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pandora-writes-one-piece · 5 months ago

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The Ghost From The Barrow

Source for pic

Word Count: 6049

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW - Oral - you giving and creampie, alternate universe - Scotland, 13th century - cursing, angst, angst without happy ending, gore, blood, death, MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are the daughter of a clan chief in the Highlands, though you are more trouble than you are worth. Some thugs capture you and attempt to demand a ransom, but things don't exactly go their way when their leader, Kid, discovers what you are truly made of.

Notes: This was heavily inspired by the song “The Ghost From The Barrow” by Paddy and the Rats. It was going to go in a very different direction, much similar to the lyrics of the song, but the story took its own turn and I liked it like this! I hope you do too. Also, the research I did was very shallow, so if you're from Scotland and I got something wrong, I'm so sorry! Also, I had to go with Kilt wearing Kid. 🥴🤤 Have fun!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 (if you don't want to be tagged for other stories other than the meet-cute, please tell me!)

Sidenote: I used a real sigil for the reader’s clan: Clan MacKenzie.

Terms:

Barrow - An ancient burial mound;

Tartan - A woolen cloth with a specific design associated to a specific clan;

Laird - A lord, someone who owns a large estate;

The early morning mist left a familiar dampness upon your hair. Rolling hills of verdant expanse stretched lazily before you. Ancient stone markings of softly defined borders marked one pasture from another, the neighbours, practically family, not caring if the cattle meandered from one side to the other. Heavy tendrils of fog still permeated the mountains and mounds above and you had to cut your morning walk short. You knew those barrows like the back of your hand, but the legends of ancient restless souls still lurked freshly in your mind.

Turning back around, you gathered the skirts of your woollen dress, which hung loosely over your chemise, so you wouldn’t wet the hem of the dress this early in the day. You wore the clan’s tartan over your shoulders to protect you from the earlier chill. The blues and greens of the plaid fabric contrasted heavily with the simple brown you chose to wear. Your mother would be sick to her stomach upon your sight, once more. You were the unruly daughter, the one that could not be tamed and you knew your parents cursed the day you were born.

As wild as the Highlands, as stubborn as a mare. Your father used to jest that no man would ever want you for a wife because you were not docile enough to be domesticated. Respect came with a heavy price in your household and you held your tongue back from lashing at him. But the sting his words left upon you was enough to completely destroy the bundle of hay you used to practise your archery shots.

Your father was a laird of the most prominent households of the Highlands, and the current head of the clan. You were the daughter of the chief. You were supposed to act with the status that your lineage carried. Except you very rarely did. And you had the nagging feeling your father wished to have killed you at birth, as they do with unwanted kittens.

This was a day like any other. You fled your castle without the consent of your family, escaping through one of the many passages you knew by heart, so you could absorb the peace that the morning brought you. The eerie quietness of the barrows, the rustles of the leaves from the forest and, here and there, the lonesome call of the ravens.

Your father had warned you a million times not to leave without guards.

Your mother had forbidden you a million and one times from walking out the door at all.

Your older brother had always counselled you to take your bow anywhere you went.

You heeded none of them.

Yet, it was still with some surprise and with a heavy pounding of your heart, that you realised you were being surrounded. Four mighty horses as black as the night approached fast, their nostrils flaring and smoking. You didn’t even try to outrun them for it would have been an impossible task. The men mounting them surrounded you quickly, using the horses to keep pacing a tight circle around you. There were grins on their faces, each taller than the last, each scarier.

Scars and untreated wounds, long unkempt hair, one even had a rudimentary mask over his face. They were terrifying. You searched for a tartan but the plaids they wore belonged to no clan. You had never seen the yellow and black in any of your father’s gatherings and the sigil they wore was clearly one of outcasts and thieves: a burning skull with the same yellow and black plaid tied to the head.

“What do we have here?” The one in the mask asked, his voice thick with delight, a hint of a mischievous smile you were not privy to.

“A little lass, eh?” The tallest one replied. He was the only one without a smile on his face, his voice thundering around you.

“She seems sweet.” The one with hollow eyes and scars on his mouth spoke softly.

Your hands shook and the shiver that coursed through you had nothing to do with the biting wind of the Highlands. The red-headed man pursed his lips as he looked you over. If they found out you were the chief’s daughter, you would surely be used as ransom bait.

Or worse.

Inhaling deeply, you fought to find your voice. “I am a mere villager, good sirs. I was going to collect some herbs for healing, nothing more. Some lavender and calendula. Chamomile to soothe aches. Please let me return to my home. I have young children to care for.” You tried your best to lace your voice with humility and sweetness, fighting against all of your instincts to spit at their feet and demand their heads for this outrage.

The one who spoke with a soft voice smiled at you. “Poor thing, she looks scared, Captain.” He was looking at the redhead. He was the leader then. So he was the one you had to reason with.

“Yes, Captain, I am so very frightened. Please, I just want to return home.” Trying your best to look terrified - which wasn’t that hard since you were frightened - you warmed your features and fell to your knees, adding dramatics to your reaction.

“Maybe we should let her go.” The one with the mask replied, tilting his head to one side. “She does look like a commoner.”

The captain dismounted his horse and you gulped as he approached you. He was tall and bulky, with an impressive figure. His lips were tinted red and he wore a piece of cloth on his head to keep the hair out of his eyes with the same yellow and black plaid of their sigil. His kilt was of dark brown plaid, resembling dried blood, and his legs were as thick as logs.

“Sir…” You whimpered and tried to appear small. His face kept drawing near and you held your breath as his cloak slipped and you realised he was missing an arm. “Please…” Another whimper.

His lips pursed further as he raised an eyebrow and he sniffed you.

A gasp left your lips at the outrage and your cheeks flushed crimson. How dared he? His hand darted forward and he pulled the tartan off your chest, revealing the brooch you had on your dress, the one with your father’s sigil: a mountain in flames with the words ‘I shine, not burn’ engraved.

His lips pulled back to reveal a frightening set of sharp canines and he finally spoke. It was akin to a roar and it managed to bristle all the hairs on your body. “Take her, ya fools. She smells clean. She’s highborn, for sure.”

You made sure the whole of the Highlands heard you screaming and you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight. You bit and sank your nails into flesh, you kicked and punched all while sputtering curses upon curses over the group. Vile words, not fit for a lady of your status, filled with hate, brimming with rage.

And they all laughed at you.

Your efforts were for naught. You were easily captured.

-*-

You were held like a sack of potatoes, hanging limply over the masked man’s shoulder. They had subdued you easily and tied your hands behind your back. You were still kicking, so with more rumbling laughs, they tied your feet for good measure.

They rode with you on their horses for the entire day, placing a blindfold over your eyes to disorient you to where their hideout was. You were passed around from mount to mount - never to the leader’s horse, though - as if you were a plaything and a new toy for them to play with.

You should be trembling with fear, yet all the trembling came from pure rage. You wanted to punch something, claw, bite, anything! This feeling of helplessness was overwhelming and intensified by the second.

The masked man set you down ungracefully by a fire and removed the blindfold, making you blink to adjust your vision.

“Here we are, lass. Make yourself at home.” He chuckled low and you gritted your teeth. They hadn’t roughed you up, but you were still sore from the daylong horse ride. Your throat was dry and your lips were cracked.

“Can…” You cleared your throat to find your voice again, but it was raw from screaming. “Can I get some water?”

He tsked and turned his back on you, leaving you slumped and looking defeated. Your wrists and ankles were sore from the tightness of the rope and you were pretty sure there was blood as well.

They left you alone in that position for a while, until the man with the scars on his mouth approached you slowly. Using a knife, he cut the ropes from your ankles and then the ones on your wrists.

Whimpering you brought your hands close to your chest and rubbed your wrists softly. You were right, they were bloodied and bruised.

“Here.” He extended a wooden bowl filled with water, which you immediately downed with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you.” You mumbled noticing your voice was less coarse now.

He smiled softly and took out some mashed herbs from a leather pouch, applying the mixture to your wrists. You could smell lavender, calendula and yarrow in the mixture. Someone knew what they were doing, for they were healing herbs.

“You did this?” You asked softly. Clearly this man was the one you could easily approach since all the others were too closed off. He nodded proudly and you patted his hand. “Thank you. What’s your name?” You gave him your name as well so he felt more confident in sharing his.

“I’m Heat.”

“That is a lovely name. Thanks for helping me, Heat.” Another smile. Maybe you could work him well enough to flee.

“Get away from her.” The leader’s orders made Heat stiffen up and he got up with a slight jump, leaving your side without looking back.

“I know what yer doing, lil’ lass.” His thick accent became more enunciated because he was angry, you noticed. So you decided to make him angrier and see where that would get you. Crossing your arms over your chest, you offered him your best annoyed look.

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean. Thug.” You finished with a smirk.

Grunting, his lips curled upwards, drawing that dangerous smile that made your heart pound.

“Ya want to domesticate my men, lil’ lass, ya can’t! They obey my command.” His figure towered over yours and he was intimidating you. Wincing in pain and discomfort, you got up, still nowhere near his face, fists clenched into tiny little balls of fury as your eyes sparkled with rage.

“What do you want from me? A ransom? Well, send the letter! I’m sure my father will be more than happy to pay you scoundrels to get me back! Or do you not know how to write?” You stomped your foot right in the middle of his parted legs and stood almost flush to his frame, a snide crossing your lips, taunting him. “I’m not afraid of you!”

Yet, you were. Pretty scared, actually. Even more so because you doubted your father would care enough about you to pay a ransom.

You could feel rage seething from his body in short waves. His orange eyes flaming like burning fire, the same fire you felt coursing through your veins in defiance. He gave no warning as his hand wrapped around your throat, tight enough to prevent almost all of the air from coursing freely, enough to leave a bruise, but not enough to truly hurt and cut your air supply.

He lifted you up to his eye level easily, as your nails scratched and clawed at his forearm, leaving red angry trails on his skin, yet he showed no signs of being hurt by your flailing.

“Ya should be. Ya should be pissin’ yer pants.” His jaw kept clenching and unclenching as his eyes raked over your body. He took out his long, wet tongue and licked a stripe from your neck to your ear, making your insides burn and your legs clench together with want. “Tasty.” He grumbled as your eyes bore into his.

“Taste this, then.” You grunted between gasps and, clenching your own jaw, you bent your knee and hit him right in his balls, making him grunt and bend forward, letting go of your neck at the same time as he curled, his hand holding his dick tight.

You coughed and wheezed for air, falling on your knees and taking deep gasps to try and steady your breathing. Your hands pressed and soothed the burn in your throat.

“You lil’ whore!” He grumbled as he strode towards you again.

“I’ve been called worse!” You grinned with bravado you didn’t have, waiting for the blow to come, for his hand to strike, or his feet. Whatever he wanted to use, and you knew it would hurt. Your eyes shut in anticipation as your heart created its own insane rhythm in your chest.

Yet the blow didn’t come.

All you heard was the leader’s rumbling laugh echoing in the forest as he paced away from you.

-*-

Days passed and you remained a prisoner. They left you unbound because there was no way you could ever escape their watch. Heat brought you food and water and sometimes talked with you, when the leader wasn't around to scold him.

You learned that the letter had been sent to your father, yet he still hadn't responded. So they sent another one.

There was a feeling of dread coiling around your stomach. What if your father didn’t want to pay your ransom? You had more brothers and sisters. What good would a bratty child who obeyed no orders do in his household? Perhaps it was better for him to say that you lost your life to the whims of thieves.

It might even grant him more support.

You spent a restless night worrying about this and you cried your heart out. Heat noticed your forlorn expression and defeated demeanour in the morning and returned to you with clean clothes. A plain dress and a worn out man’s shirt. You looked at him warily until he grabbed your hand and led you to the forest.

For a moment you thought he might be setting you free. A rush of happiness spread its tendrils across your heart and you grinned. Until you realised he was only taking you to a lake.

He seemed so happy, though, that you still smiled softly at him. “You can bathe.” He whispered your name softly. “I’ll keep watch.”

His offer was tempting. There was grime under your fingernails, caked blood on your wrists, knees and ankles and your hair… you didn’t even want to get started on your hair.

So you thanked him politely and he turned to give you some privacy, leaving a bundle of soapwort in your hands. A plant that, if wet, creates a lather that can cleanse grime and leave a nice herbal scent behind. You were sure he would turn around as soon as you took off your clothes, but he was still the sweetest of the thugs and you had warmed up to him. You doubted he would try something with you.

Leaving your stained clothes in a pile so you could wash them later, you dipped your toes in the water. It was ice cold, despite the warm weather outside. Still, you really needed to bathe. So, closing your eyes, you dove gracefully, emerging only once the burn settled against your lungs from lack of air.

Letting out an unbridled laugh, you splashed a bit of water before using the soapwort plant to cleanse yourself properly. You used it on your hair as well and, after a little bit, you started to make your way back so you could wash your clothes. You didn’t want to take too long in the lake because you didn’t want to cause any trouble for Heat.

However, the sight that greeted you when you turned around made you freeze as your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. The leader, the captain. He was staring at you, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree and his lips pursed. Heat was nowhere to be found. He must have discovered both of you here and sent Heat away.

You swallowed a lump in your throat but made no motion to cover yourself. Your breasts were out of the water, nipples erect from the cold and goosebumps all over your skin. He was close enough to see the way you were shivering and the way your chest rose with each gasping breath.

He pulled away from the tree and with nimble fingers began to untie his kilt. First the knot over his shoulder, then he started untucking the sides until it finally fell down in a heap. The shivers that shook your body now had definitely nothing to do with the chilliness of the lake. He took a long stride forward and with one swift movement of his arm, the shirt came off.

Biting your lower lip you took in his muscular form. He was bulky and heavy, built like a strong bull. His chest was made of ripped muscles and heavy scars. Lowering your eyes, you couldn't stop your thighs from clenching together, seeking some friction. His cock was big, girthy and already half hard. It would be monstrous at full length.

He took off the cloth holding his hair back and finally entered the water with a hiss. His eyes never left you nor did yours leave him.

You were no stranger to desire and intercourse. You were the chief's daughter, but you were no maiden. And what you felt for your captor now was true, unbridled desire. And you could see that he felt the same toward you.

Would either of you act upon it?

Shaking your head and gulping, you strode forward, aiming to leave the lake, perhaps? Yet he blocked your path easily. The water hit him around the knees and a quick look down told you he was now standing at full attention.

Screw it.

You were wound as tight as a rope and release would probably do you some good. Besides, he seemed like a good lay.

You approached him, slowly climbing out to the shallow part of the lake, the water lowering until he could see your mound. His lips curled up and he licked them at a leisurely pace.

“Kneel, lil’ lass.” He grunted and, for once, you obeyed him willingly.

Falling forward on your knees, you wasted no time. Using your hands to pump his cock a few times, you gathered the precum at the top and then used your tongue to lather it around his girth. He hummed low when you brought your other hand to cup his balls and squeeze.

“Fuck. That's good.”

His praise made you mewl into him as you hollowed your cheeks and fought against the gag reflex to take all of him inside your mouth. It was a stretch, but you could do it.

Hissing, he tangled his fingers in your wet hair, holding your head in place as he took over and fucked your mouth with relentless thrusts. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes when his tip bullied the back of your throat. Heat began pooling in your abdomen, its tendrils spreading slowly and steadily, burning at your core, demanding attention.

You used one hand to grab his thick, hairy thighs for purchase, and another to friction against your throbbing clit, moaning into him, the vibrato of your mewls making him fasten his pace with sloppier thrusts. “Fuck, fuck. Open wide lass.” And that was all the warning you got before his thick, salty cum dripped down your throat as you swallowed and he pulled out, a small string of saliva connecting him to you still.

He stared at your face, swollen lips, teary eyes and jaw standing open as your hand continued to press and circle against your clit, small moans leaving your parted lips.

“Fuck. C’mere.” Resting his large hand on your chin, he motioned for you to stand up, and you obeyed. He pried your fingers away from yourself and pressed your hand so you could spread them open. A string of your own slick connected your index and middle fingers and you blushed. The Captain chuckled and swirled his tongue around them, collecting any remaining drops of your juices as you gasped and stifled a moan. “Hmm, none of that lil’ lass. Yer going to scream my name. Don't ye dare hold back.”

“I don't know your name.” You said, your eyes sparkling with mischievousness.

Curling his lips back, he grasped your wet hair again, pulling you for an open mouthed kiss, combining your juices with the lingering taste of his cum until your head was spinning and begging for air. “It's Kid.” He panted as he pulled apart from you.

“Fuck me, Kid.” Your hand found his cock already hard again and you had no doubt that this man had the stamina of a horse.

“Will do, lass.” His fingers dug into your mound and you moaned as they descended to your swollen clit. “Let's see how ready ye are for me.” His fingers were long and thick and as he inserted one inside you to collect some slick, you arched your back and rolled your hips against his touch. “Hmm, needy, are ye?”

He rolled his wet finger against the bundle of nerves and then inserted two digits, stretching them and then letting them go further, deeper. Your nails dug into his chest as your head fell back in abandonment. “Kid!” You panted, his fingers filling you up deliciously. A gasp left you breathless as he inserted a third finger, using his thumb to press against your clit as he stretched you further. “Gods! Kid!”

“I know, lass, I know.” He grunted near your ear and the deep rumbling that came from his voice made you snap as you came in his hand. Arching your back and clawing his chest you moaned loud, repeating his name in a crescendo as you reached your high. “That was a good one, lass.” He sucked at your neck and bit hard to bring you back but you mewled again as you leaned into him, too dazed out to do anything else.

But he was not done. Using his arm, he lifted you up and with a swift motion, impaled his cock inside your slick hole, making you scream as you clenched your legs around his waist.

“Hold on, lass, this will be a rough ride.” His digits dug into your flesh as his arm circled your hips holding you in place as he pounded relentlessly, his pace brutal, and you didn't know how he could stay standing up because you could barely open your eyes, let alone stand.

The pleasure built in waves that kept crashing and chasing away your sanity. You had never been fucked like this before. Captain Kid was fucking you senseless. Your pants increased in fervour as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to coming again. His dick filled you perfectly and hit spots inside you that made you see white.

“Kid, fuck, gods!”

“Scream louder!” He growled and thrust faster, making your toes curl as you crushed him in a hug, thighs clenching tight against him and nails drawing blood from his back. You did scream. Loud as a banshee and you were positive his entire camp heard you scream his name like a whore.

His release was not far behind, and you knew that because there were beads of sweat on his temples, his thrusts were sloppier and he was grunting heavily. But you were so close again. “Harder.” You begged against his ear, your fingers circling your burning and overstimulated clit, trying to chase that last high.

“Lil’ whore.” He growled and gave you what you wanted. Three fast thrusts that made you shake and come with a flash of white as he followed suit. You felt his release inside you, filling you up and dripping down your legs into the lake in soundly, heavy plops.

You were still clinging to him like he was your lifeline, both panting and sweating, chests heaving and legs trembling.

“I'm putting ya down, now.” He said between pants and you whined when he pulled out of you, leaving you empty. You were not steady on your legs so he still held your waist.

“Fuck.” You muttered, still catching your breath, a wave of dizziness overcoming your senses.

“I thought maidens didn't curse.” He chuckled.

“Yeah? Well, maidens don't suck cocks either. So why do you think I'm one?” His genuine laughter made your heart tingle and constrict against your chest and you were not quite sure what this foreign feeling was. What you did know was that you wanted to hear it again.

-*-

Days passed, yet you didn't really think you were a prisoner anymore. You slept with Kid every night and he took you whenever he felt like it, making good on the claim that you were his good little whore. You couldn't care less. You felt free.

One night, after screaming his name until your throat was raw - you've come to realise he loves it when you scream his name - you asked him bluntly.

“My father refused to pay the ransom, did he not?” The scoff that left your throat was meant to be dismissive and aloof, yet there was also the bitter taste of tart tears in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“Aye.” He grunted as he pulled your naked body closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

You didn't want his compassion, it wasn't what you were looking for. Yet, it felt nice. As if you meant something more to him than just his prisoner whore.

“I was never good for anything but to cause trouble for him, anyway. Like this he doesn't need to find me a husband.” You snorted. “You know what I did to the last one he tried to set me up with? The one who said I couldn't be ‘domesticated’?” Kid's gaze fell on yours, an amused expression wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I bit off his balls when he tried to fuck me into submission.” Shrugging, you threw out your tongue as Kid burst into a fit of laughter.

“Aren't ya a feisty lil’ lass?” His chest heaved until his laughter died down. You felt droopy and your eyes started to close, drifting closer and closer to sleep. “Maybe ya can be my wife. We'll see if I can domesticate ya.”

You didn't quite know if he was kidding or not, but sleep claimed you with a smile on your lips at the thought of being Kid's wife.

-*-

You were woken up in the middle of the night by loud screams and the clangs of swords and axes. Kid wasn't by your side when you rolled over and got up, hastily dressing in your chemise and dress. It sounded like a battle, so you grabbed the bow you kept by your side of the bed. Kid made you that bow once he realised you were very good with it.

You had been by his side for over a year now. He made you his wife, as he said he would, and there were more nights when you actually made love instead of just fucking.

You had come to love him. Deeply. And you were positive he loved you back, even though he wouldn't admit it to a soul. He would say love made you weaker or something like that. Times had been kind for your new clan and you had all found peace.

Yet that thought was quickly swept away once you stepped outside of your hut and were greeted with the sight of burning buildings, slaughtered people and Kid and his men fighting.

Gripping your bow harder and tighter, you found a secluded perch by climbing onto the roof of the hut and started to take out man after man. They didn't even realise what happened until they were left bleeding on the floor, meeting their final demise at the hands of one of Kid's men or Kid himself, who saw you immediately when an arrow whizzed past his ear.

It wasn't until the tenth body hit the floor that you realised that these men belonged to your father's clan. Their tartan was clearly the pattern you were so familiar with. That realisation gave away your location and in a heartbeat you were being dragged by your hair, your body hitting the ground with a loud oof, as the air was sucked out of your lungs. As the assailant grabbed his sword, ready to pierce you with the blade, you kicked him hard in the shin and you heard the sickening crunch of bone breaking before he screamed.

Getting up with a pained grunt, you realise that you must also have broken a few ribs as you were pulled down from the roof, because it hurt to breathe. Still clutching your bow to your chest, you made your way forward, shooting arrows as you went, aiding people in their escape. All the while your eyes were searching for Kid as your heart hammered against your chest. He was nowhere to be seen and that left you anxious.

And distracted.

A sharp pain travelled from your thigh to your groin and shot everywhere in short stabbing bursts of pain. There was a blade protruding from your leg and hot droplets of tears threatened to escape your eyes. “Fuck.” You grunted as you turned around, searching for whoever was responsible for this, bow stretched and arrow already in place.

“It's true, then.” The familiar voice of your brother left you breathless for a moment, making you lose your focus. “You really have become that scoundrel’s whore. I couldn't believe it until I saw it.”

Your jaw clenched as you inhaled short breaths, trying to focus on something other than the throbbing pain in your thigh. He was standing too close for a proper arrow shot and your vision was getting blurry. You would never make the shot even if you wanted to.

“I'm not his whore. I'm his wife.” You spat at him, rage making your voice tremble.

Your brother's cackles were like another knife piercing your heart.

“That's precious. You're still dying. You're no longer family.”

And he lunged forward, sword raised in the air in a stance you'd known your whole life as you'd watched your brothers learn how to fight in the shadows. You knew when to duck, when to move away, and when to jump. He was predictable and his moves were still the same after all these years. You could win this.

If you weren't bleeding and your movements weren't impaired.

He struck forward and you knew you had to move left. It was all you had to do, really. But your leg gave out, and he stabbed his sword into your sternum.

You had never felt pain like this before. It started slowly, in the middle of your chest, but then, as if in waves, it began to spread, leaving you numb and cold. As you fell to your knees, you could see the snicker spreading on your brother's lips. Until it turned into a grimace and blood started to sputter from his mouth as he grunted.

There was a heavy blade sticking out of his chest, followed by a pained grunt as the sword climbed up his torso, ripping him in two right before your eyes.

You saw the panting figure of Kid behind him, his breaths coming out in shaken gasps as his face contorted into a pained frown when he laid eyes on you. “No! No, no, no!”

He rushed forward, letting his blade fall to the ground, and his arm circled you desperately.

You were dying. You knew that.

A smile found its way to your blood-stained lips as your eyes locked with bright orange ones. Caressing his cheek left a red streak of blood on his skin, but it was quickly washed away by a stream of tears from his eyes.

“Hey, no crying.” You whispered slowly. The pain was drifting away. “Thank you.”

“No, no. Ye can't leave lil’ lass! I didn't give ya permission!”

Your chuckle turned into a coughing fit, blood spurting everywhere as Kid cradled you in his big arm. Around you shouts were heard, soldiers sounding the retreat. The threat had been thwarted for now.

“Kid.” Your voice could barely be heard, but you needed to get his attention. “Kid, please. Don't hold a grudge. Please.” You whined and closed your eyes as the numbness relented and gave way to the pain.

He pulled you against him, trying to hold you carefully but, at the same time, holding you firmly as if it were the last time - it was the last time - his kilt was now completely soaked in your blood.

“Promise me.” You said firmly, your hand trying to find his cheek again, but failing miserably as you could barely find the strength. “Grudges create lost souls. I can't have you away from me in the afterlife. Promise.” You admonished him.

He nodded against your face, taking your lips with his, trying to stifle a sob as his shoulders heaved and rocked with the effort.

“I love you…” Your whisper got lost somewhere in the limbo of eternity as the sparkle of life burned away in your eyes. There was a moment of stillness, Heat, Killer and Wire gathered behind Kid, still as logs. The forest ceased its rustling, and even the animals stopped their sounds. The world stopped spinning when you left it, and Kid lost a piece of himself.

It was his piercing agonising scream that brought the world back, crashing into rotation, but never the same.

-*-

Kid didn't really promise you not to hold a grudge. He just nodded. And even if he had made a promise, he was a thief and a scoundrel. Lying was a part of him.

He did hold a grudge.

A huge one. He hunted down every single member of your family and slaughtered them all. No one associated with your clan was left alive to tell the tale. Be they elderly or children, Kid was merciless.

He would not rest until his vengeance was fulfilled. He had never felt love the way he did for you. He had never felt affection the way he did for you.

And he had never grieved harder.

If he was suffering, those that caused that suffering should be put to the same misery.

And he fulfilled that vow. Until he was caught and sentenced to hang in the gallows.

Yet, he would hang with a smile upon his tainted lips. He had avenged you. None of your clan was left alive to tell the tale, he had made sure of it. And he was hopeful that once his body turned cold and lifeless, he would meet you, in the afterlife.

So you could spend eternity together, as it should have been.

The clock struck the hour and Kid was hanged. Killer, Wire and Heat stood watching, heads low and hidden behind cloaks, as their captain paid the price of vengeance.

Killer was proud of his fearless friend.

Wire was saddened that it ended this way.

Heat was worried, because he knew vengeful spirits could not find rest in eternity.

Heat was right.

The spirit of Eustass Captain Kid roamed the Highlands. A ghoulish spectre haunting the barrow, searching for his lost wife, forever aiming to find her in the eternity of the afterlife.

Yet she had warned him.

Grudges create lost souls.

So if you find yourself roaming any barrow in the Highlands, whether at night or during the day, know that the wailing you hear is that of the captain, grieving his lost love and the life he was denied.

Though he avenged her in the end.

But at what cost?

#one piece #one piece x reader #op #x reader #scotland #scotland au #highlands #kid x reader #kid x you #eustass kid #eustass captain kid #kid #you x kid #you x eustass kid #Spotify

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towriteloveontheirarms · 5 months ago

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Dark felix Caton who sees beautiful girl (reader)at uni. He became obsessed with her right away. But then he finds out reader already has a bf. Then he plot an evil plan. He befriends readers bf and ask him to join him during summer vacations to saltburn. Felix also says he can bring reader along with him too.

Reader is hesitant but eventually accept the offer. Soo that's where felix would begin to corner reader whenever she's alone. Reader try to tell her bf about it but he turns her down too occupied by the lavish lifestyle. Finally felix get reader alone with him and r4pe her.

I´m sorry you had to wait this long dear anon. I really hope you enjoy this though. Your other requests will still be coming soon as possible though. I promise I have not forgotten and am not ignoring <3

To get you alone (dark!Felix Catton x reader)

synopsis: He always had his eyes on you, however you had thought naively that he wouldn´t go past that.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non consensual sex, smut, semi public sex, p in v, unwanted attention generally, mentions of reader being in a relationship with Oliver, afab reader

word count: 1.6k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: I tried to not be too graphic with this one, I still advise anyone reading to proceed with causion. SA is a real and serious topic and if you don´t feel in the right spot for reading this that is completely fine. Remember to be kind to yourself and you are loved!

Dividers by @saradika

Felix Catton. If you were to be asked what you thought of Felix your answer would most often look something like “Yes, he's pretty handsome…” but beyond that there was very little you knew of the rich boy and that in and of itself made you wary of him. Especially because he seemed to go wherever you went. Mischievously sparkling eyes trained on your every move from the second you entered the grand hall for the welcome celebrations. Now, normally you probably wouldn't mind it that much, hadn't it been for someone else's sudden infatuation with whom your friends had jokingly begun to call your stalker.

You had met Oliver years prior, when your parents somehow for some reason befriended his parents. Well, not for some reason, they were lovely people, but nonetheless. Soon after that he had asked you out and with how nervous he looked you couldn't help but accept. It was really cute. Oliver was attentive and perfect and even if his friend Michael was a bit weird by most standards, it seemed like he was looking out for your boyfriend as well, as much as he could. But he was the first part of your life that Felix got his fangs into. Until you found yourself at the Catton’s estate over the summer instead of going home for the first time in forever. It was nice of him to extend the invite, his family was mostly nice in that dysfunctional, rich people way. Still, despite everything you felt like an intruder. No matter how often any of them insisted how great it was to have you there. Something felt off. Like a spell had been cast on Oliver so he couldn't see how weird his new so-called friend was. Ignorant to every slip off the hand underneath the table at meals or outside, every lingering glance at the pool, every oh so innocent seeming, hidden unwanted comment.

But especially to the frequency with which you found yourself trapped alone with the brunet rich kid. His hands resting on your hips as he leaned down to you, eyes sparkling with spoken and unspoken comments. Things he had dreamt doing to you, you did to him, things he wanted to try. It all fell upon deaf ears, no matter who you told. Venetia was the only one who even made the impression to believe you, but even her response was kept to a minimum. Keeping silent about it to the world, not doing anything to actively help when you told her how uncomfortable you felt alone with her brother.

No one ever expected the great Felix Catton to do something bad, he was just making jokes, you were told, but you knew better than them.

Walking through Saltburn, you are distracted by mentally chiding yourself for still getting lost after having spent so much time there already. The constant, silent barrage of curses blinds you to the person walking towards you.

“Whoa there.” The voice and steadying hands on your upper arms quickly give away that it isn't Farleigh or your boyfriend you ran into, like you had hoped so dearly. Or even James or Duncan or literally anyone else but the person standing in front of you. In an attempt to bring distance between the two of you as fast as possible, you stumble backwards however and almost fall into the little coffee table behind you, prompting Felix´ hands to go right back to your arms.

“Are you okay?” He asks over a huffed chuckle, eyes glowing lightly with mischief as always.

“Y-yeah, thanks.” You rasp a short answer, dusting yourself off to get away from solitude with him as quickly as possible.

“Not so fast.” He stops you by holding out his arm to block the way to freedom. “Did I do something to offend you?”

The question nearly shocks the air out of your chest, fists balling instinctively as there is only one question that crosses your mind in return. “Are you serious right now?”

“Uh, yes? Why wouldn´t I be?” The baffling response is accompanied by furrowed brows and a still slightly amused quirk of the corner of the lip.

“Felix, it´s nice that you invited us here, but I´m not blind. I see the way you eyed the girls back at uni. I see the way you look at Olli and I see the way you look at me, have been looking at me for months and by God I´ve felt your hands when you thought no one is watching.”

Listening to you intently, Felix’ facial expression shifts to one less light. A knowing smirk replaces the half smirk and his brows relax, the brown of his eyes darkening to almost black.

"Oh, did you now? You notice everything, don't you?" The brunet straightens his back to tower over you. One of his large hands coming up to grab you by the chin. His thumb languidly swipes over your lower lip. “Aren't you just the cleverest girl?”

“Felix…” you whisper hesitatingly, too tightly in his hold to make another attempt at fleeing. All that you can do to keep him at a small distance is to cross your arms over your chest. An obviously futile, but desperate move that, perhaps rightfully so, gets chuckled at, before they get pinned above your head.

"Tell me, do you ever think of me instead of Olli?" Felix huffs above you.

“What?” Outrage burns it´s way through your veins, but as quickly as it ignites it is shut down again.

“Do you ever think of me when you are with Ollie.” Felix repeats slower this time, stepping even closer, even though it had seemed impossible prior.

For a moment you don´t know how, or if, to respond, biting your lip and averting your eyes to put off answering as much as possible. However, failing when his fingers dig deeper into your chin to turn you back to him. You nod, ashamed.

"Say it." He demands. "I want to hear it from your beautiful lips."

"I think about you every time I am with him. I think about you when I touch myself at night, imagining it's your fingers making me come until I can only moan your name." The confession isn't entirely true.

If you were entirely honest, your mind has shifted once, but you knew he wouldn't be happy with that. His breath shudders and you know he bought the lie.

"Fuck you're such a naughty girl. Thinking about me when you have him. And to admit it so freely." He chuckles

"Oliver could never touch me like you do. He could never make me feel as good." You continue lying, hoping to any deity that would listen, it would make this whole torture be over faster.

Far from it was the case obviously. Felix lets out a low growl, swiftly leaning down to capture your lower lip between his teeth. Soothing the bite by pulling them into an unreciprocated kiss immediately after. It´s as if it happened solely to make one thing unmistakeably clear. He wanted you. To be desperate and beg him for more. He wanted you to need him just how much he needed you. And more.

His tongue presses against yours as he roughly moved the two of you away from the table, pinning you against the nearest wall. Even less time is wasted to push aside and open any clothes that potentially could be in the way of the one thing Felix had wanted to do to you ever since he had first laid his eyes on you. Letting go of your chin, his hand hooks underneath your thigh to ease himself into you painfully slow. His presence alone rendering you incapable of any clear thought of fight or flight. A realization at which he lets go of your wrists to grope at your breasts. Felix' own chest heaves with heavy breaths and quiet moans, held back as to not alert any of the staff nearby. Meanwhile you barely feel like you are in your own body anymore. It's like watching him from above as he did whatever he wanted to your limp body. The nausea, the tears pricking in your eyes as his lips latch onto your neck to suck his marks into it, they all feel so distant yet so overwhelming. You can see his lips moving, but the sounds are drowned out by a high-pitched ringing sound. Numb to the way his fingers dig into your skin or how every thrust of his hips pushes you back into the wall, head rolling from side to side as you try to drown all of it out even more. Again, futilely.

Still your inaction brings Felix enough enjoyment to keep on going for what feels like forever. His touch is so meticulous, so blushless, he is so focused on just violating every boundary you had tried to set up with him ever, he doesn't even see you anymore. How much he is hurting you. And if he does, he doesn't show much care for it.

You are lucky in a sense though as well or maybe it's just another cruel joke by the gods. As soon as Felix spills himself inside of you, he pulls out and away. Without so much as another word, but a look that very much promised more of what had just happened, he leaves you in the little corner of the hallway.

However, you don't come back to yourself yet. Taking care in mechanical motions to fix up your clothes and get to a bathroom to clean up and possibly empty your stomach's contents until you felt any better about yourself and the prospect of having to spend the rest of summer in these halls. Any better, no matter how little it would be at all. One thing you were sure of in your dissociated state. There was no escaping Felix Catton.

#felix catton #felix x reader #felix x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn fic #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you

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evans23 · 1 month ago

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RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 9 - UNWANTED SOLITUDE [B1]

Pairing : Judge Turpin x OC (Emily)

Summary : She was the one. He knew it at first sight. He has been alone for a long time, a solitude he has never been able to fulfill but she was the one, even though she doesn't want him.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Arranged mariage.

A/N : And my favourite one is back !

OUT OF REACH : Part II

TO BELONG : Part III

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

He had noticed her one evening at the theatre. She was in the stalls, the seats reserved for modest people who could not afford a seat. He had noticed her before the play began, a Shakespearean drama, not that he had followed any of the action. The scene, at no time, had fascinated him as much as this charming creature whose curls fell in cascades on her shoulders instead of being tied in a bun as propriety demanded. She stood straight and when she had raised her bright green eyes to him without seeing him, he had been captivated, hypnotized.

After that evening, he had not really thought about her, until that September afternoon when he had seen her in a dusty old bookshop where she was interested in a collection of poetry. He had gone in to buy a societal work that was causing a stir in court. He had been struck by her obvious education, yet her clothes betrayed her low status. She must have attended a parish school or one of her unofficial girls' schools that, in addition to teaching them how to be good wives, also taught them how to read and write and the basics of mathematics.

That was when the bookseller came up to her briskly, snatching the book from her hands.

"Miss, these books are for sale, you don't leaf through them like newspapers," he growled.

She looked down, blushing slightly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, nervously playing with the ribbon of her dress.

The bookseller was about to retort, but Richard intervened, his deep voice echoing in the small bookstore.

"I don't think she did any harm to your books by leafing through them, sir," he said sternly.

"Lord... Lord Tur... Lord Turpin," the salesman stammered, bowing exaggeratedly. "I know she can't buy it," he added pettily.

The young woman blushed a little more, embarrassed at being humiliated in this way. Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Did she tell you ?"

"No, but I know her family well. Her father is a small merchant without money who struggles to make ends meet."

His humiliation was total and Turpin did not miss the eyes that welled up in his eyes.

"Miss is here at my request. This book, she bought it for me, but I think I will have to buy my books elsewhere," Turpin replied, his eyes flashing.

He grabbed the young woman's arm and led her out of the store without knowing what strange force was taking hold of him. He would never have done such a thing under normal circumstances.

"Sir," she said, surprised and frightened by his gesture.

"I couldn't let him insult you any longer," he said, finally releasing her.

She looked up, surprise evident on all her features.

"You shouldn't have done that, he won't allow me to come back and he's the only dealer who gives him prices..." she hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip, "correct," she finally breathed.

"Reading is a rare quality, especially for a young woman..." he stopped himself just in time to say of your condition, "I know a small bookstore near Fleet Street where you can find what you're looking for at a low price. It's where shrewd men buy their books for next to nothing."

That was completely false. This bookstore was one of the most expensive in London, but he would make sure that the seller gave him the lowest possible prices against the promise that he would pay the difference.

She just nodded, clearly intimidated by his imposing stature.

"May I ask who I have the honour of speaking to ?" he finally asked.

"Emily. Emily Everwood, sir," she said before quickly correcting herself, "Lord Turpin."

"So you know who I am," he said more to himself.

"Well, you were in the paper yesterday morning," she said, looking up at his for the first time.

Indeed, one of his judgments had caused a sensation. A thirteen-year-old boy who had been punished with one hundred lashes before being sent to work on a plantation in the United States.

"I should be going. Thank you, sir," she said, looking down again.

She walked away quickly under Richard's heavy gaze as he watched her fade into the London fog. It had been a long time since he had felt this way. The last time was for a young woman named Lucy. She had rejected him for a penniless barber and was now living in a small, shabby apartment above a pie shop with their little girl. It had taken him a while to process the rejection, but he had finally moved on, vowing never to fall in love again. Except that he had just fallen in love again.

It didn't take him long to learn that she was the daughter of a respectable merchant but ruined by unfortunate investments two years earlier. He still ran his small business, but he was desperately short of money and the old man was ill.

She looked young, but she was only sixteen years younger than him. Nothing insurmountable. Not that age was any obstacle in their patriarchal society, but he didn't want a child to educate, he wanted a woman to support him as he turned forty-eight.

He thought for a long time. Was it worth the risk ? She was penniless, without title. She would bring him nothing compared to all that he would bring her. But he was in love and if he wanted to ensure his descendants, it was now or never.

So he had gone to the Everwoods one afternoon, dressed in his most sober frock coat, his back straight, his cane in his hand which clattered on the pavement. Emily's father had come to open the door for him. He was a tired but affable old man. He had stood there in awe as he saw the High Judge of London at his door, thinking quickly who he might still owe money to. Probably a lot of people.

"Mr Everwood, I am here on a matter of the utmost importance. May I come in ?"

The poor man stepped back slightly, his eyes wide with fear, to let Richard into his house, which was in serious need of work, even though his daughter maintained it with care.

"I... I can raise the money," Mr Everwood began.

Turpin held up a hand to interrupt him.

"That is not why I am here. However, the proposition I intend to make to you could solve all your problems," he began with controlled confidence, "I have noticed your daughter, Emily. I believe she deserves a better future than what you can offer her."

Mr Everwood clenched his jaw but said nothing, much to Richard's satisfaction.

"I can offer her a decent life, a position, a life where she will want for nothing. If you would grant me her hand."

The silence that fell was heavy. Mr. Everwood did not know what to say. He had not expected this and even less from a man like The Death's Judge.

"Dad, you can't decide for me," Emily's voice startled her as she threw open the door to his room.

Richard did not know that she was there listening at the door, but he did not blink.

"My daughter, think of our situation. This marriage would bring you so much. Think of your future, I have nothing to offer you, I am sick, I have debts."

"Dad,"

"Emily," her father interrupted him, "he must not be such a bad man and..."

He was interrupted by a coughing fit. Emily immediately handed her a glass of water under Richard's unyielding gaze.

"Miss Everwood, Emily, I am sincere in my desire to make you my wife."

"You don't even know me," she replied sharply.

"We will have plenty of time to get to know each other. After the wedding."

Emily didn't know what to say. She wanted to refuse him, she wanted to get angry, but on the other hand, she also saw the practicalities of accepting. Except that she knew Richard Turpin's reputation. Falling into his hands could be much worse than poverty.

"Emily, you are no longer... you are no longer a young girl. The chances of finding a good husband are almost nil. It is unhoped for."

Emily straightened up abruptly, her cheeks red with anger, stung that her father had dared to remind her of her status as an old maid.

"You want to sell me like one of your sacks of potatoes ? Like one sells a mare ? Dad !"

Richard clenched his fists but tried to keep his cool. He had to play it smart if he wanted to get the outcome he wanted quickly.

"Miss, I'm not here to buy a wife. I'm here because I see in you what I've been searching for a long time without being able to find. I'm sure we can get along. You'll never be afraid to challenge me, you'll never be afraid to put me in my place, and I in return will have a mate. I offer you and your father a better life, away from trouble. Away from misery when your father is dead and you find yourself begging on the streets. But, the choice is yours of course," he whispered the last words.

He suppressed a smile, knowing full well that his arguments had hit the mark.

"I'll come back tomorrow to hear your decision," and with those last words, he took his leave of the Everwoods.

The night was long and full of screams and tears at the Everwoods. When Turpin returned the next day, at nightfall, Emily was nowhere to be seen. She had locked herself in her small room, listening through the door to the exchange between the judge and her father as they discussed her and the bright future that Turpin would offer her.

"I... I know you're a respectable man," her father began.

She wanted to scream.

Lord Richard Turpin, a respectable man ?

What respectable man was nicknamed The Death's Judge ?

He condemned more than he pardoned, had children whipped or had their ears nailed to the ground in public as a "lesson". Would this be what he would do to their children if he did wrong ?

Would he beat them as she had been so often at school for the slightest mistake ?

"I agree to give you her hand. I entrust her to you," her father finished saying.

Her eyes burned but she refrained from shedding a single tear. No, she would not cry even if the bell had just fallen. Sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands clenched on her worn dress, she felt confused. A mixture of anger and resignation. She knew that it was the best thing to do, for her, for her father who had always sacrificed everything for her. Wasn't it up to her now to ensure their survival ?

"I'll be back tomorrow. I hope my fiancée will be here," Turpin said forcefully, turning his head toward the door he knew led to her bedroom.

As promised, he returned the next morning. Emily sat by the fire, her face downcast. She rose slowly as Richard entered.

"I wish to be alone with my fiancée," Richard said to Mr. Everwood.

Emily's father hesitated, it was not right, but one look from Richard dissuaded him from arguing.

"Emily, I know that's not what you wanted," Richard began when they were alone.

"If that's what my father wants, then... then I don't really have a choice, do I ?" she cut him off.

"I wish it were your decision," Richard said in a voice so soft that she looked up in surprise.

He looked at her for a long time, trying to probe her mind, to understand what she really felt. He could discern fear, resignation, but also a slight glimmer of rebellion.

She, she knew that refusing would be madness. Although she was considered one of the prettiest girls in their neighbourhood, she had never been proposed to and honestly, what man would have been worthy enough of her, of her wit, of her vivacity ?

But it was not because Richard Turpin was rich that he would have more respect for her and all that she could offer if only this world of men would offer him a chance.

"It is also my decision," she whispered, "I accept."

She plunged her deep green eyes into Richard's dark ones. She wanted to cry, he could see it, but she bravely held herself back.

"You will not regret it," he whispered, taking her hand, "I promise you."

"Promises mean nothing. Actions are what count," she replied in a harsh voice that surprised Richard.

Without taking his eyes off hers, he pulled a velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it. Inside was a gold band set with a sapphire.

"To seal our engagement. It belonged to my mother," he said as he slipped it onto her finger.

Emily stared at the ring with a mixture of admiration and apprehension. She had never held anything so expensive in her hands and now, this ring was hers.

"Don't take it off," Turpin said more like an order than a request, "our marriage will be announced soon, you cannot be seen without your engagement ring."

She closed her eyes, understanding the hidden meaning behind this request, this order. Now that she was going to belong to him, she couldn't let doubt hover, humiliate her future husband.

And so, under Richard's strict guidance, the preparations began. The wedding would take place within a fortnight, at the end of September. In the meantime, the Everwoods' debts had been paid in full and a carpenter had come to take care of their dilapidated building.

"The wedding will be worthy of your new life, Emily," Turpin told her one day when he was taking her to see one of London's most renowned dressmakers to have her wedding dress made.

She let herself be undressed, dressed, and measured by the dressmaker, aware that Richard was waiting in the next room. The wedding dress would not be her only gift. He had told her that he did not want her to take her old things. At the manor, all she would have would be new and reflect her new status. She must leave Emily Everwood behind to become Lady Emily Turpin.

Emily, for her part, struggled with a thousand and one conflicting thoughts. She didn't want to become a submissive and silent wife, but did she really have a choice ?

On the wedding day, most of the guests were from Richard's world. On her side, there was only her father and his new suit that Richard had had made so that he would have something decent to wear.

Father and daughter advanced into the small chapel carefully decorated with white flowers. People whispered as she passed, but Emily didn't hear them, as if she had left her body. Arriving in front of Richard, her father lifted her veil and kissed her on the cheek before handing her over to her future husband.

The exchange of vows, the officialisation of the marriage by the priest, Richard's chaste kiss on her cold lips, she had the impression that all this had happened to someone else.

During the reception in a posh tea room, Richard was more than in his element while she, intimidated and trembling, would have liked to escape, but she couldn't. He held her firmly in his arm.

The end of the evening did not come too quickly for Emily who was at the end of her strength. Short of breath because of the too tight corset, her apprehension of making the slightest misstep and the fear that gripped her throat. The fear of having sealed her fate to that of a monster.

They finally arrived at the manor where the few servants were waiting for them.

"Here is Mrs. Watson, she will take care of you," Richard said, nodding to an old woman with features as severe as his master's.

The old woman led Emily to the bridal chamber and prepared her for the night, undoing her hair, removing her heavy jewellery, and undressing her into a silk and lace nightgown.

Shivering, Emily sat on the edge of the bed, feeling more alone than ever, not knowing that Richard felt this way too. In fact, he had felt this way for a long time, since childhood, since that day when his own mother had told him, when he was only six years old, that she had only had him out of duty and that she didn't care if his father could beat him like a plaster cast as long as he was not at her feet. But with Emily, with his new wife, he hoped to finally fill this unwanted loneliness.

Emily had also been alone all her life. She had been lucky enough to be loved by her father, but she had had a harsh education in this small school for girls that she had attended, where she and the other girls had been regularly beaten for no real reason other than that they were children who had to be taught obedience, submission. She still remembered how, every evening, she hid her tears from her father and where, every morning, her stomach twisted with pain, making her nauseous.

This had lasted until she was ten, when her father had discovered the true harshness of this establishment that promised to raise future young women as worthy as ladies and he had taken her out of school, deciding that she would teach herself at home with the books he could offer her and that she would help him in the store where she could learn to count and do accounting with him.

Growing up, her tendency to refuse the slightest constraint and her astonishing intelligence for a girl of her background and condition had made many men back down, not that she had never had the slightest interest in one of them. But as the years passed, her twenties faded and her beauty began to fade slowly, she too had begun to feel the weight of this unwanted solitude.

She jumped when Richard came into the room, dressed in night pants and the shirt he had worn during the ceremony.

He looked at her, a fire dancing in his eyes and advanced slowly, like a feline circling its prey. Emily. This woman who had captivated him with a single glance in a London theatre was now his, here, in his room and she would soon share his bed and his entire life.

He stopped right in front of her, placed his hand on her cheek and lifted her head gently before leaning down to press his lips to hers tenderly. She pulled back slowly, her eyes losing all defiance, all trace of rebellion. She was scared.

"You're mine now, Emily," Richard whispered.

She closed her eyes, knowing full well that she couldn't stop him from exercising his right as a husband. She had agreed to marry him, she had closed the trap on her herself, and now he could do whatever he wanted with her, subjugate her by any means necessary.

"You're mine and I won't let anyone forget that. And certainly not you."

#alan rickman #judge turpin x reader #judge turpin #sweeney todd #evans23 #rickmas2024

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vibratingskull · 1 month ago

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Hello Hello. May I please request a ThrawnxFem!reader

Reader is considered very beautiful the kind of beauty people envy but also warns about.

The reader is either forcefully get taken by him or ends up as his prisoner so he could "add" her to his art collection.

I imagine it mostly dark theme that if you consider doing it( I would be very grateful)

Ooooooooooooh... Dark Thrawn... Always a challenge to write! It will be a two parteeeeers ❤️❤️❤️

Thrawn x F!reader

Tags : Rebel!reader, Thrawn is dark in this one, dehumanization, collar and leash, forced nakedness, non-con touching, suffocation, scarification

Is Beauty a good or bad thing?

Is there an inherent morality in what we find beautiful? Do we find things beautiful because they are moral and virtuous, or are they moral and virtuous because they are beautiful?

You leave those questions to philosophers and people with too much time on their hands.

For you, beauty was only one thing.

A curse.

You were called a homewrecker for years, for the crime of having a pleasing, harmonious face and exquisite body.

A very

Pleasing face.

Their words, not yours. You learned to shut the fuck up about your own appearance early on. People are not interested in knowing how all the insults and the praises make you so uncomfortable...

People undergo surgery in hopes of having as much success as you. You were simply born with it.

You learned very young to navigate life with that kind of beauty, keeping your head low and avoiding problems as best you could. But you always drew attention to yourself whenever you entered a room. Despite your best intentions.

But you never stole someone’s partner! You may be a heartbreaker but you’re no side piece. You are not interested in any person willing to cheat on their partner, you don’t want that energy in your life.

You walked through life as lowkey as you could. Avoiding unwanted attention when you could, blocking your ears when you were called a “witch” and a ‘‘succubi”. To other’s eyes, your beauty was unnatural,

Dangerous,

Demonic...

And so deliciously tempting.

They held you responsible but craved nothing more but to taste what you had to offer...

You used to drown the weary feelings of a life without meaning on a small planet, a nothing world under the Empire’s boots, in bars. You learned how to get rid of creeps very efficiently, but you could never get rid of the increasingly numerous troopers and Imperial officers coming to those bars and, therefore, your planet.

Into your very life.

You wish you could do something but never learned to fight, manipulate weapons, or even fly a ship. You are a simple civilian, forced to bend the knee. The amount of time some of those soldiers proposed you to sleep for money is hilarious in a way, or those who proposed to bring you to the shiny Coruscant to live the high life with them... Buffoons!

At some point, you caught the eyes of a trio of rather high officers for the zone. They came to see you every evening, following you on the way home to “gentlemanly protect an elegant damsel”.

Fucking weirdos

And one night, as you tried to get rid of them again walking home a group of hooded figures appeared out of nowhere and attacked them. In less than a minute, the Imperials were unconscious on the ground.

You were so shocked you remained stuck in a freeze response, not even fleeing for your own safety.

You jolted when one of the hooded figures took a step towards you. He raised a hand in an soothing manner, taking his hood off to reveal his face with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Miss. We could not have done it without you.”

“I... I’m sorry?” you left out, still in shock of the attack.

“It’s been several months since we were hunting those three. Those slimy eels!” He kicks the side of one imperial, “But when they took a liking to you, they started to come to the same place regularly to meet. It allowed us to build this ambush. It would not have been possible without you! The Rebellion owes you this victory.”

He extended his hand to you. You shook it, gulping in embarrassment. You did nothing, you were just being harassed, you can’t take any credit for that. You feel his inquisitive and insistent gaze on you, detailing your face.

He hummed

“Say, would you be interested in Joining us?”

Your eyes rounded up in surprise.

You? In the rebellion? You would get killed the first day!

“I don’t know how to fight or anything, I'm afraid I won’t be able to do anything useful.”

“Combat can be learned. But I was more thinking about espionage.”

“Espionage?”

“We lack informants, and I feel that a face like yours could open many doors and give us access to many important data cards.” He smiled, confident.

Could you do it?

Fight at your level? Making a difference?

Give a goal and meaning to your empty life?

Memories of how your world and culture got disfigured and wounded by the Empire, all the life it destroyed, all the death, the battle, the injustices...

And you felt your blood boil.

“Interested?” He grinned smugly.

You took back his hand and shook it vigorously.

“I’m in!”

He nods, satisfied.

“Grandiose. I am Rosscob Eldlyce, pleased to meet you.”

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

You shiver.

Terrified.

A trooper pushes you forward harshly.

The raid was short and effective. The ISD spawned out of Hyperspace and invaded your secret lair in one swift attack! After some years in the rebellion, you learned to handle a gun, but against stormtroopers with formal and intensive combat training, you had no chance.

The shock collar squeezes your neck tight and the cuffs hurt your wrists. The troopers are gathering the remaining survivors in the ISD hangar, surely to shoot you all more easily.

So this is it, huh?

This is the end?

It is as good. You had a good run in your opinion. You succeeded in a lot of your missions, gaining a lot of vital intel for your comrades, and sometimes helping in discreet assassinations of high officers. You learned the Imperial Elite’s language and customs, roaming the ultra-select parties to gain access to your targets.

Your former curse had become a deadly weapon you learned to wield with confidence. With the rebellion forged VIP tickets and your disarming smile and charms a lot of Imperial doors formerly closed to your colleagues opened wide for you.

Yes.

You are satisfied with your work. You can die without shame and with your head high.

But the troopers don’t shoot. They put you in line and just stand there with their weapons, guarding you.

You risk a glance around you, all your comrades appear tired and hurt. You all fought valiantly but failed... You spin your head in the other direction when you feel a gentle touch on your side. Rosscob looks at you with a comforting gaze. He has several cuts still bleeding on his face and the patches of burnt fabric on his clothes tell you he came close to dying more than once today.

“Are you all right?” He asks gently.

You smile back sadly.

“Considering the attack? I am good...”

If you had more time, he could have become your lover... But you don’t have time left anymore.

The troopers suddenly all tense up and stand to attention. You turn your head as you hear steps approaching calmly.

Your own breath gets stuck in your throat.

Slowly approaching, like he is completely disinterested in what he sees, Grand Admiral Thrawn, the Empire’s prized alien and most precious tactician is looking down at all of you.

You all prefer to lower your head before his gaze like he could petrify you with one glare.

“Is that all the survivors?” He asks regally.

“Yes sir.”

He walks forward, surely congratulating himself for his victory and delighting himself in your afraid reactions.

The boots’ sound stops.

Right in front of you.

You gulp.

You keep your head low, praying for him to go away, but a vibrant blue hand comes to delicately seize your chin and force your head up.

“What do we have here?” His deep voice demands.

Against your better conscience, your gazes meet and you are immediately drowning in a sea of fire.

You danced a waltz with him once during a party. You were targeting another Imperial and he was a bite too big for you to chew despite all the juicy imperial secrets he must be hiding.

Contrary to a lot of people he was utterly uninterested in you. You only dared to invite him for a dance to make your target jealous and push them to make an error, and you never felt more of a prey than in the embrace of that man...

Words cannot explain how he stripped you of all your confidence and attitude just by looking down at you from all his height. Like yours, his body was a weapon to kill and you were keenly aware of how easy it would be for such powerful hands to break your bones...

How easily his long canines could tear your supple flesh apart.

You never felt so close to death than in his arms.

He must have forgotten you by now, but he scarred you down your bones.

And you hoped never to cross his paths.

Grand Admiral Thrawn simply tilts his head to the side as he details your face with... Cold disdain.

He towers over you menacingly, making you gulp. He finally releases your chin and takes something out of his pocket. To your shock and horror, he puts a metallic leash on your collar and tugs on it. You are jerked forward, hitting his large tall body with a gasp. You look up to him with an endless list of questions and fear in your eyes. He simply nods to himself, satisfied, and turns to his troopers.

“Guide the rest to the cells, they will be interrogated and dealt with rapidly.”

And he walks away, forcing you to follow like a dog, slightly strangling you as he tugs on the leash. Desperate you turn towards your comrades, taken away to get tortured and executed...

But Grand Admiral Thrawn pulls you behind him without mercy. You walk behind him, trembling in fear. What did he prepare for you? How will he kill you? How...?

You silently walk behind that man, calculating your chance of being able to strangle him with the chain before he kills you. But you remember his body, his muscles, his canines, his carnivorous eyes...

That man would break your skull with one hand.

So you obediently and sadly follow him in the never-ending corridors of his ISD. You cross paths with other officers, saluting their superiors and congratulating him, giving you weird and envious gazes as they notice you behind him.

You feel like an animal in a zoo and you keep your eyes on the ground. But you can still feel the burn of their gaze on your skin, making you wince.

“Please, enter.” Grand Admiral Thrawn casually says, prompting you to raise your gaze to him.

He stepped to the side to let you enter a room first. You take a deep breath and enter, ready to face your fate... Only to discover a room akin to a lavish salon. You remain silent in surprise and barely hear him follow you and close the door behind you both.

“Those are my quarters.” He announces neutraly.

Why... bringing you here?

He makes you spin in his direction with a stern expression and takes your cuffed hands to open the metal contraptions. You let out a silent breath of relief as the bite of the metal loosens finally, massaging the bruised skin.

He gets rid of the cuffs but doesn’t move to take off the collar, or the leash. He guides you to a smaller room, but it is as luxurious as the living room.

A bedroom.

He immediately heads towards the bed and for a split second, fear seizes you. But he simply kneels at the side and you hear a distinctive ‘click’. You see him pull harshly three times before standing back toward you.

“The chain is long enough for you to walk around the suite freely.” He informs you so casually, his hands clasped behind his back, you are doubting this entire situation for a second.

But you are very much chained like a dog to the bed of a Grand Admiral of the Empire.

“There are some delicacies and drinks available in the living room, serve yourself.” He flicks off a speck of dust off his pristine white uniform.

“Oh, I... All right...?” You can only say, at a loss for words as the reality of the situation is downing on you.

You are so fucked...

He considers you with a raised eyebrow, before skirting you to leave the suite in silence. You look as the door closes on him, abandoning you without any clue.

At the second the door closes you seize the chain and pull as hard as you can on it repeatedly, to no avail. You rush to the living room, the kitchen, an office, the bathroom, putting the suite upside down to find anything that could serve as a tool.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Not even a kitchen knife...

You pull to try to reach the door, but he prepared well, the chain is just long enough for you to barely brush the buttons of the door

Almost... But not enough.

So close, taunting you... But you would strangle yourself in the process.

You fall to your knees in the middle of the mess you created.

What did he plan for you...?

What will become of you?

You broke down crying.

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

Thrawn passes the door to discover his well-tidied and meticulously organized suite completely destroyed. He left a combat zone only to enter a no man’s land. He finds it almost impressive, he would not have guessed you capable of such damages!

He walks aimlessly in his ravaged living room observing... No, admiring the results of your rage and despair.

Ah, you destroyed his tea table. It was an antic... An original Topinac black wooden table carved for a king of the third dynasty, with bright-colored stained glass as a platter. A true testament to the craftmanship talents of this reptile species.

Such a pity.

He expected a reaction, but destroying his prized art pieces is out of the question. He will need to teach you good manners.

He expected you to be curled in a ball on the ground or to jump on him as soon as he set foot inside, but no. But he only has to follow the chain from the side of his bed to find you... In the bathroom.

The door is not closed, cracked open by some inches, letting him hear the sound of the shower running.

Good try, but you will not get him like that.

He presses his back against the door and takes out a pocket-size mirror that he orients towards the opening between the door and the wall. As he expected, you are waiting for him to enter the room, hidden in a corner, a large sharp shard of stained glass in your hand, ready to strike him down. You hold the shard so hard he can see your blood rolling down your arm as you await his arrival with a tense but resolute expression.

A shame you are fighting on his ground, really...

He puts the mirror back in his pocket and very delicately pushes the door shut and locks it with the domotic application. He hears a faint gasp from inside the room as the lock closes suddenly. He listens as you try the buttons panel inside, panics slowly settling in. Shortly after he hears you banging the door in desperation.

May this be your lesson.

He shuts the lights of the bathroom off with the application, leaving you in complete darkness and earning a squealed yelp. He raises the temperature and humidity of the room, soon you will be in a real sona.

And he has the firm intention to leave you there all night. Your training starts now.

He will lower the temperature and humidity back once you have lost consciousness.

Or maybe he won’t...

You weakly woke up, feeling sick to your stomach. You blink, embracing your surroundings. The bathroom door is now open again, letting light and fresh air pour in.

Illuminating the long chain.

You yelp, realizing that it was not a nightmare but your new reality. You groan raising on your knees and elbows, fighting the waves of sickness.

The tight collar doesn’t help.

The only thing you remember is the lights shutting off and the temperature skyrocketing... And you lost consciousness. You don’t even try to stand up, just being on all four demands a lot of effort. You crawl into the bedroom until black boots appear in your field of vision.

You jump out of your skin. You look up at Grand Admiral Thrawn from the ground, he was not here a second ago!

He considers you almost curiously, tilting his head at your pitiful view.

“This is not an unpleasant sight.” He says almost to himself, his face unreadable.

You feel cold sweat on your back at his words. It would be so easy for him to press your head down with his foot until your skull explodes under the pressure!

“Stand up.” He orders with his deep voice.

You obey with more or less elegance, feeling your legs trembling and sickness rising in your throat. You have to take support on the double bed as your head spins dangerously. Grand Admiral Thrawn is unaffected by your health, he looks you up and down, his nostrils flaring in discontent. He turns towards the large built-in dresser of the bedroom and takes out a garment.

“Put it on.”

You take it, trying to be on his good side by being obedient. Until you figure something out ...

Maybe he will go easy on you.

You look up at him when he shows no sign of leaving the room to let you change.

“…Sir ?”

“Put it on.”

But… With him here ?

“You-”  you cannot finish your sentence, he seizes the leash and tugs on it, strangling you for several seconds before releasing the pressure.

You cough and stumble, he remains still. You look in his eyes in despair, you are met with absolute darkness. He doesn't repeat himself, his burning gaze says it all.

You greet your teeth and take off your dirty combination. He remains still and silent, his hands clasped in his back, and if his expression is unreadable he doesn’t deprive himself from ogling you in your undergarments.

You very quickly pass on the outfit, a short, flowy summer dress.

Why does he have that in his closet? That can’t be for himself, the dress is way too small for his giant stature. On the contrary, it is perfect on you, the right size, flattering cut…

He takes a pair of heels from behind his back. No need to explain.

Even with heels, he towers over you.

“It is better. Come.” he grabs the leash and pulls you to a hairdresser.

You sit down and he opens a first aid box, grabs your arm, and inspects your slitted flesh. You wince as his grip sends a wave of sharp pain into the wound but he doesn’t release you. He takes out the disinfectant and dresses the wound in complete silence. He cleans the gashing flesh and the entirety of your arm before putting on some bandages and finally releasing you. You observe your dressed hand with circumspection while he opens a makeup box. He takes out brushes and pencils and tilts your head towards him, getting to work.

This situation is deeply upsetting, what he does makes absolutely no sense, and you can’t anticipate his next actions. He is so close to you, his eyes focusing on drawing your lips with a nude-tone pencil.

Under other circumstances you think you would find him handsome, with such vibrant blue skin, his shining red eyes like rubies, his forehead bumps that give his face so much personality.

But in those circumstances, he is just your jailer and torturer., he terrifies you to your core.

And suddenly it downs on you.

The dress, the heels, the makeup... He dolls you up to offer you to someone!

You dig your nails into the seat of the chair, trying to prevent your body from trembling from the shock. He is about to give you up as some sex slave! A present, a bribe, or a peace offering...

He has a reputation for being a clown in politics, you heard of that while roaming the socialite parties of Coruscant. And maybe his way to gain favor in this domain is to offer women.

This is far from unheard of. You just never expected you would end up like that.

“Stop crying, you are ruining my work.” He reprimands you.

You are called back to reality, feeling silent tears rolling on your cheeks and his displeased expression, fixing you with frowned brows. You notice he has a red line of eyeliner under his eyes.

But the makeup box is very much new and unused...

He takes out a red pencil, the exact shade he is wearing, and he traces a simple line under your wide-open eyes.

“The shade changes on your skin.” He hums, “We will need another color.”

And he tidies up the makeup, without any further explanation. You raise your hand to touch your wet cheeks in disbelief, slowly coming to the realization that your life ends today.

Whether he kills you or offers you... Your life ends now.

He contemplates his work, tilting your head into different angles before straightening his back and seizing the chain, signaling you to stand up and follow him. You obey.

You are so lost in your thoughts, mourning your short existence, that you do not register the paths you are taking and too soon, way too soon, you reach your destination.

You gulp as the large door slides open to reveal... The bridge.

You remain frozen in confusion.

“Advance.” He orders, walking in front of you.

You follow him to the large command chair where he sits down, slouching regally as if it were a throne. You remain standing next to him, looking around avidly, trying to guess where your next ‘master’ will arrive. Around you, the officers discuss the next route, walk around with datapad, and generally ignore you

“Are you going to sit, or do you prefer kneeling on the floor?”The Grand Admiral’s rich voice commands your attention.

You turn your head to him to see him tapping his fingertips on his lap, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

Is he...?

Like hell you’re going to sit on the enemy’s lap! You prefer to kneel on the cold ground!

“You are free to choose, just know that there are... consequences to your actions.” He lets you know mysteriously.

You gulp and greet your teeth. With regrets, you sit down on his lap as he seems to desire.

“Clever girl.” He whispers, his hand coming to rest on your naked thigh, brushing it unashamedly.

You refrain from shivering in fear at the contact. You try to keep your cool, to remain on his good side, and survive a little longer...

He keys a button on the arm of his chair and multiple screens appear before you two, on them you recognize your comrades in cells, looking miserable, their wounds left bleeding and undressed, exhausted and hopeless.

You almost shout to catch their attention, but you realize this is a one-way stream and they would not hear or see you.

“This, little one, is the remains of your ‘rebel force’ if we could ever call it a force. Your comrades’ fate remains undecided, I will judge it depending on the information they can provide me and...” He squeezes your thigh ever so slightly, taking your chin between two gentle fingers to force you to look at him, “How nice you are to me.”

You receive that information like a punch in the guts.

“I offer you a chance to save them all, little rebel. Please and obey me, and they may all walk away from the Chimaera alive. Displease me and you all pay the price. Nod if you understand.”

You swallow back all the interrogations his proposition birthed into your mind, and do the only intelligent thing to do :

Obey.

You silently nod.

He grins, flashing you long, sharp, white canines.

“Very good, little rebel...”

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

“Raise your hand higher.” Grand Admiral Thrawn orders sternly.

You obey, trying to be still while maintaining the position under the bright spot. His burning gaze caresses your skin as his lead dances on the flimsy sheet. This time he wanted to try graphite drawing. He already tried oil painting, aquarelle, photography, video, and other...

Capturing your likeness in all possible mediums, as naked as the day of your birth. To your utmost distress. As always he doesn’t seem disturbed by your exposed body, contrary to all the people who ever saw you naked, he observes your naked chest under the flashing light with detachment as he traces on the sheets.

“Tilt your head more, look in my direction.” He keeps ordering.

He usually gives you pictures of a statue, a painting, or a bas-relief and orders you to strike the same position for long, long hours while he makes art out of you. Sometimes he only does portraits and lets you keep your clothes on, but most of the time he draws the entire body, forcing you to unclothe yourself for him.

You greet your teeth, ashamed and angry but powerless.

Long minutes pass, your muscles screaming in discomfort and pain to be forced into various tensing positions, but finally:

“All right. I am finished.” He lets you know with a cold voice.

You lower back your arm, sighing with relief, and crack your spine as he stands up to organize his sheets into a well-ordered folder. You grab the thin garments he gave you this time and dress back rapidly, hiding yourself from his burning gaze. You repress a yawn, hiding your mouth behind your hand. Those art sessions happen between 3 am and 5 am, tiring you up as you cannot just go back to sleep once he is done, no, you have to follow him wherever he goes: On the bridge, in the meeting rooms, in his office, in the dojo, etc... Still on a leash, getting pulled at his will. You wonder what he will do once his leave comes. Will he take you to his home, or leave you here on the Chimaera, rotting in a cell until he returns?

Most probably the later...

You sigh, how much time has passed since you were brought on this wretched ISD? You lost track of time as day and night are the same in space and your lack of sleep doesn’t help one bit.

But you are at least thankful for one thing.

You do not share a bed.

The luxurious sofa at the end of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s large bed is convertible into a bed and he never forced you to sleep with him. You get to sleep in your own bed, still chained but in your own space that he never invaded.

You do not know how fast your sanity would have degraded if it happened. He lets you sleep and bathe in peace, ‘only’ choosing your clothes and makeup, like a doll he gets to play with.

But if the only things you have to do are to sit on his lap and let him play dress up like a child to ensure your comrades’ survival and give them time to think about an insurrection plan, you will do it! No matter how ashamed and disgusted it makes you feel.

Their survival comes before your comfort, your dignity, or even your life.

You internally sigh when your hand brushes the shock collar as you finish putting on your clothes, it is uncomfortable and rather hard to breathe with it but you learned to hide it and your disgust. You only offer him a stern and detached expression now, refusing to reveal your inner turmoil to him.

Not that he questions you, or even makes any kind of conversation with you. When he asked you to be obedient and to please him, your mind immediately jumped to the most horrific scenarios but… at most, he walks you like a dog and orders you to sit on his lap.

He yet has to give you a real order or command, but he didn’t… and you do not know if it is relieving or a prelude to a horrifying situation.

For now, he keeps you on edge, but tomorrow ? You may be dead…

‘’My duty calls. I trust you not to wreck my quarters a second time, or you will be punished for it.’’ He nonchalantly announces as he approaches you with the leash

You look at him with circumspection as he clips it on and locks it tight, pulling on it, pulling you against him again. You hurt your nose against his large chest with a groan before looking up at him.

Are all Chiss so stupidely tall or was he an outlier even in his own species ?

‘’Sir?’’ You ask in a polite, but cold tone.

He considers you silently for some second.

‘’We are heading into battle and I like to know my possessions are in their rightful place. I do not want to monitor you when I should be focused on the ship’s safety.’’ He finally explains with the most condescending tone you heard from him.

You refrain from punching him at those words.

Possession…

‘’You do not know how to hide your anger, little rebel. You can simmer it, but remember that your comrades’ lives are between your hands. Choose to be hostile and pay the price.’’ his last word finishes in a long hiss, reminding you of your place here.

You grit your teeth, remaining silent but your hands roll into fists, your nails digging into your palms. He considers you two more seconds before heading towards the door, hands clasped behind his straight back

“Behave.” He simply instructs without looking at you.

You sniff as he disappears. You sneakily approach the door to open it just an inch to observe him leaving the quarters and you wait.

Still

Silent

Your eyes are glued to that door, waiting with a beating heart if he will reappear through it at any second. After 10 minutes, the door remained closed and you judge it safe. You leave the room and heads toward his private office.

This is a unique occasion! He never leaves you alone, anywhere, anytime, you must make the most of it!

You cannot help but internally snigger as the office door opens wide for you. This man is sloppier than he pretends! You rush to the desk and turn on the computer, while it boots up you open every drawer, taking out as many data cards as you can, throwing them on the desk when the computer’s screen lights up.

It opens.

You remain flabbergasted at that fact. This computer must be rooted as the Grand Admiral’s workstation, but not even a password? Not even a facial scan? You really should warn the rest of the Rebellion about that Imperial security breach, they should be able to get a lot of intel with that!

You make the most of that breach and open a maximum of files, connect as many cards as possible, and read the totality of the flash drives at your disposition. You are no professional hacker, but your mentors took care to teach you how to create phantom files and bridges and cover your traces. If he is that sloppy with security he should not be able to notice you copied the entirety of his data to transfer it to your contacts!

Hideouts, military forces, secret paths, resources, slave routes, plans in progress... You gather as much as you can while creating a connection between you and the closest rebel cell you remember. You await with a heavy heart when you hear the liberating ‘ding’ of a successful connection. You immediately start the transfer of the information with sweaty palms and a beating heart.

When the transfer finishes you feel ready to faint. You did it. You cheated a Grand Admiral! Maybe it was a one-time error on his part, but chance and timing were definitely with you today!

As you start typing the commands to erase your actions from the terminal’s memory a little window pops in at the bottom of the screen with a short message.

‘Thank you, little rebel.’

You do not have time to formulate a thought as you realize your terrible error. Your hands hovering over the keyboard start trembling.

No. Your entire body trembles as you feel a cold sweat rolling down your spine. You abruptly cut the connection between you and the cell, like it would change anything now... You are about to rush out of the office when the collar suddenly tightens around your throat. You try to pull on it to get some slack or tear it apart entirely but as your previous attempts, you are unsuccessful. You cough when electricity starts coursing your body, starting from the neck. You feel an increasing panic as it tightens more and more, compressing your trachea. You fall face first against the desk then to the ground with a loud thud, mouth wide open desperately trying to breathe!

You pathetically gasp, rolling on the ground, breaking your nails on the cold metal of the collar. You feel your lungs burning by lack of air and your muscles forcefully tensed by electricity but in your pain and confusion, your brain still manages to register the shush of an opening door and steps coming closer.

A large and tall shadow wraps around your helpless body as Grand Admiral Thrawn admires you fighting for your life in silence.

“So I cannot leave your side once without you misbehaving, I see.” He finally sighs.

You cough hard as the pressure slowly releases around your throat and muscles.

He kneels, one foot on each of your sides to grab your shoulder and force you to roll on your back to look up at him. He observes your face soiled with saliva, panting heavily, bruises flourishing on your throat. He brushes the side of your face with the tip of his blue fingers, tracing its curves from your temple to your chin, grazes your neck then finally you feel his large hand on your cleavage, lying on your sternum.

He closes his red eyes, taking a deep breath like he was... savoring your pants and frenzied heartbeat through his palm.

You cough painfully, looking at him dominating you entirely. If only you had a weapon...

His burning eyes flash open suddenly making you jolt.

“But... You played right into my hand, little rebel. You sent false information to your comrades successfully, helping me in my plan, so I will be generous and give you a choice.”

You gulp in anticipation, your entire body tensed like a bowstring.

“Who should bear the punishment? You? Or one of your comrades in a cell? The choice is yours.” He edicts.

You roll your hands into fists, the desire to strangle him with that damn leash the more and more pressing.

“So? If you do not choose, everyone will pay the consequences of your actions.”

You grit your teeth, before feeling yourself getting limp, losing your will to fight.

“...Me.” You let out.

You cannot let your comrades pay for such a stupid error...

You freeze when you feel him opening your pants’ button. You lower your gaze to see him pulling on them to unclothe you. Without any thought for your immediate survival, you throw your hands, all nails out to scratch and claw his face but he expertly catches it and forces them down. He lowers his face to yours and flashes his teeth to you with a long growl.

“I would suggest you not try anything angering me, little rebel.” He lets you know with the coldest voice you ever heard in your entire life, freezing you down to your very core.

His teeth are so long and sharp that his canines look like they could tear your flesh to pieces so easily, forcing you into submission. The animal part of your brain demands you fight back and claw his throat while your survival instinct makes you go limp, whispering that you will not win a single fight against that murder machine.

Better dissociate during whatever horrifying act he has in store for you and live another day to have your revenge in the future than dying for sure today...

All your strengths leave your body, surrounding completely.

He considers you in silence, his white teeth creating contrast with his deep blue skin before he recovers his haughty and stern expression.

“Remain still, it will not last long.”

He pulls on your pants to the low of your hips and pulls the hem of your shirt up. He trails your skin from one hip to the other with the tips of his warm fingers and then...

He takes out a vibroblade.

You shudder discovering the shining metal blade that he slightly spins, slashing the air before refocusing on your exposed tummy.

You cannot help a cry of pain when he digs the tip of the blade in the supple flesh of your venus mound. That doesn’t stop him and he keeps digging in your skin. You bite down your lips, slashing them to blood as tears roll down your cheeks.

But nothing would move that monster...

“Almost done.” He lets you know, undisturbed.

You can feel your warm blood rolling on your exposed skin, but he keeps going, drawing more and more and more...

You roll your hands into fists, digging into your palms with your nails, shaking in pain and fear until...

“Perfect.”

He straightens his back to observe his work from a higher point of view, the blade solidly in his hand and a strange shimmer in his burning eyes. You shake trying to look at his “work”.

He dug what you guess to be a sentence in a script you never saw into your flesh.

He caresses the swollen and sensitive bleeding flesh with a touch almost... Gentle...

But nothing is gentle about him, nothing is soft, nothing is loving, he has a black hole for a heart and bathes in the blood of his fallen enemies if he doesn’t drink it altogether.

“That suits you wonderfully.” He decides.

He considers his sharp blade, soiled with blood... And licks it clean. He looks right into your eyes as his tongue laps the naked blade, savoring your blood like an animal.

You are sure now, those long, sharp canines are proof of some bloodthirsty carnivorous ascendant of the Chiss... and its deviances reappear in this man.

He smacks his lips, judging your taste with a thinking expression, debating your worth.

“Savory.” He proclaims, putting the blade away.

You close your eyes in relief, letting out a sigh as the blade leaves your field of vision...

“We are not done, little rebel. I have another task for you.”

You reopen your eyes in a flash as you feel him lifting you up bridal style and carrying you to the bedroom. He throws you on his mattress carelessly, a wave of pain coursing your sensitive bleeding flesh making you curl up over yourself.

He is typing something on his datapad and you think you see something turning and aiming in your direction from the corner of your eyes, but you cannot think straight, fear overriding any other thoughts in your brain;

You try to crawl away on the bed when a large hand grasps your ankle and pulls you back. You cry and struggle as he forces you on your back again, his strength overpowering you. You try to punch him off of you but he doesn’t care.

He details you silently, with only cold and dark detachment in his red eyes, making him look like a ghost looming over you. You try to slap him but once again he catches your hand and forces the other up, keeping them locked in his fist.

You pant and choke as he looks at you almost like a curious animal playing with its food. He then lowers himself and licks your neck from the crook to the jaw.

Your heart pounds into your chest and you pray for losing consciousness, anything for you to not know what he will do!

His knee forces your legs open, placing himself between them as he finishes to pull your pants out of your way. You try to kick him off but he remains undisturbed.

“Your comrades’ fate is between your hands, little rebel.” He reminds you, almost sadistically.

But... Can you do it?

Greet your teeth and bear the pain?

Would... Would you not rather have them be punished rather than experiencing... That!?

As to tease you, The Grand Admiral leaves soft kisses on your throat, like butterfly wings, his free hand roaming your body, taking a handful of your bosom through the fabric of your shirt. He bites down the crook of your neck, sucking and biting the flesh with a pleased hum while you wriggle and tremble under his weight.

You open one eye, meeting a sea of fire in his, burning down your soul with how inhumane it is.

You cannot survive this man... In one way or another, he will kill you.

You yelp as he squeezes your bosom in his large hand before pulling on your shirt to reveal your bra to his burning rubies. He immediately licks the exposed skin with a growl, his free hand sneaking under your back to unclip Your bra

You cry out, feeling his hand caressing your naked back and...

He suddenly stands back on his knees, releasing you. He silently raises his two fingers to his ear, his eyes sliding to the side.

“Are they ready to talk now?” He asks the void, ignoring you under him.

He nods in silence, turning his gaze back at you, helpless, shaking... Some emotion flashes in the sea of fire but you cannot identify it and he just gets off the bed and leaves the room entirely, leaving you shocked, trembling, and disoriented in his bed.

You raise in a sitting position, panting, crying, eyes fixed on the closed door, expecting him to barge back in and finish the job.

But you hear the door of the suite opening and closing back, leaving you all alone to your misery and fear.

You feel so cold but the traces of his hands burn your skin off.

You fall back on the bed and try to suffocate yourself in your tears and the sheets

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Thrawn reenters the bedroom after his long shift, feeling weary of everyone around him. He just wants peace and quiet for his evening.

He discovers you on his bed, makeup ruined by tears and nails broken by the collar, dug into the fabric of the sheets. You are curled up in a desperate attempt to protect yourself, you hurriedly clothed yourself back in your confusion but evidently did not have the strength necessary to carry yourself to the bathroom to dress your bleeding wound.

He considers you, still, silent.

How fragile you are between his hands...

How easy it would be to crush that throat of yours under his boot...

He tilts his head admiring you.

His most prized possession, his most stunning piece of art. Mother nature carved you out of stars, to be exposed and admired, to be standing on a podium under a bright light, such face and body are yet unseen in others... And only for him to keep.

No one else in the Universe has enough taste to see your true value, but him.

He figures this is a good time as any, at least you won’t complain it hurts in that state.

He opens his drawer and takes out a mechanical syringe. He cuts the back of your shirt an inch with his vibroblade, applies the canon of the syringe against your shoulder, and pulls the trigger.

You groan in pain but are too exhausted to wake up.

It’s done, the chip is in place under your skin.

He heads to the bathroom to take a small jar and returns to your side. He gently rolls you on your back and opens the bacta gel that he thoroughly applies to your tummy. You bled on his sheets he notes, your pants and shirt are also soiled by now.

You sigh of appeasement in your sleep at the fresh sensation of the medical gel on your flesh. He applies a generous layer before putting a large dressing on it. He mind-absently traces it with the tip of his blue fingers

Gently

Delicately

Almost lovingly

He debated it a long time if he should do it, what was the use if he planted the chip?

For his viewing pleasure, obviously.

Nobody reads this Cheuhn script in this part of the Galaxy, except him. For some, a scar would only devalue your worth but to him, it only adds more.

His maternal, superior language adorning your flesh... What better enhancement than that? People of poor taste may grumble all they want, he only has to lift the hem of your shirt to admire his claim on the most beautiful piece of art in existence.

It’s all right if you do not understand yet.

Once you get used to him, you will crave the protection he offers to deter any other lowly animals from you. Given time you will snuggle in his embrace, safe and ready to display yourself for his taste.

So few people understand like him the beauty of art pieces of flesh, judging it immoral. But what is more exciting than a fleeting moment of perfection you might miss with a blink?

That tension that you might miss true beauty if you avert your gaze for just a second?

The failures of flesh is also its purity and beauty...

He caresses your cheek soiled with tears and makeup with his knuckles. You are beautiful sleeping like that... But he cannot admire your eyes, where the true magic happens. He lowers himself to place his ear between your bosoms.

Listening

To that feeble heartbeat, the sound of warm blood traveling your body.

Is there better art than Life Itself?

He parts from you and lift you up to lay you down on your bed, pulling a cover over your helpless form. He takes his datapad and turns off the cameras in the room, looking back at you.

He has plans for you, but tonight you will sleep soundly.

Before he shatters you to pieces for good.

@bluechiss @blueninjablade3 @thrawnspetgoose @twilekchiss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo @leo4242564@davesrightshoe @Holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @lilyalone @princesslunamoon19 @Janjtje

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x reader #thrawn x y/n #fanfic #vibratingskull

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sufferu · 10 months ago

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MASTERPOST

Check the tags for quick and easy navigation. (this will no doubt end up being updated repeatedly lol)

Cool Tags

Reading the Light Novels for the First Time: At this point it’s more like reading the Web Novels for the first time, but it’s basically screenshots of quotes + commentary.

Reading the Side Stories for the First Time: Screenshots of quotes + commentary — this time from the side stories.

Re:Zero Brainworms: Cool thoughts/theories about Re:Zero.

My Inbox: Asks that I have actually answered (I am so sorry to everyone stuck in Inbox Purgatory —)

Fanart: Re:Zero Fanart. And also official art.

Fanfiction: Mostly commentary on popular Re:Zero fabric tropes tbh

My Fics: Completed fanfiction of my own. (Or. Completed chapters.)

My Ficlets: Small snippets of fanfics I am working on. I hope to add to this somewhat regularly.

Fan-made IF Routes

Nameless Wanderer AU: Julius loses his Name in Priestella and strikes out on his own, aimless, only to end up getting dragged along by the mysterious possibly-the-Archbishop-of-Pride named Schwartz who claims to be another victim of Gluttony.

Crusch IF: Reinhard brings Subaru to Ferris after Elsa’s assassination attempt, where he ends up being hired as a worker in Crusch’s mansion. Everything goes pretty well for the first month, until about two days before the Whale is scheduled to hit — at which point Subaru’s mind shatters.

Nect Reveal IF: Julius sees into Subaru’s memories when they link souls during the fight against Petelgeuse, where he 1) concludes that he is a couple months old, as he cannot see into his time from beyond the Great Waterfall and 2) figures out RBD in its entirety.

Housecat IF/Chewtoy IF: Everyone is an animal hybrid and housecat!Subaru has developed a complex where he has started to think that he was summoned here as a domesticated cat to serve as a chewtoy for all the wilder and more dangerous animal hybrids of the Re:Zero world.

Whale IF: Subaru dies during the Whale fight and resets to moments before it begins, where he spends about two months continuously looping in order to get every single person out alive. Everyone figures out that he has some sort of time travel ability behind his back. He has no idea.

Omegaverse IF: Omegaverse.

House Arrest IF: Reinhard kidnaps Subaru alongside Felt due to him being a suspected Witch Cultist.

Amnesia IF: Instead of Joshua and Julius losing their names in Priestella, Subaru loses his memories. Everyone gets a front-seat view to Subaru’s second spiral into madness as he rediscovers RBD, one loop at a time.

Natsumi IF/Homosexual IF: Crack AU where Subaru has internally accepted Natsumi Schwartz before the start of the series but is now consciously repressing her anyway due to fears of how crossdressing might be seen in this medieval-style fantasy world. He is so bad at this that everyone thinks he’s gay. This does not stop him from trying to present himself as a Man at every opportunity and giving everyone — especially the traditionally masculine men he is attempting to emulate — massive amounts of psychic damage.

Kintsugi IF: Reinsuba Soulmate AU where traumatic events show up as golden scars on your soulmate’s body. Reinhard has no idea who his soulmate is or what the fuck could be causing all of these horrifying injuries and he is trying desperately to find out whoever’s responsible.

Feral Subaru AU: Subaru is Isekai’d at ten years old and is immediately traumatized by Capella before being taken in by Emilia. He bites people sometimes.

Runaway IF: Subaru and Emilia have a miscommunication post-Petelgeuse that leads to Subaru (wrongly) concluding that he is unwanted, and for the very good reason of painting a target on everyone’s backs, and so he leaves in the middle of the night and accidentally kicks off a manhunt that lasts for an entire year.

Back to Zero IF: Everyone learns about RBD in its entirety, and then everyone except for Subaru gets sent back to Subaru’s duel against Julius. Chaos ensues.

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disguisedchaos · 3 days ago

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This is the sixth of my 12 LGBTQIA+ Sims - They all represent the colors in the Progress Pride Flag 🏳️‍🌈🤎🖤🩵🩷🤍💛💜

So far: Red Orange Yellow Green Blue

This is Pierre. He was born and raised in Mahikeng (South Africa). As the oldest child (Pierre was the firstborn son), she often felt the pressure to be a good role model for her three younger siblings. It was also not easy to cope with her ADHD diagnosis. Feeling that they weren't super comfortable with their gender identity was the unwanted icing on the cake. She didn't talk about those feelings, especially not with her parents. After Pierre graduated, he started to work at a logistics company, together with his father. Working there made him feel unfulfilled and overstimulated, which eventually led to a mental breakdown and a huge fight with his family. Pierre packed her stuff without saying goodbye and moved to Durban, a big coastal city. They now have a job at the Environmental Education Center. A place where they seek to better the world around them. Pierre also has made steps to reconnect with her family while being mindful of her own mental health.

A huge thanks to all the amazing cc-creators! You made this possible! If someone sees their stuff and I forgot to tag them .. let me know :) I'm also sorry if my English is faulty!

@kijiko-sims @joshseoh @jius-sims @pralinesims @aharris00britney @miikocc @crypticsim @nucrests @nell-le @lamatisse @msqsimsofficial @tukete @caio-cc @solistair @its-adrienpastel @okruee @nolan-sims @joliebean @shakeproductions @obscurus-sims @madameriasims4 @ice-creamforbreakfast @sheabuttyr @dyoreos @twisted-cat @trillyke @marsosims @greenllamas @serenity-cc @ceeproductions @woosteru

Wightspider07 & Sofi Sparks & Liliili-sims

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koffeesfancy · 5 months ago

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Second Chance | Lila Ike x Reader

Summary: Fate has a twisted sense of humor, putting you face-to-face with your ex, Lila, in a random encounter. The unexpected confrontation dredges up old memories, unresolved feelings, and the possibility of a second chance.

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Romance, Angst

Word Count: 5247

A/N: I know this is a long one, but I have worked very hard on it during all of my free time- whether at work or home. I'm sorry for the inconsistent updates. I've been super busy with work and falling into new routines in my new city. I think I'm getting into the groove of things, though, so expect maybe 1–2 updates a week. Also, I did not use my tag list for this story, as I was unsure if my few usual readers would be interested in another fandom. If y'all make it to the end, be sure to tell me if you'd like to be tagged in any other Lila fics- as well as your thoughts of the story in general. Enjoy <3

Of course, fate would put you in the last open lane at Walmart with your ex on the other side of the world at 3 AM on a Tuesday. It was just like Lila to be out in the middle of the night, shopping for what looked like several 3-lb tubs of play-doh, a frozen cheese pizza, and press-on nails. And it was just like Lila to realize she left her wallet at home after frantically patting the nonexistent pockets of her lilac-colored silk pajama set.

“Raatid…” she muttered, running her fingers through her messy auburn fro before loudly kissing her teeth. “Now what mi fi do…”

The moment the words penetrated the air, you froze, every fiber of your being suddenly on high alert. That smoky voice—familiar, unmistakable—sent a jolt through you, stirring emotions you'd buried long ago. It couldn’t be, you thought, your mind reeling in disbelief. But the sultry rasp, the tone, the slight lilt in her accent—there was no misconstruing it. Your breath caught in your throat as you slowly lifted your gaze, dread pooling in your stomach. And there she was, as real as the desolate day you last saw her, confirming what you already knew deep down. It was Lila.

Your heart sank as you took everything in- her lively appearance starkly contrasting with the mundane backdrop of the store. The sight of her was stupefying. A surge of nostalgia, annoyance, and an unwelcome flutter of affection twisted in your chest. You couldn’t help but notice the little things you once adored—the way she muttered under her breath, the casual confidence in her disordered state. Panic gnawed at you as you debated your next move. Should you confront her, or flee before she notices you? The aisle felt both a prison and a haven as you weighed the consequences of either action. Every second stretched, amplifying the dread of inevitable interaction, until the decision was made for you.

Of course fate would have you loudly drop a can of chip dip, ruining any chance of a stealthy escape. As you fumbled to catch it, the rest of your precariously balanced items slipped from your grasp, tumbling to the floor in a chaotic clatter. The clamor echoed through the aisle, drawing unwanted attention. You hurriedly crouched down, desperate to gather everything without too much noise, but your movements were clumsy, rushed. The dip container rolled away, followed by a cascade of soda cans, and as you reached for them, your foot slipped on something slick. The world tilted, and before you knew it, you were sprawled flat on your back, staring up at the bright lights. The cold, hard tiles beneath you sent a sharp ache through your spine, and for a moment, you lay there, stunned and mortified, surrounded by the scattered remnants of your failed escape.

If you hadn’t caught her attention before, you most certainly had now. The sharp odor of old mop water mixed with the sticky sweetness of spilled soda assaulted your senses as the blinding fluorescent lights bore down on you. Dazed and disoriented, you briefly wondered if you had hit your head hard enough to be imagining the figure standing over you. But as your vision cleared and you focused on the familiar silhouette, there was no mistaking it—this was no hallucination. It was definitely Lila.

From your vantage point on the ground, the first thing you noticed were the familiar slivers of warm, tawny skin peeking through the gaps of her shirt buttons. The sight dredged up memories, each one sharper and more stirring than the last. You recalled how Lila’s preference for revealing clothing used to irritate you, igniting silent arguments in your mind—arguments that now seemed trivial in the shadow of your separation. Yet, even now, a pang of jealousy twisted in your chest, surprising you with its intensity. Why should you care? You told yourself it was irrational, yet the emotion was there, raw and undeniable.

Slowly, you pushed yourself off the grimy floor, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you tried to shake off whatever mire clung to your clothes. With a forced calmness, you bent down to gather your scattered belongings, hoping your expression betrayed none of the turmoil inside. As you straightened, you avoided her gaze, muttering a curt, “Excuse me,” trying to convey a casual indifference that you didn’t feel. But as your eyes flickered briefly to hers, standing just inches away, the proximity stirred something deep within—a mix of regret, longing, and a tinge of resentment, all tangled together in a knot you couldn't untie.

“That wuh yuh say?” she remarked loudly, her eyes gleaming with a familiar, almost playful mischief that sent a chill down your spine. It was the same look she used to give you whenever she was about to do something unpredictable, something that always left you feeling off-balance. Your heart skipped a beat, anxiety tightening in your chest as your eyes darted between Lila, the cashier, and the exit, hoping for a way out. But before you could even process the situation, she waved a hand dismissively toward the cashier. “Ring alla this together,” she instructed with a tone that brooked no argument. It was just like Lila to have you bear the expense of a middle of the night art project after years of no contact.

A resigned sigh escaped your lips as you forced yourself to move, your shoulders tensing with each item you placed on the conveyor belt. The items felt heavier in your hands, burdened by the weight of this unwanted reunion. As the cashier began scanning them, a silence settled over you like a thick fog. The monotonous beeping of the register, the rough sound of your wallet’s zipper, and the rustling of plastic bags filled the void, each amplifying your discomfort. The cashier’s bored small talk was nothing more than background noise, barely registering as you tried to focus on anything but the tension coiling tighter inside you.

With your purchases bagged, you grabbed them hastily, eager to escape this surreal encounter. You wanted to mutter a quick goodnight, make a clean break, and retreat to the safety of your car, but Lila had other plans. She stepped directly into your path, her arms crossed in a stance that was both casual and resolute. A look of mild annoyance flickered across her face, as if she could sense your desire to flee and wasn’t about to let you off so easily. Her presence loomed, blocking your way, forcing you to confront the reality of her standing there, just inches away, after all this time.

“Excuse me? That wuh yuh say?” she repeated. You could only stare blankly into the warm pool of her chocolate colored eyes.

“Better than asking who let your crazy ass into the country?” you retorted, trying to keep your voice steady. But your calm was shattered by the raucous laughter that erupted from her. She doubled over, shoulders shaking like you’d just delivered the punchline of the year. Crazy indeed, you thought, a bitter edge creeping into your mind, irritated by the way your heart softened at the sight of her laughing—laughing at something you said. You always used to cave under the weight of her laughter, her smiles, her gaze. That’s why you moved back here—to escape her, to escape the hold she had over you. But now, seeing her here, of all places, in your hometown thousands of miles away from where you met, you couldn’t help but wonder why the hell she was standing in front of you again.

Her sudden grip on your arm jolted you back to reality. Her hands, as soft as once before, clung to your forearm as she tried to steady herself, laughter fading into ragged breaths. The pressure of her fingertips against your skin was almost unbearable, sending a rush of heat through your body that left you momentarily breathless. And then, there it was—that sweet, familiar scent of her perfume, the one that still lingered in the fibers of your hoodies no matter how many times you washed them. The smell brought a wave of memories crashing down, each one tinged with the bittersweetness of what once was and what could never be again.

You found yourself staring blankly into the forest of her coily chestnut hair, its wildness hinting at the composed chaos she always seemed to embody. Her head tilted upward, revealing an impish grin that stretched across her round, freckled face. Without loosening her grip on your arm, she asked, “You want mi fi show yuh crazy?” The playful challenge in her voice sent a shiver down your spine. Despite yourself, you felt your resolve beginning to melt under the weight of her stare. You had always found her gaze so disarming, a piercing look that left you exposed and vulnerable. Three years of distance had allowed you to rationalize this effect, convincing yourself it was nothing more than a manipulation tactic. But as her eyes bore into yours, and she tilted her head to the side for an obvious once-over of your outfit, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar pull, as if she knew exactly how to unravel you with just a glance.

“Wah, and yuh know dis de mi favorite color,” she remarked, her manicured fingers sliding up to tug playfully at the sleeves of your t-shirt. The combination of her familiar perfume, the way she looked at you, and the heat of her touch started to blur your senses. Your breath caught in your throat, and a burning sensation tightened in your chest. Six years of chaotic memories flashed before your eyes, each one more overwhelming than the last. The discomfort that had been simmering in the pit of your stomach began to ignite, flickering into anger as you fought to keep your emotions in check.

“Thanks, my girlfriend picked this out for me,” you blurted out, not entirely sure where those words came from. Though untrue, they served their purpose. The sweet look on Lila’s face twisted into something darker, her eyebrows knitting together as she withdrew her hands, crossing her arms defensively. If you were as gullible as you were three years ago, you might have mistaken the expression on her face for genuine pain and given in to the urge to comfort her. The conflicting voices in your head clamored for attention, urging you to fold under the pressure. But instead, you stood firm. “Speaking of which, I should get back home,” you added, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. You waved your bag, a small but pointed reminder that this 3 AM store run was meant to be quick and solitary—not an invitation to commiserate with ex-girlfriends.

Lila stepped aside, her head turning away as her voice took on a hardened edge. “Should I care? Why yuh a tell mi this? Galang bout yuh business man,” she snapped, waving her hand dismissively. You caught one last glimpse of the redness blooming on her cheek before attempting to move past her toward the exit. But she remained rooted in place, still blocking your path. A sharp cough from the cashier broke the tense moment, and Lila hesitated before finally shuffling a few steps away.

“Sorry. Mi meant fi say thank you… and yuh look good. Goodnight,” she added, her voice quieter now, almost reluctant. She grabbed her heavy bags from the carousel with a quick, jerky motion and made a beeline for the exit, leaving behind only the lingering trace of her sweet perfume, a scent that clung to the air long after she’d gone.

You watched her figure retreat, making sure she had enough time to drive off to wherever the hell she came from before you stepped outside. The cashier, now disinterested, tapped away at her phone as you lingered, feigning interest in the caged balls and coin machine against the wall.

“Need help with anything?” the cashier's voice broke the silence, pulling you back to reality. Taking it as your cue to leave, you made your way to the parking lot. By now, it was nearly four in the morning, and the sky had shifted from deep black to a warm violet hue. The emptiness of the parking lot was almost comforting, and you found yourself contentedly trying to chalk up the night’s encounter to an insomnia-induced hallucination.

But as you pulled up to the exit, your stomach sank. A car was idling in front of you, its lights off, blocking the narrow lane. You considered reversing and trying another exit until you noticed another car inching up behind you, trapping you in place. Just as you were about to roll down the window to signal the driver behind you to back up, the door of the parked car swung open with a loud, jarring creak, shattering the bleak quiet of dawn.

Lila’s upper body leaned out of the car door as she shouted, “Guh roun deh.” Her arms waved frantically, trying to signal you to move around, but the effort was clumsy and ineffective. In her haste, she lost her balance and began slipping out of the car, tumbling awkwardly onto her side. The other car quickly backed up and sped off to the opposite end of the parking lot, leaving you alone, staring at her sprawled on the asphalt. A wave of pity washed over you as you took in the sight—Lila lying limp on the ground, half of her legs still tangled in the car, looking as helpless as ever.

Against what might have been better judgment, you stepped out of your car and walked toward Lila’s crumpled form on the cold asphalt. Just minutes ago, she had stood over you on the Walmart floor, and now, fate had turned the tables—you were the one towering over her in the dimly lit parking lot. As your shadow stretched across her, Lila’s round face tilted up, revealing the steady stream of tears tracing a path down her freckled cheeks, flushed red from the cold. Her blouse had ridden up in her fall, exposing the soft caramel skin of her stomach. Those big brown eyes locked onto yours with a mix of pain and something else—an unspoken plea, perhaps.

For a moment, you hesitated. The Lila you knew was headstrong, incapable of asking for help while always needing it all the same. But here she was, vulnerable and small, and the sight tugged at something deep inside you. A part of you wanted to walk away, to leave this mess behind like you had three years ago. But those eyes… they always had a way of pulling you back in.

You knelt beside her, reaching out to grab her shoulders. Her skin was softer than you remembered, her shoulders narrower, as if the years had chipped away at her. As you helped her to her feet, Lila’s legs straightened slowly, her movements sluggish. You guided her back against the car, your hands lingering longer than they should have on her, noting the warmth beneath your fingers.

The tears had carved a shimmering trail from her cheeks to her neck, disappearing into the dip of her cleavage. Your eyes drifted, unable to settle, each glance at her reminding you of everything you had tried to leave behind. The smell of her perfume—familiar, intoxicating—wrapped around you like a ghost from the past.

But even as you felt yourself being drawn in, a sliver of anger sparked in your chest. The six years of chaos, the mayhem she brought into your life, all flickered back to life in your mind. You knew this was dangerous, that letting her back in would unravel everything you had worked so hard to put back together.

"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice more strained than you intended, as you finally met her gaze again.

Lila didn’t respond immediately. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Then, almost as if realizing where she was, she pulled herself together, a shaky smile breaking through her tears.

“Yeah,” she whispered, but you could see the lie in her eyes.

The night was silent around you, the empty parking lot a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling inside you. The cold air nipped at your skin, grounding you as you realized just how close you were to falling back into old patterns. The thought made you tighten your grip on her shoulders for a brief second before you forced yourself to let go, stepping back to create distance.

“Let’s figure this out,” you murmured, trying to steady your voice, even as the gravity of the moment pulled you deeper into a place you weren’t sure you could escape.

Lila’s eyes darted away from yours, her expression darkening with a mix of hurt and anger. “So now yuh ago laugh off me?” she snapped, her voice trembling as she imagined the worst. “First yuh pay fi mi inna di store, now yuh a pree mi car a bruk up- mi cyaan badda with this no more. Go. Go,” she ranted, her hands pushing weakly at your arms, trying to create distance, but you stood your ground, unmoved.

“Crazy girl…” you whispered, your voice low and tender as you leaned in closer, closing the gap between you. The scent of her perfume mixed with the cold night air, intoxicating and familiar, drawing you in despite yourself. Her breath hitched as your eyes locked, the space between you charged with a tension that had always simmered beneath the surface.

You reached up, your hand trembling slightly as you cupped her tear-streaked cheek, your thumb brushing away the wetness. Her skin was warm against your palm, soft and yielding as she instinctively leaned into your touch, her defenses crumbling. “You know I was lying,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, the words slipping out like a secret. “Who would I be with when you’re right here?”

For a moment, she just stared at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, as if searching your face for any sign of deceit. But there was none, just the raw, undeniable truth that had been buried for years. Her lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as she tilted her head ever so slightly, her gaze flicking down to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

The world around you faded away as you leaned in, your heart pounding in your chest. Her hands, once pushing you away, now found their way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips brushed against hers. The kiss was hesitant at first, a tentative exploration of familiar territory, but it quickly deepened, the years of distance and longing collapsing into this one moment.

Her body melted into yours, her arms tightening around you as if afraid you might disappear. The taste of her tears mingled with the softness of her lips, the saltiness grounding you in the reality of the moment. Your hands slid from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her coily hair, drawing her even closer as the kiss grew more urgent, more desperate.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourselves. Her eyes fluttered open, still glistening with unshed tears, but there was something else there now—something softer, something that felt like hope.

You took a step back, wanting to give her space but not ready to let her go. The strain hung heavy in the air, and the chill from the asphalt seeped into your bones. “Okay, let’s get you comfortable,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you guided her toward your own car.

As you opened the passenger door, you could see her shoulders tense slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her freckled face. You gently helped her settle into the seat, your hands brushing against her arms, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You adjusted the heat, the warm air began to swirl around her, coaxing a hint of relaxation back into her expression.

“Just breathe, alright? I’ll figure this out,” you murmured, leaning in slightly to meet her gaze. Her big brown eyes, usually so vibrant, looked glassy with lingering tears, but as you spoke, the tension around her brows began to soften. A small nod accompanied a tentative smile, barely there but enough to spark a flicker of hope in your chest.

You placed a hand on her knee, offering a reassuring squeeze, feeling the warmth of her body beneath your palm. She let out a shaky breath, her lips parting slightly as if to say something but then closing again, a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty etched across her face. You could see her fighting to compose herself, but the weight of the unspoken clung to her.

Once Lila was settled, you closed the door gently and walked around to her car, heart pounding as you slid into the driver’s seat. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task ahead. Turning the key in the ignition, you listened for any sign of life, but all you got was a stubborn silence that confirmed your worries.

You glanced around the interior, looking for anything of substance. The scent of Lila’s perfume lingered in the air, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you still felt. With a sigh, you turned your attention to the glove compartment, yanking it open to rummage through the jumble of papers. Your fingers brushed against a few receipts and a stack of documents. As you sifted through, a piece of paper caught your eye: a registration form dated just a few weeks ago.

Curiosity piqued, you unfolded the document and scanned the details. Lila had just gotten this car, and the thought sent a pang of concern through you. How long had she been in the country? And why this city of all places?

Your heart raced as the implications settled in. This was a place you knew well—filled with hidden dangers and unfamiliar faces. The very idea of Lila navigating it alone, without a support system, made you feel uneasy.

You picked up your phone and dialed AAA, your mind racing with thoughts of what could have happened to her. As the line rang, you couldn’t shake the feeling of frustration coursing through you. It was reckless for her to come without telling, without making sure she had someone to lean on. And now, here she was, stranded in a parking lot at night, vulnerable to whatever dangers lurked in the shadows.

What if something had happened to her? The thought made your blood run cold. You couldn’t help but imagine her facing trouble alone. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel as the call finally connected, the voice on the other end breaking you from your thoughts.

“AAA, how can I assist you today?” the operator asked, and you began to explain the situation, your gaze flickering back to Lila, who was curled up in the passenger seat, trying to find comfort amid the chaos. You wanted to protect her, to shield her from the world that had been so unkind. But you also knew that she always made her own choices, even if those choices scared you.

After finishing your call, you returned to your own car settling into the driver’s seat, the warm leather a stark contrast to the cool weather. Silence wrapped around you both, heavy and thick, as if the car itself held its breath.

As if on cue, you both spoke at the same time.

“Why did you—”

“Where have you—”

You stopped, your eyes darting to Lila’s. She bit her lip to stifle a laugh, and soon, you found yourself laughing too. It was the kind of laughter that felt like a lifeline thrown into the depths of an awkward ocean, a shared moment that lightened the tension hanging in the air.

“Okay, you go first,” you said, raising your hands in surrender.

Lila took a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. “Why lie about having a girlfriend?”

The question hung there, both simple and loaded. You hesitated, guilt bubbling up, and finally admitted, “I was scared. I thought if I said I had someone, it would put some distance between us. I didn’t want you to show up in front of me as if nothing had happened.” The words tumbled out, and for a moment, you felt foolish, childishly trying to shield yourself from the past.

Lila tilted her head, processing your confession. “Aight den. Fi yuh time now.”

Your heart raced as you gathered your courage. “What are you doing all alone in my city?”

The response came slowly, almost hesitantly. “I… I miss you. I miss home. Mi did waan come back home- fi come back to yuh.” Her words hung between you like a delicate thread, weaving together the fragile remnants of what you once shared.

You could feel the sincerity in her voice, and it washed over you, warm and bittersweet, pulling you back to a time when everything felt easier. The weight of her admission settled in, and you were left grappling with the truth of her longing and the complexities of your own heart.

You felt a whirlwind of emotions surging within you—nostalgia, longing, and an aching vulnerability. Memories of laughter shared, dreams whispered in the dark, and the warmth of her embrace flooded your mind, pulling at your heartstrings. The distance between you and Lila felt both immense and insubstantial, like an ocean separating two islands that had once been one. You yearned for the connection you had lost, the easy rhythm of companionship that had felt so right. But doubt flickered in the corners of your mind, mixing with the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to navigate the waters of this complicated past.

As you both sat in the car, the chill of the early morning seeped through the windows, the world outside quiet and still, as if it was holding its breath. The only sound was the soft hum of the car's engine, a low vibration that pulsed through the seats. You could feel it in your bones, a reminder of the tension that hung in the air, unresolved and heavy.

Lila shifted beside you, her movements drawing your attention away from the growing unease. You turned to her, your eyes meeting hers in the dim light. There was something in her gaze, a softness, a vulnerability that you hadn't seen before. It made your heart ache with a familiar longing, a desire to reach out and close the distance between you.

She broke the silence first, her voice barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. "Can we fall in love like we did before?" Her words lingered in the air, wrapping around you, tugging at the strings of your heart. You felt a lump form in your throat, your emotions warring within you, a mix of fear and hope.

You wanted to answer her, to tell her that yes, you could, that you wanted nothing more than to lose yourself in her again, to feel the warmth of her love. But the words stuck in your throat, trapped by the memories of the past, the pain and heartache that had driven you apart. You glanced away, your eyes focusing on the windshield, the condensation forming intricate patterns that blurred the outside world.

Then, with a sudden, determined movement, Lila reached across the space between you, her hands enveloping yours. The warmth of her touch sent a jolt through you, grounding you in the moment. Her eyes locked onto yours, deep, earnest, and pleading.

"Can I show you how much I adore you?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. You could feel the weight of her words, the sincerity behind them. It wasn't just a question; it was a plea, a desperate hope for a second chance, for the possibility of rewriting the story that had once ended in heartbreak.

The memories of your shared past flooded your mind—the late-night conversations, the stolen glances, the feeling of her arms around you, the laughter that echoed through the halls of your old apartment. But with those memories came the arguments, the misunderstandings, the walls you had both built around your hearts. It had been easier to walk away, to let the distance grow, than to face the pain of trying again.

But now, sitting in the car with her, the darkness of the parking lot outside contrasting with the warmth of her hand in yours, you realized that maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe the love that had once been there, the love that had been buried under the rubble of your broken relationship, could be unearthed, rekindled.

You looked back at her, really looked at her, and saw the hope in her eyes, the way her lips trembled as she waited for your response. And in that moment, you made a choice. You squeezed her hand, a silent promise, and leaned closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I don’t know if I want the same love as before," you admitted, your voice shaky but honest. "But maybe we can fall in love for the first time again. Maybe we can learn from our mistakes, and start all over."

Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, her lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. "Babe," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Come make we go fall in love."

You leaned in, closing the distance between you. The warmth of her breath mingled with yours, filling the small space of the car with a mix of tension and tenderness. Time seemed to stand still as the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, suspended in this moment.

As your lips brushed against hers, you felt the familiar spark ignite, igniting a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for far too long. The kiss was hesitant at first, a gentle exploration of what had been lost and what could be found again. But as you surrendered to the connection, it deepened, unraveling the years of hurt and hesitation that had built up between you.

Her lips were soft and inviting, a reminder of all the reasons you had fallen in love before. The kiss spoke volumes—of promises unspoken and dreams rekindled. You felt her fingers weave into your hair, pulling you closer as if to erase the distance of time and regret. The rhythm of your heart synchronized, creating a melody that only you two could hear.

In that confined space, the worries of the world slipped away, leaving just the two of you lost in each other. The kiss was not just a reconnection; it was a quiet declaration of hope, an unspoken vow to navigate the road ahead together. The taste of her was sweet, like the memories you cherished and the possibility of a future yet to unfold.

As you finally pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed, you lingered in that space between closeness and distance, both of you aware that this moment marked the beginning of something new. With a shared glance that held a universe of meaning, you realized this was your second chance.

#Spotify #songfic #angst #wlw #wlw post #black wlw #sapphic #lesbian #lila ike #lila ike x reader

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s-creations · 8 months ago

Text

Fluctuates Chapter 5- One is Sick

One-Shot entries for the #RadioStatic Week 2024.

Yep, I'm doing this again! I'm going to make sure that I can keep track with uploading this time. Also, I will be sticking with the Fluff path, because I need more Fluff with these two.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Alastor/Vox (RadioStatic) Warnings/Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lots of Fluff because I want it, Rosie will be in this, Probably other characters not sure at the moment, Husk has arrived as well!, nudity mentioned

Alastor was known for one thing, control. He always had to be in control. No matter the situation. Alive or dead, if he was involved, Alastor needed to lead. And while Hell offered so many avenues that allowed him that sense of control, it also gave one disadvantage that he’d not counted on.

That being his body now had an annual sickness called a ‘rut’. A time where he wasn’t aware of his own consciousness. When his existence was pain and heat and pressure. With a desperate need for the comfort of someone, but with the want to keep some semblance of himself while being lost in his unwanted animalistic instincts.

It. Was. Torturous.

As the years passed when he’d first arrived, it was counting down and planning for when he had to hide himself away. Making sure to leave rumors that he was still there, watching from the shadows, so no sinners could believe Alastor was trapped in a situation of weakness. Leaving him alone for days to deal with an illness that brought him to his knees.

A part of his afterlife he had to deal with in silence.

…Until.

“Alastor?”

Ears flickering hearing that familiar voice, Alastor practically peeled himself away from his sweat laden pillow. Eyes with blown pupils darting over to the bedroom door where Vox was cautiously peeking his head in.

The Media Overlord gave a small smile upon seeing Alastor and let out a whisper of, “Oh, we’re a bit further than I thought.”

Entering the room fully, Vox gave a quiet goodbye to whomever was on the other side before closing the door. Shedding his coat and kicking off his shoes, Vox slowly approached the bed, voice low and calming.

“Hey you, sorry about being late. I tried to get out of that meeting as quickly as possible. Guess it wasn’t fast enough.” Nearing the bed, Vox raised a hand for Alastor to take.

Only to pull it back quickly when the other let out a low growl, antlers growing.

“Hush you, it’s just Husk’s scent. You know Husk. He just brought me up, that’s all. It’s just the two of us, I promise.”

Alastor pouted slightly at that, but made no further noise of complaint. Cautiously eyeing the same hand as it reached out and relaxing when it began to scratch behind his ear.

“Not much for talking either, huh? How do you feel about getting out of that suit and getting a little more comfortable?”

“No.” Was Alastor’s snap reply, voice low and gravely.

Vox merely shrugged. “Alright, guess we’re starting this off with being uncomfortable but stylish. How typical of you.”

Being careful not to displace anything in the bundle of blankets that had formed a small ‘nest’ on the bed, Vox shifted until he was laying next to Alastor. Who was still watching Vox with cautious curiosity. Seeming uncaring that he was being monitored closely, Vox let out a sigh as he got comfortable and patted his chest.

“Come on. I didn’t frantically rush over here just for you to keep your distance. Let’s starve off that uncomfortable feeling for as long as we can”

The unseen tail gave a little wag as Alastor rolled over. Moving slowly so he could respond accordingly if there was a trick involved with this. Vox remained as still as he could, watching as Alastor shifted to lay his head on the other’s chest.

The moment he recognized Vox’s scent, Alastor relaxed. Ears lowering in relief as he practically buried himself into Vox. Claws coming close to tearing into the dress shirt.

“There we go.” Vox mumbled softly, arms reaching up to wrap around Alastor as he sunk further into the bed. “Now we’re getting somewhere. A good, long nap will be the best start to this. Good way to build up that needed energy for future issues, right? Nice and relaxed…”

Alastor didn’t respond. Instead nuzzled closer and closed his eyes. Having no issues with the fingers that had returned to gently scratch behind his ear.

“Nice and relaxed… Before the shit show officially starts.”

__________________________

The small part of his rational mind that remained knew this was stupid. That he should just listen to what Vox was saying. But another part was saying that he could handle himself and he didn’t need help.

“Would you please just strip!” Vox desperately asked again. Bucket of cold (slowly becoming cool) water in one hand with a cloth in the other. Staring down a disgruntled Alastor, who had bundled himself up further in his nest. Glaring at Vox from the shadows.

“You’re being ridiculous. I know your temperature is going to skyrocket soon and if you’re uncomfortable now, it’s going to be ten times worse. I have something that can help. But you need to get undressed. Yeah? Think we can do that?”

Alastor’s response was to let out a warning growl.

“You fucking deer-” Vox let out a slow breath, “You know I’m just here to help you. Please, just let me help you. Do you want to sniff the water first? Would that help?”

Not waiting for a reply, he lifted up the bucket. Alastor flinched away slightly when it was within view. But did eventually poke his head out to sniff the air.

“See? Just water. Just something that will help with your heat. I promise. Now, how do we feel about removing some clothes?”

Alastor snapped his mouth and dove back under the blankets.

“Come on! You prude, I’ve seen you naked before!”

__________________________

Alastor let out a small whine as his light sleep was interrupted by a new cool cloth draped over his back. Wanting more to break this fire burning inside him. But not wanting to release the large pillow he was wrapped around.

“I know,” Vox whispered softly, “I know, this sucks. You’re doing great, I promise. Try and go back to sleep?”

A small huff was offered as a reply as Alastor’s eyes closed once more.

__________________________

Alastor let out a warning growl as Vox shifted again. Arms tightening around the other. Eyes narrowing as Vox turned over, as best he could, to offer his own glare back.

“You are entirely too warm,” Vox’s voice was quiet from exhaustion, “Also, I need to use the restroom.”

Another warning growl was the reply back.

“What, do you want to hold my hand while I urinate?” While the question was clearly posed as a joke, Vox’s smile dropped when Alastor crawled out of the bed. Standing expectedly by the edge of it while looking back at the Media Overlord.

“...I was fucking joking- Hey!” There was the sharp sound of feedback as Vox was effortlessly picked up from the bed. Held close while Alastor walked towards the bathroom. “You ass! Fucking- You’re not staying in the room!”

__________________________

There was a new scent in the air.

Alastor’s eyes snapped open as his senses screamed ‘danger’. New and unfamiliar was not making for a safe environment. Form growing, he practically staggered his way to the bedroom door. Eyes looking around for the intruder and Vox, because the Media Overlord was missing from the room.

Twisting his body in order to fit through the door, Alastor was still frantically scanning the area. A small blip of relief hit him when he found Vox standing at the suite’s entrance. A well tied package in hand as he stared Alastor down with panicked eyes. Alastor’s focus swiveled to the door. Or, mainly, who was on the other side of the door.

There was a flurry of motion.

Vox quickly pushed the other away from the door before slamming it closed. Pressing his body against it as Alastor quickly stalked forward, letting out an unholy screech as he clawed against the ground.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Vox held up a hand towards Alastor while still holding the package close. “Wait, it’s fine! You’re fine!”

Alastor stopped right in front of Vox, leaning down as he quickly scanned the other over. Looking for any injuries that the intruder could have delivered.

Vox placed the package down to free his hands, allowing him to gently place them on Alastor’s face to try and offer some comfort. “Hey, I’m okay, I promise. We just got a delivery. That’s all. You protective little gremlin.”

He laughed softly as Alasor nuzzled against him. “Yeah, okay, how about getting you to eat something.”

Remaining close to the other Overlord, Alastor watched as Vox unwrapped the delivered package. The latter wincing as a newly eviscerated corpse flopped down onto the floor. Barely getting out of the way before Alastor descended upon it. Vox taking a few steps back as to not get caught in the crossfire.

“Hopefully that will keep you satisfied for a while.” He mumbled weakly. Shrinking back to avoid a rather violently thrown chunk of meat.

__________________________

Alastor woke with the first semblance of normalcy since the week had started. Body a little sore, but felt back in control as he shifted slightly, trying to sit. Only to stop when an arm, which had been draped around his waist, tightened around him. Looking up to find Vox’s blank screen reflecting Alastor’s exhausted looking face back. They were both lying on the bed with Alastor on top of the other, head resting on Vox’s chest.

Smile softening, Alastor shifted up slowly so he could comfortably kiss Vox’s screen. Quietly laughing when the screen flickered on with the Media Overlord’s face barely seen. “Good morning dear.”

Vox let out a small hum as he stretched. “Mornin’... How’re you feelin’?”

“Better. Much, much better. You look a little exhausted.”

“Chasin’ after you does that…” Vox let out a slow cycle of air as he settled back down into the bed, arms wrapping around Alastor. Hand reaching up to scratch behind the Radio Demon’s ear. “‘M assumin’ your rut is over?”

“Would appear so. But I suppose one more day away from everyone and cuddled up to you would be best. Just to be sure.” While saying this, Alastor settled himself back down. Nuzzling under Vox’s ‘chin’ before laying his head on the other’s chest.

Vox gave no reply to this. Entire form relaxing as his hand eventually stilled, laying on the back of Alastor’s head.

The Radio Demon made a mental note to pamper Vox later. Afterall, it’s the least Alastor could do for the other, after caring for him for that week.

#s-creations #fanfiction #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #vox #voxal #alastor x vox #radiostatic #radiostatic week 2024 #nudity mentioned

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