mattress in an attempt to minimize the pain.

You couldn't really focus on it, thankfully, because the feeling of his dick dragging down and out of your trembling walls was too jarring. 

“Fuck.” You grunted, your waist moving to the side to get his dick away from where he had it sitting against your pussy. 

If you thought he was sweet after the first time, then he’s a bonafide angel this time. 

He turned you over and sat you up, brushing your damp hair away from your sweaty face. 

“Hey.” His palms smoothed down the sides of your head, fixing your wild hair. “You okay?”

“Mhmm.” You managed a very weak and crooked grin. 

He smiled in relief, and swiped his tongue under your nose, wiping away the small drop of blood that peeked out. 

After cleaning you up and helping you to the bathroom he slipped your favorite night dress over your head, not bothering with underwear. 

The post orgasm clarity was trying its damndest to make you feel like an awful piece of shit. Knowing what Rick had done to people who didn't deserve it. It was something you could never be okay with, but his lips kissing over every bite and bruise he'd given you did a good job taking your mind off it. 

“Beautiful.” He whispered against the bite marks on your neck and chest, planting another kiss on the next mark. “Look at you.” 

You knew you probably looked like you'd just crawled out of a car wreck. Your hair was still messy even though he'd tried to fix it, and your neck was a whole new problem. Bruises from his teeth and hands. Blood blisters from where he'd bitten down way too hard in some spots. Even though no vessels had burst in your eyes they were still red, and that wouldn't go away overnight. There were more turtlenecks in your future.

It was like art to Rick. You looked like art. He kissed your rings. His hands holding yours felt like they belonged to a completely different person, so gentle and light, as if you'd suddenly turned into glass and the slightest pressure would break you. 

He kissed your throat, the bottom of your chin, and your swollen lips. There was the faintest twinge of purple on your bottom lip, a line fitting the exact measurement of his top left incisor. 

“First time I've ever been fucked like that.” 

Rick chuckled, raising his head from your lips to look down at your blissed out face. 

“First time I've fucked like that.” He kissed your cheek before finally laying down beside you. 

It surprised you, even though it shouldn't have. You were the first person he'd fucked since Lori, and she seemed like the type to blanch over simple restraints like fuzzy handcuffs, no disrespect intended. 

“Is that what you think about?” You whispered, feeling your already burning cheeks get hotter. “When you're… Solo…” 

He let out a gruff chuckle. “Yeah.” He laid out his arm for you to move into him, and you did. You pressed against his side and rested your head on his chest, inhaling the scent of his deep sweat and the remnants of his cologne. 

“Is that all?” You asked, trying to sound confident. “Or, was there more?”

“More I wanted to try?” He humored you. You knew he was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, but the urge to know more was gnawing at you. When you nodded, he tilted his head to look up at the ceiling, which was now black from the lights being turned off. 

“Yeah. There's more.” He finally answered. 

You forced yourself to stop asking questions. You nodded against his chest and pressed yourself tighter against his side, nuzzling your head in an attempt to get more comfortable. 

“Can talk about it later, if you want.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @adribarbie @my1fx @jinx-nanami

[andreawritesit]

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: Aizen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none really.

----------------------------------------

Prologue: Here

Chapter 1

Time had passed. Hinamori had recovered almost fully and the Soul Society was starting to regain the peace that had been disturbed by the treacherous captains. Head Captain Yamamoto had finally issued a statement regarding the betrayal and the ex-captains. The three squads left without their captains were being monitored by their lieutenants for the time being. After trying really hard to ignore the memories, you had finally taken up on Ukitake’s offer and moved to another room. Aizen’s face haunted you day and night. Not the one you were used to, the one with glasses resting on his nose and a kind smile on his face, no. The face that had taken over your dreams was the one he unveiled while leaving the Soul Society; the one that no longer had strands of hair decorating it, the one that had discarded the kindness from itself. With the vast lifespan shinigami had, you wondered if any amount of time would ever heal the scars he had left on your soul.  Whatever short amount of time you had felt peaceful was once again destroyed by Aizen’s schemes. Orihime Inuoe had been on her way back to the World of Living when she disappeared halfway. Every possibility was taken into account and an emergency meeting had been scheduled with the Captains and lieutenants present in the World of Living. Upon hearing that Orihime had apparently healed Ichigo’s injuries, Yamamoto had decided that she had defected on her own and declared her a traitor. That hadn’t stopped the orange-haired man from heading to Hueco Mundo by himself. All that had led to this:

You were currently with Kisuke Urahara, the banished ex-captain of squad 12. You were helping him with transporting the real Karakura town to Soul Society as word had spread that Aizen would be attacking the town shortly. You had nearly lost your mind by this point. After all, you’d be seeing him again. You were sitting on the roof of a house, thinking over how your reunion with your traitor of a husband would go. Would he even acknowledge your presence? He hadn’t hesitated to stab his loyal lieutenant. What if he had also never cared for you, even once? What if he decided to kill you too? Would you be able to strike him back?

“Ahem.” You turned around at the sound of the very obviously fake cough. Ukitake stood behind you with a warm smile gracing his face. Maybe the cough wasn’t so fake… 

“Captain Ukitake, I’m sorry I didn’t notice you there.” He laughed and sat beside you. 

“Of course you didn’t. You were lost in your thoughts.” His voice was gentle. 

“Yes. I was thinking about…”

“About Aizen?” You sighed and held your head in your hands. It was so obvious how rattled you were with the situation. Ukitake didn’t say anything but wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a light pat. The white-haired captain had been by your side throughout these turbulent times. His calm presence had been a silent shore in the loud sea of your emotions. Even now, when there was an inevitable war looming over your heads, he had found time to sit down and reassure you, knowing that the upcoming confrontation would be the hardest on you. 

“What if I won’t be able to stand against him? All this time, I’ve been telling myself that I’m strong enough to keep my emotions in check and stand for what’s right. But what if I’m not? What if when I see him, I’ll fall back into his arms? What then Captain?”

“I understand why you feel that way. We have known Sosu-Aizen for a long time. His betrayal came as a shock to all of us. But you shared a deeper bond with him. You have known him in the most intimate ways. I say I understand but the truth is that I will never be able to feel what you do. To have someone so beloved abandon and betray me… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go on as you have. You’re stronger than you believe you are. And even if you do fall weak to your emotions, there’s nothing wrong with that. He is your husband; you have loved him more than anyone. It won’t be unseemly if you want to run to him in a moment of emotional vulnerability. Just don’t let him use your love as a weapon.”

You didn’t say anything in response. Every word he said was true and yet there was still doubt lingering in your mind. Not because you thought Sosuke might sway you to his side, but because if you did show emotional attachment to him still, you might lose everything else. Yamamoto had been very strict in his words when he had said that anyone found to have any sort of contact with the traitors would be counted as one and dealt with as such. You were torn between your feelings and your duties. And yet all you could do was wait. Wait until he showed up there.

Ukitake sensed your despair and hugged you sideways. You wanted to hide away in his embrace but he let go of you quickly. Getting up, he offered you his hand.

“Come on now, get up. Time to meet up with others.” You took his hand and stood up. He was right. It was time to get up. 

-------- at Urahara’s shop ---------

The meeting had gone by quite quickly. They all had their orders. You were sitting next to Urahara who was busy tinkering around with something. At first, you focused on the teacup in your hand. But soon curiosity got the best of you and you glanced his way. You almost wanted to facepalm when you saw what he was doing. Kisuke Urahara, in this time of war, was fixing his fan. You put the cup down and tapped his shoulder. He turned around quickly and gave you his signature stupid smirk.

“Oh, is the beautiful miss interested in my doings?” you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s words.

“No sir, not quite. I’m only wondering how your poor fan got broken like that.”

His smile turned upside down and he let out a dramatic sigh. “How kind of you to ask. This is the doing of Yoruichi sama. She’s so careless around things. She has broken my delicate fan four times already.”

“How impolite of her! Breaking a man’s fan like that!”

“Exactly! And when I request her not to be so reckless with my things, she just hits me in response. She has no regard for me or my things.”

His words bring out laughter from you, a sound you hadn’t heard in a while. Kisuke looked at you with a gentle smile and went back to fixing his fan. After a few moments, you finally stopped laughing and stood up.

“Hey Kisuke?”

He turned to look at you and you nodded at him. “Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“You know for what. I’ll be with the Captains and lieutenants now.”

He tipped his hat at you and you left the room. After looking around for a bit, you finally found the others assembled on the roofs of some houses. You went to them and stood next to Ukitake who welcomed you with a smile. Shunsui was sitting on a roof, looking as bored as ever. Upon your arrival, he stood up and walked to where you and Ukitake were. 

“Well well, if it isn’t the one who stole my best friend!” he commented as he nudged you with his shoulder. You smirked back at him and hung your arm around Ukitake’s shoulder. 

“It isn’t my fault if I’m better company than you, isn’t that right Captain Ukitake?” The Squad 13 captain just shook his head at you both. 

Your little banter was suddenly cut off by the abrupt presence of dense spiritual pressure. And soon enough, a Garganta opened right above where you were standing. Everybody rose up into the sky and readied themselves to unsheathe their zanpakutos. You stood between Ukitake and Shunsui, hand on your own zanpakuto. You were trying your best to calm your nerves and then you felt it. He was here. Surely enough, three people walked out of the opening. Your eyes went straight to him. Aizen. He was standing between Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tosen. His eyes almost immediately found you and you both were locked in each other’s gaze. He looked so different yet so familiar. His hair was slicked back, with only a few strands falling across his face. His glasses were gone and he looked taller than before, if it was even possible. While observing him, you felt someone grab your wrist. You saw Ukitake from the corner of your eyes as he squeezed your hand to reassure you.

This wasn’t missed by Aizen’s keen eyes as he saw Ukitake’s hand grab yours. An unexpected emotion flashed in his mind and he had to look away. Had you finally moved on from him? With the Squad 13 captain? He scoffed at his own assumptions and summoned Gin to him. 

“Anytime now.”

Gin understood his captain at once. After all, they had come to this wretched town for only two things, the Oken and his captain’s wife. But before they could even move an inch, Yamamoto used his Ryujinjakka to trap them inside the burning fire. 

You watched in awe as the Head Captain conjured a fiery prison for the traitors. As the fire encircled them, the last thing you saw sent chills down your spine. Aizen had smiled.   

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list @fabulouslyflamboyant5 (let me know if anyone else wants to be added) ---------------------------------------------------- Next part: here

[sentientgolfball]

Ghostober Day 7

I need everyone to know the concept of siren Swiss hit me like a truck. Also @divine-misfortune can I have my socks back now

Pairing: Rulti

WC: 2482

Tags: Quintosis, cnc, outside sex, the tiniest touch of voyeurism.

By all accounts, Swiss’ quintessence was no match for a full fledged quint ghoul’s. It may have been one of his strongest elements besides fire, but it could not come anywhere close. Still, that does not mean he does not know how to use it. He would tell anyone who asked that his lack of power made him that much better. He actually had to learn this element instead of snapping his fingers and getting what he wanted. 

It also means he is full of surprises. Unpredictable. Volatile. Nobody knows how many tricks he has up his sleeve. Nobody can be prepared for it. He loves it more than anything. 

Tonight he is going to show off a new trick he finally perfected. He knows just who to call to help him with the debut. He is positive no one will appreciate it as much as Rain. 

He sits outside at the center of the hedge garden. Light from the moon illuminates the purple and white flowers surrounding him, hiding him from view. She’s not quite full yet, but there’s enough for him to see. He stares up at the sky for a moment before laughing to himself. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again the normal black and white of a multi ghoul’s is gone, replaced by lavender and yellow. Quintessence and air. 

He feels the quint spark to life under his skin as he focuses it towards his throat, “Showtime.” 

He begins to sing a soft melody. It is something sweet from the Pits. Something calming. Something he heard when his travels lead him to the oceans. He lets quintessence bleed into every note. He laces the song with intention before calling his air element. Nothing too serious, just a cool gentle breeze to carry his voice to the window that overlooks the hedge garden. The window that is cracked open. He will have to apologize to Mountain later, but right now he needs his little fishy more than the earth ghoul does. 

He keeps singing until he hears the leaves rustling at the entrance of the garden. He grins, pouring so much quint into the next note that it makes him a little dizzy. He does not care though. Not when his prize is so close. He cannot wait to see the look on Rain’s face when he realizes he has been beaten by his own game. 

Right as Swiss reaches the high note of the song, Rain makes it to the center of the garden. He is breathing hard and his eyes are frantic. He steps towards Swiss on shaky limbs, reaching out to him like he is the only thing in the world. Swiss stands from his spot, walking over to him while he continues to sing. He circles him just to watch him spin, trying to keep Swiss in view. When he has gotten a full few of his sweaty, disheveled form, Swiss cups his cheek to make him look up at him. The little whine Rain lets out at the contact goes straight to his cock. The swirls of purple in his dark blue eyes go straight to his ego. 

“Hi Rainy baby.” He stops singing, stops the flow of quintessence. He keeps it just below the surface though. 

He watches in satisfaction as he blinks, eyes starting to focus. Confusion does not even begin to describe the look on his face when he realizes Swiss is standing in front of him. 

He blinks a few times and shakes his head, “Swiss? What are you…I was just in Mountain’s room.” 

“Sorry baby but I had to borrow you. I’m sure the big guy won’t mind.” 

Rain takes a step back and Swiss lets him. No point in holding him close, if he tries to run he will not get very far. Not if Swiss can help it. Instead Swiss lets him look around. Let’s him try to gather himself. He wants to see if he is smart enough to put the pieces together before Swiss takes away his ability to think. 

“Why are we outside? How am I outside?” Rain questions with an edge of panic. 

Swiss does not blame him, he has been victim to Aether too many times to know what it feels like to blink and be somewhere with no memory of how you got there. But he is no Aether. He cannot have Rain too freaked out. He will not be able to bring him down if he is. 

“Relax,” he lets a thread of quint bleed into the word, “You’re okay baby.” 

Rain shakes his head a little as the words sink into his brain, “M not.” 

“Yeah you are.” He steps closer. 

Despite himself, Rain steps closer as well. He is beyond confused and Swiss is the only thing that makes sense in the moment. If anyone or anything is going to help him, it is Swiss. 

“Swiss seriously what’s—“ 

He stops. He sniffs the air around the multi ghoul. Ozone and frost. The walk down the stairs and out the door still may be missing from his mind, but scent fills in the gaps. He backs away from Swiss with a glare. 

Swiss clicks his tongue, “What’s wrong rainstorm?” 

“What did you do?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He tries to play innocent, but he cannot help the fang filled grin that splits his face. He takes a step towards him. 

Rain steps back, “Tell me what you did or I’ll leave you here to choke on your own blood.” 

“What? Don’t recognize your own trick?” 

Rain shudders at the fizzy feeling that shoots down his spine when Swiss speaks. 

“Took me a while to get it right but I knew I had to show you once I got it.” 

Rain does not believe it. He cannot believe it. How could Swiss have managed to do this? Even Aether and Phantom need something physical to sink their claws into. Physical touch to let their quint seep into a body to overtake the brain. Even the handful of trigger words they have for each member of the pack had to have been created with something physical. So how did Swiss manage to slip him quintessence without laying a finger on him? He was intrigued, but he would not give Swiss the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“This is…the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen Swiss.” Rain slaps his hand over his mouth the moment the words leave it. 

That is not what he said, or at least not what he had the intention of saying. He looks at Swiss before slowly uncovering his mouth. 

“Oh please show me more.” 

This time he hears it. It is his voice alright, but Swiss’ echoes like they have been layered on top of each other. 

“Well if you insist,” Swiss grins at him, “kneel.” 

The word buzzes in his brain and before he knows it his knees are hitting the ground. He can feel the familiar tingle of magick in his ears and around his throat. He knows what happens every single time Swiss discovers a new trick. This is not the first time he has been caught in his web, and it certainly will not be the last. While he normally loves a bit of quint to turn his brain off and make him cum harder than he ever could alone, this time he would rather put up a fight. Swiss does not get to make a mockery of his song and get away with it. 

“Aw come on don’t give me that look,” Swiss pouts, tilting Rain’s chin up to look at him, “I know you want this. You always do.” 

He wants to get up and wipe that look off of Swiss’ face. But he really wants his body to stop reacting. He cannot tell if it is the quint laced words making his cock twitch or if it is just himself. Still, Swiss does not deserve to have this effect on him after stealing his voice. He grits his teeth and tries to get the message across. 

“Fuck…me.” His tongue feels foreign in his mouth. He does not sound like himself. 

“Oh getting straight to it I see. I like the enthusiasm.” Swiss laughs and shoves him down so that his face is in the grass. 

He drops down onto his knees and pulls Rain’s hips up so that his ass is in the air. He kneads each cheek, squeezing a handful through his sweatpants. He makes sure his fingertips brush against his hole with each little movement. Rain curses the way the slightest bit of stimulation goes straight between his legs. It does not help that there is a healthy dose of quintessence in his veins. It always makes him unbearably sensitive. 

“Someone’s excited.” Swiss hums, pulling the waistband of his sweats and boxers down to pool around his thighs. Rain gasps when he feels him brush his thumb over his hole and slick drips down his balls. Stupid fucking Swiss. Stupid fucking quintessence. 

Despite everything in his head telling him to make it hard for Swiss, he cannot help the way his hips shift back for more. He never was good at keeping up appearances when someone finally gets their hands on him. 

“Oh don’t you worry rainstorm, I’ll take good care of you.“ Swiss circles his hole before slowly pushing his thumb inside. 

“Swiss please more. I need more.” His voice rings out against his will. 

“Greedy little thing. But I could never deny my little fishy.” Swiss pulls out only to shove two of his fingers back inside. 

Rain gasps at the sudden intrusion, tail lifting to expose more of himself. He is finding it harder and harder to want to tear Swiss to shreds for the mimicry of his song. How can he be blamed when skilled fingers pet against his prostate. He can get Swiss back another time, but right now he sees no harm in letting him play. If it means he gets filled then he can show him what a real siren song can do later. 

All too quickly, Swiss pulls away. Rain whines at the loss of contact, but he is not entirely sure if he made that noise consciously. 

Swiss tsks, “We both know a couple of fingers aren’t enough to satisfy you tadpole.” 

He slides his pants and boxers down just enough to pull his cock out. He gives it a few quick strokes, spreading Rain’s slick and coaxing himself to full hardness. He presses the tip against Rain’s hole just to feel it flutter against him. 

“Relax,” Swiss sings. 

All at once Rain can feel his muscles loosen. If not for the hold Swiss has on his hips, he probably would have fallen over. He pushes into him easily, no burning stretch that usually accompanies such little prep. 

“That’s right baby, just relax and take it.” 

He has no choice to. He cannot move even if he wants to. Though with Swiss’ cock inside him, moving is the last thing on his mind. Every little roll of his hips pulls a moan from him,  but not by choice. He can feel the quintessence rippling through their bodies like a circuit. 

“Keep singing tadpole,” Swiss snaps his hips harder, “Let everyone hear how pretty you sound.” 

The magick in his veins makes sure his voice rings loud through the night air. He could not shut his mouth even if he tried. He hopes Mountain is still asleep. He cannot begin to imagine what it might look like if he glanced out his window. He does not need anyone catching him moaning like a whore because of Swiss. 

“Swiss please oh,” he pants. 

“What is it baby? What do you need?” Swiss grinds against his ass. 

Rain grits his teeth, trying to keep his words inside. But it is no use, “Please I’m so close.” 

Before Rain can even comprehend what he said, his body is flooded with pleasure. It makes him dizzy. His gut feels like it is burning and his cock is so hard it hurts. He is sure a few quick strokes would have him spilling into the grass. 

“Already? It’s only been a minute. Must’ve needed it bad, huh? Swiss lilts. 

Rain wants to curse him. He wants to throw back in his face and mock him for getting so worked up over a little bit of power. Power he did not even earn. Power he stole from Rain. But once the quint is in his veins he is helpless to it. All he can do is close his eyes and focus on the way Swiss fucks into him deeper and deeper. The way his cock hangs heavy between his thighs. The way his own gasps and moans sound. He always was a vain one. 

Swiss shifts his hips, changing the angle and Rain keens. Swiss grunts and slams into him faster. Wet obscene sounds accompany the nonstop cries from Rain. A spark of quintessence ripples over Swiss’ body through his. The feeling nearly makes his eyes cross. 

“I’m oh Swiss I can’t fuck.” His whole body shakes as he cums untouched. 

Not even a second later he feels Swiss spill inside of him. He grinds into him through his orgasm, fucking his spend as deep as he can until overstimulation sets in. The moment he slips out of him, he can feel the fuzzy feeling of magick leave his body. Still, he collapses forward onto the ground, breathing heavily. He rolls over onto his back only to see Swiss grinning down at him, chest heaving. 

“Such a fucking slut for it.” Swiss sneers. 

“I’m going to kill you.” Rain lifts his head to glare at him. 

“You wouldn’t do that. You like me too much.” 

Rain will never give him the satisfaction of knowing, “You sure that’s enough to stop me?” 

“Don’t know,” Swiss shrugs, “But you’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna stay right here until someone finds you covered in your own mess.” 

All at once the tingling sensation returns again. Rain cannot move. He is stuck resting on his elbows with his legs spread open, hole on display as it drips with Swiss’ cum. He cannot even open his mouth to curse at him. All he can do is move his eyes. 

“I’ll come back in the morning. See if you’re still in one piece,” Swiss looks up, “Though I think he is gonna make that difficult.” 

Rain follows his gaze until. Oh fuck. His eyes lock with Mountain’s. He cannot see his expression from this distance but the green glow tells him one thing. Mountain is pissed. 

Swiss just laughs and begins to walk away, “Have fun rainstorm.” Rain is definitely going to kill. That is, if Mountain does not kill him first.

[dearfae]

୨🌸୧ - dating headcanons!

the seven : heroes of olympus

girlfriend version.

4.8.24

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

percy jackson :

lots and lots of kisses

hand holding

loves your cooking/baking (especially blue waffles *wink wink*)

every time you go on a date it’s water related - the beach, aquarium, underwater restaurant etc.*

*sometimes you go to the movies or amusement parks too tho

constant compliments

lets you choose what he wears sometimes

cute nicknames

very protective and loyal (ofc)

teaches you how to fight (if you don’t already know)

swimming competitions but he goes really easy on you

pegasus racing

braids flowers into your hair

sarcastic and funny jokes to cheer you up

would literally die for you

his mom and step-dad paul LOVE YOU

takes you shopping

buys all your favourite foods when you’re on your period

needs comfort after his nightmares

annabeth chase :

teaches you a lot

hours long talks about each other’s interests

reading and museum dates !!

forehead, nose, cheek kisses

wakes up really early so you’re always awake before everyone else too

spends lots of her time thinking of ways she can make you smile

would do anything for you

picnics :)

takes great joy in annoying you by correcting your grammar or spelling

will make you do a hundred pushups if you insult any author ever

will also make you quote shakespeare

sneaks into your room at night by picking locks instead of just knocking (chalice of the gods reference)

hesitant to let you meet her parents at first

but when you do she’s really happy because you get along with them really well

you always help her win capture the flag (she protects you 99.9% of the time)

death glares/will fight anyone whose mean to you

you never have to google anything because she’s right by your side

needs constant reminders that you’ll never leave or she needs to take a break

hates surprises

jason grace :

literally the sweetest

is only relaxed/vulnerable with you

learnt how to break a few rules *wink wink again*

always cleaning his glasses

the person who dares to be mean to you better count their days

surprisingly smart

deep conversations

doesn’t really know what to do when it comes to dates or anything romantic

forgets things sometimes

keeps a little notebook in which he writes everything he loves about you

makes your birthday cake from scratch

physical touch for reassurance

teaching you about roman history is his love language

pretends to hate the nicknames you give him but secretly loves them

keeps a picture of you with him at all times

quiet around others

never raises his voice at you

sometimes you act like his mother figure (is that what it’s called?)

winks or smiles at you when others aren’t looking

leo valdez :

shit music taste (I’M SORRY)

treats you like the queen that you are

holds doors open for you

points at you and says really loudly to everyone else, “HAVE YOU SEEN MY BEAUTIFUL AMAZING WONDERFUL GIRLFRIEND??”

inside jokes

you gave him a bracelet and now he never takes it off

gives you flowers!

sleeps in

cuddles, kisses and his arms are practically glued to your waist

teaches you spanish (especially the swear words)

he COOKS

there’s never anything broken because he fixes them immediately

always makes you laugh

does skincare with you<3

shows you off to anyone that’ll listen (even if they won’t)

the kindest, most golden retriever boy ever

he’s still wary about opening up to his trauma

his severe adhd makes it hard for him to calm down so you always sing to him or play with his hair

excessive use of the words bro and dude

frank zhang :

picks you up bridal style whenever you get tired (he likes to impress you by showing off his strength)

gentle and caring

if you’re out eating together and you buy different things, he’ll let you taste both of them so you can have the one you like the most

gets flustered really easily

cheesy pick up lines (that you secretly love)

LOVES TO EAT

uses his title of praetor to take the mick out of you (as a joke)

cautious about trying new things

very punctual with time and chores

whenever there’s a praetor meeting he lets you sit next to him

you make sure that there isn’t any dairy in the food you make him

he was so happy when you learnt canadian for him

you let him teach you about his family tree

if you’re feeling sad he’ll shapeshift into a puppy or something to cheer you up

he can actually be pretty snarky when he wants to

you’re literally the safest girl on earth when he’s around

the poor boy gets really shy when you flirt with him

really good at making different accents

his writing is SO hard to read😭

piper mclean :

likes to make you blush

let’s you taste the lipstick she uses by kissing her

swears

candlelit dates, stargazing, mall shopping

buys you perfume and clothes

definitely asks for you to rate her outfits

she thinks you’re prettier than anyone else in the world, so much so that’s she’d straight up call her mother ugly

really excited for you to meet her dad

she’s your BIGGEST supporter!

you have to stop her from slitting peoples’ throats when they say anything remotely harsh to you

plays with your hair and brushes/styles it for you (she lets you do the same for her)

SKINCARE NIGHTS<3

binge watches 2000s movies - bratz, mean girls, the devil wears prada etc

you call her lots of playful names

rips down any posters of her father she sees, makes it her personal mission to burn every single one of them (you laugh every time)

loves flipping people off

she’s actually really sweet and caring

loves when you hold her hand

paints your nails :3

hazel levesque :

loves exploring abandoned underground tunnels

she made a bracelet for you out of the gems she pulled from the ground

every time you swear she chases you with a bar of soap

you help her with her curly hair

she’s so innocent (unless she’s angry, hungry or tired; then she goes ballistic)

you tease her when she gets flustered

she takes you for midnight rides on arion

she always smells like fresh rain

calls you ‘miss your surname’ whenever she scolds you

she sleeps with extra pillows

if you pass a graveyard she’ll wave to the ghosts

graceful and kind

loves nature

really good with kids

bakes you cookies on national girlfriend day

if there’s one thing she hates, it’s when people misquote the bible

sometimes she’d have major deja vu moments from her past life if you go somewhere she did the first time she was alive

gets really excited when it’s date night!

she can be so incredibly fierce and powerful but if a butterfly or something dies she’ll literally start bawling her eyes out

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

that’s all i can think of lol

let me know if i missed anything or you disagree with what i’ve put! i’m open to any criticism :)

hope you enjoyed! i might do another one with different characters!

©dearfae

[mrs-murder-daddy]

A/N: It's finally here, and it's only part one! I'm so sorry everyone but I've been fucking miserable for the last few months. But I'm here, I promise!

Requests are also open for BoB and MotA!

The Heart of the Ocean (Part One)

Gale "Buck" Cleven x Reader

The stateroom is much smaller than you anticipated, though perhaps your expectations were too high. After all, this is just a boat with a lot of people on it.

It feels suffocating, though perhaps that’s a consequence of your circumstances more than your room. 

You stare at yourself in the vanity’s mirror. You look tired, but maybe you should cut yourself some slack. You’re getting married in a few weeks. Every bride looks this sallow before their wedding day.

There’s a knock on the door, gentle and polite. You haven’t even responded when it opens. Caledon Hockley, your fiance, walks in. If you had never spoken to the man, you’d say that smile on his face is genuine.

He brandishes a velvet jewellery box and presents it to you with all the showmanship of a salesman. You’re not sure why. You’re marrying the bastard, not buying a house from him.

Cal crowds up behind you, opening the box, expecting you to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over it. He gives you some long speech about how the diamond used to belong to some long dead king. All you can do is stare. It’s so… big. It’s gaudy and awful. At least it matches your engagement ring.

He clasps the necklace, the chain feeling rather literal. He kisses your temple and grins at his most prized possession. You paste on a smile and thank him for his kindness. As he leaves, reminding you of the lunch you were already supposed to be at, you wrap a hand around the massive blue diamond. It’ll at least weigh me down, you joke.

Despite your mother’s hatred of her, Mrs Margaret “my-friends-call-me-Molly” Brown is the only person you can talk to that actually listens. You walk into the dining room for lunch, hands gently wrapped around one of Cal’s arms and the first thing you hear is, “that necklace is gorgeous darling!”

Your mother fawns over it and you almost tell her to just take it if she wants it so bad. 

Molly says, “Not as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”

Her beaming smile is not enough to distract you from your mother’s eye roll, but it is enough for you to respond with a genuine thanks. You can’t remember the last time you got a compliment.

Stuck at a table between a rock (Cal) and a hard place (your mother), you wait anxiously to eat. You would listen to the conversations around you, but it’s mostly your mother bragging about the family you’re marrying into, and the men discussing which type of cigar they’ll smoke next or other trivial nonsense.

When the waiter approaches, you perk up. but Cal takes over. “We'll both have the lamb, medium-rare with very little mint sauce.” He turns to you and pats your hand, “You like lamb, don't you sweet-pea?”

You stare at him silently, god his face was just so punchable. A pinch on your thigh reminds you that there’s an audience. “Of course, darling.”

Molly jumps in, noticing the distinct pinch of your mouth. “You gonna cut her meat for her, too, Cal?” The table bursts into laughter and even your fiance forces a tight smile.

The food is not quite to your taste, the bitterness of Cal’s mistreatment tainting your meal. But the conversation takes a turn for the better.

Molly posits, “So, how do ya reckon they got to the name Titanic?”

An older fellow married to a woman 3 years your junior speaks up, “Well the name obviously conveys size, thus it also conveys strength.”

You jump in, “Perhaps Dr Freud’s ideas about the male preoccupation with size will interest you, Mr Higginbotham.”

Your mother pinches your thigh again and you jolt. The conversation changes once more and even Molly’s boisterous laughter can’t calm your temper. You excuse yourself and race outside for some fresh air.

The ocean breeze cools you down somewhat. You bask in the sun’s rays, gripping the rail in front of you and leaning back just a little.

Your reverie is interrupted by a loud shout of “Miss!”

You look down to see two brunets wrestling playfully. Their blonde friend shakes his head before looking up at you. Your knees turn to butter. He’s quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. 

The two of you stare at each other for so long, his friends have stopped wrestling, instead looking between you two like a tennis match. The Greek statue below only stops the staring contest when a frown takes over.

Your own face falls when you realise why: Cal. Your fiance grips your arm and begins to berate you quietly while dragging you back inside.

But the beautiful blonde man is all you see. His smile as his friends begin to tease is enough to feed you for a lifetime.

Dinner is much the same, only your noose feels tighter than before. Your newfound wealth is still the only topic of conversation your mother cares about and your fiance is content to make every little decision for you.

Of all your companions, at least Molly Brown tries to reach out with some gentle questions about the wedding. Cal fields all of them, he and your mother having planned everything to the very flowers of your bouquet.

Your ears begin to ring. Your mother over one shoulder, your fiance over the other. A hand touches yours lightly. It’s gloved but still warm. Molly’s Southern accent cuts through the rest of the conversation.

“You okay darling?”

You nod and beam brightly. “Of course, just excited for the wedding.”

It’s clearly not enough for her. Then an icy glare from the people either side of you reminds her of your precarious position.

“Well who wouldn’t be? It all sounds so beautiful!”

You power through dinner, Cal ordered the beef for you both, though you would rather have eaten dirt.

He kisses your gloved hand as the men retire to the smoking room. Molly rubs your shoulder gently as she bids you goodbye. 

Your mother hisses at you for acting up. You simply smile apologetically and ask to get some fresh air. She waves you off with an angry “I’ll see you later.”

Thankfully, no one else is on deck as you sprint across the wood. Your chest is heaving with panicked breaths and barely concealed sobs. The theatrics catch the attention of a man laying on a bench staring up at the stars.

You crash into the rail at the stern of the ship and hastily climb over. Your breath gets stuck in your throat as the wind brushes past your face, cooling the tears on your cheeks.

The skin over your knuckles stretches as you cling to the only tether you have left. The water looks cold but so inviting.

Then a voice. It’s quiet and gentle, but it nearly startles you into letting go. 

“Easy, easy, didn’t mean to scare you.” He approaches, palms up in surrender.

“Go away.” You’re beyond embarrassed to have someone witness your breakdown. Your consideration of the unthinkable.

“Well that I’m not gonna do.” He creeps closer like you’re a wounded animal. It’s perhaps a cliche, but you imagine that’s what you are. Hunted for your beauty and trapped in the snare of a loveless marriage.

“You should leave. If you know what’s good for you.” You wish your voice sounds stronger. The creaking of your throat doesn’t make you sound very intimidating.

He just sighs and sits down on the deck. He begins to… remove his shoes? You frown and look over your shoulder as much as you can.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re going down there,” he nods to the water below you, “I’m coming after you. And these are a new pair. Can’t get ‘em all soggy.”

You begin to laugh, a little hysterically. “That water’s freezing. There’s no way you’ll jump after me.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about.” He stands up and begins to remove his jacket. Your face grows serious once more. His shoulders are broad, he must be a steel worker or something. But his face is too pretty for that kind of work. “You know a fall from this height into water, it’s like hitting pavement. Then you add the freezing water and-“ he hissed through his teeth.

You take another look, it is a very long way down. How did you not notice that before? A few moments of contemplative silence pass and the broad shouldered man moves closer.

You look over your shoulder at him. “You ever feel alone? Like truly alone in the world.”

He frowns sympathetically, “Can’t say I have, ma’am.”

You smile sadly. “That’s good.” Your hands begin to loosen their grip. 

His voice now sounds like it’s right next to you, but you can’t bring yourself to look. “Maybe you should come back over this rail and tell me all about it. Maybe I can help you.”

A sad little smile appears on your face. “I wish you could.” 

Then warmth wraps around your wrist. The man’s hands are calloused but much softer than you expected. 

“You never know if you don’t try.” He’s practically begging, anxiously waiting for your response.

You turn your head to look at him, tears threatening to choke you. You realise just who this man is. “Okay.”

He wraps a gentle but firm arm around your waist and helps you pull yourself back over the rail. When you finally set your heeled feet on the deck, your body feels like it’s going to collapse. The man leads you to a bench and wraps his jacket tight around you.

“I’m Gale by the way, Gale Cleven.”

You introduce yourself, still feeling rather defeated.

“Now tell me about what happened just now.” The words imply an interrogation, but looking into those baby blues you see… concern. What is with the people on this boat?

You’ll know them for only about a week and yet they’re the only ones in your life who seem to actually care for you.

“I know what you must be thinking.” You sigh, “Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?”

Gale leans his head forward to make eye contact, “Not at all. What I’m thinking is what could have happened to this girl to make her think she has no way out?”

You flash the giant ring on your finger, “I’m getting married next month.”

He jokes, “Wow! You would have gone straight to the bottom.” 

But you can’t laugh, you just stare at it. “All of Boston society will be there. 500 invitations.”

You finally look at his face, counting his freckles subconsciously, “Sometimes I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up.”

He frowns and you’re hit with a sudden wave of shame. “Thank you for your help, Gale.” You take his jacket off hastily and drop it in his lap.

“Wait-” He tries to process the abrupt end to your conversation but you’re already halfway down the deck, surreptitiously wiping away tears.

The next morning, you beg your mother to let you have some space and fresh air. Really, you want to find the handsome blond from the night before. To apologise and to assure him that you will be just fine.

It’s not difficult to spot his incredibly handsome profile. He’s hunched over a sketchbook, head bobbing as he looks to his reference then back down. Trying to follow his eyeline, you see a sweet looking older man dancing with his little daughter. She stands on his feet as they sway to nothing in particular.

You approach carefully, worried you’d break the warm quiet, or disturb the family’s moment. You decide to just sit next to Gale. He tilts his head in acknowledgment but continues his work.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night,” you begin, “it was inappropriate for a woman of my station.”

He gives a little half-smile and looks up at you. His stare is like looking into the sun. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I felt honoured you trusted me enough to share your pain.”

Your face warms, you’re not sure if it’s shame or those baby blues trained on yours. The girl and her dad are still dancing, but he’s picked her up. Her curls swish around as he twirls them and her giggles almost bring a tear to your eye. You can’t remember the last time your parents showed you any affection, let alone danced with you just to make you laugh. 

Gale clears his throat and holds his sketchbook out. His work is incredible. Not only is his technical work beautiful but he’s captured the loving glint in the father’s eyes and the little girl’s missing tooth. You can’t help your beaming smile.

“This is incredible work! You should be proud. Is this what you plan to do back in the States?” You brush a gentle finger over the drawing’s finer details.

He blushes and shakes his head, “I’m going back to my tiny hometown to see my family. Where I go from there, I don’t know.”

“You have a real talent here, Gale! You should explore this.” You hand the drawing back to him.

His plush lips part like he wants to respond, but you’re interrupted. The sweet little girl taps your shoulder, her tiny hand covered in freckles. She introduces herself as Niamh, and asks if you’re some kind of fairy. You frown, confused, but hear Gale chuckle behind you.

“She absolutely is, Miss Niamh.” When you turn your head to look at him, he winks. You look back at Niamh and smile.

“He’s right, I am a fairy! And I have a gift for you, little one.” You pull out one of the many pins in your hair, a bejewelled butterfly on the end. You hold it out to her; she seems hesitant to take it.

Niamh looks back at her dad who nods in her direction. She takes the pin and gives it a little kiss, “I promise, I’ll take care of it.” She runs back to her dad, giggling.

“I gotta go soon,” Gale’s voice draws you back to your previous conversation. “It’s almost lunchtime, but I wanted to ask.” He closes his sketchbook and faces you head on. “You ever been to a party?”

You had assumed when Gale asked you about a party there would be drinking and music, but nothing to this level.

The small parlour is packed to the brim with warm bodies and free-flowing drinks. Gale is up on a makeshift stage dancing with a cat in one arm and Niamh on the other. You remember his two brunet friends from yesterday and search for their faces, hopefully one of them will remember you.

One is preparing to arm wrestle a big bald man while the other claps him on the shoulder for support. A pregnant woman stands behind them, arms folded and a big grin on her face. You make your way through everyone, feeling very overdressed. By the time you reach them, the arm wrestling match is done and everyone cheers for “Curt”. By the big smile on his face, you assume Curt is one of Gale’s friends.

You can’t quite find a way to interject yourself into the celebrations so you find yourself leaning against the wall awkwardly. Gale finally notices you and tries to wave, only he has no hands free. So he quickly gestures to his friends.

“Hey!” The taller brunet shouts, holding his arms out for a hug. You shake your head, not quite there in your acquaintanceship with him. Instead the pregnant woman wraps her arms around him instead. “You’re the dame who Buck can’t stop talking about.”

“Buck?” You look over his shoulder at Gale whose attention is divided between you and Niamh. “Oh Gale!” Your face heats up, “I hope he’s been kind.”

Curt butts in, “Darling you’ve got nothing to worry about, the man is already picking out a ring for ya.”

The tall brunet holds his hand out to shake yours, introducing himself as John, “But my friends call me Bucky.” He also introduces the woman under his arm as Angel. She gives you her real name but says she prefers the nickname.

Curt gives you an official introduction, and Gale peels himself away from Niamh and the cat long enough to come join you all.

“I’m glad to see you here, sweetheart.” Gale smiles and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You lose yourself in his eyes again.

“Glad to be here.” Your voice is breathy, but for once you’re saying what you truly mean.

The night is long and restless, you drink and you dance and you laugh and you dream. This is the life you’d sorely missed, friends, fun, and blossoming love.

The night winds down, Curt has passed out on a bench near the makeshift stage. There’s only one fiddle player left, the rest of his musician family gone to bed. Niamh is asleep in her dad’s arms while her mother dances around them.

Bucky and Angel dance together, looking more in love than anyone you’ve ever seen. He whispers sweet nothings in a low tone just to see her blush. Gale clears his throat next to you and you snap your eyes towards him. He holds his large hand out, inviting you to dance. As you join him, slow dancing next to your new friends, you wonder. Maybe you can learn to love Gale like Angel loves her Bucky.

It’s late when you return to your room. A familiar face greets you. Cal sits on his reading chair with a whiskey in one hand and your massive blue diamond necklace in the other.

“Where were you?” He doesn’t look at you, only the necklace.

“Out.”

“And what, precisely, does that mean?”

“I… was with friends.” 

“Is that why you smell like a brewery?”

You roll your eyes, but choose just the wrong time to do as his eyes shift to you.

His voice is dark and angry, and your palms begin to sweat. “You are my fiance, and you are to be my wife. You will wear this gift at all times and you will not leave my side without my express permission. In fact, I’ve come to an agreement with your mother.” He stands, looming over you. “You will stay in this room and share this bed with me.”

Your eyes widen, “That would be inappropriate, we’re unmarried.”

“You are still mine.” He clasps the necklace around your throat once more.

[salty-croissants]

Bullfrog and Rayman/Ramon x pregnant reader : talking to their child

Thank you @elyn-27 for the request !

This is a really cute concept , always down to write something wholesome for my favorite boys ://)

Hope it turned out okay ! 

Details : use of female reader ( preferred given the premise ) ; 

established relationships ; 

no warnings needed 

Bullfrog 💚

Oh yeah … he definitely talks with the baby a lot , mostly when the both of you are someplace safe , just cuddling after a long day . 

Hearing Bullfrog whisper in the coziness of your room , his head gently placed against your belly , never fails to make you smile . 

< Oui , mon petit , that really happened today ! 

If your mother didn’t patch me up , it would’ve all been very troublesome …

She truly is une merveille ~ > 

< Aww , honey … ! ~ > 

You can see his eyes light up every time he hears the baby move even just a little , and it’s honestly the most precious thing : 

this frog is just so excited about your child , but he tries really hard to contain himself to avoid overwhelming you too much … 

Instead , Bullfrog continues on caressing your belly with his strong , gentle hands , a smile of pure delight on his face while he does it . 

Bullfrog does indeed get worried about what kind of life your child will have to live , given he is an assassin who often has to leave for the mission assigned by the Warden , and the thought of not being able to be there for them because of what he does crushes him …

However , as soon as you give him that soft , understanding look and pat on the bed to suggest him to lie down with you , he just feels a wave of peace and most of all love wash over his troubled mind :

resting his head on your belly is something that works like magic for your lover .

< Mm , mercy mon amour … > 

< No need to thank me , sweetie : we are going to be okay , I just know it . > 

Rayman 🧡

Okay , did I mention that Bullfrog is one who talks to the baby a lot ?

Because Rayman beats him fair and square on that account : 

if he could he would never leave your side , busy to explain your child just how perfect in every way their mother is . 

It’s very cute ;//C//; 

< Oh yes indeed , y/n is very wonderful ! 

She is the light of my life , my beautiful sweetheart , and - > 

< Ray honey , you’re gonna be late for work ~ > 

< Oh - I almost forgot — 

Uh , I’ll be back soon , okay ? Both of you , wait for me ! 

Love you ! > 

< Love you too !

… heh … your Dad is surely something isn’t he ? ~ >

Rayman definitely kisses your belly pretty much every time you’re together , enjoying to hear your adorable flustered giggles …

< Ah , there is that lovely smile … god , I wish we could stay like this forever , I’m in heaven whenever I hear your voice ~ > 

< H-Heyy come on , now you’re just trying to make me blush ! ~ > 

< Hehe , can’t say that’s not true darling ~ > 

Rayman also loves to place his head on the crook of your neck , occasionally giving it a little kiss while his hands gently hold your belly …

It’s a very intimate little moment that really helps him calm down , especially after he’s had a long day at work . 

You really make this man feel like home , and he will never be able to thank you enough .

< I love you … mm … I love you so much , y/n … I can’t wait for our little angel to arrive … ~ > 

Ramon 🖤

Ramon’s nights are often tormented by nightmares and understandable worries for you and your child’s futures , so most of the time he ends up resting his head on your belly , the comfort of your warmth being the only thing that can put him at ease …

< Bad dream … ? > 

< … yeah . 

Is it okay if I … ? > 

< Of course Ram , you can stay there as long as you want .

We are both here for you … don’t forget that , okay … ? > 

< I could never … > 

And it’s mostly at night , while he is trying his best to fall asleep , that you’re able to hear Ramon talk to your child with a very quiet voice to avoid waking you up : 

it’s something that he does fairly often , it’s just very soothing for him .

< … it’s not gonna be easy when you’ll get here , I won’t lie to you … but I promise that no matter what happens I’m going to keep you safe … I will keep all of us safe . 

I owe this to you … I owe this to my beautiful y/n … > 

< Mmm … are you talking about me back there , Ram ? ~ > 

< Oh - 

I … heh , thought you couldn’t hear me … 

I still one hundred percent mean what I said , though ~ > 

Whenever he has to leave your place ( something that almost never occurs since he wants to be there for you as much as possible ) , Ramon makes sure to say goodbye to both of you before heading out , it’s something that he never forgets .

< Be careful out there , my love … mm … we will be waiting for you . > 

< I’ll be careful darling , don’t worry … take care of yourself while I’m gone , okay ? 

And the same goes for you . >

After one last kiss on your belly he steps out in the dangers of the street , with only one thing in mind : 

going back home to you and your child , no matter what . 

[ask-the-koopa-family]

AGAIN A STORY (it happened in the past...) about Mario and Bowser's relationship...

Art/OC/story are mine dont copy/repost!

#bowser

#supermariobros

#supermariobrosoc

#mario

In the grand throne room, Bowser stands near his throne, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon as he wrestles with thoughts from his past. Cherry enters, her face glowing with excitement, clutching a golden envelope in her hands. She walks up to him, gently nudging him from his reverie.

Cherry:

Bowser, look at what we've received! An invitation to a royal ball at Peach's castle!

Bowser: (raising an eyebrow, his suspicion obvious)

A ball? At Peach's castle? Why would she invite me to one of her events? And you know very well who will be there...

Cherry: (reassuring, placing a gentle hand on his arm)

I know you don’t want to see Mario, especially after what happened with... Betty. But maybe this is an opportunity to show everyone that we can move forward, that we’re not defined by our past.

Bowser: (clenching his fists, his voice filled with a rough edge of pain)

Move forward? You know what he did! How can I forget that, Cherry? Every time I see him, I relive that moment. It's not something you easily forget.

Cherry: (taking his hand, her gaze tender but steady)

I know... I’m sorry. I’m not asking you to forget, but maybe it’s time to show that we’re stronger than our grudges. Peach invited us; she might also want to ease the tensions. And we can’t live in the past forever... Betty wouldn’t want that. I’m not asking you to forgive, but to show the kingdom that you are no longer the tyrant king. That you are capable of nobility and greatness. Do it for us, do it for Betty... to show that nothing can bring us down, not even Mario.

Bowser: (looking down at their intertwined hands, his voice softening)

Do you really think that’s possible? That this ball could change anything?

Cherry: (smiling gently, her confidence unwavering)

I believe it can, yes. And even if it doesn’t, at least we would have tried. We’re together, and as long as we are, anything is possible.

Bowser: (sighing heavily, then meeting her gaze)

Alright. For you, Cherry. But I warn you, if he causes any trouble, I won’t hold back. Don’t expect me to be friendly with that plumber.

Cherry: (kissing him lightly on the cheek)

Thank you, Bowser. I know everything will be fine.

Later, at the Royal Ball at Peach's Castle

The castle is alive with color and light, flowers draping from every corner. Cherry, glowing in an elegant dress, enters the ballroom arm in arm with Bowser. The guests whisper in surprise, some even gasping as they look upon them. Peach approaches them with a genuine, welcoming smile.

Peach: (extending her hands warmly)

Cherry, Bowser, I’m so glad you could come. It means a lot to me.

Cherry: (smiling brightly)

Thank you for the invitation, Peach. The castle looks beautiful tonight.

Bowser: (nodding, his voice gruff but sincere)

Yes. Thank you very much, Peach.

Peach: (gesturing with a slight smile)

I’m delighted that you’re able to enjoy the evening. Cherry, I have something to show you in the greenhouse; you’re going to love it. Bowser, you’re welcome to join us if you wish.

Bowser: (giving a slight shake of his head)

No, I’ll... explore a bit on my own. Go ahead, have fun.

Cherry:

Alright, dear, see you later!

Cherry and Peach disappear into the greenhouse, leaving Bowser behind. He slowly makes his way to a balcony, seeking a moment of peace from the chatter and music.

The night air is crisp, the moon casting a gentle glow over the kingdom. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, as if letting the silence calm his thoughts.

A hesitant footstep breaks the quiet. Bowser’s eyes open slowly, and he doesn’t turn as Mario approaches.

Mario:

Good evening, Bowser...

Bowser: (without turning around, gripping the balcony rail, his voice cold)

Mario. What do you want?

Mario: (keeping a respectful distance, his tone sincere)

I just wanted... to talk. I know it’s not easy for you to be here. I didn’t expect you to come.

Bowser: (scoffing, his sarcasm biting)

Yes, being surrounded by people who’ve always seen me as an enemy, it’s a perfect evening for me.

Mario: (with a quiet sigh)

I’m not here to provoke you, Bowser. I know how you feel... about Betty. I know you blame me, and you have every reason to. What happened... was tragic. But I didn’t want it to happen.

Bowser: (turning to face him, his eyes blazing with anger)

Tragic? It was your fault, Mario! You... killed her!

Mario: (bowing his head, his voice calm but heavy with regret)

I know. And I live with that every day. But I’m here tonight to try and ease this hatred between us. It was an accident. I didn’t want her... to die. I know you may not believe me, but it’s weighed on my conscience too. I... I’m sorry.

Bowser: (staring at him, his expression conflicted)

And you think a simple ball will fix all of this? That I’ll just forget? Do you think simple apologies will erase what you did?

Mario: (shaking his head, his gaze steady and resolute)

No, I don’t expect you to forget. I know nothing can ever bring Betty back. But we need to find a way to coexist. For Cherry, for Peach, for our kingdoms. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Bowser. I’m just asking for a truce... so we can all move forward. We don’t have to be friends, Bowser, but we can at least try not to be enemies.

Bowser: (after a tense silence, finally releasing a heavy sigh)

I don’t know, Mario. It’s not as simple as you think. But for Cherry, for my family... I’ll try. But don’t disappoint me, and don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you.

Mario: (offering a slight smile, visibly relieved)

I understand. Thank you, Bowser. I don���t expect anything more.

The two stand together under the moonlight, neither quite willing to break the silence. The ball continues inside, but here, on this quiet balcony, a fragile truce is born, with a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can coexist.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨 || 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ in the middle of a ripple in the force, the girl Ben Solo accidentally cursed turns out to be the princess that Kylo Ren desperately hunts.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ age gap (I’m 20, so reader too) Kylo was 29 in TFA as far as I know, fem reader, angst and I think that’s it.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ my Adam Driver era is beyond over, it happened in 2020 and were done. But I somehow ended up coming back to Kylo. I wrote this with bad blood remix (TV’s), so yeah… silly little me.

______________________________________________________________

All of Ben Solo’s past was long forgotten. Until he saw two girls in his dreams. A very young dirty girl in the desert. And a lookalike princess.

The dessert girl made him feel a pull to the light. The princess made him want to be a better general for the First Order, to give in everything to the dark side.

And so the time passed. Kylo Ren became stronger, and he was able to see the princess’ shadow. He had never seen her face, or so he thought. This young woman was delicate as a feather, she was gentle, all felt through a blurred vision.

He wished he could talk to her. She made him close his eyes and peacefully rest for the night. So he started trying to find her. Kylo Ren visited every galaxy to see if any of the princesses remaining alive was the girl of his dreams. But he failed continuously, and also his knights.

He just wanted to know her. He wanted to see why she made him feel safe.

…

You let the older’s woman fingers braid your hair. She finishes by scattering some little flowers across your braided hair and smiles at your reflection in the mirror.

“And done.” She says smiling.

“I highly appreciate it, Leia” You reciprocate the smile and stand up.

“I’ll let you finish getting ready, but don’t take too long. You know I hate having late people for briefings” you nod.

“I’m always on time, just let me…” you start wandering around your room, until Leia calls you, and you see her placing your mother’s crown in your head.

“Now you’re ready.”

I’m not a princess anymore.

“Wear it for her. For your loved ones… as a sign of respect” Leia says, maybe you were thinking too loud. You didn’t like being called princess, but most of the resistance did. General Organa could see herself reflected in you. A young princess that lost too.

“I miss them a great deal” you admit. It had been four years. The First Order destroyed your home planet. And you were the only survivor as General Leia Organa saved you.

“I miss her too. But that’s why you have to keep wearing the crown. As long as you remember them, they live” Your eyes water, Leia squeezed your hand in assurance.

“The force will always allow you to keep them close”

“Thank you. For everything…” she nods, smiling again, before leaving you alone.

You touch the crown. Looking at the tiny details. It was simple, undercover and very elegant after all. It was subtle, yet… it made you feel… weird.

The air changes. What felt like a warm sunny day, starts feeling like a cold cloudy dusk. You frown, looking away from the mirror. When you turn, you see a man in black robes, already looking at you, through a mask. The man of your dreams and visions. You stopped breathing, literally.

He was Kylo Ren. The Commander of the First Order. Master of the Knights of Ren. A Jedi killer…

“Who are you?” He asks, modulated and heavy voice that makes you freeze. Allowing yourself to feel scared.

Leia was right. He didn’t know about you. He didn’t remember you.

“Nobody” you answer.

“You’re a princess certainly.”

“I was one…”

“There’s still a crown on your head, Are you force sensitive?” You remain quiet, swearing to be hearing your heartbeats through your head and ears. He sounded calm, but very intimidating. Which made you feel goosebumps.

“No.”

“The force connected us then… Why?” there’s an idea of what was happening in your head. But he wasn’t able to understand it. He just knew you had to be important, if you weren’t doing it by yourself, the force picked you for something big.

“You know who I am.” He speaks again, giving a step closer, making you go backward. He noticed it.

“Everyone knows who you are.” The air feels suffocating. Your room seems to feel smaller, as the man projected inside of it was very big.

“Then you know I will find you.”

“I know.” You try to sound calm, which seems to unsettle him. You pretended very well.

“And you won’t do anything?”

“I’ll wait till that day to think about doing something” he wants to chuckle. But he can’t because he’s anxiously trying to pry more about you. He doesn’t know where you are, how old are you, who you are.

At the same time, both of you were shocked to finally face each other. After months of hearing and watching faded silhouettes of each other. It was rare…

“You should be afraid of me.” He added, walking even closer, being able to smell your perfume. He was now infatuated, totally obsessed with the idea of finding you. You felt it, which angered you. So you took your fear away and stepped further, facing his creepy mask closer.

“I won’t be scared the day you find me, Ren”

And the connection broke.

The sun was back again. The birds could be heard again. You touched your chest, as you felt in panic. You almost ran to the briefing room, praying that time would pass faster so you could have a word with Leia.

About why the force had connected you with his son.

…

Poe scratched the back of his head with his free hand. He was caressing his food tray as he approached the dining room and saw you gossiping with Connix, your best friend.

“I’m telling I don’t know. He just-“

Poe touched you and it made you jump scared. Connix let out a little startled yelp and the pilot started laughing.

“What are you talking about that has you all concentrated?” he took a seat in front of you and the girl beside you. Noticing neither of you had finished the food.

“Can you two finish your food? I don’t want any sick friend again” You started eating in silence, under the desperate look of Connix, who was practically begging you to tell Poe.

“This morning the force connected y/n with Kylo Ren” You rolled your eyes at Connix. Poe dropped his fork and looked at you in horror.

“WHAT?”

“Uh… yes, she’s right” you confirm to Poe, who looks beyond shocked.

“But.. Why?”

“I have my theories, but it doesn’t make sense” Your friends nod. And you just want to forget about the whole issue.

“He’s your space soulmate and the force wants to get you two together” You start laughing at Connix’s terrible joke and gently push her. Poe didn’t laugh.

“Connix, don’t joke about it. What if he wants to hurt her? What if he indeed wants to get together with y/n and worsens the war?” He’s right though. You sigh, focusing on your food instead.

“I need to be prepared. We’ll see each other eventually. I just feel it. But today… is all about you, my dear Poe. You and BB-8 must go and get that map. We need it…” everyone nods.

“Promise me you’ll be careful. The First Order has spies everywhere. One bad move, and they’ll be with you” Poe nods, knowing his colonel best friend was very meticulous about missions, especially when her friends were involved.

“I’ll be careful, princess y/n” You frown, and both Connix and Poe start laughing.

“I extremely hope so, Dameron”

The rest of the dinner flows fine. But you fear, about Kylo Ren discovering who you were before time.

…

Missing. That’s the only word in your head, knowing that BB-8 and Poe were missing was getting on your nerves. But Leia assured you to sleep and let her handle it. Uncomfortable, you went to bed against your own will, staring at the ceiling, questioning why it had to be such a long and weird day.

By the time you fell asleep, Poe woke up. Realizing he was at some First Order cruiser, Kylo Ren was looking at him. Poe sighed, knowing that he would likely end up hurt again.

Ren acknowledged him as the best pilot of the Resistance. Great to start.

“You have seen the map”

“And you have seen the girl,” Ren assured.

“What girl?” As soon as the pilot asked, he unveiled everything. Your connection with Ren, what you told him before talking about the mission. He accidentally gave Ren all the answers.

The map was with the droid and the girl was with the Resistance.

“Princess y/n of the fallen kingdom of Karyn and Colonel of the Resistance” Kylo Ren proudly said your name and titles. He smiled under the mask.

How he could have forgotten about Karyn and how they refused to be involved in the war. He never realized the daughters of the kings survived.

“NO!… DON’T YOU DARE TO HURT HER!” Poe yelled, trying to break the cuffs hurting him.

“I won’t, pilot. You can rest knowing that I won't hurt her” and with that, he left the cell. Only causing great pain for Poe, feeling guilty.

When Ren walked away, and when he turned to some hallway, he spotted you. He froze, there you were looking at the giant window, looking at the stars. You must be at the secret base of the resistance, but to him, you were with him. You turned, encountering him as if Kylo Ren was at the entrance of your balcony. He saw your dark blue dress and silver crown, you saw his hideous mask again.

“What have you done with my friend?” You ask.

“That rebel scum? To your luck, he is in a cell, alive.” You know he’s telling the truth.

“You must have what you need, let him go” For the first time, you noticed your height barely brushed his shoulders, he was massive, making you incapable of feeling some fear.

“I can’t, he’s a prisoner of the First Order.” You roll your eyes.

“LET HIM GO!” You yell, trying to keep calm, or else he will discover one of your little secrets.

“Don’t worry, soon or later you’ll join him. And it will be an honor to have you in my ship, Princess y/n of Karyn” you mentally cursed. He had one clue, he had opened the door to know everything to you. And he knew that you stuttered, being unable to talk. By the look on your face, he knew you were scared. And he liked it.

“Get out of my head.” And somehow, you broke the connection.

But under all the fear, you had one doubt. You wanted to know how he looked under that mask after all those years.

…

You needed to hear Poe, so as you fly with the Resistance to Takodana, you call him. You hadn’t seen him since he returned. BB-8 would be happy to see his friend there. It had been rough days. Your connection with Ren hadn’t happened again. But you constantly saw him trying to kill you along his knights in the desert. You brush away the frightening memory, hearing your dear friend calling you.

“Colonel Princess y/n, here is Poe Dameron. Permission to lead the division?” You smile widely.

“Permission granted, Dameron. Now don’t get into more trouble, I need you by my side after this?” He chuckles after some exchange of words, and he starts doing his job. You love how Poe loved to fly. He had to teach you how to fly a ship yet, but for now, you loved when he offered rides.

Your good thoughts soon are over. You turn to Leia, who’s already thinking the same as him.

“He’s here,” you say and she nods.

“Hide yourself as long as you can. But do not hide your ability to fight.” You nod, hiding your weapon in your belt, under your cape.

You join the fight and you can get rid of many stormtroopers. You see BB-8, Chewie, surprisingly Han Solo, and another boy fighting together and you want to run towards them. But a stormtrooper shoots at you. And while you were able to avoid him, others came out of nowhere. He hit your head and you almost fainted. You touched your head, hand covered in blood. Your vision was blurred and you felt how the troopers kicked you and picked you up, towards their ship.

You were too disoriented to do something, to fight. And yet, you felt him. You saw Kylo Ren carrying another woman. And when he looked at you, he left the girl and kneeled in front of you. Inspecting your wounds. You could hear his heavy breathing. But you refused to look at him.

“I said to bring me the princess, not to injure her” You keep looking at the floor, watching as some blood drops fall against the cold floor. His gloved hand caressed your temple and sent you to complete darkness, losing consciousness.

…

When you open your eyes, you are shocked to see Kylo Ren without his mask. You wanted to tear up, but you harshly refused.

“I cleaned your wounds”

“How gentle of you.” You speak, feeling your throat extremely dry.

“You must be something else. I can see anything, you are hiding your memories from me”

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you thought you were.” He makes an expression that you take as an extremely brief smile.

“Maybe you’re lying to me. Who are you, princess y/n?” He asks stepping closer. You can see his clean face with moles like you. His brown eyes and dark hair. You turn your head away from him. But he places his gloved hand on your chin, stopping you from squirming away.

“All I know is that Karyn fell years ago. Because it was one of my first missions as commander, I gave permission to attack. I remember seeing how the planet came to ashes” You turn to face him in shock, anger in your face.

“MONSTER!” You cry out in anger at his face. He killed your home, your people, your family, and your legacy.

“Let go of that, it would happen anyway. Karyn was a strong kingdom that wanted to remain isolated from the war” You let yourself cry a little.

“I assume it was Organa who saved you” You look at him with resentment, hate, and horror.

“But why you? You must be able to wield the force. You just don’t know yet. You’re being slower than the scavenger”

“So now I’m a prisoner?” Ren frowns before gently shaking his head.

“No, of course not. You’re my special guest. I'm taking you to Supreme Leader Snoke.” He said, inches away from your face. His proximity was making you even more angered rather than uncomfortable, so you looked at him deeply in his eyes. And you felt something as well as him. But both of you ignored it.

“Sir, your presence is urgently required at the command center” Two stormtroopers appeared at the door of the cell. You remained silent and the man rolled his eyes. He gave you one last look and left with the soldiers.

Maybe the mighty Kylo Ren had underestimated you because you could feel your weapon in your belt. And in less than a minute, you were out of the cell. You start moving away, and suddenly you collide in the chest of someone. Another girl, the scavenger.

“You are princess y/n,” she says excitedly. You knew she was force-sensitive, so she must’ve escaped from her cell too.

“And you must be the scavenger”

“I’m Rey. And need to get going. Han, Chewie and Finn are here. Let’s go!” She takes your hand and starts guiding you.

“Who’s Finn?” You didn't know him.

“Oh, you’ll like him. He has helped a lot” You only nodded.

“Did Ren went to see you?” Rey asks you.

“He did.”

“I can feel your connection with him. It’s weird, like you had met him before” You stop abruptly.

“I met him. He ruined my childhood” Rey is about to ask more, but she is interrupted by Finn and his friends.

“Han Solo, Chewie!” You greeted the man that you constantly saw as a kid, the Wookiee that played with you. For some minutes, you felt secure, even happy.

…

The first thing Kylo Ren saw after killing his father, was your face. You looked shocked, saddened, and enraged. You were with the scavenger and the traitor looking at what he did.

He felt your pain and in his rage, he felt even worse, he was desperate to know why the pain you felt as Han Solo died felt too personal. Like you had met him before.

Finn, Rey and you started running towards the snowy forest. You took advantage to start the Falcon and get out of there, Chewie let you know it was ready, but you heard their screams. Your friends must’ve been intercepted. So you knew it was over, Kylo Ren would know your secret, but you had to save your friends. You never asked to be a hero, but you had to act like one to succeed. You remember Karyn thought light and darkness were both the same. They were perfectly balanced and there was no beliefs on the Jedi or Sith.

You fight for them. Because they weren’t able to do so. You fight to keep being free.

Giving firm steps into the snow, they turn to look at you. Rey smiles briefly and Ren seems confused. But you take your weapon out, and you let your green lightsaber join the red of Ren and the blue of Rey.

Both seem shocked. But it takes a twist when you walk forward, giving the first attack. Kylo was taken aback by the sudden violence, but he concentred about giving a clean fight. He starts attacking back, but it seems to be more difficult for him, as it is two against one. Your ways of executing the lightsaber mixed a lot of techniques, which made it harder for Kylo to predict your next move.

Finn was heavily injured, so you tried to get close to him to help him. But it wasn’t easy.

“You and I. We’re connected, you know it.” Kylo says out of breath. Your saber collides with his, and you put all of strength to push him away.

“I can help you become more powerful” you frown. You don’t need that.

“I don’t care about power. I want to keep my freedom” you let your intrusive thoughts win. You remember what he did to you.

“You almost killed me once. Don’t you remember, Ben Solo?” In his sudden weakness at the mention of that name, Rey comes in and attacks too, you feel him get inside your head and the scavenger slides the saber against his face. You gasp in shock, almost dropping your saber.

“NO!” You scream, thinking he died. But you see him moving. And Rey is shocked to see how you rushed to his side.

You kneel beside him, only to see an awfull wound across his face, he seems to be lost, probably half unconscious. His face is sweaty and you sigh relieved to see he was alive. The moment feels soft, and he sees some memory that strongly appeared in your head. He closes his eyes and feels you.

The connection. You hated him, but you didn’t want him to die.

Kylo Ren sees himself as a seventeen-year-old student in Luke’s temple. When he was still Ben Solo. He was training with his friend Weenie, they didn’t agree sometimes, which led to heavy training sessions. The blonde padawan fought so hard, and Ben reciprocated. Without even noticing it, they moved around the area where the youngest kids were training. He was furious, Weenie said having bad dreams constantly leads to darkness. He was about to hit Weenie with his blue lightsaber when the blonde moved. Ben Solo heard a little girl cry, and when he saw, there was a girl at his feet, her padawan robes covered in blood and sliced open. His saber had burned her back and cut the top of her long hair and she was unconscious.

The little kids ran towards her. All of them yelled, “Y/N WAS HURT!” “BEN SOLO HURT Y/N! “TELL MASTER SKYWALKER!”

She was eight years old. He never knew who she was.

But when Kylo Ren opened his eyes, he saw the young girl. He couldn’t believe you were that girl. He had so many questions.

You caressed his swollen cheek and leaned to whisper in his ear.

“You took everything away from me. My Jedi training, my home, my family, my future.” He gulped, his hand landed on your hip, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. You stopped him.

“Being with the Resistance feels correct. But I don’t believe in the light or darkness anymore”

“I will see you lose this war, Kylo Ren. And you’ll feel what I did over the years” The hand on his cheeks pushed him further into the snow. And when he tried to stand up, you pulled his hair and crushed his skull again.

Rey took you away, running to take Finn and get out as the First Order base was about to disappear in lava.

But you couldn’t ignore the strange feeling in your stomach. You despise him. You were over the scars he left in your back. You try to forget about Karyn, your family. But you were extremely far away from forgiving Kylo Ren for destroying it.

Nonetheless, Kylo Ren didn't want to let you go and you didn't want to leave him alone.

And you knew it wasn't over. It had only started.

________________________

Go and say mean things in the comments, luv you and let me know if anyone wants part two.

[outerspaceismyhappyplace]

Here’s another scene from my Classification AU that I wrote a while ago

“He finally slipped, didn’t he?” Shinobu says, as Tanjiro walks in with an exhausted Zenitsu on his hip.

“Yeah.”

“On purpose?”

Tanjiro sits down, situating Zenitsu on his lap. “No,” he grimaces.

Shinobu’s eyes narrow. “He involuntarily regressed in the middle of a mission?”

“It wasn’t his fault, Shinobu, it was mine,” Tanjiro says. “I should have taken your advice and forced him into littlespace earlier.”

“If he’s to be a Demon Slayer he needs to be able to take care of himself. We try to keep Littles and Caregivers together, but should we need one of you alone, he needs to be able to manage and control his headspace on his own.”

“I…I know,” Tanjiro says, although the thought of Zenitsu or Inosuke being sent on solo missions without him is…anxiety provoking, to say the least. “I’m going to talk with him about that once he comes out of headspace.”

“That probably won’t be for a while,” Shinobu notes. “Being pushed over the edge like that, especially after being in control for so long, will most likely cause him to be in headspace for an unusually long period of time. He’ll also probably be a lot younger than he would be normally.” She raises an eyebrow at Tanjiro. “You think you can handle that? Two Littles and a Flip at the same time, one of which isn’t in control of his headspace at all?”

“Of course I can,” Tanjiro says.

Right on cue, Inosuke comes barreling into the room and then into Tanjiro and Zenitsu with a loud, “GONPACHIRO!” This startles Zenitsu awake, who then starts crying. “‘Ro!” Inosuke exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air excitedly. “‘Ro, I have a little brother!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you do, bud,” Tanjiro says in a hushed voice, bouncing Zenitsu on his knee to try to get him to calm down. “You have a really little brother. I know it’s exciting, but he’s feeling really overwhelmed right now so we need to be extra gentle, okay?”

“‘Kay!” Inosuke agrees. “I can help with the baby!”

Shinobu chuckles and shakes her head. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need any help, okay?”

“Thank you,” Tanjiro says. Turning back to Inosuke, he smiles affectionately and tells him, “I know you’ll be such a big help tomorrow. But for now, it’s time for bed. It’s been a long day and we could all use some sleep.”

“I’m not tired!” Inosuke cries.

Zenitsu wails louder, and Tanjiro looks back and forth between his two boys a few times. “Oh, Inosuke, I think Zenitsu is scared of your boar mask.”

“But it’s just a mask! ‘S not my real face!”

“I know, but Zenitsu is overwhelmed and confused and very teeny tiny right now, so he might not understand that,” Tanjiro explains patiently.

Inosuke nods and takes it off, kneeling in front of Zenitsu. “See, baby? I’m not a monster, I’m just me!”

Zenitsu stares at him with wide eyes and reaches out to touch his hair, sobs settling down.

Inosuke squeals. “Look, ‘Ro, he likes me!”

“I knew he would,” Tanjiro says, breathing a silent sigh of relief that that’s all it took to get Zenitsu to stop crying. “Okay. Did you get something to eat?”

“Yup!”

“And you’re all cleaned up?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Good job, bud.”

“The butterfly girl helped me!”

Literally every girl in the whole mansion, with the exception of Nezuko, could be described as a butterfly girl, but Tanjiro decides not to point that out. “That’s great, Inosuke!” Zenitsu is starting to fuss again, and Tanjiro realizes he must be hungry. “I’m going to go and get Zenitsu something to eat; do you think you can get yourself tucked in?“

“No, I want ‘Ro to!” Inosuke says, hanging off of Tanjiro’s arm.

“Can you at least go and lie down until we’re done? It shouldn’t take long, okay? Then I’ll come and tuck you in.”

“But-“

“Please, Inosuke? I need you to be a big boy for me so I can help Zenitsu.”

Inosuke looks unhappy, but he complies. “Fine,” he huffs.

Tanjiro lifts Zenitsu up and takes him to the kitchen, where a warm bottle of milk is already sitting on the table, with a note attached—

‘Thought this might come in handy. It’s babyspace formula infused with supplements that should help with nightmares and anxiety. - Lady Shinobu’

“Look at that, Zen! Lady Shinobu made you a bottle, wasn’t that so nice of her?” Tanjiro says. Zenitsu simply stares at him and puts his fingers in his mouth. “No, don’t do that, I’ve got something much tastier,” Tanjiro promises, sitting down and coaxing Zenitsu’s fingers out of his mouth. He cradles him in his arms and tips the bottle back.

Zenitsu initially spits the first mouthful out in surprise, but to Tanjiro’s relief, after a tentative second try, he drinks the rest of it down greedily, eyelids getting heavy as he gets drowsy. When he gets to the end of the bottle, he makes tiny humming noises of satisfaction.

“You’re so cute,” Tanjiro coos softly, looking down at him with an adoring smile. “I wish your first drop with me was under better circumstances, little one, but I’m happy I finally get to take care of you.”

[ponyosfrogg]

INBETWEEN

Summary: You wake up with no memory of who you are. Determined to find the truth and unveiling mysteries, you also test familial bonds.

Pairings (?): This is the first part of Tim Drake x Reader fanfic. Thinking about enemies to lovers dynamic. There will be a lot of mystery, angst, fluff and eventual smut.

Author Note: In this fic they don't have a lot of age gap but since i don't like the specific age mentioned in fics, i won't be saying anything about it. It's the first chapter of a long series. It's a Female wayne! fic. And English is not my first language, my work might have a lot of mistakes, sorry about them in advance. I hope you guys enjoy it, this fic holds a special part in my heart!

Warning: Some of the themes and contents written in this fic might be upsetting for some of the readers, read at your own risk. Some parts have strong language.

Damian paced anxiously in the green room, his mind filled with worry. Although he tried to hide it, his hands were sweaty with fear. His sister was laying unconscious on the white bed, and he felt a pang of guilt knowing that he had failed to protect her once again. He loved his sister more than anything, perhaps even more than himself.

Dick couldn't bear to see Damian's distressed state any longer. He continued to stroke your hair without removing his hand and called out to Damian, "Don't worry, I'm sure she'll be fine." At that point, even his optimistic personality was struggling. The worried child became even more angry at the calm reassurance. "Don't tell me not to worry! She's been unconscious for nearly four hours now, and the fucking person who did this is watching from the corner of the room!" Clenching his teeth, Damian attempted to approach Tim, but Jason blocked his path. "Calm down, kid. He said he didn't do it on purpose. You know better than anyone what happens when we are sparring. "

"It doesn't matter if he didn't do it on purpose! If she doesn't wake up, I'll kill him.." Tim replied nonchalantly. "Feel free to try, devil." Rolling his eyes without an attempt to hide it. These words and this attitude triggered Damian. If there's one thing you need to know about Damian, it's that he is an impatient person. Just as he was preparing to jump on Tim, Dick's firm voice stopped everyone. "She's waking up!"

You opened your eyes with a sharp pain in your head. It felt like a heavy train had passed over your body over and over again. The pain in your head enveloped your neck and entire body. As you attempted to sit up slowly, a few hands pushed you back onto the bed. "It's too early for you to get up." A voice you didn't recognize spoke in a reassuring tone. You struggled to part your lips and asked the question. "Where am I?" You had a thirst which made you feel like you've never drunk any water for your whole life now.

"You're with me." A younger voice spoke and you felt someone holding your hand. The voice felt very familiar yet distant. You fully opened your eyes and saw the faces standing before you. There was a boy (?) or just a young looking man holding your hand and the other guy sitting next to you watched you with smile. When you tried to pull your hand away and move back, your head throbbed with pain and you let a painful whimper leave your lips. "Who are you both?" You sat up more in bed and tried to distance yourself from them as much as possible. The young boy who had held your hand lost his smile because of your reaction.

"I'm Damian, don't you remember me?." As the child approached the bed, you retreated further as if you could merge into the wall. Seeing this, the older looking guy who stood next to you, slightly taller than the others, stopped Damian. "Can you tell us the last thing you remember, sweetheart?" His voice, his gentle manners and probably good-looking face helped calm you down a bit. You tried to think about the last thing you remembered, but your mind felt completely blank. And every time you tried to think, an incredible pain pierced your head. It was as if something didn't want you to remember, as if someone had come and stolen all of your memories.

"I don't remember anything.." You struggled to utter those few words. "Nothing.." The last thing you said seemed more like an attempt to convince yourself. Nothing? You were undeniably completely confused, and there was an immense pain in your head. If there wasn't an open wound, how could it hurt so much? Yet, you still put your hand on your head just to make sure.

Damian's eyebrows furrowed, almost covering his green eyes. He spoke with anger almost spitting out every word, "Did you cause her a fucking memory loss?!" He yelled loudly and lunged at the boy who was slightly taller than him standing at the corner of the room. Suddenly they were literally fighting with each other which caught you off guard. With fear you widened your eyes. The boy, whom you had just noticed, tried to intervene. He had black hair with a white part on the front that rested just above his forehead. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans, giving him a biker-like appearance. The ugly sound of punches hitting the flesh from Damian's strikes made you even more frightened, and the guy standing next to you yelled, "You are scaring her!"

Damian struggled to control his anger and stood up. His knuckles were in great pain, but it was the least of his concerns. As he was about to approach the bed where his dear sister lay, Dick once again stopped him this time with his hand. "Leave the room." His authoritative voice commanded Damian once more, causing his cheeks to flush with anger. "You can't tell me what to do, she is my sister."

Dick took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He had become the fucking babysitter of these kids even though they were almost a grown ass man "She is not just your sister Damian. What you're doing right now is nothing but scaring her."

As Damian's attention came over you again, he easily could see the fear growing in your eyes. It wasn't something he was used to. He had witnessed this look of yours only three times in his life: the night both of your grandfather died when you found his body repeatedly stabbed, a loud thunderstorm when you were six or so, and now. He hated that look because it usually meant something uncontrollable was happening and he didn't like to lose control. He hated that he wasn't able to be there and protect you. He hated every second of it.  Under normal circumstances, all he could do was hold you and reassure you that everything would be alright, that he would protect you forever, even though getting physically involved or showing affection to people openly wasn't his style. That was usually enough to calm you down, although it wouldn't stop you from crying. Damian, on the other hand, would just hold you for hours and let you cry in his arms until you felt better. Maybe even for hours, you would allow yourself to cry in his arms. Some of your family members were saying this connection was because you were twins and some of them were saying it was because how you guys only had each other at a certain point but no, that wasn't it. Both if you shared something more than that, a connection. He could feel whenever you were sad, and when you were in pain, it was also his pain. Calling it a twin-bond was nothing enough to explain how he felt about you. You were his family, you were his sister: his beloved sister. He would come to you when he had a problem, he would come to you when he was happy, he would come to you when he was overwhelmed by everything. You were his safe space, just like him being your safe space too. Now was the time you needed him the most, and why couldn't Dick see that? Why didn't he understand that all you needed was for him to hold you and give you hope that everything would heal?

Interrupting his thoughts, Jason's hand found his shoulder. "It's confusing for all of us to have this situation. For now, we should let Dick stay with her and let him understand her condition." Damian didn't want to leave your side, but he understood the underlying truth behind Jason's words. It might be something small, or maybe something big, but whatever it was, Dick needed to talk to you to understand what was going on. Although he wanted this position himself, he knew he was too angry for it at the moment. He was doing this for your sake and your well-being. While still facing Dick, he moved closer to you. "I'll be back soon.." When he was about to kiss your forehead, the lack of love and the frightened expression on your face appeared which prevented him to show any affection. He wouldn't want to do something that could hurt you. He said nothing more and decided to leave the room just for now.

I'm Dick," he said, as his blue eyes narrowed with compassion. You looked at him with empty eyes and asked, "Is it always like this?" He contented himself with a smile in response to what you said. "Yes, don't you remember who you are? Anything at all?" From the question he asked you, you could understand that he was one of the people who struggled the most with the situation you were in you can't help yourself but feel a little bit of guilt again. "No, I'm sorry..." You felt like you were in the middle of nothingness. Nothing meant anything to you, and nothing seemed important. The faces you saw, the arguments you watched, all passed before your eyes like you were watching some kind of movie. But every time you searched your mind, what you found inside your head was a void much greater than the emptiness you felt on your chest.

He smiled at you again and reached out his hand to hold yours. "We should meet again then, I'm Richard Grayson, but you can call me Dick. I'm your big brother," he said. You nodded your head in response to what he said and extended your hand. When your hands disappeared in his large hands, he smiled at you again. His white teeth shimmered like pearls.

You looked at him for a moment. He had a slightly tanned skin. He had navy blue eyes and black hair. His haircut was somewhat long, falling towards his ears and upper parts of his neck. He was wearing a partially tight light blue t-shirt that accentuated the color of his eyes and hinted at his regular exercise routine. "I don't want to confuse your mind too much; family ties can be a bit complicated." As he ran his hand through his nape and shyly took his eyes to check the wall, you couldn't help but smile. "Do you feel better?" You understood that he was referring to your recent panic attack. "Yes."

There was still some hesitancy within you. One part of you was urging you to run away, while the other insisted on staying. You didn't know where you were, who these people were, and staying here didn't seem like an appealing option. Nothing made sense to you, and you felt like a newborn baby, everything feeling foreign and distant, far from a comfortable environment. When he noticed you are drowning in your mind, he approached to comfort you, but you instinctively backed off towards the wall. "I'm sorry... There's no need to be afraid of us. We mean no harm." He distanced himself a bit to help you relax, and the front of his bed was completely open. Slowly, you let your feet dangle off the bed and stand up. Even that simple movement caused your whole body to tremble. The idea of a train passing over you was becoming more appealing every minute; this pain and hurting seemed inexplicable otherwise. Your eyes began to wander around the room.

You were staying in a room where green was dominant. The walls were dark green. The room was illuminated by a dim yellow light coming from a large crystal chandelier. Years ago, you and Damian had changed the room's lighting to yellow, as you had discovered that yellow light was much easier on the eyes compared to white light. However, this information was not in your mind at the moment beside your whole life's memory.

Right next to your bed, there was a large wooden wardrobe. You wrapped your fingers around the handle and opened it. It was filled with clothes, leaving no empty space. Colorful fabric pieces patiently waited to be worn inside the dark brown wooden wardrobe. There were pictures hanging on the wardrobe door. In one of them, you were with the white-haired boy from earlier. It looked like you were playing PlayStation together. You had raised your right fist in a victorious pose, while the boy next to you furrowed his brows. The photo was taken from a distance.

Just below that picture was a selfie with an older looking man. He looked like he was quite nice and kind. You had raised two fingers to make a piece sign this time and smiled broadly. He, on the other hand, displayed a content smile and looked at the camera. "This is Alfred." You hadn't noticed that he had come up behind you while you were looking at the photos. Dick placed his finger on the picture of the boy above. "And this is Jason."

Although you felt the knowing feeling about names, you weren't be able to quite put your finger on it.

The next picture was taken from far. Someone was carrying you on a bridal style and looking at the camera. it seemed like you were trying your best to not to fall from his arms so you were kind of blurry. His green eyes seemed very warm unlike Damian's. You could almost sense it through the picture. He also had lots of freckles which gave him a lot warmer look. There was a note under the photo: 'Toronto'

"This is Bart Allen, he is a close friend of yours." You just nod. You could feel the awkwardness since he was telling about all these stuff, even though they were hanging on the wall in your room. You felt like all these pictures actually should brought something back.

Another picture was also taken from far. You were standing right between two beautiful woman. Although both of them had red hair, one of them had a darker color. the other one just had a red-ish color just like ginger. They were smiling widely while you were laughing, both of them hugging you. Dick put his finger just on a woman with darker hair. "This is Kate" and slide it over the other one. "This is Barbara."

Under that, there was another picture of you this time with Damian. You guys were sitting on a couch and had a cat between two of you. Even though it was a selfie, you could see both of your bodies thanks to camera's angle. Damian was smiling and had a black shirt on him with capital letters 'Uncle Damian' written on it. You were wearing the same shirt that says mother and even the cat also had one. It was so hard to believe that this Damian was the same person you saw earlier. In this picture he seemed so relaxed, happy?

Dick might have read your mind since he started talking: "Yeah, it must be hard for you to believe but just so you know, he loves you a lot that is why he was angry earlier." then he stopped for a minute before starting to talk again: "to be honest he is always angry." there was an awkward laugh after that. There was another picture next to yours and Damian's, it was with Dick.

He was wearing some kind of apron that says 'World's Greatest Grandma' on it. He was holding a  pot and you had eggs in your hand, showing them off to your camera.

The inside of the wardrobe was filled with many pictures. Most of them included of Jason, Damian, and Dick, but you didn't continue looking because these pictures were reminders of the large part of your life that you had forgotten. You felt like shit, and still, a small part of you insisted that these things couldn't be true. You felt like a reader who was reading other people's stories. You couldn't tell if you were really in the present moment or if you were just having a simple dream, though, a nightmare would be more true. Everything felt so terrifying. Perhaps it was because of the guilt you placed on the memories you couldn't recall, or maybe it was due to the uneasiness from the fight you had witnessed some moments ago. When you found yourself taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of your nose, as if trying to calm yourself down, you continued shaking your head and looking at the pictures. Dick opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to distract you, again:

" Almost everyone in these pictures are your siblings" he said, and your eyes widened in disbelief. You couldn't contain your astonishment. "Our parents must have worked really hard," slipped out of your mouth involuntarily, and Dick burst into a loud laughter, finding it the funniest thing in the world. After laughing for a few seconds, he composed himself and responded to you. "No, we're all adopted." he said. Then he paused for a moment and continued, "Well, except for Damian and you. You guys are biological siblings, twins to be exact." You nodded your head. Maybe that's why he was so tense. Although you couldn't fully grasp the topic of the fight, you found yourself involuntarily understanding his displayed behavior. Then he pointed his index finger at another picture on the other door of the wardrobe. "This is your mother," he said as he directed your attention to the picture. You saw one of the most beautiful women you've ever seen (you wouldn't remember even if you saw something prettier tho). Her green eyes were as sharp as Damian's. Her brown hair reached her waist, and the leather jacket she wore gave her a completely different aura. Despite her captivating gaze, the underlying danger could be easily sensed. This woman exuded an image of 'I love you, but i have no hesitation about killing you.' As you looked at her, a strange feeling arose within you. Longing? Guilt? No, it was neither of those. It was fear.

You closed the wardrobe door and continued to exploring the room. Similar pictures to the ones in the wardrobe were all over the walls. Then you noticed the bed standing on the right side. Unlike your bed, it was pitch black. Several katanas were hanging on the wall by on his bedside. His wardrobe was at the foot of the bed and, compared to yours, it was smaller and longer. When Dick noticed where you were looking, he felt the need to explain once again. "Damian is a little bit particular about this situation, he didn't want your rooms to be separated." You walked over to his area and looked at a few pictures hanging there. "You really love taking pictures," he said, and you felt a bit odd when he mentioned your characteristic to you, noticing his own awkwardness too as he moved behind you. "You have pictures with almost everyone." As you quickly scanned the walls of the room, you saw more pictures. While you were observing them, Dick's phone rang, and he asked for your permission to leave the room and without waiting for an answer he left.

While you were watching the pictures on the wall, there was a great chaos in the room below. Jason had informed Bruce about the incident and Bruce said he was going to come as soon as he could but since he was on a mission at the space station with Justice League, Jason wasn't seeing this happening anytime close. Meanwhile, Damian had tried to attack Tim seven more times, engaging in powerful fights that turned the entire room into a battlefield. While Jason tried to keep them apart, he was complaining about the situation and wishing he could use his weapons on them. He was too old for this fucking family drama.

"What is your problem!" Jason couldn't hold his anger anymore, tired of this bullshit. He knew how you were important to Damian but you were also important for them. Blood doesn't mean a shit. And fighting with each other? No it wasn't going to solve anything.

"My problem is Tim! He punched her so hard that she lost her fucking memory! Do you know how much power does he need to fucking achieve that Jason!" At this point he was breathing out fire. Yes, being angry was part of his character now but he never felt more angry all of his life. He didn't know if he was angry at Tim or himself or maybe even her sister for forgetting her. Even though he knew it wasn't in her hands to decide whether she was going to forget about him or not, how could she? They were together since they were born, they did everything together and now she wasn't even remembering her. He was angry at Tim for punching so hard, even though he was aware of the fact that you were way stronger than he could see, and even though this kind of mistakes could happen when they were sparring, it still was over using his power. Most importantly: he was angry at himself for letting you getting hurt.

"We were sparring for god's sake! I still have the fucking bruise from sparring with you last time. It's completely normal, stop blaming me!" Tim yelled this time. Jason sat on the couch and sighed.

"It is going to be a fucking long night."

[reallygroovyninja]

I want to preface the story I am about to post is garbage. No, really, it's bad. There are moments in it you can see my brain think oh shit, I need to explain myself.

If you want to read a story I am very proud of, check out The Fallen. It does have a shocking ending, which I am very sure turns people off, but I stayed faithful to the story that inspired it.

Anyway, here is unfinished Word Document 20. It's so bad I had to hide it under a cut. lol

Lexa was seated in a quaint office adorned with countless baby pictures, each snapshot a vignette of new beginnings and cherished memories. The walls, a gentle palette of pastel hues, were lined meticulously with these joyful expressions, casting a soft, hopeful glow throughout the room. The ambiance was both serene and surreal, as if Lexa had stepped into a gallery of future possibilities. 

At the desk, a woman named Marlene, who ran the agency, extended a packet of papers toward Lexa. "Based on your criteria and the comprehensive tests you completed, these are the candidates we believe match your needs," Marlene explained, her tone both professional and empathetic. She knew that the choices contained in these documents could change lives. "Once you have a shortlist, let us know. We can then provide you with their photographs. This decision is profound—it should transcend mere physical appearances." 

Lexa appreciated the process's discretion and thoroughness. She had longed for a child, a desire unmet in her past relationships, none of which revealed an alpha compelling enough to share her life's journey. Now, she sought a different route—a sperm surrogate, an alpha who would contribute to the life she wished to create and then step away, allowing her the autonomy she desired in raising her child. 

They would meet intermittently, their encounters solely intended to achieve conception. It was an arrangement devoid of traditional romantic entanglements, focused instead on the singular goal of motherhood. 

Taking the packet, Lexa began to leaf through the pages. Names, occupations, medical histories, personal hobbies, and more—details designed to paint a picture of each potential candidate. Yet, as she skimmed the information, the details seemed to meld into a blur of text. She knew she would need time and quiet to pore over these sheets, to consider who these people were beyond the data. 

Marlene watched her with a calm understanding, accustomed to the weight such decisions carried for her clients. "There’s no rush," she reassured Lexa. "Take the packet home, think over your options carefully. We're here to support you every step of the way." 

Grateful for the empathy and professionalism, Lexa nodded, clutching the documents a bit tighter as she prepared to leave. The smiling, innocent faces of the babies seemed to bid her farewell and good luck. Stepping out of the office, Lexa felt the gravity of her decision resting on her shoulders—a burden, yes, but also a beacon of the profound joy and love she hoped to welcome into her life. 

Later that evening, Lexa settled onto her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, the soft hum of her quiet home enveloping her as she spread the stack of profiles across her coffee table. The light of her living room lamp cast a cozy glow, perfect for the introspective task at hand. She had decided on a methodical approach to review each candidate: she would create two piles—one for definite no's, and another to review again. 

Taking a sip of her wine, Lexa began. One by one, she carefully read through each profile, considering the potential of each candidate not just as a genetic contributor, but as someone whose traits might mesh well with her own for the child they would share. Her fingers brushed against the papers, shifting them between the two designated areas on her table. 

There was Jacob, whose profile intrigued her right away. His interests in environmental science and community gardening hinted at a thoughtful, perhaps gentle soul. Then there was Bellamy, a police officer whose tone in the self-description came off a bit too brash for her liking; his profile radiated a certain arrogance that Lexa found off-putting. He was promptly placed in the no pile. 

As she continued, a few others passed her review—some with potential, others lacking the certain je ne sais quoi she was searching for. Finally, she reached the bottom of the stack, where a profile named Clarke rested. At first glance, something about Clarke's description didn’t quite resonate with her, and she was tempted to add it to the no pile. Yet, something—perhaps a detail she had missed or a gut feeling—nudged at her to reconsider. 

With a thoughtful frown, Lexa picked up Clarke’s profile again. This time, she read slower, trying to capture the essence behind the words. Clarke was an artist, deeply involved in local community projects, which spoke to a creative and civic-minded spirit. His brief mention of a love for old cinema and classic books hinted at depth. Lexa waffled, her initial impression clashing with the intrigue now sparked by her second, more careful reading. 

Setting Clarke's profile down on the "review again" pile, Lexa decided not to rush her judgment. She finished her wine, her mind actively weaving through the impressions each profile had left. Tonight was just the beginning. She knew the importance of this choice, not just for herself, but for her future child. She’d return to these profiles after a night’s rest, perhaps seeing them anew with fresh eyes and a clearer perspective. 

The next morning, Lexa found herself with a phone pressed to her ear, recounting the previous evening's deliberations to her cousin Anya. Anya had always been more like a sister to Lexa, providing both support and candid advice whenever Lexa needed it. 

"So, I've got these two piles," Lexa explained, her voice carrying a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "The no pile is pretty straightforward—those profiles just didn't click for me. But the 'review again' pile, that's where it gets tricky. There’s Jacob, who really seems like a gentle soul, and Clarke, who I almost passed on but decided to give another look."  

On the other end of the line, Anya listened intently, her occasional hums of agreement punctuating Lexa’s detailed descriptions of the potential alphas. When Lexa finished, there was a brief silence, the kind that hinted at Anya's deep consideration before she spoke. 

"Lex, are you sure about all this?" Anya’s voice was gentle, yet probing. "I mean, it sounds like you're really trying to convince yourself here. Aren't you giving up a bit easily on finding the right alpha? You know, the traditional way?" 

Lexa sighed, a soft sound of mixed emotions. "I know it seems like I'm rushing into this, but I've thought about it a lot. I just haven't met someone who fits what I'm looking for in a partner... someone I want to share my life with. This way, I can focus on what I really want—a child. I don’t need a romantic relationship to make that happen." 

Anya was quiet for a moment, likely weighing her next words. "I get that, I really do. But it’s a big step, Lexa. Just make sure you’re choosing this path because it’s truly what you want, not because you feel it’s your only option." 

Lexa nodded to herself, appreciating Anya's concern. "I understand, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I’m not closing the door on finding someone someday, but right now, this feels right. I want to be a mom, Anya. And I feel ready to do this on my own terms." 

Anya’s response was warm, supportive. "Then you know I'm behind you one hundred percent. Just promise me you'll think on it a little more, okay? And whatever you decide, I’m here for you." 

"Thanks, Anya. That means a lot to me," Lexa replied, feeling a comforting sense of reassurance. She knew Anya only wanted the best for her, and having her support strengthened Lexa's resolve to move forward thoughtfully and confidently. 

After ending the call with Anya, Lexa set aside the 'review again' pile of profiles on her dining table, deciding not to revisit them until later that evening. She knew the importance of the decision ahead and recognized the need to approach it with a clear mind and a settled heart. 

The conversation with Anya had stirred a mix of emotions and considerations, reinforcing the gravity of her choice. Lexa felt it crucial to give herself space—to let her initial impressions simmer and her intuition align with her logical reasoning. This pause, she believed, would help her return to the profiles with fresh eyes and a more decisive heart. 

During the day, Lexa busied herself with her usual activities, allowing her subconscious to process the morning’s conversation and her own feelings about each candidate. She went for a long walk in the park, the rhythmic steps helping to clear her mind. She met with a friend for coffee, enjoying the distraction and the normalcy of casual conversation. 

As the day turned into evening, Lexa felt more centered. She prepared a quiet space at home, with minimal distractions, lighting a candle for a touch of calm ambiance. She poured herself a glass of wine, similar to the night before, setting the stage for contemplation and decision-making. 

Sitting down, she slowly began to revisit each profile in the 'review again' pile. Lexa’s goal was to narrow her choices to two or three potential alphas—individuals who not only met her criteria on paper but whom she felt could genuinely contribute to the life and the values she hoped to nurture in her future child. With a deep breath, she delved into the profiles once more, ready to make one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

As the evening wore on, Lexa methodically revisited each profile, reflecting deeply on the characteristics and values of each potential alpha. Slowly, her list began to narrow until she was left with three names: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Jacob’s profile had an immediate and strong appeal. His dedication to environmental conservation and his gentle demeanor resonated with Lexa's own values. It seemed a natural alignment, one that suggested he would bring the kind of thoughtful and nurturing influence she desired for her child. 

Roan presented a different allure. His profile portrayed him as a resilient and ambitious individual, someone who had overcome significant challenges to achieve personal and professional success. There was a strength in Roan's narrative that Lexa admired, a testament to his character that she believed would be a valuable trait to pass on to her offspring. 

Yet, despite the compelling cases for both Jacob and Roan, Lexa found her thoughts continually drifting back to Clarke’s profile. There was an intriguing blend of creativity and intellect in his background— an artist with an Ivy League education, deeply involved in community service. His profile hinted at a complex, multifaceted personality; he was someone who valued both expression and academia, who understood the importance of giving back to the community. 

Clarke’s interests in the arts and his commitment to societal contribution painted a picture of a man who was not only educated but also empathetic and engaged with the world around him. These were traits Lexa admired and sought for her child’s upbringing. 

The more Lexa thought about Clarke, the more she realized how much his qualities appealed to her. He represented a balance of intelligence, creativity, and civic responsibility—elements that she valued deeply and imagined could foster a rich, nurturing environment for a child. 

With a thoughtful sigh, Lexa placed Jacob and Clarke’s profiles side by side, with Roan's just slightly below them. It was clear these were her finalists, each bringing something unique and valuable to the table. She knew her decision would not be easy, but she also felt reassured by the strength of her final choices. As she prepared to retire for the night, Lexa felt a quiet confidence that among these men, she would find the right partner for the journey ahead. 

On a quiet Sunday morning, with a cup of tea steaming gently beside her laptop, Lexa settled down to compose an email to the agency. The decision to request photos of her three final candidates—Jacob, Roan, and Clarke—felt like the next logical step in her carefully considered process. She knew the agency wouldn't respond until Monday, but drafting the email gave her a sense of progress and control over her choices. 

Lexa typed with deliberate care, her words reflecting the gravity of her request. She explained that she had narrowed her selection down to three potential alphas and would now like to see their photographs to aid in her final decision. Lexa stressed that while she understood the importance of not basing her choice solely on physical attraction, she believed that a certain level of physical compatibility was essential for her comfort and confidence in this unique and intimate arrangement. 

As she hit send, Lexa felt a wave of anticipation mixed with satisfaction. Each of her chosen candidates brought distinct and strong qualities to the table. Jacob with his gentle nature and environmental passion, Roan with his resilience and proven ambition, and Clarke with his creative spirit and intellectual prowess—each was appealing in a uniquely compelling way. Lexa appreciated the diversity in their profiles, which she believed would allow her to make a balanced choice based on a combination of intellectual, emotional, and physical attributes. 

Leaning back in her chair, Lexa allowed herself to feel hopeful about the next steps. She hoped that the upcoming photos would not only confirm the impressions she had formed from their profiles but also ignite a spark of attraction. The thought of conceiving a child necessitated a certain level of physical appeal, and she hoped to find that in at least one of these men, making the process of becoming a mother not just a fulfillment of a desire but also a comfortable and pleasing journey. 

With her part done for now, Lexa spent the rest of her day engaged in preparing for the new week, her mind occasionally wandering to her three candidates. The blend of curiosity and excitement for what Monday would bring was palpable, as she envisioned a future where one of these men would help her realize her dream of motherhood. 

In her office, Lexa found herself repeatedly glancing at her phone, which lay beside her keyboard—a silent testament to her growing impatience. Each time the screen lit up with a notification, she felt a jolt of anticipation, only to find emails unrelated to her personal inquiry. The response from the agency, it seemed, was taking its sweet time. 

Lexa tried to anchor her focus on the reports and spreadsheets that crowded her desktop. Her work, typically a realm where she excelled and found clarity, now felt like a cumbersome distraction. Her thoughts, disobedient and wild, fluttered incessantly towards the potential images of Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

She knew their basic features—hair color, eye color—but these details painted no vivid picture in her mind. What were their smiles like? How did they carry themselves? Were they tall, broad-shouldered, or had a more slender, athletic build? These unknowns spun around in her head, each a question mark adding to a mosaic of curiosity and expectation. 

Her concentration broke again, and she reached for her phone, scrolling through her inbox fruitlessly once more. With a sigh, Lexa set the device down and tried to realign her focus on a particularly complex data analysis. But even as she parsed through numbers and trends, part of her mind wandered, sketching imaginary portraits of the three men based on the scant information she had. 

The morning dragged on, each tick of the office clock a reminder of the waiting she had to endure. Lexa found herself tapping a pen against her desk, her gaze drifting towards the window, where the city below seemed indifferent to her internal turmoil. The blend of excitement and nerves was palpable, like the quiet tension that fills the air before a storm breaks. 

Finally, acknowledging her distracted state, Lexa decided to take a brief walk around the building, hoping that a change of scenery and a bit of movement would help her regain her concentration. As she strolled through the quieter parts of her workplace, she reminded herself that the decision she was about to make was significant and deserved this level of anticipation and thought. Returning to her desk refreshed, Lexa resolved to put her personal feelings aside and dive back into her work—determined to keep her professional prowess intact, even as her personal life beckoned with unanswered questions. 

As the end of the workday approached, Lexa had almost resigned herself to the idea that her eagerly awaited email from the agency wouldn't arrive until Tuesday. She felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, the delay giving her more time to prepare mentally for what those photos might reveal. 

She set her phone down one more time, focusing on shutting down her computer and organizing her desk for the evening. Just as she pushed back from her desk, her phone buzzed with the distinct chime of a new email notification. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sender: the agency. 

Quickly, she tapped on the notification, her eyes scanning the email's contents. The agency apologized for the delay, explaining they had taken extra care to ensure the photographs matched her request for confidentiality and respect towards the candidates. Attached to the email were three files, each labeled with the name of one of her potential alphas: Jacob, Roan, Clarke. 

Lexa's thumb hovered over the attachments. A part of her wanted to open them immediately, to finally put faces to the names and profiles she had been pondering over for days. Yet, as she sat in the stillness of her office, a wave of hesitation washed over her. Was this the right place to make such a personal, potentially life-altering discovery? 

Her office, usually a space of professional decisions and work-focused thoughts, suddenly felt too impersonal, too public for this deeply private moment. She contemplated the weight of what these images represented—not just potential genetic contributors but possible co-creators of her future child. 

Deciding she needed the privacy and comfort of her own home to experience this moment, Lexa locked her phone and slipped it into her bag. Once home, she could take her time, process her reactions in her own space, and make thoughtful decisions without the confines of her professional environment. 

As she walked out of the building into the warm evening air, Lexa felt a reassuring calm settle over her. Tonight, with a cup of her favorite tea in hand, she would meet, in a way, the men who might help her fulfill her dream of motherhood. It was a meeting that deserved her full presence and undivided attention, best done in the sanctuary of her home. 

Lexa's evening unfolded with a mixture of routine and restless anticipation. After a quiet dinner, she methodically washed her dishes, the warm soapy water running over her hands as she scrubbed. This daily chore, usually a mindless task, felt different tonight. Each plate rinsed and set to dry was a moment to stall, a brief reprieve from the decision that awaited her. 

As the dishes were put away and her kitchen returned to its usual tidy state, Lexa brewed a cup of calming chamomile tea. The steam curled into the air, carrying with it a scent that usually relaxed her, but tonight it was just another step in delaying the inevitable. 

Part of her meticulous post-dinner clean-up was borne from habit, but another part was driven by a palpable apprehension. She was about to make a decision that would significantly shape her future. The man whose image she was about to view might very well be the one to help her fulfill her deep-seated desire to become a mother. This wasn't just any routine interaction; this was about selecting an alpha who would provide the genetic material to conceive her child and then, as per the agreement, step away. 

With her cup of tea in hand, Lexa finally settled onto her couch, her usual spot for unwinding after a long day, but nothing about tonight was usual. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the warmth of the tea seep into her palms. Her phone lay next to her, an innocuous presence that now seemed daunting. 

Finally, she picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over the email app with hesitation. This action, so simple and routine, felt momentous. She opened the email once more, and there they were, the attachments waiting just a click away. Each file bore the name of a potential alpha: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Lexa tapped tentatively on the image file labeled "Jacob," her breath catching slightly in anticipation. The photo that materialized showed a man with boyish good looks, his smile gentle and inviting, eyes sparkling with a warmth that reinforced the impression of kindness his profile had suggested. Jacob's image aligned perfectly with what Lexa had envisioned—a friendly face that could bring comfort and reassurance. 

Next, she opened the file for Roan. As his image came into view, Lexa noted his longish hair and the unmistakable intensity in his gaze. His strong jawline and the serious set of his mouth gave him a rugged appearance, one that spoke of resilience and a certain sternness. Roan looked like a man who faced challenges head-on, a stark contrast to Jacob’s softer, more approachable demeanor. 

Finally, Lexa clicked on the last image, labeled "Clarke." She expected to see another male alpha, similar to the first two. However, as the image slowly loaded, her expectations were upended. The photo revealed not a man, but a striking woman with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Lexa stared, taken aback, as she processed the unexpected sight of a female alpha. Clarke’s presence in the photo was compelling; her gaze was direct and confident, radiating a strong sense of self-assuredness. 

Lexa’s initial shock slowly gave way to a mix of emotions. Clarke’s appearance was stunning, and there was an undeniable beauty in her features that Lexa found herself unexpectedly drawn to. This twist in her journey made Lexa pause, her mind racing through the implications. She had not considered the possibility of a female alpha, yet here was Clarke, challenging her preconceptions and expanding the horizon of her choices. 

Sitting back on the couch, Lexa took a moment to reflect. Each candidate brought something unique to the table: Jacob’s kindness, Roan’s intensity, and now Clarke’s unexpected presence—a female alpha who exuded strength and allure. Lexa knew this decision required more than a cursory glance at photographs. It was about finding a connection, a match that felt right on multiple levels. 

As she continued to gaze at Clarke’s image, Lexa felt a curious pull, a fascination that urged her to reconsider what she thought she had been looking for in an alpha. Clarke’s striking blue eyes seemed to beckon for consideration, asking Lexa to step beyond the familiar and entertain the possibilities that lay in unexpected quarters. 

As Lexa continued to sit on her couch, the images of the three alphas lingered on her phone screen, each one offering a different possibility, a different future. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside her window. Lexa found herself lost in thought, trying to envision what a child with each of these individuals might look like. 

First, there was Jacob, with his warm brown eyes and dark hair, features that gave him an approachable, boy-next-door charm. Lexa imagined a child with similar soft, dark locks, perhaps inheriting Jacob's easy smile and the inherent kindness that seemed to radiate from his expression. 

Then there was Roan, with his intense blue eyes and dark, slightly wild hair. His features were sharp, his presence in the photo almost commanding. A child with Roan might inherit those striking blue eyes, Lexa thought, along with a likely strong-willed spirit and perhaps that same sense of resilience that Roan seemed to embody. 

Finally, her mind drifted to Clarke. The image of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed alpha with a distinct chin dimple was vivid in her mind. Lexa found herself particularly curious about this feature—a charming little dimple that added so much character to Clarke's smile. Would a child with Clarke inherit that same dimple? Lexa pictured a little one with light hair and those piercing blue eyes, maybe running around with a mischievous grin punctuated by that adorable dimple. 

Each mental image brought a smile to Lexa's face but also added layers of complexity to her decision. This wasn't just about choosing a partner for conception; it was about choosing half of the genetic makeup of her future child. Each alpha not only offered different physical traits but also different backgrounds and personalities that would influence their child. 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling both overwhelmed and excited by the possibilities. As she sipped her tea, now lukewarm, she realized that this decision would shape not just her future, but that of her child. She knew that beyond looks, she needed to consider which values and qualities she most hoped to pass on. The process felt daunting, yet the thought of motherhood filled her with a profound sense of purpose. As the evening waned, Lexa knew that these reflections were just the beginning of her journey towards making one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

After a period, Lexa felt the need to share her thoughts and get some feedback. She reached for her phone, dialed Anya, and quickly forwarded the email with the images of the alphas she was considering. 

"Hey Anya, can you check your email real quick? I sent you something important," Lexa said as soon as her cousin answered the phone. 

"Got it, let's see these candidates," Anya replied, her interest piqued. They started with Jacob, whose soft features and kind eyes made a good first impression. Then they moved on to Roan. "He looks exactly like what you’d expect an alpha to look like, doesn’t he?" Anya remarked, clearly impressed by his strong, intense demeanor. 

Lexa chuckled, "Of course, an alpha would pick the most alpha-looking of the three." 

However, the conversation took a turn when Anya opened Clarke’s image. "Oh, wow, this is a female alpha. That’s unexpected." 

Lexa nodded to herself, feeling a mix of emotions. "Yeah, it adds another layer to Clarke. I've always been attracted to female alphas, but I was open to a male alpha, thinking it might be simpler for the whole baby process." 

Anya paused, considering Lexa's words. "How do you feel about Clarke being in the mix now? This is a bit of a curveball." 

"It is," Lexa agreed. "But honestly, seeing Clarke in there, it kind of stirred something. My ex was a female alpha, too. There’s a familiarity there." 

"Sounds like Clarke’s presence is challenging some of your initial thoughts," Anya said thoughtfully. "But Lex, this is about what you want and need right now. If Clarke resonates with you more, maybe there’s more to think about here than just going the straightforward path." 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling the weight and truth in Anya’s words. "I guess you’re right. I need to think about what each option could really mean for me and the future. Clarke being a female alpha isn’t just a detail; it’s significant to how I feel about this whole process." 

As they wrapped up their conversation, Lexa felt grateful for Anya’s insight and understanding. Discussing each candidate openly had clarified not just the practical considerations but also the emotional ones. Now, more than ever, Lexa knew her decision would not only be informed by what was expected but also by what felt right for her personally. 

With the images of the alphas now in her possession, Lexa faced a self-imposed deadline: by Friday, she needed to make her decision. The choice she was about to make was not just about selecting an alpha but choosing a co-contributor to a life-changing journey. It would set the course for her long-held dream of becoming a mother. 

Over the next two days, Lexa immersed herself in deep reflection. She had swiftly eliminated Roan from her list of potential candidates. His intensity, though initially striking, felt somewhat overpowering upon further consideration, and she realized it didn't align with the kind of parental influence she envisioned for her child. 

Now, it was down to Jacob and Clarke. Jacob, with his gentle demeanor and environmental passion, seemed like a safe and rational choice. His traits aligned well with Lexa's values, and she could easily envision him as a positive genetic influence on her child. Yet, despite the logical fit Jacob presented, Lexa found her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to Clarke. 

Clarke's presence in the selection process had been unexpected and impactful. As a female alpha, she brought a familiar dynamic that resonated deeply with Lexa, reminding her of the past. Lexa had to admit, there was a certain allure and comfort in the idea of choosing a female alpha. 

Sitting at her dining room table with both profiles laid out before her, Lexa pondered whether her inclination towards Clarke was primarily influenced by her being a female alpha. Was it the novelty and emotional resonance of Clarke's status that drew her in, or was there something more substantial in Clarke's profile that connected with her own aspirations and dreams? 

Lexa spent hours dissecting every detail in their profiles, weighing not just the emotional but also the pragmatic aspects of each choice. She considered not just who they were on paper, but who they might be in her life while conceiving a child. As she mulled over her options, Lexa tried to separate her feelings about their alpha status from what each could potentially offer as a co-contributor to her child’s genetic and cultural heritage. 

By Thursday evening, a decision began to crystallize in her mind. Lexa realized that her choice needed to be based on a balance of emotional resonance and practical considerations, a decision that felt right both in her heart and her mind.  

Friday morning dawned with a sense of resolution for Lexa. She had made her decision, and though nerves fluttered in her stomach, she was ready to take the next step. Sitting at her dining room table with her phone in hand, she dialed the number for the agency, her finger lingering over the call button for a moment before she pressed it. 

"Marlene speaking, how may I assist you today?" came the familiar, professional voice from the other end. 

"Hi Marlene, it’s Lexa Woods," she responded, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of anxiety. "I’ve made my decision regarding the alpha. I wanted to discuss it with you and see what the next steps are." 

"That's great to hear, Lexa," Marlene replied warmly. "I know this has been a thoughtful process for you. Who have you decided to go with?" 

After a slight pause, filled with a momentary doubt, Lexa affirmed, "I’ve chosen Clarke." 

"Clarke, excellent choice," Marlene said. "She brings a unique perspective and strengths. What ultimately led you to this decision?" 

Lexa hesitated, feeling a brief resurgence of her earlier indecision. "Well, there’s a lot about Clarke that resonates with me, her background, her values... and I guess the fact that she's a female alpha adds another layer of connection. I just hope I’ve made the right choice," Lexa confessed, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words. 

"Choosing an alpha is always a significant and personal decision, Lexa. It’s normal to have some last-minute doubts, but it’s important that it feels right to you. Let’s arrange a meeting with Clarke. You two can discuss everything openly, and it will also be a chance for you to address any concerns you might have before moving forward." 

"That would be very helpful," Lexa agreed, feeling reassured by Marlene's calm and understanding tone. "I think meeting her will give me the clarity to move forward confidently." 

"Perfect," Marlene responded. "I’ll arrange for you both to meet and discuss the details. You’ll also have the opportunity to sign the contracts, ensuring everything is transparent and agreed upon. I’ll look for some potential dates and get back to you as soon as possible." 

"Thank you, Marlene," Lexa said, relief washing over her. "I appreciate all your help." 

"You’re welcome, Lexa. We're here to make sure that you are comfortable and confident in your decisions. I’ll be in touch very soon with some dates for the meeting," Marlene assured her. 

As Lexa ended the call, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and a plan was in place. The thought of meeting Clarke and discussing the future brought a mix of excitement and a newfound peace. Lexa knew that whatever doubts she had would likely be settled once she and Clarke could sit down and talk face to face. 

Marlene had been efficient and considerate in her arrangements. She set the meeting for two weeks out, giving Lexa and Clarke ample time to prepare for their first encounter. The date was marked on Lexa’s calendar, each day inching closer filled with a blend of anticipation and nerves. 

Finally, the day of the meeting arrived. Lexa stood in front of her closet in the morning, her mind racing with the unusual complexity of choosing the right outfit. "What do you wear to a meeting with someone you are contractually going to be sleeping with in order to create a child?" she muttered to herself. The question was as surreal as her situation. 

After much deliberation, Lexa opted for something that struck a balance between professional and comfortable—an elegant blouse paired with well-fitted trousers. It was important to her that she present herself as both serious about the arrangement and approachable. 

Driving to the agency, Lexa’s hands were slightly shaking on the steering wheel. Her mind was a whirlwind of what-ifs and hopes. As she parked her car and walked toward the office building, she took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. 

The agency’s office was a space Lexa had become familiar with over the past weeks, but today, it seemed to hold a new form of gravity. Marlene greeted her warmly at the door, her smile reassuring. 

"Clarke just arrived. She’s waiting in the meeting room," Marlene informed her, leading the way. 

Lexa’s steps felt heavy yet determined as she approached the room. Marlene opened the door, and there sat Clarke, just as striking in person as she was in her photo. Her presence seemed to command the room, yet there was a softness in her eyes as she looked up and met Lexa’s gaze. 

"Lexa, meet Clarke. Clarke, this is Lexa," Marlene introduced. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke said, standing up to shake her hand. Her voice was calm, carrying a hint of warmth that eased some of Lexa's tension. 

"Hello, Clarke," Lexa replied, her voice steadier than she felt. The handshake was firm and brief, but Lexa felt a surprising jolt of connection—an electric mix of nerves and excitement. 

Marlene excused herself, leaving them to converse privately. "I’ll give you both some space to discuss. If you need anything, I'll be right outside," she said before closing the door gently behind her. 

In the quiet confines of the meeting room, the air thick with anticipation, Lexa and Clarke faced each other. Their initial nervousness was palpable, each aware of the significance and unusual nature of their meeting. Clarke, sensing the growing tension, decided it was time to steer the conversation towards more familiar ground. 

"So, Lexa," Clarke began, her tone casual yet curious, "Marlene didn't tell me much about your professional background. What do you do for a living?" 

Lexa, slightly surprised by the shift towards personal details, replied, "I'm an accountant. I spend most of my days surrounded by numbers and spreadsheets." 

Clarke chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of amusement and relief at the shift to lighter conversation. "Oh, numbers and I have never been best friends. I was always the one in class who thought 'algebra' was a foreign language," she joked, a playful smile crossing her features. 

Lexa found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since the meeting began, the tension easing from her shoulders. Clarke's humor and light-heartedness were infectious, and it helped Lexa feel more at ease. Encouraged by the more relaxed atmosphere, Lexa decided to learn more about Clarke's interests. 

"I saw in your profile that you’re an artist," Lexa said, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. "What kind of art do you do?" 

Clarke’s face brightened at the question, clearly passionate about her craft. "I work mostly with mixed media. I love exploring textures and layers—there’s something about the tactile process of creating something tangible that really excites me. It’s a way to express emotions that words can’t always capture." 

Lexa nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fascinating. Art seems like such a freeing way to express oneself." 

"It really is," Clarke agreed, her enthusiasm evident. "And every piece feels like a part of me, yet once it’s done, it belongs to the world, not just to me." 

Their conversation flowed more naturally now, the earlier awkwardness fading as they discussed their respective careers. Lexa felt a newfound appreciation for Clarke's artistic perspective, contrasting yet complementing her own methodical, numbers-driven approach. The dialogue not only bridged their understanding of each other’s professional lives but also built a deeper, more personal connection that eased their initial apprehensions about the arrangements ahead. 

After Lexa and Clarke had spent some time getting to know each other and discussing their backgrounds, the door to the conference room opened, and Marlene re-entered, a stack of papers in hand. She approached the table with a professional smile, setting down the documents before them. 

"Looks like you two have been having a good conversation," Marlene observed, taking a seat at the head of the table. She then shifted into her role as the facilitator of the process, her demeanor becoming more formal as she prepared to discuss the contracts and legalities. "I have here the draft contracts for your arrangement. Let's go through these together to ensure everything is clear and that all parties' expectations are met." 

Marlene spread the documents out so both Lexa and Clarke could see them. She began to go through each section meticulously, explaining the legal jargon and what it meant in practical terms. "This section here outlines the obligations of both parties, including medical examinations, confidentiality agreements, and the planned schedule for the conception process," she explained, pointing to each clause as she spoke. 

She then moved on to a critical part of the contract. "It's very important that both of you understand that this agreement is based on mutual consent and comfort levels. If at any point, for any reason, either of you feels that this arrangement isn't working out, you can withdraw from the contract." Marlene looked at both Lexa and Clarke earnestly, ensuring her point was clear. "This clause here provides the details on how to terminate the agreement respectfully and legally without facing any penalties." 

Marlene paused to allow Lexa and Clarke to absorb the information, checking their faces for any signs of confusion or concern. "Do either of you have any questions about this part, or is there anything in the agreement that you would like to discuss further or modify?" 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a glance, both appreciating the agency's emphasis on their comfort and autonomy within the process. Clarke nodded, indicating she understood and appreciated the terms, "It's reassuring to know that there's flexibility if the circumstances change." 

Lexa echoed Clarke’s sentiment. "Yes, I agree. It's important to have a way out if things don’t feel right. It makes the whole arrangement feel safer, more considered." 

Marlene nodded, pleased with their responses. "Absolutely, we want to make sure you both feel secure and supported throughout this process." She then continued to go through the rest of the contract, covering financial arrangements, the handling of medical data, and the support services the agency would provide. 

As the meeting drew to a close, Marlene handed each of them a pen. "Take your time to read through everything once more on your own. If you’re ready, you can sign today, or you can take the contracts home and think things over. We want you to make a decision when you're completely ready." 

As Marlene finished outlining the terms and left the choice to sign immediately or take the contracts home for further consideration, Clarke turned her gaze towards Lexa, silently seeking her input on how to proceed. The moment was charged with significance; the decision to sign now would cement their agreement, setting them firmly on a path toward a shared, albeit unique, journey. 

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She could feel the flutter of nerves in her stomach, but beneath that, a steady current of resolve. This was what she wanted, and every interaction and discussion up to this point had only solidified her confidence in her choice. 

Finally, with a nod to herself, Lexa reached for the pen that Marlene had placed on the table. Her hand was steady as she picked it up, and with a decisive motion, she signed her name on the dotted line. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper seemed to echo in the room, marking a significant milestone in her journey to motherhood. 

Clarke watched Lexa sign, noting the determination and clarity in her actions. Seeing Lexa make her decision with such resolve helped dispel any lingering hesitations Clarke might have had. Inspired by Lexa's confidence and encouraged by the thoroughness and fairness of the contract, Clarke picked up her own pen. With a thoughtful look at Lexa, acknowledging her readiness and mutual commitment, Clarke signed her name as well. 

As they both put their pens down, a sense of relief and anticipation filled the room. Marlene, witnessing this, offered them both a warm, reassuring smile. "Thank you both for your trust and courage in this process. I’ll make sure everything is processed promptly, and I’ll be here to support you both through every step that follows." 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had just agreed to embark on together. There was a mutual understanding that while the road ahead would be uncharted and not without its challenges, they were now linked by a shared commitment to bring a new life into the world, each in their respective roles. 

As Lexa and Clarke gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the conference room, Marlene interjected with one final point of order, outlining the next steps in their newly formalized agreement. 

"Before you both go, I want to discuss the logistics of your first official meeting," Marlene began, her tone shifting back to her professional demeanor. "The agency has protocols in place to ensure the safety and comfort of all parties involved, especially during initial meetings." 

She pulled out a small tablet and tapped a few times on the screen, pulling up a schedule. "We prefer to arrange the meetings on neutral ground. It helps maintain privacy and provides a secure environment for both of you." Marlene looked up from her tablet, making sure she had both Lexa and Clarke’s attention. 

"For this purpose, we usually arrange for a hotel room. This setting not only ensures confidentiality but also allows you both to meet in a neutral, comfortable environment without the pressures or personal biases that might come from meeting in a more personal space," Marlene explained. She assured them that the agency had longstanding arrangements with a reputable hotel chain known for its discretion and high standards of service. 

"We’ll handle all the bookings and logistics. You won’t need to worry about any of the arrangements," she continued. "I’ll send you both the details and date options for your first meeting. You can choose what works best for both of you." 

Marlene’s explanation provided a clear framework for how the initial stages of their agreement would proceed, emphasizing the agency’s commitment to maintaining a professional and secure process. "Safety and comfort are our top priorities. We want to ensure that both of you feel secure and at ease during your meetings." 

Lexa and Clarke nodded in understanding, appreciating the thoroughness with which the agency was handling the situation. The idea of meeting in a hotel for the first few times made sense, and the agency’s attention to detail and safety was reassuring. 

"Once I have everything arranged, I will send you an email with all the information, including the date, time, and location of the hotel. You will both have access to the private suite, and agency staff will be available on-call, should you need any assistance during the meeting," Marlene concluded, her tone both serious and comforting. 

With everything laid out so clearly and professionally, Lexa and Clarke felt more confident about the steps ahead. They thanked Marlene for her assistance and left the office with a sense of readiness for the next phases of their journey together. The agency’s meticulous planning and support made a complex process seem manageable and secure. 

As soon as Lexa got back into her car, she couldn't resist the urge to share the events of the meeting with Anya. She quickly dialed her cousin, who picked up after just a couple of rings. 

"Hey, Lex, how did it go?" Anya's voice was eager but tinged with concern. 

"It was... good, really good," Lexa began, her voice carrying a mix of relief and excitement. "Clarke is nothing like I expected. She’s very grounded and seems genuinely interested in making sure this works out for the best." 

"Oh? And how does she look? Did she match up to her picture?" Anya asked, her tone playful yet probing. 

Lexa laughed softly, a blush creeping across her cheeks even though Anya couldn’t see it. "Yes, she looks just like her photo. But her eyes, Anya, they’re this striking shade of blue. It’s almost mesmerizing." 

There was a brief pause before Anya responded, her voice now carrying a note of caution. "Lex, remember this is a business arrangement. Don’t get carried away because of pretty eyes. You told me she’s there for the money, right?" 

Lexa sighed, knowing Anya was just looking out for her. "Yes, I know. And yes, the financial aspect is a part of this for her, like it is for many alphas. But she doesn’t make it feel transactional, you know? She's professional but also really considerate." 

Switching topics slightly, Lexa then shared more details about the arrangements that had been made for their upcoming interactions. "Marlene arranged for us to meet in a hotel. It’s a neutral place, which the agency has set up for safety and privacy. They’ve really thought of everything to make sure both parties feel secure." 

Anya listened intently, her initial skepticism giving way to understanding. "That sounds sensible. They seem to be handling things very professionally. Just... be careful, Lex. I know you, and I know how easily you can get attached." 

Lexa nodded to herself, taking in Anya’s advice. "I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open—figuratively and literally," she added with a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. 

"Good to hear," Anya replied, her tone softening. "Keep me updated, okay? And if you need to talk, anytime, I’m here." 

"Will do. Thanks, Anya. I really appreciate it," Lexa said, feeling grateful for having someone like Anya to confide in. 

With that, they ended the call, and Lexa sat for a moment in the quiet of her car, reflecting on the conversation. She felt a blend of caution and excitement—a cocktail of emotions that she would need to manage carefully as she navigated this uncharted path. 

Lexa stared at the computer screen, her eyes tracing over the details outlined in the email. The room at the Arkadia Hotel was booked under the agency's name, providing an added layer of privacy and discretion with the room number assigned to Lexa being "439". The preparations were meticulous, reflecting the seriousness and sensitivity of their upcoming encounter. 

As she absorbed the reality of the arrangement, Lexa's mind wandered to the intricate details of alpha and omega biology—a fundamental aspect that dictated the unique way they could conceive. The biological necessity for an alpha to 'knot' during intercourse to successfully conceive was an evolutionary trait, deeply embedded in their genetics. It was a process designed to enhance the probability of conception, ensuring that during the crucial moments, the alpha's body could maximize the chance of fertilizing the omega's egg. 

This biological imperative was at the forefront of Lexa's thoughts as she contemplated her meeting with Clarke. The concept was still somewhat surreal to her. On one hand, the scientific aspect of it made sense, and she respected the biological processes involved. On the other hand, facing the reality of engaging intimately with someone who was essentially a stranger, even with mutual agreement and understanding, was daunting. 

The part of Lexa that hesitated wasn't concerned with the logistics or the biological necessities—those were facts she had come to terms with when she decided on this path. Instead, it was the emotional aspect, the vulnerability of sharing such a personal experience with someone she hadn't known long. Yet, despite these reservations, the stronger part of her—the part driven by her deep desire to become a mother—was prepared to move forward. 

As she sat there, Lexa reminded herself why she had chosen this path. It wasn't just about fulfilling her desire to have a child; it was about doing so in a way that felt right to her, under terms she had carefully considered and agreed upon. Clarke, too, had her reasons for participating, and their prior meeting had laid a foundation of mutual respect and understanding. 

With each passing moment, Lexa's resolve grew stronger. She knew that the biological processes were just one part of the equation. The more significant component was her readiness to embrace the responsibilities and joys of motherhood. By the time she closed her laptop, Lexa felt a quiet confidence. She was ready for Saturday—not just to meet the biological demands of the process, but to take a significant step towards a future she had long envisioned for herself. 

Lexa arrived at the Arkadia Hotel promptly at 4 PM, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and resolve. The hotel's lobby was bustling with activity, but she navigated through it with a sense of purpose, her focus fixed on the task ahead. At the front desk, she confirmed her identity discreetly, referring only to the reservation number and the agency's name. The clerk handed her a key card with a polite, professional smile that didn't probe too deeply into the reasons for her stay. 

With key card in hand, Lexa made her way to her room, her steps measured and her mind racing. The hallways of the hotel were elegantly carpeted and softly lit, creating an atmosphere of privacy and tranquility that helped soothe her escalating anxiety. Each step brought her closer to a moment that might very well define her future. 

Standing before the door marked with the number 439, Lexa paused, her hand hovering over the key card reader. She knew that behind this door, preparations would need to be made, both mentally and physically, before Clarke's arrival. The agency had arranged for Clarke to arrive later, giving Lexa ample time to acclimate to the environment, to settle her thoughts, and to prepare herself emotionally and physically for what was to come. 

All she had to do was swipe the key card and step inside. Taking a deep breath, Lexa steadied her trembling hand and slid the card through the reader. The light blinked green, and a soft click signaled her access. Pushing the door open, she stepped into the room. 

The room was tastefully decorated, neutral tones and soft lighting crafting a calming environment. There was an understated elegance to it, conducive to both comfort and privacy. Lexa let her gaze sweep over the space—the king bed, the sitting area with its inviting sofa, and a small work desk that faced a large window with curtains drawn. 

Closing the door behind her, Lexa allowed herself a few moments to just stand and absorb the reality of her surroundings. This was the setting where she hoped her dream of motherhood would begin to materialize. It felt surreal, yet incredibly real at the same time. 

She placed her small overnight bag on the bed, unpacking a few personal items to make the space feel more familiar. Lexa then spent some time simply sitting on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts. She reflected on her journey to this point—the decisions made, the fears confronted, and the hopes cherished. 

As the time ticked closer to 6 PM, Lexa prepared herself, changing into something comfortable yet appropriate for the occasion. She reminded herself why she was here, focusing on the positive outcomes she hoped to achieve. This was about more than just the mechanics of conception; it was about taking control of her destiny and shaping the future she desired. 

By the time Lexa heard a knock at the door just after 6 PM, signaling Clarke’s arrival, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and clarity. She was ready to open the door, not just to Clarke, but to the possibilities that lay ahead. 

Lexa walked to the door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She reached out, her hand almost trembling as she turned the handle. The door swung open, and there stood Clarke, her presence as compelling in person as it had been in their previous meeting. Clarke offered Lexa a shy, somewhat tentative smile—a softening of her usually confident demeanor that made her seem more approachable in this intensely personal setting. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke greeted with a quiet warmth, her voice carrying a hint of nervous anticipation. 

"Hello, Clarke. Come in," Lexa replied, stepping aside to allow Clarke entry into the room. Her heart was beating fast, but she managed to maintain a composed exterior. 

Clarke stepped past the threshold, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she entered. The soft lighting and tasteful decor seemed to impress her, and a small, appreciative smile appeared on her face. "This is a nice room," she commented, her tone carrying genuine approval. "The agency really does ensure comfort, don't they?" 

"Yes, they do," Lexa responded, closing the door behind Clarke. She felt a slight relief that the initial moment of greeting was over, and now they could proceed with the reason they were both there. "They try to make this as comfortable as possible for everyone involved." 

Clarke nodded, setting down a small bag she had brought with her. She looked around, taking in the environment that would play a significant role in the next steps they were about to take. The room, was designed to be calming, a sanctuary from the outside world and the weight of the decisions made within its confines. 

Turning back to Lexa, Clarke's initial shyness seemed to melt away slightly as she became more accustomed to the setting. "I appreciate the effort to make everything feel serene. It helps," she admitted, meeting Lexa’s eyes with a more steady gaze. 

Lexa nodded, feeling a similar gratitude for the care taken to create a space that respected the gravity of their meeting. "I agree. It makes things a little easier," she said, managing a small smile. 

There was a brief pause as both women acknowledged the situation, the room serving as a silent witness to their agreement and the hopes tied to it. Then, almost instinctively, Lexa gestured towards the small sitting area. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some water or coffee before we... start?" 

Clarke agreed, appreciating the offer to ease into the moment more gently. "Water would be great, thank you," she said, her voice steady but still carrying a trace of the nerves they both felt. 

As Lexa went to get the water, the air between them filled with a quiet acknowledgment of the partnership they were about to embark upon, each aware of the significance of their actions, yet comforted by the shared understanding and the meticulously arranged environment that surrounded them. 

Clarke made her way to the sofa, settling into the soft cushions with a slight exhale that betrayed her underlying nervousness. Lexa opened the mini-fridge, retrieving a bottle of water which she handed to Clarke with a gentle, reassuring smile. The small, ordinary gesture seemed to anchor them both amidst the swirling emotions of the occasion. 

Lexa lingered by the edge of the sitting area, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure of her next move. The room, while comfortable and inviting, suddenly felt too vast, filled with unspoken expectations and the weight of their impending decision. 

Clarke noticed Lexa's hesitation and patted the space next to her on the sofa. "Why don't you sit here?" she suggested, her voice carrying a soft but clear invitation. "It might be more comfortable to talk this way." 

Lexa nodded, grateful for Clarke's lead. She moved to the sofa, taking a seat at a respectful distance that still allowed for private conversation. She could feel the warmth of Clarke's presence beside her, a comforting reminder that they were in this together. 

Once settled, Clarke unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a sip, then turned slightly to face Lexa. She initiated some light conversation, perhaps recognizing the need to ease into the deeper discussions that lay ahead. "So, how was your day before coming here? Anything interesting happen?" 

Lexa took a moment to switch gears from the intense internal monologue she had been engaged in all day. "Oh, it was pretty routine," she replied, managing a small chuckle. "Just some last-minute work stuff and mentally preparing for today. What about you? Did you find time to do any art today?" 

Clarke shook her head, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Not today, unfortunately. But I did spend some time in the studio yesterday. It helps clear my mind, you know?" 

"Yeah, I can imagine," Lexa responded, feeling the conversation begin to flow more naturally between them. "Art seems like a great way to express and maybe even sort through feelings, especially with everything that's going on." 

Clarke nodded, visibly relaxed as the topic turned to her passion for art. "Exactly. It's not just about creating something beautiful or interesting. It's also therapeutic. It gives me a space to process things—a bit like an escape, but also a way to confront emotions directly." 

As they continued talking, the atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke began to shift subtly. Clarke's discussion about her art opened a window into her inner world, showing Lexa the passion and depth that motivated her work. The conversation seemed to flow effortlessly now, with each topic leading seamlessly into the next, covering everything from favorite artists to the influence of different art forms on society. 

The air lightened around them, filled with shared laughter and nods of understanding, as the initial awkwardness melted away under the warmth of genuine connection. They found common ground in unexpected places and differed in others, which only added layers to their interaction, making it richer, more textured. 

About 30 minutes into their conversation, as they were discussing the emotional power of color in visual art, Clarke reached out and gently took Lexa's hand. Lexa felt a sudden impulse to retract her hand, startled by the unexpected contact. The moment hung between them, charged with the potential for deeper connection or withdrawal. But as she met Clarke’s eyes, Lexa saw the intention there—soft, unassuming, aiming to add a layer of intimacy and reassurance to their conversation. 

Understanding Clarke’s gesture as an effort to bridge the gap between them further, Lexa relaxed and allowed her hand to stay in Clarke’s gentle grasp. The touch was comforting, grounding, and it brought a new level of openness to their dialogue. 

Clarke’s thumb brushed lightly over Lexa’s hand, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor them both more firmly in the present moment. "Art is my way of understanding the world, and sometimes of escaping it," Clarke shared, her voice soft but resonant. "It's personal, yes, but sharing it feels like extending a part of myself to others, hoping they might understand or feel something too." 

Lexa nodded, feeling the truth of those words resonate within her. "I think that's brave—putting a piece of yourself into your work and then putting it out there for the world to see and experience." 

The atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke thickened with unspoken promises as the moments stretched on, each second building upon the last. Clarke's gaze intensified, conveying a mix of curiosity and boldness as she leaned in closer to Lexa. Her movements were deliberate, aimed at closing the distance between them with a cautious yet clear intent. When their eyes met, there was a silent exchange, a question posed and an answer given without words. 

Clarke's lips touched Lexa's softly at first, a gentle test of boundaries that was sweet and tentative. The world around them seemed to pause, holding its breath along with them. Lexa's response was subtle but encouraging, enough to spur Clarke on. Pulling back slightly, Clarke searched Lexa’s eyes once more, seeking reassurance. What she found was a quiet acceptance, a willingness to explore the emotions that were beginning to simmer between them. 

Emboldened by Lexa's silent affirmation, Clarke leaned in once more, this time with a firmer resolve. Her lips met Lexa's with more purpose, conveying a deeper intent. The kiss deepened, driven by a blend of newfound affection and a shared desire to discover more about each other through this new, unspoken language. 

As the intensity of their kisses grew, so did their need for each other's closeness. The initial cautious exploration gave way to a more passionate expression of their burgeoning connection. Clarke’s hands found their way to Lexa's cheeks, holding her gently yet firmly, anchoring her as they navigated this new terrain together. Lexa responded in kind, her hands threading through Clarke's hair, pulling her closer, deepening their embrace. 

The kisses evolved, becoming a profound dialogue of their lips and breaths, each kiss building upon the last, growing more fervent, more insistent. The connection sparked between them ignited something deeper, a flame that had been cautiously kindled now threatening to burn brightly. 

Eventually, the need for air forced them apart, and they pulled back, each catching their breath, their foreheads resting against each other. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, heavy and warm. The room around them came back into focus slowly, the sounds of the city beyond the walls creeping back into their awareness. 

Clarke and Lexa remained close, neither willing to break the connection entirely. Their eyes met again, this time reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability after sharing such a potent moment. The initial purpose of their arrangement still loomed in the background, but what had transpired between them now added a profound layer of intimacy and complexity to their relationship. This was no longer just about an agreement or a process—it was about them, here and now, together in a way that was unexpectedly profound. 

In the quiet aftermath of their breathless exchange, the air between Clarke and Lexa was charged with a new, palpable energy. Clarke, sensing the shift in their dynamic, slowly stood up from the sofa. There was a silent invitation in her posture, a gentle yet unmistakable beckoning as she extended her hand toward Lexa. 

Lexa watched Clarke's movement, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief internal debate visible in her eyes as she considered Clarke's offered hand. It symbolized more than just a physical gesture; it was an invitation to continue exploring the depth of connection they had unexpectedly discovered. 

With a subtle nod to herself, as if making a decision, Lexa placed her hand in Clarke’s. The contact was electric, reigniting the spark that had flared between them moments before. Pulled by a force that felt both thrilling and inevitable, Lexa stood, bringing her face to face with Clarke once again. 

They stood there, hand in hand, close enough to feel each other's breath. The world around them seemed to fade, narrowing down to the space they shared. Lexa's eyes locked onto Clarke's, searching, questioning, and finding answers in the deep blue that stared back at her with an intensity that matched her own. 

Without breaking eye contact, Clarke leaned in, her movements deliberate and full of intention. Lexa’s breath hitched, her body and mind anticipating the contact that was to come. As their lips met again, the kiss was different from the ones before. This time it was charged with the energy of standing together, of the decision to step into this space as equals, partners in whatever was unfolding between them. 

The kiss deepened naturally, their bodies instinctively moving closer until they were embracing fully, the world around them completely forgotten. Clarke's hands moved to Lexa’s lower back, pulling her closer, while Lexa’s arms wrapped around Clarke’s neck, anchoring herself to the moment, to Clarke. 

In that kiss, they communicated more than could be expressed in words. It was a promise, a commitment not just to the process they were undertaking but an acknowledgment of the vulnerability and strength found in true intimacy. 

As the intensity of their kisses deepened, Clarke gently guided Lexa towards the bed, their hands intertwined, conveying trust and mutual desire. The steps were few but filled with anticipation, each one marking a deeper commitment to the moment and to each other. As they reached the edge of the bed, their lips barely parted, sustaining the connection that had now become their world. 

Standing beside the bed, Clarke’s hands slowly found the edge of Lexa’s shirt. Each touch was careful, measured, filled with an unspoken question that Lexa answered with a slight nod, a breathless "yes" whispered between kisses. Clarke’s fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation but with the gravity of the moment, aware of the trust Lexa was placing in her. 

With each piece of clothing that Clarke gently removed, Lexa felt a layer of her defenses dissolve, not just exposing her skin but opening up deeper parts of herself. Clarke’s touch was reverent, filled with care and attentiveness that spoke volumes. She took her time, ensuring that each movement, each kiss that followed the removal of a garment, honored the vulnerability and strength Lexa displayed. 

Lexa, for her part, felt an overwhelming sense of being cared for. It was not just the physical undressing but the way Clarke managed every action with such gentleness—it made her feel cherished in a way she hadn’t anticipated in this arrangement. Each kiss Clarke planted on her newly exposed skin wasn't just sensual but comforting, affirming their connection and Clarke’s respect for her. 

As Lexa stood there, with Clarke’s hands skillfully and tenderly ensuring her comfort, she found herself more assured with each passing second. The vulnerability of being undressed was overshadowed by the security Clarke’s demeanor provided. It was a strange, beautiful dichotomy—standing there exposed yet feeling entirely safe. 

When Lexa was finally free of her clothing, Clarke paused, giving her a moment to adjust. She looked into Lexa’s eyes, seeking any signs of discomfort or withdrawal. Seeing none, only a quiet gratitude and trust, Clarke leaned in for another kiss, this one conveying her appreciation for Lexa’s trust. 

They moved together onto the bed, their movements synchronized, a dance guided by mutual understanding and the desire to maintain the emotional connection that had become as vital as their physical one.  

As they shifted together on the soft expanse of the bed, Clarke carefully positioned herself between Lexa's legs. The air around them was thick with anticipation, yet Clarke made no immediate move to continue. Instead, she paused, her eyes lifting to meet Lexa's in a silent, searching communication. The intensity of her gaze was soft but intent, probing gently for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty in Lexa's expression. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke’s gaze upon her, understood the unspoken question hanging between them. The world seemed to hold its breath as she considered her feelings, the warmth of Clarke's body an anchoring presence. In Clarke's eyes, she saw not just desire but a profound care and patience. It was clear Clarke was ready to stop at the slightest hint of reluctance, ready to put Lexa’s emotional well-being above all else. 

Feeling a surge of trust and a deep, affirming connection to Clarke, Lexa reached up, her hand gently caressing Clarke’s cheek. Her touch was tender, meant to reassure as much as to give consent. With a soft smile that spoke volumes, Lexa nodded slightly, her eyes conveying her readiness and appreciation for Clarke’s considerate approach. 

Clarke, receiving the clear, affirmative response she had sought, allowed a relieved and grateful smile to curve her lips. But still, she moved slowly, maintaining eye contact as she gradually resumed closing the distance between them. Her actions were deliberate and unhurried, ensuring Lexa remained comfortable. 

As they lay together on the bed, the world outside the soft cocoon of their room seemed distant and unimportant. Clarke's kisses were tender and deliberate, focusing solely on Lexa's lips with a gentle insistence that spoke volumes. Each touch was filled with the silent communication that had become their language—a language of looks that asked and answered without words. 

Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and readiness, made no attempt to escalate beyond their kissing. She was content to explore the contours of Lexa's lips, the soft exchanges grounding and deepening their connection. The slow, purposeful pace she set was like a melody, soft and rhythmic, designed to soothe and affirm. 

Lexa, enveloped in the warmth of Clarke's nearness, felt a blossoming desire to move forward, driven not just by physical need but by the emotional intimacy they were weaving with each kiss. Feeling a growing urgency, Lexa began to gently shift her hips beneath Clarke, a subtle movement but a clear indication of her readiness to deepen their physical connection. Her movements were hesitant at first, testing Clarke’s response, seeking to communicate her desires without disrupting the harmony of their current engagement. 

Clarke, ever so perceptive to Lexa’s cues, felt the gentle undulation of Lexa's hips against her. She paused, their lips parting slightly as she sought Lexa's eyes. In them, Clarke found not just the green light she needed but a spark of deeper desire, a silent plea to bridge the gap between affection and passion. 

Sensing Lexa's readiness, Clarke allowed a moment for them both to acknowledge the shift in their dynamic. She gave a small, affirming smile, her hands framing Lexa's face as if to say she understood, and she was there with her, every step of the way. 

Encouraged by Lexa's clear communication, Clarke deepened their kiss, her movements becoming more assured, more aligned with the rising tide of their desires. Her hands, which had been content to cradle Lexa’s face, now wandered with purpose, tracing paths down her neck and shoulders, mapping the terrain of her skin with a reverent touch. 

Lexa responded in kind, her own hands exploring Clarke’s back, pulling her closer, reducing the space between them to nothing. Their movements became a dance, a give and take that spoke of mutual desire —a dance that promised to carry them forward into the next chapter of their night together. 

As the depth of their connection grew more intense, Clarke remained acutely aware of the trust Lexa had placed in her. With every move she made, Clarke was considerate, her actions measured and gentle to ensure she maintained the sanctity of that trust. When the moment came to deepen their physical connection further, Clarke approached it with a profound sense of responsibility and care. 

With a reassuring look into Lexa's eyes, Clarke sought silent permission to continue, waiting for a nod of assent before proceeding. Lexa's response, a soft affirmation accompanied by a nervous but trusting smile, gave Clarke the green light she needed. Very slowly, Clarke began to slide closer, merging their bodies in the most intimate of ways. 

Clarke's movements were slow, almost painstakingly so, as she carefully navigated this new level of closeness. She was acutely conscious of Lexa's reactions, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. As Clarke gradually slid into Lexa, she made sure to control her movements, giving Lexa time to adjust to the new sensations. 

"Are you alright?" Clarke whispered, her voice low and soothing.  

Lexa, feeling the care with which Clarke moved, nodded, her initial tension easing under Clarke's attentive gaze. "Yes," she breathed out, a hint of relief in her voice as she found the sensation different but not unpleasant, her body slowly adapting to Clarke's presence. 

Clarke paused, allowing Lexa a moment to get accustomed to the feeling, her hand gently caressing Lexa's arm in a comforting gesture. The room was filled with a tense but tender energy, each aware of the significance of the moment. 

As Lexa relaxed more, Clarke continued, still cautious, moving in a rhythm dictated by Lexa's responses. Every slight adjustment, every careful motion was made with Lexa’s comfort in mind. Clarke’s focus was entirely on Lexa, ensuring that her experience was as gentle and loving as possible. 

As Clarke and Lexa continued their intimate connection, the intensity of their movements gradually built up. Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and reactions, had initially maintained a slow and gentle rhythm, ensuring that every motion was measured and considerate. However, as the moments passed, the natural progression of their physical responses began to drive the pace. 

Clarke could feel the building pressure of her own impending release, a physical response that would soon reach its peak. She knew it was crucial for Lexa to be ready for her knot. This required a careful balance, speeding up her movements to match the escalating intensity while ensuring Lexa was not overwhelmed. 

With a deep breath to steady her nerves and focus her intentions, Clarke began to gradually increase the rhythm of her hips, her movements becoming more deliberate. "Lexa," she murmured softly, her voice a blend of desire and concern, "I'm getting close. Just let me know if you need me to slow down, okay?" 

Lexa, caught up in the rising tide of sensation, nodded, her breath coming in quicker gasps. She placed her hands on Clarke's hips, a silent signal of her engagement and readiness. Lexa's eyes, wide and focused, locked with Clarke's, communicating her trust and willingness to continue. 

Clarke, reassured by Lexa's response, carefully monitored her own body's signals while also watching Lexa's reactions closely. She adjusted her movements, aligning them with Lexa's subtle cues and the increasing demands of her own body. The tempo of her hips quickened in a controlled manner, each thrust deeper and more purposeful. 

As Clarke navigated this critical juncture, her focus was split between her own physiological responses and Lexa's comfort. She was acutely aware of the importance of timing and coordination in this moment for achieving their goal. 

The air hummed with the rhythm of their synchronized breaths, the faint whisper of skin gliding against skin. Clarke felt the imminent onset of her climax, the pressure mounting inexorably. She continued to move with a mixture of urgency and care, prepared to guide both herself and Lexa through the intensity of the experience. 

Their connection, both physical and emotional, had deepened throughout their encounter, each moment building upon the last to create a profound bond. As Clarke approached her peak, she held Lexa's gaze, seeking and finding the reassurance she needed to let go, trusting that Lexa was with her every step of the way. 

As the crescendo of Clarke's movements reached its peak, the inevitable moment of release washed over her with overwhelming intensity. Her body tensed, every muscle straining under the force of her climax. The world narrowed to the profound connection between them, a visceral link that pulsed with each beat of her heart. 

Overwhelmed by the surge of sensations, Clarke's strength waned, and she could no longer support herself. Gently, she collapsed onto Lexa, her breath ragged and heavy, echoing in the quiet of the room. Her body molded against Lexa's, a perfect fit that spoke volumes of their physical and emotional synchrony throughout this intimate journey. 

After her release, Clarke sought to maintain their closeness, turning her face towards Lexa's neck. She pressed soft kisses there, near Lexa's pulse point where she could feel the rapid beat of Lexa's heart against her lips. Clarke’s breath warmed Lexa’s skin, her exhales becoming slower and more measured as she gradually regained her composure. 

The room was filled with a palpable sense of completion and tranquility, the lingering tension dissolving into a peaceful stillness. Lexa murmured gently into Clarke's ear, her voice low and soothing, "Thank you," a simple phrase that carried the weight of her appreciation for Clarke’s participation in such a profound moment. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke's weight comfortably against her, wrapped her arms around Clarke, holding her close. She responded in kind, her own breathing syncing with Clarke’s as they both relaxed into the afterglow. Lexa’s fingers trailed softly down Clarke’s back, grounding her with gentle, reassuring touches that conveyed her own deep sense of connection and care. 

[yusume-the-writer]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

I decided to do this, because Domina is my favorite character in the work and HE NEEDS AND DESERVES ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD *ahem* anyway, as I said I saw little about him, I decided to do it

 (English is not my native language, so I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors, and if there are, please let me know. I would be grateful to improve my English, and there is no need to use a translator)

   

           *╔═══❖•ೋ° °ೋ•❖═══╗*

It's very difficult to say what Domina's main love language would be, but if I were to choose one, I would say it would be acts of service

 ↑ It doesn't matter if it's something that you don't need help with or that you can do alone, Domina always appears to lend a hand or do it for you

 ↑ But if you do the same thing, you may notice a slight reddish tone at the tips of his ears and the softest smile that has been seen by humanity

 You become practically the only person who can calm him down when he is furious

 ↑ More specifically, you calm his anger and hatred to the point where he finds it strange that he doesn't feel angry about certain things (his brother Mash)

 Your relationship is very private, but that doesn't mean it's a secret from others.

 ↑ Some people think you're lying when you say you're dating Domina, and they make fun of you or tell you not to say stupid things

 ↑ This is because you don't act much like a couple and also because some people think that Domina would be with someone 'superior' to you (don't let Domina know this if you don't want anyone to leave without a life)

 ↑ You're kind of used to it, so you just ignore it and say something like "believe what you want" and then leave to spend time with Domina

Even before you guys weren't dating, Domina showed favoritism toward you

 ↑For example, every time he is in a group activity and you are not there, Domina watches and gives some tips here and there, and he would only do something if necessary

 ↑ However.... with you and another story, every time you are together in a group activity, Domina participates more than usual and does everything to make it happen perfectly

 ↑ If this happens, please praise him and say you are proud of him. The poor guy deserves all the love he can get

 Kind of like Domina doesn't like PDA, since he prefers his relationship away from people's eyes, and in case someone tries to do something bad to you because of him (something impossible knowing Domina's strength),

 ↑ But inside the room? Oh boy, he'll almost jump on you if he's too needy

 He prefers to be the little spoon (but sometimes he is the big spoon), since he feels loved that way

 ↑ So it's more common for him to always rest his head on your chest or hide his head on your neck

 ↑ One time you were curious why he likes to rest his head on your chest, and he kind of replies, "I like listening to your heartbeat, that's all," with a smile with his eyes closed

I consider that Domina doesn't have a good sleep routine because he goes out at night to kill people (chap. 82), so when you're so gentle when playing with his hair, he kind of starts to fall asleep

 ↑ Please let him rest his head on your chest, play with his hair, and let him sleep, he is really grateful for that, and then he can be rewarded with lots of kisses

 Another thing that should not be left aside is that he is freezing, thus making him like your warmth.

 ↑ But how come he has a cold body like a corpse? I don't even know, I just know that he really appreciates your body heat

 Domina is sometimes a little shy when she receives your demonstrations of love, her ears turn slightly red

 ↑ But do you want to see him a blushing mess? Well, just give him a surprise hug, but not just any surprise hug, this moment must be the MOST RANDOM moment

↑ Like, when you see Domina just doing something, you just run up to him, jump on him and cling to him like a koala. You'll probably fall down, but it's cute to hear the strangled scream he lets out, and he also gets really embarrassed and starts stuttering until he finally gives up and has to hug him too

As said in the fan book, Domina is always everywhere but never seen/found

 ↑ However, every time you go looking for Domina, you always manage to find her, unlike other people

 ↑ Every time they ask you, you kind of answer, "I don't know, I just think about where he would be and go to that place." Like, bro, how?????????

 ↑ So people kind of go looking for you so they can find Domina

 Study meeting

 ↑ Domina likes to help you with the simplest things possible, so he will always help you learn about Black Magic, while you help him learn about the History of Magic and Politics

 

 He is jealous

 ↑ But not worrying and such, he already knows that you love him and that you would never betray him

 ↑ However.... he doesn't like it when people get too close to you in a very 'friendly' way, he stares angrily until he starts to get depressed

 ↑ He starts thinking about how this person can be better than him, how they can give him the love he can't give because he doesn't understand this concept of a normal relationship since he is the son of a criminal, like...

 ↑ Please comfort him and tell him that after all these problems, you still love him

 ↑ This might make him cry because you love him even though he shows an emotional and weak side

You gifted him a stuffed naval

 ↑ Unbeknownst to you, the plush has become Domina's comfort item, and every time you are apart for a long period of time, he snuggles up to it

 ↑ He will never talk to you, his pride won't let him

 You once went to a secluded beach on a date and sat looking at the waves

 ↑ At certain times, Domina mentioned some facts about aquatic beings here and there

 ↑ And after a moment, you asked Domina if she wanted to look for shells, and he agreed. You found several shells, and they kind of became a symbol of your relationship

 ↑ It may be something simple, but it really was a unique experience for Domina is so calm without worrying about her father's duties and just spending time with her s/o

 No matter how much time passes, Domina will never forget the feeling of being loved just for himself, and he is grateful that you were the one who taught him about that feeling.

              *╚═══❖•ೋ° °ೋ•❖═══╝*

[bookworm-with-coffee]

Dancing With Death. . .

(John Mitchell x Reader)

(A/N); Hello-Ello! Welcome to my first Being Human fic! I've watched the first few seasons of this show and I'm delighted to continue watching the third. I love Mitchell's dynamic and character arc, Aidan absolutely smashing the role (as always). Do enjoy!! ❤❤

Plot; When a human is invited to live with the gang, things get rather complicated for one John Mitchell...

Pairings; John Mitchell x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; mature themes, violence, blood, coarse language, angst, eventual tooth-rotting fluff

__________________________________________

When you'd first laid eyes upon death, you thought he was human. You'd hardly expected the gentle kindness in his eyes, but maybe that's something you would come to love about him?

"I'm sorry, you've gone and done what? ", Mitchell gaped.

"Look, before this gets out of hand—", Annie tried.

"It did get out of hand! When you went and did that! ", George shouted, quickly falling to a panic. Every part of him wanted to break down and rip out his hair all at once. "Bringing a human here?? I thought the neighbours were bad, but oh no, you just had to go that one step further and invite one to live with us!! Gods, Annie, do you even think??".

Guilt churned within the ghost's gaze, her eyes drifting to Mitchell. "This house was for us, Annie", he sighed. "A safe haven where we can be ourselves! A human would take that from us!".

"Please", she begged their calm. "I've thought about this!! Rent is going up with the coming of the new lease, making it harder on both of you. Don't try to deny it". Annie raised a finger in warning. "And maybe some part of me wants a bit of human normality around here?".

"Yes, but in case you haven't noticed, a vampire, ghost and werewolf aren't exactly a part of any human normality!", George hissed. "Is nothing sacred? Nothing at all??".

"Absolutely not", Mitchell huffed. "A human living here is out of the question".

"I'm sorry you think that", Annie sighed, beginning to retreat from the room. "Because she's coming tomorrow morning to inspect the spare room". The boys went slack-jawed,

"WHAT?!".

That's how a very normal you came to meet the not-so-normal threesome of Windsor Terrace.

When you'd first stepped foot into the house, you weren't expecting the merry greeting you recieved from Annie. She made the house seem like a home. You'd instantly taken a liking to this boisterous and kind soul when she'd made you tea and toured you around the home. Her flatmates were cautious of you, but friendly nonetheless. They took a fascination in your studies and work, somewhat thrilled to have someone else sharing the rent with them to combat the pesky costs. From the morning you'd spent with the three flatmates, you finally felt you found where you'd belonged and didn't hesitate to sign up for their little condo.

The rest was history, Mitchell and George quickly warming to the idea of having you around. Of course, keeping their secrets had never been more imperative than it was with you living in the house. But, there were ways around it.

You'd spend two to five days of your week studying and at work. Mitchell and George also worked regularly, meaning that the evenings and their few days off were the only times they saw you. On those days off, they'd sometimes opt to go out, as you liked to clean the house anyway.

However, you couldn't ignore the strangeness these flatmates had about them in their mundane lives.

Annie loved your company when you helped around the house, the both of you quickly growing close. But one day, she'd completely disappeared. When you'd ask them, the lads would tell you that sometimes Annie leaves randomly to run errands or work. Unbeknownst to yourself, she'd still be around and seen by the lads. Even when you couldn't see or hear her, she was comforted by your presence whilst you'd dance with loud music and clean. It was a comfort to see some human normality in the house.

On the days she wasn't restricted from your sight, you'd come to notice that Annie never ate. Strangely, she reasoned that she preferred to eat alone and you'd left it at that. Out of not wanting to be rude, you never mentioned her cold hands or embrace. She was so cold to the touch. But, maybe that was just her?? Mitchell was the same, after all.

The raven haired male was almost completely cold to the touch, as if he lacked all warmth. You'd asked playfully one day, recieving, 'Reynaud's Syndrome' as the answer. He claimed it was a disease passed to him by his family. When leaving the house even on warmer days, Mitchell always covered himself in many layers. He always wore sunglasses, even on cloudier days. When you'd brought it up, 'photosensitivity', was the answer. You'd started to become concerned that Mitchell suffered from everything, yet he seemed perfectly fine..

George seemed to be the most normal out of them. Warm to the touch, cautious of others, but polite and kind. He was dating a colleague of his, Nina, who sometimes passed by the house. The two often bounced off of each other, often undecided on where they stood with their relationship. You'd prayed they'd get it together. However, the brunette would take a once-monthly camping trip in the woods to apparently honour the tradition his grandfather had started with him. He'd come back dirty and battered after one night, but not even you had dared to ask your flatmates what he'd be doing. You offered to tag along once, George desperately insisting that it was the only 'alone time' he'd get. You never offered again.

All three flatmates knew they'd fooled you into thinking that this house was normal, but for how long??

Things were growing more complex in the world of the supernatural and you were the only one in the house that couldn't see it. You only saw the rippled reverberations in the water, the conflict and sadness in Mitchell's hazel eyes when he looked upon you.

You'd started to grow close with him as well, sharing in his love for history when he'd spotted you with a book. The conversations and playful debates quickly began, allowing you both to bond even beyond the topics of history. Mitchell was a genius when it came to modern history, as if he'd seen it with his own two eyes. His gaze seemed so old for such a young face and it fascinated you to no end. He struck you as an old soul, especially when he'd started showing you his favourite music and movies as well. All were from the 50's and 60's.

Despite how he'd never truly opened up to you about himself, you felt safe with Mitchell. You didn't care that he was secretive or photosensitive. You truly enjoyed everything his company had to offer. Warm coffee, wicked humour and lazy days binging old movies on the TV, even the occasional walk in the rain. He reeked of comfort, despite being a complete enigma. Yet, for someone so happy and surrounded by company, Mitchell seemed so lonely. And maybe that's what drew you closer to him?

To his own detriment, you were all the vampire could talk about to Annie and George. He was slowly becoming aware of his attraction to you and it was a dangerous game to start playing.

"Just tell (Y/n) how you feel!", George proposed amidst chewing his sandwich. "Things might work out?".

"No problem! It's already hard enough for me as it is to sit by her without tearing out her throat, so I'm sure this'll work out fine!", the Irishman retorted sarcastically with his signature glower. George stiffened.

"Is it really that difficult for you?", Annie's voice was a soft whisper, brows knitted together in concern. Mitchell's hazel hues darted up at the ghost, remorse clouded within them. That was all the answer they both needed.

Animalistic desires often raged through his mind when you sat so dangerously close. He was able to smell the sweet heat of your skin, feel the hot blood rushing beneath it and hear the steady beats of your heart. The predatory side of Mitchell was always devious. Combined with other wants, being near you had become almost intoxicating.

"You deserve to be happy, Mitchell", the werewolf sighed. "You owe it to yourself to at least try?".

"Look, I'm not like you, alright?", he grumbled. "I'm not a monster for one day of the month, I live with this every day. I am a monster 24/7, George. You and I are not the same". Annie pursed her lips, laying her cool hand on Mitchell's shoulder as a form of sympathy. "If (Y/n) and I were—", he started. "And she got hurt or died, I'd never forgive myself. Lauren was proof that I'm not good for her, that I can't be trusted". Tears burned in his gaze. "She deserves someone so much better than me".

"What if she knew?", Annie asked nonchalantly with a shrug. "Would that make it easier??". Mitchell's head shook,

"No, no and no". Heaving a sigh, he slumped in his chair. "She deserves to live a normal life. Unburdened with the knowledge of—", he gestured to himself. "This!".

"Doesn't help that Herrick is trying to stir trouble", George added.

"Don't even start with that", Mitchell dismissed it quickly with a bitter laugh, his brows suddenly furrowing. "Speaking of her, where is (Y/n)?". Hazel orbs danced expectantly between his two flatmates, the werewolf's gaze falling to his wristwatch,

"She texted me earlier. Said that her classes were extended by an hour. I'm sure she's on her way". A chill almost seemed to pass through Mitchell. Something wasn't right. It was nearing 7:00pm, you finished at 6:00pm.

"Where does she take classes??".

"Few blocks down from the hospital? Around central Bristol?", George shrugged. Concern etched its way onto Mitchell's expression, adrenaline coursing through his blood. He shot up from the table, marching over to the door.

"Mitchell!", Annie called to him incredulously. "Where do you think you're off to??".

"I'm going to look for her. It shouldn't take this long".

"Mitchell—".

"Text me if you hear from her or if she comes home!", he called from over his shoulder, pointing at his flatmates before the door closed behind him. Mitchell's senses were buzzing, always more efficient at night. Your scent wouldn't be hard to track if he picked it up.

Bristol was such a peaceful city. Coming away from the bright lights and active streets, you found comfort in the sudden ability to see the stars shimmering above without the interference of the street lamps. The air was cool and crisp, fogging as it left your mouth and nostrils. What usually would've been a peaceful walk home suddenly turned into something entirely different. Pained cries rang out from between a few of the buildings ahead, stilling your breaths. "Help— help me!". You were still quite a way from home or the hospital. Your pace quickened, spying a body between the buildings.

"Hey, I'm here, I'm—". Your heart felt as if it had stopped, feeling a wild wave of nausea vaulting into your throat. The air smelt wet with a stench, blood coating the floor around and on the body. More particularly the neck area. This man had already been dead for some time. If he didn't shout, who did??

"Help me!", a man cried with the same voice you'd heard. "Help me!". Although now, he'd emerged from the darkness. The stranger was perfectly unscathed, his eyes almost predatory as they were set on you. "Honestly, do you lot ever not fall for that one??". A dark chuckle slipped from his lips. Your heartrate quickened, your cooler hands suddenly becoming clammy. "And just like that, it was just all too easy", he mused, nearing you. Your steps backtracked, every instinct you had telling you to flee. You turned, trying to sprint; only to run into another male with the same ravening gaze. He shoved you roughly, your back slamming the wall nearest to you before you fell to the floor by the corpse. A shout escaped your throat, whilst you tried to scramble from it, slipping in the blood only to have the first male grab you by the scruff of your neck. He had a bruising grip that made you cry out. You grunted, clawing at his hand, barely even scraping the skin to your own confusion. "Oh, how I love it when they fight", he giggled through his teeth cruelly. A low growl left your throat, in your attempt to free yourself from his grip.

"They think they actually have a chance", the other laughed. Your foot darted out, kicking your captor's shin. Out of surprise, his grip loosened for that split moment, allowing you to slip from him. The harsh hold he'd had on you left your neck sore, your feet beginning to sprint to the other end of the building. You wasted no time crying or screaming, your heart becoming hopeful at seeing the dim streetlights ahead.

A painful grip suddenly wrenched your arm, swinging you into the wall to your left. Your head was the first to smack the wall, the hit completely disorienting you. Wetness travelled down from your temple, the feeling barely able to register before the iron grip resumed on your jaw and throat. With inhuman strength, you were lifted by one hand and slammed into the wall. Your feet didn't touch the ground, suddenly a few feet from it. In your fight for oxygen, you kicked desperately and held onto the hand that clamped down on you. You spied the first stranger's face beneath you, his tongue clicking in a form of tutting. "That wasn't very nice, Love", he chided, squeezing on your neck, a wheeze barely able to escape. Your head ached, the lump on your face stinging as it secreted more blood. You felt a dizzying pressure building up within you, your lungs growing tighter. "Now look what you've gone and done". His grip seemed effortless, reaching up with his free hand to swipe a finger at your blood before sticking it in his mouth. "So sweet", he hummed to his silent counterpart. 'You sick bastard!', you wanted to roar, barely able to continue struggling. "I enjoyed our little game, Lovely. But, I can't control myself any longer". You whimpered, trying to kick from his grip.

"Finally", the other grinned. Fear pulsated in every ember of your body, your lungs barely able to manage a gasp at what you'd seen next. Whether it was your blood loss, your head having been hit or the lack of oxygen; you didn't know. The strangers' eyes turned to a midnight black, their smiles no longer human. They had the teeth of a carnivorous animal, sharp and glinting in the dim light nearby. You couldn't shout, you couldn't run. It was over.

"Oi!", a yell broke the silence of the alleyway, the grip around your neck loosening to the point where you could rasp,

"RUN—". The squeeze suddenly resumed, your eyes closing.

"Put her down!". You knew that voice, you knew that face. Mitchell. Fear leapt into your throat, your feet kicking desperately, trying to get your dear friend to flee. The raven haired male was completely unintimidated by the two sets of eyes and teeth bared to him.

"Ah, Mitchell", the stranger smiled tauntingly, fully familiar with your flatmate to your greater confusion. "We were about to have dessert. Care to join?". Disgusted with the two males, he stared them down with a glare that could've put fear into your own heart, his face inches from theirs. After only a few moments, they relented, throwing you roughly to the floor by Mitchell's feet. You were winded from the impact, your head recieving another painful hit as well. To your relief, your airways were no longer hindered, gasps and coughs wracking your form.

Mitchell would've knelt by you right then and there if it didn't show vulnerability to his enemies. He needed to make them leave first. "You're such a killjoy, Mitchell, you need to—". The stranger squeaked, suddenly being held up high against the wall, within the same grip he had placed you in. Rage coursed through every fibre of Mitchell's being, his gaze hard like stone when confronting these males.

"Not so nice when it's the other way round, is it, Seth?", the Irishman growled through his teeth. His grip grew harder, Seth's eyes riddled with fear, the way yours had been. Your vision blurred slightly amidst your gasps for air, barely managing to see the way Mitchell's eyes became like death and his teeth pointed. "If you or your friends touch her again, I'll crush the life from your fucking skull!". The other male no longer held confidence within his gaze, eyeing his counterpart and your crumpled form on the floor.

"I'm sorry", Seth was only able to mouth. "I'm sorry". Mitchell allowed him to drop to the floor, holding his aching neck. Surprisingly, Seth didn't gasp for air. Unbeknownst to you, he didn't need it. "Is she special to you or something?", he ground out.

"That's none of your concern", Mitchell replied coldly, his expression seemingly human again. "But, she's untouchable. And you will respect that". Straightening his clothes, Seth eyed you pensively,

"Herrick will be intrigued to know about this, Mitchell. Especially since she knows our secret".

"Run back to him then. Tell him the truth. I want them all to know", he insisted challengingly. Taken aback by this revelation, the two males finally backed off from your flatmate. At last, they'd gone.

Dread suddenly clouded Mitchell's every thought. His form dropped down to yours, still slumped on the concrete. "(Y/n)?", he called softly, so unlike the tone he'd just used with those men. That was the Mitchell you knew. His cool hands held your face, your head wound still bleeding. To his own surprise, the bloodlust never came. There was only concern, care and love. So much love.

His hazel hues searched your neck almost frantically, relief suddenly filling his heart at no puncture wounds. He'd gotten to you in time. The same couldn't be said for the innocent stranger he'd spotted at the other end of the alley. He could do nothing for that person now. You were his priority. "Mitchell", you sobbed, weakly reaching up to hold his hands, hot tears falling freely now.

"I'm here", he whispered, hoisting you up with one arm. His lips pressed a chaste kiss against your forehead, his arms encasing you in a protective embrace. "I'm here".

The vampire had wasted no time, effortlessly carrying you through the streets. It wasn't long before he was finally stumbling through the front doors of your shared home with you in tow. Both the ghost and werewolf ceased their worried pacing to rush to your aid. "It's okay, I've got her".

"What happened?!", Annie cried, her gaze growing tearful at your various injuries. Mitchell shared a look with George, the latter able to understand. Vampires. The same two who had taken it upon themselves to beat up George only two years prior. His voice dropped an octave cautiously,

"Is she??".

"No", Mitchell's head shook, his voice gentle. George exhaled in relief. You weren't a vampire. You were hurt, but you weren't a vampire.

The threesome were now faced with the problem they'd attempted to avoid. You knew. How much, was a different matter.

Mitchell had carried you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the bathtub's edge to tend to your wounds. You weren't concussed. Shaken would've been a better word. Whilst the raven haired male worked gently on cleaning the blood from your face, he filled the tub with steaming water so that you could clean yourself later. Your eyes studied him, the colour of his skin, those lavish curls framing his face. His eyes were kind, even when they resembled the colour of death. He'd protected you.

The cool hands that cradled your face tilted your head back with such gentleness, it brought tears to your eyes. Mitchell was so unlike the monsters you'd seen that evening.

"Thank you", you murmured, whilst he placed a dressing over your lump. His gaze withdrew its focus from your wound, still gentle when it was trained on your eyes.

"It's alright". His words of assurance were hushed, as if speaking normally would scare you. "Just clean yourself up and head to bed. If you're hungry, I'll make you some food".

Although he'd left without saying much else, Mitchell realised that you were in a state of shock. You couldn't hear the whole truth, not until you'd had some time to register everything.

The following days were hard. You were in bedrest, only coming downstairs to silently retrieve food. Your mind reflected on what you'd seen. Those men weren't human. Mitchell knew them. He was like them, but unlike them too. If the concept of Vampires existed, what else did??

Your thoughts were suddenly broken, your protector stepping into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. "Annie and George are out. It's just us". You nodded, Mitchell moving to sit on the end of your bed. The mirror that sat by your window was blank. You should've been shocked, but there was only an understanding. Vampires have no reflection.

Moving out from your covers, you crawled to sit beside the kind male. "Mitchell", you began shakily, him nodding gently to encourage you to continue. "Those men. They weren't human. They were vampires, weren't they?". A smile twitched on his expression. You were too perceptive.

"That's right".

"They knew you", you continued, your brows furrowed in curiosity. "How??".

"I'm old, (Y/n). 116 years old to be exact", he confessed. "When you live for so long, you sometimes get caught up with the wrong people".

"You're nothing like them, though", you breathed, reaching out to trail your fingertips along his cold arm. "You don't— hurt people".

"I try not to". Your brows creased in concern, seeing the shame in his eyes. "I've hurt people before. Lost control. It's hard to live how I do". You nodded. "Does that scare you?". His hazel orbs monitored your expression for fear, unsurity.

"I'm not afraid of you, Mitchell", you whispered, reaching across to place your warmer hand over his chest where his heart rested. If his heart wasn't stiffened, it would have been hammering from anxiety. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips nervously.

"I'm the creature of nightmares, (Y/n)", his voice remained surprisingly steady, his smile growing sadder. "I'm a monster".

"I don't believe that", your words caught him offguard, something unreadable flashing in his gaze when it fell on you again. "Monsters don't save people from other monsters. Monsters aren't kind or selfless. They have no remorse. And they can never be human, like you".

You shuffled closer, Mitchell moving away from your touch. "What are you doing?", his brows furrowed in confusion, growing scared that his inner creature would take its chance. But, you instead answered him in the form of a hug. Your arms clasped around his broad shoulders, allowing him to break from your touch any time he wished. He restrained his senses from breathing your scent, carefully resting his head on your shoulder. His arms wove around your smaller form, bringing himself into a less delicate embrace with you. It was firm and sure.

"I'm trusting you", you answered his question vocally now. Mitchell would have begged that you don't, were it not for the sudden epiphany that came to him. It helped him see differently for once.

Maybe through you, he could learn to trust himself again?

Finally grappling that the household you lived in wasn't normal, you found that you didn't mind. Mitchell had helped you understand everyone in the house, whilst helping them to live unhindered.

"We're home!", George announced, sauntering through the door with Annie in tow.

"Welcome home, Mr Werewolf", you greeted him from the couch where you laid alongside Mitchell.

"Glad to see you up and around again, (Y/n)—", he chuckled, suddenly sputtering, "What??". Your counterpart had a shit-eating grin splayed on his sharp features. "You outed me, Mitchell?? I thought she wasn't supposed to know!", his voice was a harsh whisper.

"She is in the room, George", Annie sighed, moving past him to snuggle up beside you happily. "I'm just glad you're okay. And that I'll never be disappearing from your sight again".

"Me too", you agreed.

"In my defense, she figured out that Seth and his little friend were Vampires. Myself included", the Irishman raised his hands, almost proud that you'd worked it all out. "She suspected Annie might’ve been one. A little hint, and she caught on". George's brows furrowed.

"How'd she figure me out then??".

"You do see the state you're in when you come back home the morning after, don't you?", Mitchell deadpanned. "You're hardly beating up bears by the lake. Werewolf was the only logical explanation".

"Aside from camping?".

"George, nobody goes into the forest for a night to roll on the ground naked".

"Fair point", George conceded with some embarrassment, his eyes darting to you. "And you're fine with all of this?". You nodded,

"Absolutely. Your secrets are safe with me".

The household finally felt free, everyone able to be themselves. You actually enjoyed everything being the furthest thing from normal. Secrets were never hard for you to maintain. You didn't have many friends or classmates outside of the home, your personal circle slimming down to just your roommates.

Nonetheless, they encouraged you to live your life normally and pursue a relationship like George had. One of your classmates had asked you out, the two of you only dating for a month before things turned horribly sour.

You had found out that your date was dating many other bachelorettes. Despite how your feelings weren't overly strong for this man, you felt hurt. As if you were only good enough for a backup plan or affair. Your time had been completely wasted.

The front door of your shared home slammed, your feet quickly leading you up the stairs whilst you ignored three sets of concerned eyes. "Told you that this fella seemed like a cock", George sighed, recieving a sharp elbow from Mitchell and a pointed look of disapproval from Annie. "What?? He was in the end!".

"I'm going to see if she's alright", the vampire huffed, standing from the couch to trail your steps. Your bedroom door was closed, but never locked. Mitchell knocked softly, pressing his forehead against the wood.

"Don't come in, I'm a mess", you sniffled, an amused grin forming on his expression.

"Don't worry, I'm not a roomba", Mitchell joked, conceding that it was a cringeworthy one.

"Mitchell?". Your door creaked open, the Irishman slipping into your room. The door closed behind him, his eyes quickly becoming softer at seeing you so distraught. Wordlessly, he made his way over to where you sat on the floor in front of your bed and slid down beside you. His large arm brought you close against him, now trusting himself more around you to do so.

Mitchell's carnivorous instincts had been present, but dying down slowly, day by day. It was difficult, but he was managing to control himself. "I'm sorry", he apologised for your current situation, wishing there was more that he could do.

"Don't be", you insisted, laughing sadly. "It's not your fault that he was an arse". His smile matched your sadder one, your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Mitchell had been envious of this man, but never wished ill on your relationship with him, praying that you could find happiness. Some part of him tore itself up at seeing you like this, but was completely oblivious to your true feelings.

You were in love with Mitchell, not this man you'd dated. You'd tried to pursue happiness with another, not believing yourself to be good for or good enough for Mitchell. It felt hopeless, every part of you screaming for whom you truly yearned for. But, you knew it was too risky, even if he felt the same.

Your head turned, Mitchell attempting to press a comforting chaste kiss to your cheek, repeating what happened once with Annie. His lips had accidentally brushed yours, a jolt running through you both. Your tears had been forgotten, Mitchell's expression lighting up in an amused grin. He laughed softly against your lips, his smile becoming contagious. "Annie did warn me about this— I'm sorry", you giggled, eyes flickering shyly to his own. His lower lip was drawn between his teeth, his gaze fluttering over your features in admiration.

"I'm not", the confession tumbled from him in a hushed breath. Mitchell knew, as well as yourself that you were both giving into something so dangerous. His nose brushed your own as the last of his restraint faded from him. There was no going back now.

"(Y/n), Mitchell", George knocked on the door. "I ordered some pizza for lunch. Come down and get it while it's hot!".

"Coming!", you called back, Mitchell forcing a smile when you looked on him again. "Shall we go?".

"I'm hardly one to say no to pizza", he scoffed, coming to a stand with you. Remaining behind, his hazel gaze followed your retreating form before his eyes closed dejectedly.

What had he done??

_________________________________________

Hope you all enjoyed!! Let me know what you all thought! Any and all feedback is welcome!! Part two coming soon!! ❤

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!!

[strljaem]

twilight pt.2

jaemin cullen, again.

note : this plot i wrote is EXACTLY like in the movie, so it’s a little cringe.

(I’M OBSESSED W THE TWILIGHT SERIES)

The first time I saw Jaemin, it was in the cafeteria. He stood out even in a crowded room. His skin was impossibly pale, with an otherworldly beauty that drew every gaze. Yet he seemed indifferent to all the attention, his eyes fixed on his tray, uninterested in the lively conversations around him. I couldn't help but watch him. His presence was like a magnet, irresistible and slightly unsettling.

The next time I saw him, we were in Biology class. He sat as far away from me as possible, his expression tense. It was as if he couldn't stand to be near me. His posture was rigid, his eyes fixed on the wall, and he seemed to be holding his breath. I was hurt, but also intrigued. What had I done to make him react this way? Then, he disappeared for a while, and I couldn't help but wonder where he'd gone. The days stretched into weeks, and his absence left an odd void in my life.

When Jaemin returned, he seemed different. There was an intensity in his eyes, but it wasn't hostile—it was curious, almost tender. We started having conversations, slowly at first, then with more ease. He had a way of speaking that was captivating, his voice smooth and melodic. He talked about the beauty of the forest, the way the light filtered through the trees. He asked me about my family, and I told him my parents were away on business, leaving me to live with relatives in Forks. He listened intently, his gaze never leaving mine.

One evening, he invited me into the woods. I was hesitant at first, but he assured me it would be safe. And then, with a swift motion, he lifted me onto his back and leapt into the air. We flew through the trees, the wind whipping past us. I could feel the power in his movements, the raw energy that coursed through him. It was exhilarating, unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Later that night, I was in my room, sitting against the headboard of my bed. My room was cozy, with soft pastel walls and a small desk by the window. I had a few books scattered around, and my laptop sat on the desk, its screen dark. I was on the phone with my mother, catching up on the latest news from abroad. She was asking if I was doing fine, if I needed anything, and I was reassuring her that I was okay, that the relatives were kind and gave me plenty of space.

Suddenly, the window burst open, and Jaemin appeared out of nowhere. He stood there, his skin gleaming in the dim light, his eyes a deep shade of gold. I was so shocked that I nearly dropped my phone. He just stared at me, his gaze intense, as if he was seeing straight through me.

"I need to call you back," I told my mom, my voice shaky. "Someone just... I'll call you later." I hung up, my heart racing, and looked at Jaemin. "How did you get in here?" I asked, trying to sound calm.

"The window," he said casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Do you do that a lot?" I asked, a nervous smile playing on my lips.

"Just a couple of months," he replied, his own lips curling into a small smile. The humor in his voice made my pulse quicken.

"I like watching you sleep," he added, and I was caught off guard by the intimacy of his words.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked onto mine. "I want to try one thing. Stay very still." His voice was soft but commanding, and I couldn't look away. I nodded, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. He leaned in closer, very slowly, the tension building with each inch. I moved slightly, nervous and unsure, and he whispered, "Don't move."

His lips met mine, and the world seemed to stop. The kiss was passionate and deep, filled with a mix of thirst, love, and raw lust. It was overwhelming, the intensity of his embrace. I felt his hands on my waist, his grip strong yet gentle, and he pushed me softly onto the bed, never breaking the kiss. My mind spun, lost in the heat and the connection between us.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away, his eyes wide with alarm. "Stop," he yelled, and he flew back to the wall, leaving me on the bed, stunned and breathless. He stood there, looking guilty and worried, as if he’d crossed a line. I sat up, my hands trembling. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"It's fine," he replied, but the tension in his body was palpable. He crawled back onto the bed, his movements cautious, and reached over to turn off the lights. The room fell into darkness, and we just sat there, talking quietly about random things, our voices low and soothing. Despite everything, he stayed with me, his presence comforting. As my eyes grew heavy, he stayed beside me, keeping me company until I drifted off to sleep.

[baby--charchar]

What kinda bedtime routine does little charlie have? Do they read her bedtime stories?

A lot goes into Little!Charlie's bedtime routine! It's a long routine that she loves every minute of, and Vaggie also really benefits from that kinda structure when caring for her.

Vaggie and Lucifer can both do it independently; this is especially helpful if Vaggie's regressed too, really exhausted from the day, or if Lucifer is just completely unavailable one evening. If all is fine and dandy tho, they'll tag team throughout (which is ALSO helpful cuz Charlie is SUCH a busy toddler even at night!)

It always, always starts with either a bath or shower. Daddy can help Charlie in the bath; he loves making her ~special~ spa baths with bath bombs, lights, toys, music, and essential oils. He especially helps her with her hair, and is very skilled at keeping the shampoo out of her eyes. Vaggie will usually give Charlie a shower, and hop in there with her to save time/really help Charlie get clean. Charlie likes sitting on the floor of the shower while Vaggie bathes her, but she needs some water toys to play with or else she'll try to leave. Her favorite scents in the bath or shower are always Apple Cinnamon, Chai, almond, and oatmeal.

Next she gets lead out of the tub/shower in her yellow ducky towel. Someone will brush-brush-brush her long hair until there are no more tangles. Vaggie wishes Charlie would let her braid it at night to keep it tidy, but oh well.

Next is jammies + pull-up. If Charlie is going to sleep regressed, there's a 70% chance she'll wet the bed in her sleep, so Vaggie is very strict about staying padded. Charlie absolutely HATES this part, and occasionally has evening tantrums over it. That's why it can be really good to have Lucifer there as back up; he can calm her down and distract her so Vaggie can slide the pull-up in place. And if Vaggie can get her pajama pants on fast, Charlie often forgets about the pull-up and calms down.

She has lots of matching set style pajamas, mostly in red, white, or black. They all have little details fit for a princess, like cute embroidery or gold-foil prints.

Lastly, Charlie and Vaggie get snuggled into bed. Lucifer stays there to get Charlie a sippy cup full of ice water, turn off the lights, and read a story for them. After one or two stories, he'll play some gentle ambient sounds like beach waves or a piano. He only leaves once he knows both girls are asleep; Charlie because she will absolutely start crying if she sees Daddy leaving, and Vaggie because she is likely to have regressed just a little bit during story time, and he doesn't want his baby to get used to seeing caregivers walk away like that. Once both girls are out, he'll turn on a baby monitor, slip out the door, and get ready for bed in his own hotel room.