#every day i'm plagued with what little information we get for him

[casspalmer]

nobody talks about matthew's reaction to learning that will was not in fact already a killer enough. my guy really just went "well he's a murderer now"

like. that was the entire basis for your obsession, matthew. you were obsessed with serial killer will graham.

he just decided that will had morals so fucked it was enough to make up for the previous lack of murder. and ya know, the empathy but STILL. he took that revelation without missing a fucking beat.

[starlightazriel]

bad boy az # 7 (fem reader)

warnings: 18+ , smut, luciens nickname is lucci (im freshly gardened leave me alone), lucien????? (you know what emoji im thinking about), 16/18 age gap, angsty asf, self loathing, az being az, underage alcohol and drug abuse, loneliness, heartbreak, pining, fluff (YUP)

a/n: im sorry lucien doesn't have a fake eye i don't have time to backstory why a high schooler lost his eye lol thank you for all the support i love you. also credit to @leyannrae for the lickback cus i was scared to do it but was inspired by the comment

other parts can be found on my azriel masterlist

wc: 4.3k

The particular situation I found myself in, definitely wasnt what I would have expected when I left my house this morning. I wasnt exactly complaining though. Maggie had informed me earlier today that I needed to 'get outside' needed to 'explore some other fish in the sea' and it was 'the perfect opportunity to do whatever I want because my parents were out of town for the week'. She had also added that Azriel 'wasnt the only hot guy that existed on planet earth'. I recalled wanting to argue that he was the hottest guy on earth.

I knew she was just worried about me though, I hadn't left my room in weeks besides school, so I didnt protest. I agreed to the double date with Maggie, Shane, and Shanes right hand man Lucci, yes Lucci, and yes it was pronounced like Gucci. Which Maggie had informed me was short for Lucien, but no one called him that, apparently. Lucien was given his nickname at a young age after making varsity football as a freshman. She informed me that he was smart too, 'so we should get along perfectly'.

He was also... Another senior. Incredibly hot in a completely different way than Azriel. Darker than Azriel, russet colored eyes and slightly long shaggy red hair.

It had been two months since Azriel had left me there that day, stunned into silence. I had replayed it over and over again, trying to pick apart every single word that he had said to me. I had wanted to talk to him the first week, so very badly that it had ached in my bones. I had eventually given up, but it didnt stop me from being worried about him. He avoided me like the plague when he did show up for school. He wouldn't look at me when we passed each other in the hallways, but I noticed that he looked slightly thinner, I could tell his eyes were distant and that he probably was taking something. I wondered how his classes were going. He had blocked my number after the first couple days I had texted him, reminding him about certain things he had said that day, certain things that had eluded toward him having feelings for me. My number was still blocked, as far as I knew.

"You alright over there? What's going on up there?" Luciens voice reminds me where I was again, and my eyes flicker to his, he gestures to my forehead. I blink, realizing that I hadn't said anything in a while.

"I was just wondering if I actually have to call you Lucci. Because I don't think this is going to work out if I do," I play it off smoothly enough that a grin plasters his face and he laughs, leaning back into the seat of his car. We were in front of my house, and he was supposed to be dropping me off, since Shane and Maggie had sleepover plans.

"I like you y/n, you're funny," he's still smiling at me, and he looks at me for the first time tonight. Well he had looked at me a lot at the bowling alley, particularly every time I had gone up for my turn. I hadn't missed his intense, burning gaze. His eyes eventually land on my lips and suddenly, I'm nervous. "And the answer is no. You don't have to call me that. It's just a stupid nickname, don't let it make you underestimate me," his voice had dropped a little bit, huskier now. "You can call me whatever you want," he adds suggestively, he leans in and I don't move, my breathing becoming heavier as his scent fills my nostrils.

"Lucien it is then," I breath out, trying to remain calm, as he gets a little closer, my lips part as I brace myself for the kiss, holding my breath.

And then... Hes kissing me, his large hands are running over my body, feeling me, gently squeezing and rubbing. I feel his fingers slide beneath my skirt, between my legs, I don't tell him to stop, I don't grab his arm or get out of the car, instead I moan softly tilting my head back against the seat as his two fingers dipped into my wetness, gently stretching me. This was the rush I needed, the type of touch I had been craving for weeks. His lips press to my neck as he moves his fingers in and out deliciously, making me moan again. "You are so fucking wet and tight," he pants softly before he begins sucking on my neck, his teeth scraping at the skin. "Where have you been?" he groans against my neck and I arch my back slightly, gasping. It isn't long before Im undone, left panting and wondering if he's going to sneak inside or take me in the back of his car. But instead, he just kisses me, leans back, and smiles before sucking my release off of his fingers slowly. I realize that this is as far as he's going to take it, and I sigh softly.

"You know," I say, squinting my eyes a little at him, "Lucien and Lucifer sound really close," I say, earning a laugh from him, he tosses his head back before shaking his head.

"Go to bed kid, we got school tomorrow," his eyes twinkle and I can't help but smile back before I open the door of the car.

"Goodnight Lucien," he waves once more and only leaves once Im safely inside. Im left reeling, wondering how this year had ended up with me having relations with not one but two senior boys. Lucien was sweet, he was carefree and flirty... But he wasnt Azriel.

I swallow the lump in my throat, reaching up to touch the small hickey that Lucien had left on my neck.

I knew I shouldn't be, but I found myself wondering what Azriel was doing.

-

It had become routine for Azriel to look past y/n as if she was a ghost when he would pass by her in the hallways. He had said too much that day, exposed himself too much, that the only logical thing to do now was to push her out and pretend like she didnt exist so that she couldn't hurt him back.

That didnt mean he didnt still think about her, every waking moment. It didnt mean that the look on her face every time he had hurt her didnt haunt him. That the shit didn't keep him from eating, or keep him up tossing and turning, every single night. Blocking her had been the obvious solution to her texts that were analyzing the things he had said to her, responding to them anyway when he hadn't given her the chance to speak up at the time. It was too much. He just couldn't handle it. He had fought himself every day since from unblocking her and texting her.

He almost froze completely when he entered the hall that passed y/n's locker. He stopped a little farther down, leaning against the wall by the bathroom. His eyes locked on her and then the boy standing there, and his gut reeled as he saw Lucien of all people, standing in his old spot at her locker. Azriels jaw clenched tightly as he watched her laugh, actually laugh at whatever dumb fuckery he could have been saying. Lucien? Really? He knew him fairly well, they had been going to school together for years, they would graduate together this year, Azriel had sold him weed many times and he knew he was mostly harmless but him and y/n? No fucking way.

His teeth clench, jaw flexing tightly as he watches him try to brush her hair back and she swats him away, still laughing. Her hair falls anyway revealing a small purple hickey right on the side of her neck, before he can think about anything he's across the hallway standing before them.

"What are you doing?" his question is directed to her, tone sharp and demanding, the first words he's spoken to her in months. Her lips part in surprise, shock written all over her face. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her own to the hickey on her neck. A hickey he didnt leave there.

"Im talking to my friend," when she finally speaks, her tone is cool, but her eyes are still searching.

"Well now I want to talk," he responds, almost forgetting that Lucien was even there. Everything else always seemed to melt away when he was near her.

"You good Azriel?" Lucien looks between the two of them, assessing the situation. Azriel peels his eyes away from her, settling them on Lucien, his hazel eyes burning

"I will be when you leave," he says shortly and Luciens face scrunches slightly, his spine straightening as he begins to square up with him.

"Y/n? You okay?" Luciens eyes shift away from Azriels and then settle on her again.

"She's fine," Azriel growls, his fists clenching at his sides, it took everything in him not to completely deck the shit outta him.

"Let her answer," he growls back, his eyes scanning over Azriel.

"Im fine, Lucien, really. I'll catch up with you later," she says, giving him a small nod, he looks at her one last time, as if he would figure out what was going on between the two of them by the hard stare he gave her. He eventually just shakes his head a little, shrugs and gives Azriel one last look over before he walks away, shaking his head.

"What are you doing?" Azriel repeats once he's gone, his mouth is dry, stare so intense that her fingers were shaking as she stared back up at him. His eyes flick back down to the hickey. "Hes doesn't deserve to breath the same air as you y/n," Azriel growled quietly, he knew it was unreasonable, Lucien hadn't exactly done anything wrong, but he couldn't bare to see the two of them like that. He couldn't bare to see someone else making her smile. And to see she had a hickey? Rage burned inside him, but he remained calm, letting it show as he stared down at her. She only huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance, the image makes Azriels heart soar.

"So let me get this straight Azriel," she stares up at him, her voice the tiniest bit shaky, he could tell she was trying her very best to keep her composure. "He doesn't deserve me, you don't deserve me. So what am I supposed to do then, Az? Fuck myself?" Azriel blanches at her words, jealousy gnawed deeply at his gut. They fucked? His nostrils flare. He feels like screaming, like slamming her up against the lockers so hard, he feels like covering that pathetic little hickey with five more of his own. He swallows every word he's about to say.

"Just don't be a fucking idiot y/n, okay?" his jaw flexes, his gaze burning through her, her lips are slightly parted as she looks up at him, his eyes drop, settling there. He recalls how good it feels to kiss her, to touch her, his body feels so hot, so fucking angry as he thinks about him fucking her, him kissing her, and touching her. Word vomit threatens to spill so Azriel turns on his heel, leaving her alone, and stunned to silence.

-

Azriel didnt know how he had found himself back here, throwing rocks at her window, looking up, silently begging for her to wake, to appear before him looking down, her face flushed, hair messy from sleep. He needed it. He needed her. He had been going out of his mind all day. His thoughts were absolutely tortured by the thought of her fucking someone else. It completely gnawed at his insides. He figured that was mostly why he was here, he was so fucking jealous he couldn't stay away. He couldn't fucking bare the thought of her starting something new with somebody else.

He had tried to distract himself, he had left school immediately to meet up with Rhys and Cass to skate, and get fucked up, obviously. He could tell they were worried about him, they had started prying, not without a bite back from Azriel but they had began prying. He knew they only did that when things got really bad. Azriel had left their place eventually, informing them he was going home which they didnt think was a good idea, he had been far too drunk to drive. He had ignored them and left anyway, and now... Found himself here.

She finally appears in front of her window, sliding it open easily, her lips part as she just stares down at him and they look at each other for what feels like forever. His breathing is slightly ragged, his fingers now balled up at his sides.

"My parents aren't home, you could have knocked," she says, peering down at him, his heart thundered against his chest, liquor running through his system.

"Let me up," is all he says, he was dying to get his hands on her. Dying to touch her skin.

"Again," she mumbles softly, squinting down at him. "You can use the door, my parents aren't home." He doesn't hesitate, but walks quickly to the front door, waiting for her to open it.

"What are you doing here Azriel?" her face is weary, but her tone is soft and he knows its probably because of the state of him, how fucking horrible he looked.

"I can't fucking take this shit anymore y/n," his voice is soft, tone matching hers as he stares at her, he was leaning against the front door now, his palms pressed against the wood as if to keep himself from lunging at her.

"I don't know what you mean," she says, but he knows she does know what he means. Her body language said so, the way she nervously shifted on her feet, the way she covered the small bruise on her neck with her hair. His anger flared silently, he kept it at bay.

"You're going to make me say it aren't you," he takes a small step closer to her, her breath hitches, he swallows the lump in his throat. She's quiet, waiting for him. "I need you y/n okay? Are you fucking happy now? I need you every fucking second of everyday. Ive been drowning these past two months without you. Absolutely drowning," a small gasp escapes her lips, she blinks, as if she was trying to decipher whether or not this was real life.

"Then why..." she trails off, failing at finding the right words. "Then why did you push me away?" she finally breaths out, watching him as his hands grip his hair, pulling gently as he looks up at the ceiling, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. His arms fall at his sides again, another frustrated sigh leaving his lips. Why did she make this so hard? Why couldn't she just see everything?

"I can't fucking help it butterfingers," he breaths, his heart warms slightly at the nickname, recalling the first time they had met, the way she had fallen all over herself with nerves. "And deep down, I just know, that I don't fucking deserve you," he shakes his head, and he meant it, he knew he didnt. Everything he had done from the very beginning proved that.

"Stop saying that Azriel!" her voice raises slightly, frustration gleaming through her tone. "You don't get to determine that! You don't just get to decide what is and isn't good for me!" Her voice falters slightly, but she doesn't move, doesn't tear her eyes away from him.

"You don't realize that everything that I've done since the beginning... Every single mistake I made from the first day that I ever went to your house and fucked you. Without knowing you first, without really getting to know you... I took something from you that you'll never get back from me, I was so fucking selfish and you don't even realize it. When I fucked not one but two girls behind your back when I was fucked out of my mind but really all I wanted was you and I knew it but I was too afraid to admit what that truly meant," he was rambling, but he noticed her visible wince, pain flashing in her eyes, he knew she didn't know about the first girl, at the rave, there was no possible way she could have found out about that, but since everything was being laid out on the table, he figured it didn't matter anymore the truth was the truth. "The way I talked down to you before fucking you just because you cared enough to check on me when my dad died, I treated you like nothing but a slut when you are so much more than that. The way that Ive completely ignored you for months, pretending like nothing ever existed between us, not even checking on you one fucking time, y/n... And you don't even see how horrible I am, you just keep fucking letting me in. Over and over," He trails off again, his eyes sting slightly, he blinks. He was not a crier, and he wasnt about to start now.

"You deserved so much more y/n," his words are soft again, he swallows, his eyes not leaving hers. He doesn't care anymore. He doesn't care about being vulnerable, he isn't afraid of what she's going to say anymore. It didnt matter, nothing mattered except making sure she at least knew the truth, he was facing everything now, finally admitting every single thing outloud. "So when I push you away it's because I have never felt like this before y/n. I have never needed anyone in my entire life. And Im fucking terrified of that, and so Ive fucked up, over and over again and still... Still y/n you stand here in front of me, and you listen," his jaw flexes nervously, his eyes darting, blinking again trying to swallow every piece of emotion that burned inside of him. He waits, he waits for her to explode, to push him out, to finally realize just how awful he was, finally to realize how much better she truly deserved.

But she doesn't run from his words, she doesn't balk, she doesn't realize that he's right about himself... She advances towards him, standing in her tip toes she places her hands on both of cheeks, so tenderly and softly , he melts instantly, his face along with his whole body softening at her touch. It's so light, like a touch a mother gives to a child before sending them off to sleep, feather light, radiating love and warmth. No one had ever touched him like that. His breath hitches, his throat bobbing as he stares down at her, unable to peel his eyes away.

Safe.

It was the only word to describe the feeling that her touch caused to stir up in him. The only time he ever felt remotely like that was when he was with Rhys and Cass. But this... It was different than even that. One of those things that ran so true and deep. His mind told him to run, do something dumb, fuck it up somehow, get away from the intimacy that felt like too much to handle. But he was frozen, his heart wouldn't let him move, he couldn't move.

"Azriel," she says softly, her eyes warm, forgiving, caring. "None of that matters," she whispers, he swallows again, his heart hammering against his chest. "Because I see you," and he knew that she did. All those walls that he tried to keep up, the masks he put on, the self destruct... She saw all of it, his walls had been crumbling since the day he met her. He could admit it now, to himself at least, while standing there with her, after completely pouring his heart out. He could finally admit that he loved her, he wished that he had the courage to say it, just another reason to feel unworthy. Such a coward still.

He can't speak without his voice cracking, so he leans in, waiting to see if she would pull away. She doesn't, her breath hitching quietly, she pulls him a little closer, her fingers still gently placed on his cheeks.

He knows she's about to kiss him, and he closes his eyes, waiting patiently, savoring the feeling of her skin against his. He needed this.

She kissed him, softly pressing. her lips to his. He hums softly, kissing her back in a way that he had never kissed anyone before. Gentle, loving, tender... His fingers slide up, gently weaving into her hair as he holds her in place, his other arm snacking around her slim waist.

She moans softly as he continues to kiss her, tongue gently exploring, getting reacquainted with that pouty little mouth that he has missed so much. He reaches down with both of his hands now, gently picking her up, not daring to pull away as they kiss passionately. She wraps her legs around his waist, gasping softly at the closeness of them now, their bodies pressed together for the first time in what felt like forever. Her arms had moved around his neck, her hands locking behind it to hold herself up.

Azriel carefully carries her to the guest room on the first floor of her house, he refused to break the contact, refused to put her down so they could safely get up the stairs. He sets her gently down on the bed, one of his hands cradling her head so it didnt hit the pillow. He swallowed, trying not to remember how rough he had been with her the last time they did this.

Maybe he didnt have the courage to tell her that he loved her, but he could show her... With the only way he knew how.

He undressed her slowly, carefully kissing each new piece of exposed skin until she was naked in front of him. He marvels for a moment, his breath getting caught in his throat. "Ive missed you so much," he admits softly, her cheeks are blazing, breath ragged as she lay there, gripping the sheets gently and he knew it was to stop herself from covering her body. He was looking at her in a way he never had before, savoring, appreciating, every dip and curve, every freckle or mole, any imperfection that to him, made her absolutely perfect.

He tasted her then, taking his time with each slow and rolling movement of his tongue and lips. Her pussy was dripping, body shaking, covered in goosebumps as she melted more and more under each lick of his tongue. He had never been like this with anyone before, he had never been so careful, so gentle and tender.

It was like he was trying to take every little bit of pain she ever felt away from her, like he was trying to take care of her, like he never had before. She whispered his name, her back arching deliciously, breasts peaked in the air. He only stops when she moans his name softly, her body going rigid as she releases before she goes limp, panting underneath him.

He slowly kisses back up her body, finding her lips again, she moans at the taste of herself, her fingers finding Azriels hair and tugging gently. "Can I..." he trails off, gently pulling his mouth off of hers, her arms fall by her head and she nods quickly, knowing exactly what he was asking for.

"Please," she whispers, watching as he undresses himself, revealing his tanned tattooed body to him. She bites her lip, heat rushes through him again, a small nervous breath escaping his lips.

He hesitantly reaches down with one of his hands, intwining their fingers together, she gasps softly at the intimacy, their eyes glued to one another. He gently guides himself to her opening, slowly pushing all of himself in, a moan escapes his lips, he had missed this so much.

And then, he made love to her, for the first time in his life, he made love. He poured every single thing that he felt for her into each rolling thrust of his body. Her soft moans felt like music to his ears, and they panted, their breaths falling insync, eyes never leaving each others. Their hands interlaced on either side of her face, noses bumping from time to time. He savored every last second of it.

They did it again and again. Making love into the early hours of the morning until sunlight peaked through the blinds of the guest room. He couldn't sleep, he had refused to sleep. He had refused to do anything besides draw the night out for as long as he could.

"I am sorry y/n, for everything," its the first thing he says to break the silence, they hadn't spoken in hours, just kissed and touched and made love.... Held each other.

"I forgive you," she says quietly. "I won't give up you know," she mumbles then, her eyes are closed, head on his chest like it had been the night she first told him that she loved him. He knew what she meant, and he believed her, he trusted that she wouldn't give up on him. Even if he continued to push her away. A few long moments of silence pass as he tries to gather the courage for what he wants to say.

"If you let me," he swallowed the lump in his throat, pushed down the nerves. "I'd like to... Start fresh," he struggled, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Do everything the right way this time."

She doesn't say a word though, she's already sleeping peacefully, blissfully in his arms.

-

a/n: IM SCREAMING ! my heart is on the floor. thoughts?!

also this hasn't been proof read yet cus i just wanted to post it so if you see any mistakes ill get to it eventually

[ashton-sano]

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

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`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

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`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

.

-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

  "How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog 

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live 

“Just. one. More day.”

 -If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word 

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him 

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge 

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

[theitgirlnetwork]

Better

Ch. 14: Happy Birthday Charlotte Pt. 1

Lip's Supportive Husband Outfit

Charlotte's Bday Fit

Hm...wonder what this is...

Note: Hiii, as I said I didn't take as long as last time; next post should be this week because this is a two-parter. For that same reason she's a lil short. I am so thankful for all of the love, interaction and the warm welcome back. I am very grateful and I appreciate you all so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter of watching our babies work their way back, celebrate a big day, and grow as a couple. A big change is coming. Also there's sexual content in this one so feel free to skip that portion and ask me any questions about what nonsexual information happened during it for clarification. This symbol: * indicates the beginning and end of that section. Thank you so much again, and feel free to interact, I love hearing thoughts from you guys! (Constructively, pls I'm sensitive lol) :)

Warnings: Explicit Content (MDNI FR I'm not playing), sexual content, strong language, anxiety

“So what���re you gonna say?” 

Lip shrugs lightly as his blue eyes follow his thumb’s travels along Charlotte’s neck, lips parting with wonder as he drinks in the glow on her skin from the morning light seeping in, big brown eyes offering him warmth and adoration that he can’t get from anywhere else. “That I uh…won’t actually knock his head off.”

Charlotte purses her lips in thought, resting her hand over his, leaning into him. “Okay, that’s good-”

“As long as he stays the fuck away from my wife.” he finishes, reaching under the blankets and dragging her leg over his body. “That’s you by the way.”

“Is it?” she hums, climbing over him fully before nudging his nose with her own. “We sure?” 

“Yeah,” he sighs against her lips before finally closing the space between them. “‘M pretty fuckin’ sure.” 

“Good.” 

The last few days have been rough. Threats of breaking up left some lingering weariness and anger between the couple. Lip was apologetic but still prideful, Charlotte was forgiving but still withholding. They were nursing wounds together. And it’s working. Their joint solution was simple. They need to be together. Everything else was secondary. Whatever they needed to do to make this work, it’s exactly what they’re going to do. So stay in the room together, deal with family later. They’d basically ghosted her parents. Call out of work for a couple days. Focus on being Phillip and Charlotte. Together. 

Lip was tiptoeing. Scared to bring anything up that could dismantle what they were managing to rebuild. But her dad’s words, lingering thoughts of sickness plague him as he holds her in his arms at night. Suddenly, every shiver, every sniffle, every groan as she rolls over in the middle of night makes his heart fall to his ass. But he can’t rock the boat. Not yet. He just needs to…work for it. Get to a point where she trusts him enough to tell him. He can wait. 

Charlotte gasps into the air as Lip rolls her underneath him, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck. Her fingers dig into his golden curls, her legs closing around his waist as she pushes up to be pressed against him. “Phillip, you’re gonna be late-”

“‘M’not, don’t worry about it.”

*

The woman whimpers as large hands slip down her hips, fingers hooking into her underwear, yelping a little when she’s yanked upward roughly so the fabric can be tugged down her legs. “It’s…already 8:10…it’s-”

“Hey,” Lip calls sternly, one hand going back to her face, grabbing her jaw tightly enough to force her eyes to his, the other continuing its journey between her legs. “You want me to make you feel good, Bunny?”

“Y-yes-”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Phillip, I want you to make me feel good.”

“Know you do,” he hums, patronizingly pushing his thumb into the dimple on her cheek. “So lay back, and let me.” Lip finishes with a searing kiss on her lips before dragging his way down her body, pushing one hand underneath her shirt, massaging her breast as he uses his shoulders to nudge her legs completely apart. 

As Charlotte feels his mouth against her she panics, the cry she lets out is muffled by her hand flailing out, grabbing a pillow and putting it over her face. 

Lip licks a solid strip up her slit before pressing several kisses against her clit, slowing when his ears aren’t picking up the cries he lives for, confused considering he could feel her legs shaking by his head. His eyes trail up to find Charlotte smothering herself in effort to stifle her sounds and he’s immediately annoyed, hand coming down to slap her thigh. “Hey. Uh uh, fix that.”

A whine fills the air and he chuckles as he feels the soft pillow come down on his head before falling to the floor. “Don’t wanna be loud-”

“You know better.” he laughs, tugging her further down the bed and bringing her closer to his mouth, moaning himself at her sweet taste. 

Charlotte’s fingers flex as she grips at nothing, whimpering as he doubles his administrations, the pressure building even more now that piercing blue eyes are trained on her. “Fu-fuckin’ help me.” 

Lip’s eyes roll before he reaches up, grabbing her wrist and guiding her hands down to his hair, encouraging her to tug at it and groaning against her when she does. “Taste so fuckin’ good. Fuckin’ perfect. You’re just fuckin’ perfect aren’t you?”

“Oh, fuck, Phillip-” 

“Watch your mouth.” he grunts, slapping her thigh again. “You’re perfect. Say it, baby.”

“M’not perfect. I love you-”

“S’not what I told you to say-” he growls, pulling away and fixing her with a warning look, lips and chin glistening. Charlotte huffs, tugging his hair again, moaning louder as her toes flex.

“‘M’gonna cum, I want you to fuck me-”

“Say you’re perfect and I will.” Lip pulls away from her fully, untwining her fingers from his hair and watching her grow more frustrated, reaching for him to no avail. He climbs over her then, hovering over her as he runs his thumb over her bottom lip, guiding her mouth open, dipping his finger in before gathering some spit into his mouth and spitting it into hers, groaning when she swallows it obediently. “Charlotte.”

“I’m perfect. I love you. Please fuck me.”

Lip settles then, leaning his weight down onto her, groaning as he pushes into her, letting his head fall next to hers, pressing his mouth close to her ear. “You’re perfect, baby. My fuckin’...I fuckin’ live for you. I love you…happy birthday.”

The couple sets a steady rhythm then, one that they’ve grown used to over their time together but something about this time was different. The touches felt more desperate and needy. They both noticed it, but didn’t want to break the bubble they created by addressing it. But they could tell. Charlotte wraps her arms around him that much tighter, hand cupping the back of his head, legs locked around his waist in a vice, she arches to make sure she’s pressed against him as much as their movements will allow. 

Lip is the same, one arm around her waist to hold her close, switching between being in her ear, groaning every bit of filth, every promise, every praise he can think of, and resting his forehead against hers, demanding she look at him, maintaining eye contact to remind himself its her. She’s here, and he’s with her again.

“I…I’m…Phillip-” 

“Go ahead, baby. Cum for me, Bunny. Cum on my dick, baby.”

Charlotte bites down on his shoulder as she cums, curling into him and crying out. Lip moans as she contracts around him, keeping his thrusts steady until he feels two wet drops on his skin. He nudges her back onto the pillows to look at her face, slowing to a stop when he finds her with large, watery eyes. “I’m…I love you, Bubba.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

That’s all he can think. That’s all he feels. For multiple reasons. The first is the embarrassing fact that he somehow got impossibly harder from the knowledge that the woman underneath him just came around him, crying from how much she loves him. The second the humiliating fact that he was blinking back the moisture from his own eyes because even though he’s never been the religious type, he’s finding himself thanking whoever is running shit upstairs for making sure 20 years ago today, Victor and Cynthia Fisher fucked and made this fucking angel for him. And the third being the realization that Ian was right. He didn’t doubt him, but  with everything that happened, it was clear. He’ll never be in love with anyone else. If he doesn’t keep Charlotte, he’ll never have another chance. She’s it. 

He’s shaken from his thoughts with a soft hand on his cheek. “I’m okay, baby. Keep going. I’m okay.”

Lip nods absently, brows softened, jaw clenched as he tries to keep the flood of emotions in. Resting his forehead against hers as he thrusts into her deeply, moaning softly. 

“C’mon, Phillip, I love you, I want you to feel good too. I want you to cum too.” Charlotte whispers, running her fingers through his hair, tightening her legs around him, rolling up to meet him. “I want you to cum in me…I want you to give me your baby.”

That’s…a new development.

And fuck everything else Lip was embarrassed to admit to himself before. 

Nothing can top how absolutely ashamed he is at how hard he came to that statement. 

Who the fuck is he?

*

“‘Okay, bye, baby.” Lip pats Charlotte’s ass as he kisses her before slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Uh, be ready when I get home, alright? Happy birthday, princess.”

“‘Kay.” Charlotte chirps, bouncing on the balls of her feet, offering him a bright smile as he heads out. The wooden door slides shut and immediately she’s screaming, running over to the couch and tossing herself onto it. “I want to have your baby?! What the fuck? Charlotte you’re so fuckin’ stupid!” she whines. 

In her anxiety induced wailing, she doesn’t hear V and Fiona coming in the back door, cases of beer and boxed wine tucked under their arms. The two older women exchange concerned looks before slowly approaching the thrashing girl. “It’s like this every other day, hey! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I ruined my life!” Charlotte screams, kicking one of the pillows off of the couch. 

“Okay…” Fiona sighs, grabbing a beer for herself and V, passing it over Charlotte’s head. “Scoot. What happened?”

Charlotte looks up at Fiona and then over to V and shakes her head. “Can’t tell you. You’ll…like…throw up or something and she’s gonna hit me.”

“I’m not gonna throw up and I doubt V will hit you-”

“Might.” the older cousin shrugs, lifting her little cousin’s legs and plopping them onto her lap as she sits on the couch. Fiona fixes her with wide eyes and V huffs. “I won’t hit you. Probably.”

Charlotte narrows her eyes skeptically, but sits up nonetheless. It’s not like she would be any less embarrassed telling anyone else. “Well, this morning, Phillip and I were…uh…”

“Fucking?”

“Oh, god.” Fiona flinches, shaking her head in disgust. 

“It’s my birthday!”

“Oh yuck-”

“So what?” V asks, pushing the girl’s hair out of her face. “Was it bad?”

“No.” Charlotte murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself, pouting a little. “It was…good. But, I got caught up in the moment and…said something.”

“Something? If you were screwing, I’m pretty sure my brother would like whatever you said as long as it wasn’t another man’s name. And even then he might tolerate it.” 

“Is that what you did?” V says around her beer bottle, taking a swig. “Call him some guys name? Daddy? Bitch? Slu-”

“I told him I wanted him to give me his baby.” Charlotte blurts, dropping her face to her knees in embarrassment. 

Both older women immediately panic, Fiona tossing question after question at Charlotte. All of which were some variation of ‘are you pregnant’ and ‘are you using protection’. V takes the initiative of shooting off of the couch and flinging open the door to Charlotte and Lips’ room, yanking open the doors until she finds Charlotte’s birth control pills and starts counting, sighing in relief when she sees the girl is on track.  “I’m not actually trying to get pregnant, I…just said it, it was a spur of the moment type of thing, it just slipped out!”

“Girl, it better be.” V breathes heavily. “You just turned 20 today, you still don’t eat the crust on sandwiches, do not get pregnant, understand?”

“I understand.” 

“Good.” V sighs, running a hand over her face and watching Fiona flop back against the couch. “Now that that’s over…let’s go to breakfast for your birthday.”

“Fuckin’ shit.” 

Lip’s pissed. Like more than usual. He huffs to himself as he flicks his half smoked cigarette to the ground, stomping it out. Part of being with Charlotte meant trying to quit smoking, so he was trying to work on it. Apparently, part of being with her also meant being a dad?

He hadn’t even thought of that. Like…in theory, he fuckin’ loved the idea. He married her because he loves her and he wanted them to be a family. That included his siblings. They were kind’ve his kids and by association, hers. Does it make him happy to watch her play with Debbie? Help Carl with his homework? Bounce Liam on her hip? Abso-fuckin-lutely, she’s fuckin’ precious, he loves that shit. 

Would it be fuckin’ sexy to see her have physical evidence that she belonged to him? Watching her waddle around with his kid, carrying something that;s exactly half him half her? Hot as hell. 

But right now? They’re fuckin’ barely not absolutely broke right now. He’s been saving up for somethin’ big. A baby would throw all of that off. And he’s going to beg to keep his job. How can they raise a kid in these conditions? He’s still fuckin’ raising Frank and Monica’s. She hasn’t even told him about her having health conditions. Would that affect her getting pregnant? Would it affect a potential baby? He hopes she can wait. She has to. She will, right? Fuck.

He also is literally haunted by the last time he’d thought he was a dad. That was…fucking cruel to be honest. And Charlotte is definitely no Karen, but Lip doesn’t know if he’s ready for that. She’ll…she’ll wait. She loves him. She’ll wait.

The man straightens, pushing open the doors to the large office building, nodding to the security guard before getting in the elevator, taking it to his floor. Gritting his teeth he prepares to see that fuckin’ prick again. Eric, the punk bitch who’s been sniffin’ behind Charlotte since he saw her picture. Peppy ass daddy’s boy who signs his paychecks. Jesus, he needed to get these thoughts out of his system before he reached his office.

Fuckin’ bitch. Pussy. 

Lip sighs, shaking out his shoulders as he rounds the corner to Eric’s office. Alright, I’m done.

Limp dick, pussy chasin’, no life motherfucker. 

Now. Now, I’m done.

Lip’s jaw muscle jumps as he pushes Eric’s office door open, trying to make this as quick and painless as he can for himself. “Hey man, I…uh, know things were tense the other night, but uh, I’m…not really gonna knock your head off.” He goes to turn out of the room and can’t help himself, peeking his head back in, addressing the desk chair facing away from him, “Unless you keep trying to hit on my wife. Back off. Uh, okay, gonna go back to work-”

“Mr. Gallagher.” a voice calls to him before he can leave the room. It’s deep, and sounds like it came from an older man. Lip stops in his tracks, brows furrowing as he re enters the room.

“Uh…yeah?”

The man turns in his chair, dramatically in a way that has Lip fighting not to roll his eyes and reveals himself to in fact be a sharply dressed, gray haired version of Eric.

“Eric Preston-Scottlyn. So you’re the intern who threatened my son?” the older man asks, pushing out of the seat and leaning against Eric’s desk, nodding toward another chair for Lip to take a seat. The blond quietly moves to the chair, staring up at the older man cautiously. 

“Yeah. That was me.”

“I see.” the older man reaches back into the desk, grabbing a cigar and looking at Lip expectantly. 

“Oh, fuck, sure.” Lip digs in his pocket, pulling out his lighter and offering it to the man. “Look, I uh, need this job. I just got married and I’ve got like, a hundred siblings I take care of. That shit with Eric was…it won’t happen again.”

“So long as my son doesn’t speak to your wife again.” the older man chuckles, blowing his smoke carelessly, ignoring Lip’s light cough. “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem for Junior. Considering I’m promoting him.”

Lip swallows back his scoff as he rolls his tongue in his cheek. Nodding, he bites his tongue. Of course the spoiled little rich boy is getting promoted for the work Lip has been doing for him. “Fuckin’ good for Eric.”

“You’re happy for him?” the man asks in disbelief.

“Indifferent.”

The older man chuckles, blowing out more smoke. “Makes sense. You must be proud of where your work has gotten him.” he leans back, putting out the cigar in the ashtray and crossing his legs as he faces Lip again. Lip’s eyes widen slightly as he schools the rest of his expression, “Mr. Gallagher, I am not an idiot. I know my son’s capabilities. And I’ve noticed they miraculously increased the moment you were hired. My son needs to actually learn how to do something now, develop at least a few skills he can do without someone bolstering him. So he’ll need to learn under my close supervision.”

“Fuckin’ bullshit.” Lip blurts.

“Excuse me?”

Lip tries not to say it, he does, but his impulse control has always been some shit. “It’s fuckin’ bullshit, that Eric doesn’t know how to do shit and you fuckin’ know that I’ve been doing his goddamn work and he’s the one getting fuckin’ promoted-”

“So are you.”

Fuckin’- “What?”

Mr. Scottlyn claps his hands together. “You’re right. I know you’ve been doing his work. You’re capable, Mr. Gallagher. You’re quick and intelligent. Dedicated. So, I’m giving you Eric’s position, if you want it. Which I assume you do, considering your…socioeconomic position.”

Fuck you. But he’s right. This is amazing. “Okay…okay, cool. I’m-thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome. I have big expectations for you, Mr. Gallagher. You remind me of me when I was your age. Minus the obvious anger issues and baggage.”

“Uh…thanks again?”

“You’ll start tomorrow. Bright and early.” the older man grabs his cellphone off of his desk and pulls his suit jacket on. “Don’t embarrass me, Gallagher.”

And with that he leaves Lip alone…in his new office. Holy shit. Did something good just fuckin’ happen? He gets to keep his job…fuck that, he got promoted.

This new information makes a dangerous image flash into Lip’s mind, and he quickly shakes it away. 

Huh. Today is full of new things.

Lip rolls his eyes as he jogs his way up the walkway of his house, seeing Frank approaching out of the corner of his eye. “Get the fuck away from me, Frank.” 

“Is that any way to greet your father? We used to be so close, you and I, what has poisoned you, the fruit of my womb, against me?” his dad slurs, stumbling behind his eldest son, eyeing the bag in his hand.

“Fuckin’ christ.” Lip hisses, pushing the door open and trying to slam it behind him, only for Frank to slither his way in. “Don’t have time for your shit today.”

“I get it, I get it. You are a man now, you have responsibilities. Helping lead the house. Going to work. Making love to that delicious-”

“I’m serious, Frank, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” 

“Why are we killin’ Frank?” Ian asks as he makes his way into the room, taking a swig of a soda before flopping onto the couch. “Wifey’s across the street waitin’ on you. Don’t forget, tomorrow she’s with me.”

Frank’s brows furrow as he looks between his two sons. “No, I was pretty sure you were the gay one. Or is that Carl…?”

“Fuck off, Frank.”

“No respect.” 

Lip tugs his work shirt off and starts shuffling through the pile of laundry Fiona had done to find something to change into. “I want her home in one piece, Ian, I’m fuckin’ serious. No drugs. Three drinks total. And no lettin’ Mickey pimp her out for free shit.”

“Okay, okay. Being married’s made you so fuckin’ serious.”

Lip just points his finger at his brother again before pulling on the shirt and sweater Charlotte had snuck and bought him for Christmas and pulling on a pair of jeans. The front door swings open and the sweet smell that follows his wife everywhere fills the room, so Lip immediately kicks the bag to the side behind the couch before taking in how she looks. “Baby, fuckin’ gorgeous. C’mere.”

Charlotte beams, her dress flouncing around her legs as she bounces her way into Lip’s open arms, meeting him in a deep kiss, humming when he pats her ass. “You look pretty too~” she sings.

“Ah, I know.” he scoffs, jokingly pushing her face from his as she squeezes his cheek. “Havin’ a good birthday? Yeah? Where the fuck is your jacket?”

“Don’t need one.” 

“Fuck, you don’t,” he frowns, snatching his jacket from the pile of laundry and pushing her arms through the sleeves.

“Excuse me, kiddo, I know you’re a little distracted what with your wife’s womanly wiles, a struggle to which I deeply relate-”

“Frank-”

“Ew.” Charlotte mumbles, pulling her jacket tighter over herself.

“However, you all asked me to warn you next time CPS would be stopping by and I might have been indisposed recently because a brief stint because of a possession case, however, while I have been released, I believe there will be a surprise…visit…inspection for the welfare of the children, soon. And your welcome for warning you.”

Charlotte immediately whips her head to look at Lip, eyes wide with concern, she clutches the sleeves of his jacket. “Don’t worry, Bubba, we’ll fix it. I can start cleaning and you and Ian can start fixing stuff around the house, we’ll dip into some of the money and get extra groceries, and get the kids ready when they get home. I can text Fiona-”

“But…it’s your birthday.”

He doesn’t know if his heart swells or cracks when his wife shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, we have to take care of your family.” 

You’re going to have to choose. I chose Cynthia. You can still choose your family.

Victor’s words flood Lip’s head as his eyes flick between Charlotte, the bag of stuff he got for her birthday on the floor and the mess of a house he and his siblings inhabit. He loves her so much. He wishes he wasn’t about to make her spend her 20th birthday preparing for a Child Protective Services visit. He wishes this wasn’t about to be her norm. He’s never not chosen them.

But Ian makes the choice for him.

“Nah, we got it.” the redhead shrugs, finishing the soda and pulling out his phone. “You guys go ahead, you can help later if there’s anything left for you to do. I’m gonna let everyone else know about Frank’s fuck up, and we’ll get this shit together. It’s not like they’re gonna come today. Wouldn’t be very random, then.”

Lip opens and closes his mouth, preparing to…thank him? Argue? He doesn’t know. But Ian doesn’t give him time. He picks up Lip’s bag and shoves it into his hands and starts pushing the couple toward the door. 

Charlotte watches her husband out of the corner of her eye the entire bus ride. She was anxious to say the least. There are millions of thoughts flying around in her head, and she doesn’t know what to do with them. From her sex induced plea for a baby, to Lip’s meeting with his boss or his siblings possibly getting taken by CPS…again, she was a nervous wreck. And…also it's her birthday. And she keeps forgetting.

Breakfast with Fiona and V was great and she loved it. But she’d spent it in her head, wallowing about her slip of the tongue. After, she had something to look forward to, spending time with Lip when he got off work, he’d apparently planned a surprise for her. He wanted to be in charge of everything, down to her outfit. Last night he stood in front of her wardrobe looking clueless, grumbling to himself as he demanded that she stay in bed and ‘not look’ while he picks, finally settling on a dress that he’d given to V to tell her to wear later. But then she could only focus on how devastated he would be if he did lose his job. Or the hit his self-esteem would take if he had to beg Eric.

She hadn’t even realized how well he could read her face.

“Stop.” he says softly, smoothing his thumb over the line forming between her furrowed brows. “Stressin’ that pretty little head out. We’ll handle it.”

“Tell me somethin’ good.” 

Lip nods, pushing her hair away from her neck, placing a kiss there before murmuring against her ear. “You look really beautiful, birthday girl.”

“Thank you. Somethin’ else?”

“Love you.” he says, placing another kiss before looking up to watch the stop they’re on.

“Love you more.” she hums.

“Bullshit.” he scoffs. “C’mon, this one’s us.” Lip helps her up, guiding her to walk in front of him, absently tugging her dress down over her ass a little to counter it riding up as she walks. The blond walks with his wife, their fingers intertwined, her spare hand busy picking at itself, her fingernails poking at her skin incessantly, nervously. As they walk down the block, Lip grows more frustrated, noticing that she’s so distracted she’s not even noticing where they are. “Okay. Stop. Let’s talk.”

Charlotte lets him pull her to a stop, standing before him. “Okay, lets.”

“What’s the problem?” 

“I’m worried about your siblings.” she whines.

Lip runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “CPS comes like 3 times a year, we deal with it. They take ‘em or they don’t. They do? We go to court, get them back, a week, tops. They don’t, we move on until next time.”

“That’s awful.” 

“The system sucks, princess, ‘m’glad you know nothin’ about it. But we know how to do this. It’ll be okay. And it's easier now that Ian and I are grown too. It’s gonna be okay.” Lip eyes her, bringing one hand to his lips and kissing it before prompting her to continue. “Next.”

“You’re job?”

“Was gonna save this for not your birthday, because it’s supposed to be about you, but I don’t want you to pick all of the skin off your fingers so…” he tugs her forward, digging his hand into the pocket of his jacket she’s wearing, producing a badge. “New badge.”

Charlotte squints at the title printed on the badge and her eyes widen. “Project manager? You got promoted?” A wide smile makes its way onto Charlotte’s face, and Lip matches it with his own smirk, gladly accepting the onslaught of kisses he receives all over his face as she squeals. “I’m so happy for you, bubba!” 

“Thank you, bunny.” he smiles, kissing her lips twice before setting her back onto her own feet. “Last thing?”

Charlotte immediately looks away from him, rocking nervously on her heels. “I…this morning…I-”

“Words, baby.”

“I…said something, we’ve never really talked about before.” Lip’s eyes widen in acknowledgement and suddenly the words are falling out of her mouth like vomit. “I didn’t mean it! Not…ugh, I mean not now. I love you and it felt good, and I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t mean to scare you, or rush you and I know we’re not even…we don’t even have the space for that. It’s not…not time, but I just said that and I meant it but I didn’t mean it.” 

She’s never wanted to punch him more than when he snickers.

“What? What? Phillip!”

Lip wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. “Stop whinin’. It fuckin’ scared me shitless, okay? But,” he tugs her back again when she squirms against him, making an embarrassed groan. “I think about it too. Love you too. It felt good, hearin’ you say that. Obviously. So, now we know we both like that shit. Hell, for me it's probably genetic. And y’know, eventually, we’ll get there. Could be sooner. Could be later. Nothin’ to freak out about.” he nudges her chin with his knuckle. “‘Kay?”

“Kay.” 

“Good.” he sighs. “All done?” she nods, and he nods with her looking around. “Fuckin’ awesome, can we celebrate your birthday now?”

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Good, look around, baby, where are we?”

Charlotte looks at their surroundings for the first time since getting off of the bus, eyes widening as she views the pretty townhouses, uniform and lined up. Just behind them is the neighborhood that Lip had taken her to see the lights all of that time ago. “These townhouses are so cute.” she chirps, whipping her head around. 

Lip slips behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his head on her shoulder. “Show me which one’s your favorite.” 

The woman’s big brown eyes slip over to a sage green townhouse, it nearly looks exactly like the shade she’d always wanted. The one she’d told Lip she’d want her house to be like two months ago…and the paint looked pretty fresh. “That one.” she breathes.

“Yeah? Should we go eat inside? Or we could check out the backyard.” he hums against her cheek. Charlotte slips her hand up into his hair, still staring at the house.

“I dunno. What if the people who live here come home early…I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

Lip shrugs, digging in the bag and producing something from it to dangle in front of Charlotte’s face.

“I spoke to the husband and he was fuckin’ cool with it, even said he thinks we should christen the place. But I guess I should ask the wife too.” 

Silver keys come into the focus of Charlotte’s vision and she uses Lip’s solid chest to support her weight.

 “Well, Bunny? What do you say?”

[hearts4youz]

The Captains Daughter- Chapter 8

A/N- This week was rough, I procrastinated this a lot. I'm so sorry, it's not the best quality :( I hope you guys like it anyway!! Thank you all so much for the support!!

Word count: 1.4k

Reader pov:

You sat down on your bed, replaying the day's events in your mind. You realized your spine was still rigid and your muscles still taut even hours after returning. You allowed yourself to relax just a little, slipping into bed and under the thin sheets. Exhaustion easing you out of the depressing grip of failure. Finally you closed your eyes.

Beep beep

But not for long enough.

You groaned as you climbed out of bed, feeling all of your joints pop, your fingers were raw from the metal of your gun. The failure of yesterday's mission still plagued you as you unwrapped your bandages to reveal where the knife had cut.

It didn't look too bad, it wasn't infected and had already started to scab over. You swiped an antiseptic wipe over it and slapped a fresh bandage on as you completed the rest of your morning routine.

Breakfast came and went, you took your unofficial assigned seat at the table, but the conversation was different. The group was solemn, it wasn't only you that was still dwelling on the mission. The six of you ate in silence before getting up from the table and heading towards the meeting room one by one.

When the last of you had arrived, Price wasted no time starting the debriefing. You willed yourself to stay awake, fighting the sleep deprived droop of your eyelids as your father explained the mishap.

"A lowly gang-" you yawned.

"Colonel bla bla bla, sent a group of yada yada," You began to tune him out.

"Survivors captured,"

"Should have been an easy in and-"

You felt a sharp pain in your shin, you looked across from you to the source of the kick. You were met with a blank stare from your lieutenant.

"What the fuck?" you mouthed at him.

"Shouldn't be falling asleep during a debriefing, valuable information to be picked up," he tsked.

You rolled your eyes but remained at attention, not wanting to feel the consequences at training later.

The meeting concluded and you left the room alongside Gaz, you were joined by Soap when he entered the hallway. Before you even had a chance to breathe or say a word to your friends, Ghost came up behind you.

"Training room 1400, every minute late is 10 pushups." He walks away before you can respond.

You sigh heavily.

"So how is training with Ghost anyway," Gaz inquires.

"Its- its work," you breathe.

Soap laughs, "He trains you half to death doesn't he?"

You let out a laugh of your own, "Sure feels like it."

"Hey, he just doesn't want to see you hurt, he wants to make you an even better soldier," Soap's demeanor turns suddenly.

You're reminded of the time in line for breakfast less than a week ago. Why is Ghost so weird about you? Why do you care?

"The guy's been through a lot, seen a lot, seen others go through some shit he doesn't want to happen to you," Gaz pipes up.

"But why does he care, why doesn't he show it?" Your getting more and more confused with each word out of their mouths.

"Alright, I know LT better than pretty much anyone, and I know that this man cares deeply about his comrades, but shiiiit- I ain't ever seen this guy act like this," Soap started.

"Act like what?" you said.

"Such a bumbling fool. Normally Ghostie is always down for a good shit talk sesh, mans has ALL the tea, lurking in the shadows has its perks I guess. But about you- well not that I was talking shit but I just wanted to know his opinion and uh- Anyways. He shut me down immediately. I couldn't even ask him his thoughts on you."

"So? he doesn't want to think about me, that's how much he despises me," You countered as you made your way through the corridors.

"Oh no, no, no," said Gaz, remembering something.

"You and Cap went out somewhere, on a run or something, and Soap, Ghost, and I were watching whatever garbage was on the evening channels, and we started talking about you- all good things of course. Butttt- I remember feeling his posture go absolutely rigid at the mention of your name, he went straight to attention, before tellin us to quit yappin," Gaz recalled.

Before you could get a word in, Soap continued, "And if there's one thing to know about Ghost, he keeps his things to himself. If he likes or cares about something, you best bet that it is staying locked down and guarded in his brain. If anyone so much as says anything about a person or thing near and dear to him, their getting shut down immediately."

"Okay, yeah sure, but I don't see how any of this pertains to me, considering how you say he cares about all of his teammates."

"Also, why am I being talked about so much behind my back?" You raise an eyebrow.

"All good things I swear," Gaz chuckles, raising his hands in surrender.

Soap interrupts as you two are laughing. "Because I've never seen him so.. protective"

"I dunno, just the way he reacted yesterday when that man had you on the ground. The way his eyes narrowed and he balled his fists. He completely lost his cool and that's highly unlike him."

You didn't take notice of that, well maybe because you were fighting for your life against a man with a knife to your throat.

"So he thinks I need protection?" You ask.

"I think he wants you to need his protection" Gaz smirked

"What are you implying," you said, fearing the worst.

"Oh you know what we mean," Soap teased.

"Oh cut it out"

"Your blushing," Gaz pointed out.

"Don't think the way you look at him goes unnoticed. Or, the way you stuck by him during the mission," Soap was having a blast teasing you.

"Shut it," you said hiding your smile.

"So you do like him"

"No, not like that. I think he's- interesting, I'd like to get to know him more." You settled for that explanation.

In reality, you'd been thinking of him more than you'd like to admit. Not in a romantic way just yet, but the thought has crossed your mind. It's more of an intrigue, you wondered about him. Wondered about where he called home, who he went home to, if anyone. Maybe once or twice you've entertained the thought of him coming home to you...

Ghost's Pov

I had one hour before I had to train Y/N, so I decided to get a quick lift in, today was a back and chest day. As I grabbed two dumbells to perform the pec-fly exercise I conjured up a plan for Y/N. Today would be a strength training day. She was defenseless against that man yesterday. If she wanted to stand a chance in the field, she would have to get stronger.

In order for her to survive, she would have to get stronger.

In order for her to survive, I would have to train her harder.

A few minutes before our scheduled time, she walks in. Perfect timing, I had just finished my workout.

"Lets start right away," I commanded.

I walked her over to a squat rack, I taught her correct form and put an adequate amount of weight on the bar. She went into the first set of squats, after about three she was already struggling. She finished the first set and stopped to stretch her quivering muscles.

"Too -gasp- heavy -gasp-" she said out of breath.

I rolled my eyes, "You did the first set, you can finish it out."

"Ghost-" she groaned

"Rest's over," was my only response.

She took her place at the rack again, slowly going down and back up. Her thighs trembled, her face scrunched in agony.

"Lower!" I yelled.

Her form went to shit on the next few reps.

"Fix your form."

She barely finished the set, "Ghost, I can't"

"Yes you can, 30 more seconds rest then right back on it!"

The next two hours were the same, Y/N got more exhausted with each exercise, I started to feel sympathetic as I watched her limp to the locker room.

But then the image of her being easily thrown about by that soldier flashed in my mind. I knew I would push her even harder tomorrow.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 21 thoughts

spooky episode. child death. garage strangulation. not much to laugh about today!

(i looked up the episode title- calusari- to see what the actual practices mentioned looked like, and the first result was a wikipedia page on the episode. i was like woah, wonder what made this special enough to get a wikipedia page... but it looks like EVERY SINGLE EPISODE has its own page??? that is absolutely wild... between this and having a wikipedia page for almost every number, no wonder they are always asking for money)

((i jest. mostly. wikipedia is a wonderful resource and deserves your financial support, but i wanted to make sure there really was a wikipedia page for random numbers and now i'm on the page for 353... wonder why some numbers get full articles and others don't...)

i digress. let us begin.

plot summary: “a young boy’s family is plagued by several tragic accidents” <- that’s just an average day for mulder, the boy with the saddest childhood around

i stand corrected post-episode. turns out it can get worse than what he went through. this is shocking to all.

here we begin, in an amusement park with kids on a train, much like one i allegedly went to as a child but have no memory of!

love that it clarifies the mom's accent is Romanian in the subtitles. also we have an older boy and a younger boy and a dad.

NOOO little man lost his balloon… they tell him it's going to balloon land, this is a good way to handle such a loss… and nooo the baby dropped his ice cream and fell into the dirt :( L after L is being taken!

the older boy is angry because his balloon was taken and given to the younger brother… i sympathize, but also every balloon is the same, and little man just fell into the dirt so he needs a win!!

sad baby must go to the bathroom with mom... she ties the baby to the sink and the balloon soars away :(

THE BABY IS GONE! he freed himself in search of balloon! and the other little boy seems to be psychically piloting baby towards the train by moving the balloon.

NOOOOO BABY HIT BY TRAIN…. and this young gentleman is somehow responsible…. he has his balloon back now…

this is soooo cold. children can be mean but that is like really next level. we need to deal with this universe’s epidemic of evil children

back to our agents, investigating the case

mulder: “see this is a helium balloon, and the one thing i did learn in kindergarten is that when you let them go they float up, up, and away” <- wow, an educated man... an oxford graduate

(side note do we know where scully went to school? did i just miss that mention or has it never been said...)

((he studied psychology... so that would make him a psychologist, right... which means he CANNOT prescribe you meds so don't even think about it))

“did you learn about wind in kindergarten?” is scully's response, and LMAOOOOOO she’s funny

but the wind was blowing in the other direction that day!!!

leading us to bring the photo to chuck, who is is the king of digital imaging… thank you for ur service, chuck, i say as he applies some filters to the image of a baby walking toward a train

so there is some sort of Thing on the tracks, which allegedly looks like electromagnetic energy. but scully is NOT convinced: "this information is the the same reason why you’ll see a newspaper photo with Jesus’ face appearing in the foliage of an elm tree" ... because people want to see it!

(wow, i thought at this moment, we used to get stories of people seeing jesus in the trees of leaves. how beautiful. now we just get facebook ads of jesus made of shrimp for some reason)

mulder points out that baby was on a very tight leash, and scully says "i’ve seen some pretty slippery two year olds”... she has stories to tell. let's hear them.

off to the house of the family... and there is a swastika in the window and an old lady watching them. typical welcoming house features! /s

so they're talking to mom and dad, when the child enters the room and the fire roars, which is not at all suspicious! we also see the old lady draw a swastika on his hand

(at this point, the child's powers somehow make the smoke detector go off, and i almost ran out of bed to flee what i thought was my OWN smoke detector going off because my house might be on fire... what a fool i was!) 

when the power gets knocked out as well, the old woman says that the mother married a devil and that the child is a devil. which is tea, honestly.

back at the office, mulder is staring at a swastika “do you recognize this”, he says holding it up to scully. “yeah, it’s a swastika” she says. wow.

(i get that they are making a point about it being a symbol of protection in this context rather than a symbol of hatred, but that exchange was still so funny to me. he is always asking her random questions. it is 24/7 quiz time with this dude)

he proposes that the old woman was trying to protect her grandson, and scully hands over a file to him so he. pops his pen in his mouth. which is so silly. that is a silly man. he is hard at work.

ohh, she says the situation here could be munchausen by proxy. the dead little boy was admitted every 3 months into a new hospital, and no one thought it was weird because they moved around a lot, so how would anyone know? a compelling theory, in my opinion!

the older boy had the same problems, which began around the time the mother moved in!! and scully explains that in these cases, the perpetrators often see the child as evil! well, we saw him be called evil!!! it's beginning to add up. maybe.

they go to talk to the dad at the state department. scully has the chair and he sits in the couch. i'm not sure why this is so funny to me but it is.

so, dad explains that the old woman/grandma/golda does a lot of superstitious stuff and when she moved in the kids started getting sick!!!! interesting... they wish to talk to the boy with a social worker present

cut to the agents standing in the kitchen while the parents fight. such is life on the job for them. the old woman is putting spice in their food. 

the dad is going to take the boy off to speak with the social worker, but the garage won’t open. dad gets on a ladder to fix the garage door opener. and it turns on and he is being choked by his tie!!! kid is screaming... implying he doesn’t want this to happen? so is he evil or not...?

also, the car window burst open during all of this. interesting… at first i believed the child was evil, but at this point i was wondering…. rip to this kid's dad :(

time to investigate the home. what is found? a room full of candles. dead chicken. potions and liquids. it feels like the halloween section of a joann fabrics. and i'm rocking with it, minus the poor chicken.

mulder is up in the garage thingy looking for clues. he finds something that is like ash, and says it's everywhere. perhaps the same stuff put into the meal, i wonder?

(we get no answer on that. golda probs just was seasoning with herbs the american mind is too dull to comprehend idk)

scully still thinks her hypothesis is correct, and as they discuss, the old woman says stay away from our house! it is not looking good for miss golda

(mulder enters a dark room) hey you wanna see something weird? <- always. literally always.

turns out the ash isn’t organic or inorganic so it doesn’t technically exist? going to get a second opinion…… is it FROHIKE TIME??

no, it's not... it’s one of the many faculty members of local universities mulder keeps on speed dial for cases such as this. he keeps them busy. i hope he pays them. goodness knows academia doesn't cover the bills.

"it spontaneously exists", says this guy about this substance. okay.

scully says the whole loaves and fishes thing was a parable and not fact…. ohh we are getting an insight into her beliefs!! yeah baby I’m writing that down!!

at this point she makes some sassy remark and he laughs at it and ohhhh my goodness. it just made me giggle. she tries to fight back a smile seeing how amused he is. ohhhh man. he thinks she's funny. and she is, of course, but him laughing at her little quip has me weak in the knees.

so, this guy says the substance is holy ash. created when energy moves. need to look into this. and maybe that is what caused the garage door to open. OR a remote control, she says.

the little boy is now listening in on some occult ceremonies occurring in his home and OHHHH rooster is being bled. no ma’am, for this i do not care! ceremonies are chill, but chicken blood makes me gag. so whatever pot they are making a potion in is now smoking?? and a child is appearing in the smoke? yelling something? what.

(enter social worker)

the kid is outside of the door while the rites are going about, and is Sick as smoke billows near him. mom opens the door to reveal the people doing chanting and demands them to leave!!!!! but golda grabs the boy and shuts them out!!!

while holding the boy, golda is waving a big knife!!! and i'm scared we're about to get to see a little fellow stabbed to death!! she's waving it about in the air while the agents try to get in

wait i'm leaving this next part verbatim it's funnier that way:

"NANA ON THE FLOOR. BOY HOLDING DEAD ROOSTERS. HAVE THE TABLES TURNED? He is chanting and he throws them down and they PECK HER??? To death. And now the chickens are dead again. Boy is crying. So like is he evil or was evil thrust upon him is what I’m asking"

um anyway. few answers are provided. mulder thinks the people in there were doing some sort of protective ritual.

The chanting people are the “Calusari, responsible for the correct observance of sacred rites", which i made note of needing to look into, but after a brief search, learned it is a secret society so i'm probs not gonna find much on the subject. many such cases. sighs in eleusinian mysteries.

mulder gets one of the calusari men to talk!! he says the evil in that house has gone by many names: Cain, Lucifer, Hitler... an interesting line up that clarifies very little 

the mom says she thought her mom, golda, newly dead due to chicken pecking plus heart attack combo, was putting a curse on her for abandoning the old ways… and she was trying to cleanse the house of evil but blamed the little boy! how could a little boy be evil? <- woman asking this has clearly not seen some of the earlier episodes!

the boy says he wasn’t in the room and he didn’t hurt his grandma… and it was HIM…. It was Michael…… dramatic gasp!

“we never told him” OHHH BIG REVEAL! THERE WAS A STILLBORN TWIN SHE NEVER TOLD THEM ABOUT…. and golda warned that if they didn’t perform the separation ritual the world of the dead would follow him. damn that's a harsh curse to bear.

now boy is having seizure (scully shifting into doctor mode!)

the boy is resisting a shot. and evil ghost twin Michael shows up with a BIG METAL THING to knock the nurse out???

(girl we might need to perform the ritual that you conveniently just mentioned because he is on the loose)

after beating his nurse, the boy walks from his bed and says the doctors said he could leave. and he wants to leave NOW <- words said by a boy who is lying.

THE GAG IS… Charlie is still in bed… SO THE MOM TOOK THE EVIL GHOST TWIN HOME!!

(mulder walks scully down the hall with a hand on her back) <- i have to get it off my chest. something that has haunted me from episode 1. him walking her places with his hand on her back is an endearing habit in mister protective mulder, but if a real man ever tried that on me i think i would start biting. god bless fictional men.

back at their home, mother is very scared. and the child is asking about the balloon and riding the train. man, it would be rough to have an evil ghost child. you just never know what you're gonna get.

mom is doing some rituals to confirm that this is the evil boy and the test is positive

mulder is calling the calusari men back into the hospital!! i wonder how they all got in there.

scully at da home. all the power is off. just a flashlight and a pantsuit against the world.

back at the hospital, it's ritual time! the boy is hissing and screaming and yelling in Romanian, and i'm thinking, someone is gonna come get him if he doesn’t shut the hell up. poor mulder gets wrapped into the whole thing, being told to hold him down as he writhes and yells. BUT DON'T LOOK AT HIM! or the evil will know you.

at this point, stuff was leaking from the walls of the hospital. classic demon tricks!

back at the family home, scully enters the room and the windows blow open…. AND MOM IS FLOATING ON THE CEILING! something throws her around the damn room. yowch!

at the exorcism scene, they told mulder to look away from the boy but he is not doing that… that kid is squirming about. look away mulder you do NOT need the devil in your life! but i wonder if a part of him feels terrible for the kid. he's always so sensitive with kids. all that childhood trauma.

NOOO EVIL TWIN IS ABOUT TO STAB SCULLY when they finish painting the swastika on Real Boy Twin's belly and evil boy disappears. into ash that looks like the kind we saw earlier. whew that was a close one!

(how the hell did no one come and interrupt the exorcism in the middle of the hospital... it was a noisy event)

on his way out after exorcism time, one of the dudes involved says “it knows you” to Mulder, who wraps up the case with the terrifying observation that “neither innocence nor vigilance may be protection against the howling heart of evil” <- filed under lines that go hard

GIRL WHAT IN THE HELL. THE DEVIL KNOWS MULDER?????? not enjoying those implications!!! 

this was very much a spooky episode!!! very different from the last one. I mean fiji mermaid was just kinda silly. drastic tone shift. but now that i think about it, i do see the plot holes that the wikipedia page for the episode mentioned. like, if it was an evil stillborn ghost twin, why did the symptoms set in when golda arrived on the scene? and why did they effect the younger brother by making him sick?

well, to be honest, i'm not gonna worry about it. this episode still gave me some good things: scully one-liners, mulder laughing at these one-liners, reveal that she is NOT a biblical literalist which i find fascinating, some light doctor mode action.

but between you and me, i prefer the last style of episode- it was funny and not too serious even if it was a lil spooky. so this tone shift was a bit jarring! interesting to see what it'll look like moving forward. maybe it was the last episode that should have been the jarring tone shift, but it felt so natural that going back to Killer Ghost Time felt a bit disappointing. and i won't hold out hope for every episode to be silly time- there has to be balance, of course- but this ep was quite dark even for their standards, which i have become used to in our nearly 2 full seasons together (!!!)

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt 14

(Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader x Sandor Clegane: Light Smut)

(As promised, here is the link to the version of the story https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340 It varies slightly in that it is an OC fic instead of a reader insert)

News of Lord Tyrion's kidnapping found your ear by accident. You were sure the queen had not let the information slip purposefully, letting her tongue slip in agitation.

The days after the tourney were particularly quiet, in the same way the world is quiet before a crack of lightning cuts through the sky. There was some talk of Lord Stark retracing Jon Arryn's last steps before his death, news that you relayed to Cersei casually.

"How do you know that?" The queen, leaned up from the mattress, staring at you with inquisitive eyes.

You only shrugged.

"Walls have ears, My Queen. I've learned to be a very good listener"

"What do you know?"

You adjusted on the Queen's bed. The two of you had been taking an afternoon rest, allowing the royal chambers to entomb you from the rest of the world and their prying eyes.

"I know he borrowed the book Jon Arryn had from Pycelle, I know he's been going into the city almost every day, though I don't know where exactly. And I know he had a keen interest in Jon Arryn's last words."

"His last words?" Cersei's attention was piqued. "Do you know what they were?" "The Seed Is Strong," you said slowly, watching her face for a reaction. Cersei's brow knitted together in what could have been confusion as much as it could have been concern.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since the Tourney, I think."

It was only a few weeks after that the twins were informed their brother had been kidnapped off the King's Road by Catelyn Stark. You were stunned. What could have possibly gotten into Lady Stark that she would kidnap a man who was a guest in her home a little over a month ago?

If the Stark sisters knew anything about it, they didn't show it. Not Sansa anyway. After the drama of the tourney, Sansa started sticking closer to you. You walked through the Gods Wood in the mornings, lounged in the shaded balconies and pavilions during the heat of the afternoon, and in the evenings, Sansa seemed reluctant to part.

One day, you just couldn't help but ask. "My Lady? Not that I mind at all." you began, "But I've noticed during our visits, you have always seemed to have a question on the tip of your tongue. May I ask what it is?"

Sansa blanched as if she had been trying to keep her intentions secret.

"I-" she began, a thick blush filling her pale little face. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry, it's just-" The two of you settle on a stone bench in the garden, shaded by a flowering bush from the growing intensity of the sun. "I was hoping that you could help me with the prince."

"I can certainly try" you tried not to laugh, "But I think there is little I can do."

"It's just, you and Ser Clegane seem to mesh so naturally" Sansa's face looked pitifully forlorn. "And I was hoping it would be the same for Prince Joffrey and me, but ever since the King's Road it's like he can't stand to be around me." You listened sympathetically, suddenly remembering what it was like to be a love-struck teenager. "How did you do it?"

"Oh, my love" you sighed, touching Sansa's hand gently, "This is a problem that has plagued women for generations. It always seems that the one you want doesn't want anything to do with you, and the one you don't want won't get out from under your feet."

Sansa nodded at this as if you were speaking wisdom new to her ears.

"In perfect truth," you confided, "Sandor couldn't stand me when we first met."

"Really?" Sansa gawked, "But the way he looks at you!"

"A very recent development." you laughed, "When we first met, he thought I was a fool and a pest, but when we were out on the road…I don't know I just felt safe around him. Somehow I knew that if I was around him, nothing bad could happen to me."

"What changed?"

"We got married." you looked sheepish, suddenly remembering the story you were to stick to, "He asked, and it seemed to be out of the blue at the time, but afterward we just sort of settled into each other. We took care of each other."

"Did your father…" Sansa began to ask before wondering if she was stepping too far, "Did your father like him? Did he approve?"

You thought on this. you wondered what your real father would think of all this, but you never knew him so it was impossible to say.

"Every father has a hard time accepting their eldest daughter is leaving them" you finally said. "I was old enough that I think he thought I would stick around forever to take care of him. But, in the end, he knew that this was the best thing for me, so he accepted it. What else could he do, really?"

Sansa thought on this very seriously for a moment, a look that didn't fit her youthful features. She had a face for laughing and smiling, not brooding.

It was soon after your meeting in the Gods Wood that Sansa's father was attacked.

The actual story was muddied.

When in Cersei's bed, the queen insisted to her that Ned Stark attacked Jaime in a drunken rage. But, of the little you had seen of the Hand, you had not once seen him drink. All the same, you took Jaime's side. As did Sandor, though silently and more out of duty than anything else.

After the brawl, Ser Jaime fled the city and your husband could not help but joke while the two of you managed to steal a private moment in one of the Keep's many staircases.

"At least I won't have to worry about his pulling you into his lap anymore."

"Sandor!" You laughed and smacked his chest lightly, "He never actually had me on his lap, you know." "No, he just had you on his-" You reached up to cover his mouth before the next world could spill out. "Will you be quiet?" you hissed, "Father be Good, the man's not even in city limits and you're still seething in jealousy."

"Am not."

"No?" you grinned, stopping to make sure you were still alone, "I bet if I even said his name, you'd have me against this wall in a heartbeat."

Sandor paused, turning before climbing the steps back to you, getting intimately close. "Want to try it and find out?"

you bit your lip, leaning away from him before grinning mischievously. "Jai-"

The name wasn't even out of your mouth before your breath was whisked out of your lungs. Suddenly much higher than you had been, Sandor had you flush against the wall, pulling your legs around his hips so the only thing keeping you from falling was him and the brick you were pressed against.

"Sa-" "No, no, no" Sandor corrected you, glowering with a face that you couldn't resist teasing. "Say his name. I want to hear you say it one last time before I fuck it from your memory"

You hummed mockingly for a moment as if trying to remember what name you were about to say. "Let me think….you know? I've completely forgotten what we were talking about."

"Hm, is that so?" Sandor pressed, a smile playing across his lips.

"Completely forgotten, honest." you insisted with a laugh. "I have, I swear."

"How convenient for you." You lazily draped your arms over your husband's shoulders as he kissed you, pressing you to the wall firmly. One hand crept up your leg and moved to cup your ass firmly before exploring further up to your waist, then to the fullness of your breasts where it squeezed and groped. You breathed through the kiss as his thumb found your nipple and began to rub in circles through the fabric.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull up that pretty dress of yours and fuck you against this wall," Sandor growled and you felt yourself melt into him.

"I don't have one." You confessed with an eager smile, "Maybe you should go for it."

"Hm." He chuckled into the kiss before pulling away. "I have one."

"What?" Your heart sank as he dropped you back to the ground. "What, why?" "Because, my love." He kissed the top of your head with a knowing smile, "You don't deserve it."

"What?!"

"Have a good night, I have the night watch."

"Sandor!" You called after him, the ache he had created in your core lingering as you watched him go.

You pouted alone in the torchlight before biting your lip. It's fine, you thought, I have other options.

Cersei laughed as she and her lover fumbled through her bedroom door. You had been extra attentive all day in the hopes of an invitation and just as you hoped, Cersei's hands began to wandering around dinner time.

By dessert, Cersei had excused herself and cued you to meet her at the doors of the Royal Quarters.

"Darling." Cersei breathed between kisses. "Yes, my queen."

"Help me with this here?" Your fingers quickly worked any clasp or tie on the Queen's dress, working on muscle memory as your lips found the lioness's collarbone and peppered it with kisses.

"Good Girl" Cersei sighed, starting to work on your clothing as well.

Since Ser Jaime had left the city, something in your dynamic had changed. Cersei was now more willing to receive pleasure as opposed to only giving. She no longer tutted with disapproval when your hands instinctively went to touch her. Instead, she welcomed her lover's embrace.

Once you were both undressed, Cersei pushed you back onto the bed and watched as you spread your thighs eagerly. Cersei's clever mouth kissed up your legs, lingering at the most sensitive spots that made you jump and giggle before crawling between your legs.

You didn't remember the last time Cersei was so attentive, lavishing your cunt with careful licks and gentle thrusts of her fingers. It was so good and yet not enough.

"Please" you whimpered, bucking your hips with Cersei's hand, "harder."

But Cersei ignored you, continuing at her slow, even tempo. Once in a while, she would curl her fingers up, pressing on the rough tissue that made your mouth fall open with a moan only to return to the same steady rhythm.

You began to grow impatient, trying to speed up the pace only to be punished with a swift smack to the thigh.

"My Queen," You begged, "Please. I need more."

"So greedy." Cersei purred, not bothering to indulge your pleading. "But unfortunately for you, a little hound told me you've been very bad."

Your blood ran cold.

"I- no!" Another smack came down like lightning, leaving a handprint on the softness of your thigh.

"Now, now, now, it's not polite to lie Sweetling" Cersei curled her fingers again, playing at your g-spot only to stop as the moans began to roll from your throat.

"I'm sorry." you whimpered contritely, whining as Cercei withdrew her hand and crawled up the bed towards your face.

"I'm sure you're very sorry now, aren't you." The queen teased, rolling your breasts in her hands, "You thought you could come to me and I'd give you what he forbade. Why, I almost feel taken advantage of."

"No." Your eyes widened and you pouted so well it almost coaxed some leniency from the queen, "I'm sorry, My Queen. It was wrong of me, I know that. Please."

"So sweet, but it's not just my forgiveness you need.' Cersei reminded you, "Teasing poor Sandor after all he's done."

You sat up and whined, "I can't see him tonight, he's on night duty."

"Well then, I guess you're just going to have to wait, sweetling." Cersei snickered. "When he's forgiven you, then I will."

Frustrated with this newfound solidarity between your husband and your lover, You redressed and moved to go to your own bed. It's not like you didn't know how to take care of yourself.

Snug under the covers of the large bed, You let your hand drift between your legs. You realized you hadn't touched yourself without an audience for months, but the moves came back quite naturally.

It wasn't the same. Not as good as real sex. But it did the job quicker, and you found that after 3 or 4 rounds you was quite content.

"Ha" You taunted out into the darkness, knowing that neither of them could hear you. "We'll see who outlasts who."

With that, you rolled slightly onto your husband's side, which carried his comfortable scent of smoke and leather and lulled you into sleep.

[admrlthundrbolt]

Black Magic Woman (Werewolf Santana x Chubby Reader)

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

Born into the curse of a Werewolf. Santana had always preferred his more beastial form. So imagine his surprise when a Park Ranger makes his human side so desperate.

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

Hey guys, I'm back at it again. This is another installment of my Piller Men stories. This one really ran away with me. I didn't expect it to be as long or for a whole background lore to spawn. Yet here we are, with a Park Ranger and a Werewolf falling in love. Any who I hope you enjoy.

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His entire life had been simple; sleep, hunt, survive. He was a beast through and through. No matter what the legends said. At least that was before you came along.

The first night he caught your scent on the wind, it became ingrained in his memory. It was sweet, yet with a heady undertone. Itching at a part of his mind that he had never accessed before. Beast and man began their first battle for control within him. Not knowing what to do with himself, he sprinted home.

The cave was dry and in a more isolated section of the park. He had made sure to mark the perimeter, ensuring that the local predators knew what belonged to him.

For the first time in a long while, he slipped out of his canine form. Shifting into that of a man. He stumbled on his two legs, finding the motion unfamiliar. Though even this change couldn't remove the new scent from his nose.

So he spent his night, cold and alone curled up on the hard floor. Trying to wipe his head of the aroma that plagued him.

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

You had settled into the housing quickly. Not having a large space to live in, helped with only needing to unpack a few things. But it didn't matter to you, the place you were living in wasn't the reason you took the position. No, it was the chance to study the wolf population. You had went to college for a degree in Wildlife Biology and Research. It was tedious and took a lot of hard work, but it was your dream. Every since you were a child, wildlife had always fascinated you.

Though there was something special about the wolf population of this particular park, that drew you to it. They would mostly stay to themselves rather than in the typical packs. When they did pair off, they rarely grouped beyond the immediate family. Almost as if they wouldn't stray beyond their own familial grouping. It was unlike any other behavioral patterns that had been witnessed.

Though the most perplexing thing had to be how little documentation had been conducted. You could only find bits and pieces of information. Even coming across forms with most of the information blacked out. It seemed as if there was a sizeable gap in the knowledge released from this park.

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

Grabbing a few supplies from the office, you prepared for your first day in the field. Only to bump your head on a cabinet as one of your coworkers enter the room.

Joseph barged in with a loud morning and went straight for the coffee maker. Rubbing the tender spot, you greeted him. He was a nice enough guy, but to loud for his own good. Though his soft spoken girlfriend, Suzie Q, was a great counterpart to his personality.

His mug full, he turned your way. “So, excited about your first day?”

A small smile graced your face as you nodded. “Yeah and about the same amount of nerves. But who doesn't feel that way when they start a new job.”

He nodded with a thoughtful look on his face. It was odd to see a serious expression on the goofball's face. “I get that.” Then leaning towards a locker, he pulled out a large walkie-talkie. “Make sure to keep this on you. The wolf population are unpredictable and it's never a good idea to underestimate them.”

The statement sent a foreboding chill down your spine. Why hadn't you thought to ask the other staff about their experience with the wildlife. Well that was just a task to file away for later. “Thanks, I'll see you later.” Heading out the door you passed Suzie Q. With a quick good morning, you left for your vehicle.

She waved you off, then rushed over to Joseph. He handed her the second cup of coffee he made and shook his head. “I can't believe they gave that woman a grant to work with those monsters.”

She sipped the warm drink and gave him a hollow smile. “Maybe they hand picked her for a reason.”

Staring at your vehicle as it became a dot on the horizon, he couldn't help but hang his head. “Unlikely.” Taking a deep swig of coffee, he tried to distract himself with the burn of the beverage.

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

After a restless night, he shifted back into his beastial form. Taking off in a sprint, he hoped that a run would help clear his head. Not sure how long he would push himself. Only focusing on the burn of his muscles and the speed of his breath. Continuing his mindless run, he came across a stream and collapsed on its bank. Panting and relaxing until he felt the need for water. Though this luxury never came.

A vehicle pulled up nearby. He could hear the tires crunching over rock and fallen branch alike. Still huffing, he waited to see if it would pass. It stopped instead and he scrambled behind a close by rock formation. Wind picking up as the door swung shut. He was once again engulfed in a indescribably wonderful scent. This caused him to dart his eyes around. When his gaze fell on you, he was astonished at what he found.

You were a goddess sheathed in khaki clothing. As the uniform shifted around your full figure, he couldn't stop the imagery that followed. You rounder with his pups and welcoming him home. It was an image that made his heart race, more than even the run caused. Every part of you sang out to him like a siren's song.

But he knew now wasn't the time to approach you. No, he had to prepare the den. Then he would prove to you that he was a worthy mate.

For now he watched you carefully as you set up a box on a tree.

You were meticulous and precise as you hung it. Then opened it and fiddled with what looked like a camera of sorts. Finishing up, you clapped your hands together. A gesture he found most endearing. Heading back to the vehicle, you pulled out a map. Folding it back up, you drove off in a new direction.

Watching you leave, he glanced at the box. Then marked the tree under it and took off after you without a second thought. If he was to court you, he would need to know where to find you.

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

As you placed the last trail cam up you sighed in relief. It had taken most of the day, but the cameras would be a boon to your research. It's not like you could be everywhere at once after all. Not to mention you had the odd sensation of being watched today. Although that could also be chalked up to being the trail cams. So you brushed it off and headed back to the Ranger housing, ready to rest.

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

He had trailed you to your den. It was a small home, but it wouldn't matter soon. You would spend little time there once you became his bonded mate.

Nosing around the area, he was relieved to find that there wasn't an established scent. So he marked the site, paying special attention with your house.

Through with that, he decided that he would find a quick bite and settle down close by. It wouldn't do if his mate came to harm.

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

The next day you woke up and set off to your usual morning routine. Only to pause on your way out the door. It reeked, the scent was an all to familiar one, wolf pee. Making your way to the common area. You couldn't help but wonder why the stench had cropped up overnight.

Still the oddity wouldn't stop you from checking the cameras you put up the day before. Settling down with a cup of coffee, you pulled up the app to search through the footage. All of it was pretty mundane, until you reached the video first video recorded after setting them up. It seemed the same wolf was marking the area under each cam, then sprinting off. It wasn't an unusual thing for wolves to mark unfamiliar things. But it seemed that he had followed you and repeated the action under every single camera. Just as the thought of him being the culprit behind the smell around the housing popped in your head, Joseph entered the room.

He gave a cheerful greeting and headed for the coffee maker. Turning to you he noticed a video feed on your screen. One with a familiar wolf. “Watcha got there.” Trying to keep his tone casual, he was desperate to know why Santana was there. You had only been here a day and already had one of their interest.

“Oh, footage from the trail cams I set up yesterday. You know, it's pretty bizarre. This one wolf seems to find everyone and mark underneath it. Almost like he was taking in an unfamiliar scent and marking it. At least that's my theory.” Taking a sip from your coffee you looked at him a bit wide eyed. “If that’s the case then he must also be the reason for the smell outside the housing."

He gave you a confused look. “Smell?”

Nodding you said. “Yeah, it was so pungent I had to rush over here to get a fresh breath of air.”

Gazing out the window, he narrowed his eyes. “Is that so, I'll check it out before I make my rounds.”

You waved him off. “Don't bother, it's probably my new scent disrupting the ecosystem. Maybe my pheromones are throwing off some of the local wolves.”

“Well I'd rather be safe than sorry.” He patted your back and smiled. “Can't let anything happen to our new teammate.”

“Oh. Thank you." You ran your fingers through your hair. “It's nice to have a team that has my back.”

“Sure thing. Let Suzie Q know that I had to make a quick errand. I should be back before lunch.” Then he headed out the door to pay a certain elder wolf a visit.

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

You had stayed at the housing area that day. So when night came, he went to his den. It needed preparing for your arrival.

When he approached the entrance, he paused. A familiar, but not entirely unwelcome scent was there. His care giver Kars was an infrequent guest. But he had a strong kinship with the other wolf. He had saved him as a mere pup and taught him all he knows. Still why would he be waiting at his den. Stepping forward he hoped to find the answer to this question.

Kars gave him no time for speaking first. “Ah, Santana, how have you been?” As he gazed at the younger wolf, his eyes bored into him. “Because I received a little visit today. From Joseph of all people. Asking me about you and your recent actions. I hope I don't have to remind you of how tedious it is to deal with humans and maintain our alliance with them. Now with that being said. I would like to know why you are stalking the new ranger.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. He had a respect for the elder, but you are his mate. Though as he thought for a moment, they wouldn't be having this conversation if it wasn't to keep you safe. Puffing his chest up a bit, he said. “She is my mate.”

He hung his head at the confession. “That makes things awfully more complicated. For the sake of the treaty stay away from her until I return.” This caused the younger lycan to bristle. “I understand this may be hard, though it is your choice to make. Leave her side for a short while or be force to vacate the park. Never to be with her again.”

Lowering his hackles he gave a solemn nod and retreated futher into his den. He could at least take this time to tidy up. It would be a suitable distraction for the time being.

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

Joseph paced in front of his truck and shook his head. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't sure what was worse. Santana hunting you or wanting to mate with you. At least this way your death wasn't guaranteed. Still what was he supposed to tell his superiors. “This isn't good. Do you know how many violations this could cause."

Kars rolled his eyes at the other man. “You act as if you humans are the only one with rules.” He scoffs and continues. “You should know that the title Elder was not an easy one to come by.”

He stepped forward, facing the purple haired man. “I get that and I'm thankful that you're willing to talk with me about this. But that doesn't make the situation any less complicated.”

“That you are right about. Once they meet, there will be no way to keep them from each other. True mates are bonded for life, ceremony or not.” He crossed his arms at the statement. To think that a pup he raised would be destined to a human. It was uncommon, but not as abnormal as having no mate. He honestly hoped this could help tame Santana. His unruliness had gotten him into trouble more times than he liked to recall. Maybe the soft touch of a human would calm him.

Running a hand over his face, he sighed. “OK, new plan. We keep them apart until I get word from my superiors. It should be simple enough. We'll just keep them both occupied and wait for an answer. I'll make sure to keep you in the loop.”

Nodding he watched the man climb into his vehicle. “Yes, you do that.” Knowing that this would be a most difficult task. But he knew it would be for the sake of one of his pups. So it was a challenge he was willing to take.

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

The storm shook your vehicle as you sped to the last piece of equipment. It was annoying to pick them up after of a few short weeks of them being out. But you knew you would get chewed out if the equipment got torn away in the storm. It would be just one more thing for your superiors to pressure you about. It seemed like they had breathing down your neck lately.

You pulled up near the camera, only able to go so far due to it precarious location. At the moment of setting it up over the gorge, you thought it was a stroke of genius. The footage of the wildlife that could live in the river at the base of the valley was to good to pass up. Now as you attempt to loosen it from the tree, leaning over the dizzying drop. You couldn't help but curse your earlier ambitious. Rain pelting against you and wind seeming to pick up in speed by the second. You questioned if this last camera was worth the stress. This thought was followed by a rumble and your perspective shifting downward.

He knew he was supposed to be avoiding you. But this storm had made his hair raise and nerves jumpy. He only needed to see you, hopefully through the window of your home. Curled up, warm and cozy, reading something in bed. It was his favorite position to see you in, content and comfortable.

On his way over, he stopped at a familiar sound. Your voice was at the gorge and you were calling out for help. It only took him a moment, muscles burning at the exertion to get to you as quickly as possible. Not seeing you standong near your vehicle, he understood in an instant the danger you were in. Looking over the edge, he saw something that made his heart stop. You were hanging on by a few mud covered roots jutting out from the side of the gorge.

Without a second thought he shifted, knowing that hands would be more useful than paws. He scooped you up and brought you against him. Checking you over for injuries, he breath a sigh of relief when he found only a few scraps.

You looked up at your savior, only to pause. He somehow made your heart race faster than the near death experience you just endured. You felt drawn to him, like the booming thunder that followed the lighting around you. Your sudden emotions moved you more than the raging storm that engulfed the both of you. He held you close yet delicately, it was an intoxicating feeling.

After a moment of you admiring each other, you came to your senses. “Let's get to my vehicle.” You guided him to the truck and you each made your way inside. Panting you took a bit to gather yourself. What was that, you had never felt emotions at such an intensity. Taking deep breath, you turned to your savior.

Only to gasp as you noticed his lack of clothes. “Oh, uh.” You looked away and then did another quick glance. As impressive as his physic was, you weren't sure what was going on. “Why, uh, where are your clothes?”

He never took his eyes off you. “I do not have any.”

An odd answer to an equally odd question. Then a thought passed through your mind. The storm must have swept them away. It wouldn't be the first time that a visitor lost something at the park. “OK then. What is my savior's name?”

“I am called Santana.”

Starting up the vehicle, you tried to keep your thoughts on a purer path. “Well, my friend Joseph is about your size. I'm sure he would be willing to lend some to you.” With that settled you drove towards the housing area.

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

“Absolutely not.” So maybe he wasn't willing to help your savior.

Shaking your head at his negative reaction, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Joseph come on. He saved me and has nothing to wear. You can't lend him anything?”

“No, you don't understand, he not what you think he is.” Pointing over at him accusingly. “That guy is a monster.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So monsters go around saving people from falling to death. Whatever, let's get out of here.” You then grabbed his hand and led him to your home. Voicing your irritation of Joseph attitude the whole way. “I mean how could he be such a jerk to the guy who saved me.” You went on rambling as you sifted through your clothes. Pulling out your baggiest options, something usually reserve for your period, you held them out. “This is all I have that might work. I'm sorry my coworker couldn't be more helpful.” You faced away from him, giving him a bit of privacy. Though that didn't keep his nude image from your mind.

He was elated, as he slid the clothes on, he inhaled. Your scent surrounded and pressed against him. It was pure ecstasy. Glancing around the room, he tried to commit everything to memory. The few knick knacks and trinkets scattered around. The interesting array of books that were strewn about. Even the random sock that was abandoned half under your bed. It all screamed you and he wanted to take in every bit of it.

Then his eyes landed on you. Back turned to him, the rain water made your uniform cling to your body in a delicious manner. He yearned to reach out and hold you, just as he remember on the cliffside. To have your bodies meld together once more. That would truly be his own heaven.

Thinking you had given him plenty of time, and want to not be alone with your thoughts any longer. You turned back towards him. Only to be taken aback at what you saw. His eyes were dark and lustful.

In that moment your body reacted. Like a moth to a flame or a wave crashing into the bow of a ship. You collided like magnets, unable to stay apart. Your bodies met followed by your lips. Melding together like puzzle pieces. The raw emotion that fueled the kiss was electrifying.

Then a throat was cleared. Tearing yourself from his mouth, you were shocked to see a similarly built purple haired man and Joseph. They stood in the doorway, the new man wearing a smirk on his face and only a loincloth on his body. Joseph had his mouth agape and some clothes in his hands.

“I hope we weren't interrupting anything.” The tone of his voice made it obvious that he knew just what he was intruding upon. He entered your small home and looked over at your savior. “Santana, it seems that fate has gifted you a wonderful mate. You should thank the Moon Goddess for such a blessing.”

He faced the man and laid an arm around your waist. “I have Elder Kars, many times over in fact.”

“Very good. Let us proceed to the common area. There is much to discuss.” He grabbed the still stunned Joseph's arm and dragged him to the large building nearby.

Santana offer his arm to you and politely led you as well.

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

You sat there and tried to absorb all of the information that had been dumped in your lap. Not only were Werewolves real, but the government was covering up their existence. They were considered refugees and given ‘homes’ in National Parks. Which led to an official peace treaty between Werewolves and humans.

On top of that, you were the mate of a Werewolf from the park you were assigned to study wolf behavior. Part of you wanted to scream in frustration. But as you looked at Santana, you could only feel a warmth towards him. There was truly something supernatural about the way he made you feel. “Well, what do we do now?”

Without missing a beat he said. “We spend the rest of our lives together.”

The statement made your heart flutter. Still you had your reservation about it being that simple. Looking over at your superior and the Elder Werewolf, you furrowed your brow. “Is that allowed?”

Kars nodded. “It is not common, but there have been similar mated couples in the past. If it is what you wish, we will not stand between you.”

Looking back at you guessed your mate, you beamed. He looked at you with loved and devotion in his eyes. It was a sight you wanted to hold onto forever. But you grew nervous as your gaze turned to Joseph. “What about the government?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “There actually for it as well.”

This cause a weight to be lifted from your shoulders. If they were against it, you weren't sure how the situation could end up.

He held his hand up. “I wouldn't celebrate to soon. They want to see how a relationship between a human and Werewolf would be work. Make you a study case of sorts. You should think about what that would mean before you make a final decision.” With that the two men ushered you back to your home to discuss the situation in private. Joseph adding on that it shouldn't lead to anymore ‘funny business’. You swore that everyday you spent with him, that man treated you more like a younger sibling.

Sitting on your bed, you took his hands into your own. “I don't want them to act as if your something to experiment on. You should be allowed to have your life not be examined.”

He brought a hand to your face and gently cupped your cheek. You leaned into it instinctually. “I would endure anything to be by your side. Even if we have to run, by your side I will always be content.” Then your lips sealed together once more.

It may not be the best of circumstances. But every moment you spent together was a step closer to a life spent happily.

[copiousloverofcopia]

I am honored to be able to share with you a commission that I did for the incredibly talented and wonderful @the-cardinale .

I'm still very much in shock that she wanted me to write for her, considering that she's literally to me one of the quintessential writers of this entire fandom.

Beth I love you so much and I have the deepest respect for you. I am so happy that you liked this piece.

I hope everyone else enjoys as well.

Without further ado

Beauty in Chaos ❤️‍🔥

Also featured here on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

Commissions are still open! Please see pinned post for carrd information!

The Papal suite had finally grown quiet. The mountains of toys and piled up dishes spread out across the parlor, and the faint sound of a children's show could be heard playing from the TV. You sat back against the couch, pulling off your glasses and letting out a sigh. Your eyes, aching from being overworked and your head, unfortunately, was following suit.

You massaged away at your temples. Simple, small strokes as you attempted to chip away at the tension. The aches and pains, a familiar yet uninvited guest in recent days. You had realized more and more, just how much work it was to be Prime Mover and wife to the first Emeritus son.

Your headspace was an amalgamation of the to do's and worry. Every waking moment felt like a never-ending pile up of responsibility and stress. You weren't depressed, as a matter of fact you were happier than you had ever been. It was more that this kind of happiness came with a cost—a cross to bear.

Sometimes the monotonous tasking, and endless chasing after your willful little one, made you tired in more ways than imaginable. At the end of the day you were always left feeling stripped bare, and tonight was like any other. As the night had arrived, the light from the sun slowly retreated from the courtyard and you had finally managed to get your child down to sleep. A welcome reprieve, one that had always come few and far between. His waking and sleep cycles, disrupted by the budding of teeth. Ones that insisted on triumphantly making themselves known.

You closed your eyes, releasing another breath, when you felt a comforting warmth on your shoulders. A familiar grip you instantly melted in, as you leaned back on your neck and looked up into your Papa’s mismatched eyes. “I see he has finally tuckered himself out.” Primo smiled, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“For the moment it seems.” you sighed, knowing that you’d be lucky to get an hour of down time. You loved your son so much, but the toddler years had proven themselves to be a beast. One that, the likes of which, even Hell itself couldn’t conjure. “Maybe I will finally get a moment to finally finish up the papers Sister Imperator had sent for me before he wakes–” you remarked, sniffling back before Primo interjected.

“Nonsense.” Primo hissed, “You will do no such thing. Tell me what troubles you? I feel the weight of your soul is heavy my blossom.”

“I have a bad headache and I haven’t been sleeping well, if at all…I–I am overwhelmed.” You blurted out, a bit ashamed for having admitted it. The tears, now slipping from the rims of your eyes. Primo pulled you around to face him. Holding you tightly in his embrace as you began to weep.

“There is no shame in feeling this way.” he promised you, his heart beating in your ear. His fingers, running through your hair, comforting you and soothing the headache that plagued you. You only wished your emotions could be more easily cured.

“Thank you…and I know, I just…I want to be able to help. To do everything that's asked of me. To take care of our child. To help the siblings and the Ministry as is my duty. Help you—but lately it all feels like it's crushing me under the weight of it. I love our life Primo, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world, but I just feel like I'm having a hard time wading through it all.” you cried, burying your face in his chest.

“Oh amore, listen to me. We are going to find something to help you unwind.” he insisted. You brought your head up to face him. Tears leaving a trail of waterproof mascara, which clearly had failed at its job. You wiped the wetness from your cheeks, gathering yourself together once more before continuing to speak.

“Primo I can’t, there is so much to do. I will never be able to get it all done if I don’t keep on it. I need to at least work on the papers tonight. Oh! And I just remembered I promised some of the sisters that I would help with new sibling orientation this week and I…”

“Sí, I understand…but do you hear yourself? You are going to work yourself so hard that there is nothing left to give, then what good are you to anyone that you wish to help? Allow me to help you relax, my petal." He said, pausing a moment before continuing on. "Would you grant this old withered soul an audience in your company? Just the two of us?”

“Oh my love, I want to…believe me I WANT to. I have missed you so much this past week...I just don't know. I miss our alone time.” you admitted, a reflexive smirk gracing your face as you recalled the many times this man had you climbing the heights of passion. The countless orgasms that had sent you to realms far beyond your own while under his lascivious spell.

“Then it's settled. I have already sent for Aether to come watch the piccolo for the evening. He'll take good care of him, while I help you remember the beautiful goddess that you are. One deserving a break.” Primo chuckled.

“Are you sure about that? Not concerned we may come back to find them both gnawing on furniture or the suite covered in drool?” you laughed.

“Not in the least. The ghoul can handle himself.” Primo insisted, trying his best to convince you, and himself he believed it. He was quick to convince you, always so effortless in his ways. So sweet and calming, like a mug of warm chamomile tea. His voice, able to unwind the stress of the day and his smile sending your heart aflutter in your chest. It still amazed you how he managed it.

How Primo could make those first butterflies you felt in the beginning, keep up their flight. The love felt between you both–so deep and passionate. Truly, had you not known otherwise, you would have thought it was black magic. Your husband had spoken, and always seemed to have your best interest at heart. Once Aeth had arrived, you gently kissed the red headed mop, you adored more than life itself, before the two of you bounded out to your favorite spot in the greenhouse.

You made your way down the path, laden with the gray-green foliage and beautiful pink flowers of the creeping thyme that surrounded the stepping stones. Hand in hand, you carefully traversed the grounds until you came upon the sanctuary of your destination. The stars in the sky, beginning to peek out from the clouds above as you walked inside. You entered first, feeling the intense warmth and the smell of the herbs, and Primo’s freshly potted geraniums, filling your senses.

Only a moment passed before you heard the telltale latch of the door from behind you and the small click of the lock. The smell and sounds, sending a smile to your lips and hellfire through your veins. The heat, settling in your belly as the anticipation built up for what was to come.

You headed for the table in the far back, which sat beside a pair of chairs just outside the door to Primo’s storage closet. As you passed through the rows and rows of plants, all carefully tended to by Papa and the siblings, you remembered when you were once just another of the flock. Helping to manage the garden, when you first laid your eyes on Primo. Singing gently to his plants, as he helped encourage them to grow. Many found the practice foolish, often snickering or having a chuckle at your Papa’s expense. You, however, found it endearing. Your heart, opening to him from that moment forward.

When you reached the table, you gathered up the discarded empty seed packets and muddy gardening gloves. Setting them off to the side, as you cleared a space for yourself. “You know I have asked them so many times to clean up after themselves you’d swear they were all still children.” Primo groaned, watching you clear things off.

“I am sure they meant no harm Papa.” you said, stepping out of your panties, bundling them up and tossing them to the side. Your breathing, already heavy. The heat of your core rising as his gaze fell upon you. Your skin, responding as if he was somehow able to touch you with only a look.

“You are breathtaking, you know this?” Primo asked you, “Inside and out."

“Is that so?” You said as you hopped up on the table, knocking off a terracotta pot onto the floor. “Oh shit.” You exclaimed, staring a only a moment at the mess, your eyes immediately returning to Primo for his response. Normally your husband would be remiss not to pick it up, but tonight there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“I am very sure.” he assured you as he approached, discarding the chasuble and trying hard to undo the buttons of his shirt. He fumbled around with them, his hands struggling to free each button despite his eagerness.

“Here, allow me.” You smiled, Primo’s brow cocked, welcoming your help as his hands rested upon the tops of your thighs. His thumbs rubbing against you.

“What did this old man ever do to deserve you?” he asked, gathering up your dress in his fists before his mouth descended on your neck. Kissing along your pulse points. Leaving blush colored marks in his wake.

“Just being you Papa. That’s all.” you moaned as you helped finish off the last of the buttons. His bare chest peeked out from behind the fabric. You couldn’t resist running your fingers through his chest hair, nails gently scraping the skin as he let out a moan.

“Sacrificherei la mia anima a qualsiasi cosa Dio possa averla, per trascorrere l'eternità dentro di te.” Primo purred against your skin. “Let me see you as Lucifer intended.” he begged, his own breathing hastened as you felt the swell of his cock press against your thigh.

You pulled your dress over your head, now naked before him. He helped to guide you backward, laying you down on the bare spot you cleared while minding the rest of the potted plants. He ran his hand up your thighs, brushing deviously light over where you desperately needed his touch. Climbing over your stomach, before resting his hand gently over your breast.

He kneaded it gently, enjoying the feel of you filling his hand. His fingers tugged gently at the peak of your nipple. Rolling his thumb over it to tease. You could feel his cock against you, his own need for you growing. Your blood, pumping faster and faster within your veins. You swallowed back the knot in your throat as you waited—aching to be touched.

“Oh Primo, please.” you begged, needy and ready. You felt his fingers enter you. The slow glide of them inside, making you bite down on your lip to hold back a moan. You couldn’t be that easy on him, letting him know that even just the simplest of his touches set you on fire. Though you were sure deep down he already knew. “That feels so good.” you cooed, giving into your sensations as he curved up his fingers into the delicate bundle of nerves he knew made you keen.

“Oh sweet Satanas, you are so wet for me already.” Primo groaned, his own need beginning to fluster him.

“Always.” you muttered. His hand worked you effortlessly to orgasm. Your hips rocking in time with his movements and his detailed attention to your clit made quick work of you. You writhed on the table, already feeling the sweat pooling on the small of your back and drenching inside of your thighs.

Primo pulled back his hand, gently falling to his knees before you. He minded his aching joints as he got into a comfortable position on the floor. His calloused fingers tracing up along your thighs once again. The feel of it, only serving to fuel your hunger. Your insides throbbing at the promise of him inside you.

“Papa, I don’t know if I can wait much longer.” you told him, half begging, the other half teasing.

“You won’t need to wait long amore.” Primo assured you. You rolled your head, side to side, feeling so incredibly so warm. Unsure if it was the greenhouse, your first orgasm, or the intense need to have another. You didn’t have time to decide, as Primo's fingers pressed into the moist flesh of your thighs, slowly opening them, allowing him to see how much you desired him, how much you’d already given up for him.

“I assure you I am just as ready my blossom and I will earn every last drop.” Primo hummed against your thigh, his tongue slithering up to meet with your exposed, tender flesh. He wasted no time in tasting you. Like a full bodied wine, he savored you with every flick and broad stroke of his tongue. Your hips raised off the table, rolling against his mouth as he tasted you.

Tending to your body in ways only he could, like his most cherished of his flowers. He worked meticulously to watch you bloom. Knowing exactly when and where you needed to be touched. He worked you over, slurping and curling his tongue between your folds and gently sucking on the bud of your clit.

You felt yourself throbbing inside, growing closer and closer to your second orgasm. Unable to keep your hands off Primo's head as he pleasured you. "Mmm…" you moaned, your hips rising up once again. The scent of sex not mingling with the smell of the earth that lingered around you from the spilt over plant.

"That's it my petal, allow me to devour youm show you that you are worthy." Primo growled as his mouth returned to you. Between his words and the feel of him, you quickly were there at the precipice once again.

"Oh Papa, I'm going to cum." You managed to get out, breath shaky and legs beginning to shake against the top of Primo's shoulders. He watched you in all your glory, delighted as you came undone. Your body released against his mouth, flooding it with the sweet taste of you.

"Non c'è niente di più dolce del nettare che sgorga da dentro di te." He purred, taking one last lap of his tongue through your folds before attempting to stand up. You admired his resilience. Despite his age, he had always managed to take on the constitution of a younger man when it came to worshiping you. You pulled yourself up on your elbows, Primo basking in the beauty of post-climactic you. His smile turned delvish as he allowed his eyes to crawl over you.

"I need you." You confessed, laid out before him. Primo leaned in, kissing your breast and taking your nipple into his mouth. The pleasure eliciting a moan from within you as your hands slid around his neck. Holding him close against your breast as you felt him lining his cock up with your entrance.

"I need you too–" he groaned, breaking the seal around your nipple and pushing himself inside you. Slowly and mercifully, your body conformed easily to his girth. Every nerve pressed deliciously, with every inch descended. Your walls, encapsulating him as he carefully seated himself fully inside.

He stood still, watching as you shifted around beneath him, so full but begging for friction between you. "Primo please." You mewled as he took a handful of each of your hips—squeezing tightly.

"As you wish." He smiled, rearing back only to slide back in slowly. Finally giving you the movement as friction you craved. He continued his movements over and over again. Brushing tightly along your soft insides, making you lose yourself in the moment.

You loved sex with your husband. His sinful talents, knowing no limit, but there was something even more sensual when he took his time. Maybe it was because he loved you, but then it always did. Maybe it was because you felt it more fully now than you had in week you couldn't be sure.

He was truly making love with you, worshiping you, showing you that all the universe and everything in existence mattered only because you were in it. This—this was the exact thing you needed. The slow and intentioned thrusts of his pelvis pressing hard against you. His cock pounding over and over against your most sensitive of spots.

You wrapped your legs around him, guiding his movements. Primo's breathing, hard and ragged. His mouth falling open as he fucked into you. Lifting you up off the table as he continued his ministrations. Your fingers scraping at his back as the pleasure enveloped you.

It wasn't long before he had you seeing stars. Your orgasm tearing through you like a soul being ripped from the mortal plane. Intense and incredible, holding on tight to his back as you trembled with your release. Feeling Primo's lips pressed into your shoulder as he continued to move.

He too was overcome. Feeling your body hug tightly to him with each and every thrust. He began muttering, under strained whines, in Italian. Singing praises for you as he began to release. His cock, kicking deep inside you, filling you full of his seed.

Primo fell limp against you, both of you spent and content. You pulled up his face to look at you. "Era proprio quello di cui avevo bisogno." You sighed, Primo smiling at the ease in which you spoke his native tongue.

"Good, because I have a feeling I will be paying for that for a few days." He laughed. Both of you, deliciously happy as he brushed your mess of hair back from your face. His eyes filled with love and admiration.

"There is no one else I would rather be in the chaos with other than you my love." You smiled.

"Ah sí, but what beautiful chaos it is."

Notes:

Sacrificherei la mia anima a qualsiasi cosa Dio possa averla, per trascorrere l'eternità dentro di te.- I would sacrifice my soul to whatever God may have it, to spend eternity inside you.

Non c'è niente di più dolce del nettare che sgorga da dentro di te.- There is nothing more sweet than the nectar that pours from within you.

Era proprio quello di cui avevo bisogno- That was just what i needed.

[literaticat]

Is it better to include an elevator pitch or not in a query? As an example, if the query is three paragraphs plus a bio, should it also have a one sentence elevator pitch at the top - do you recommend that or is it optional/doesn't matter either way? Which is better - elevator pitch, 3 paragraphs describing book, then bio, sign off or 3 paragraphs describing book (or 2 in some cases), bio, sign off, no one sentence pitch at top? I feel an agent might just read the first line then decide?

I have no questions in the inbox, but this was sitting in drafts for like -- a year? Haha. Sorry, original asker! I'm going to put this in the FAQ under Querying, as it's sort of the definitive "this is what you put in a query" answer, I think.

To answer your question: There are a lot of people who have a lot of rules and tips for queries, and here's what they DON'T usually tell you:

It doesn't really matter what order you put the elements of your query in, or three paragraphs vs two, or whatever whatever. Just include all the information we ask for and make it short enough to fit on a page. These are the ONLY two "technical" rules. Other than that - we just want it to be compelling. We want it to make us want to read the book. So make it how you like it! What sounds good to YOU?

Now. What you are calling the "elevator pitch", I'd call a log-line actually. I consider an elevator pitch to be something you are delivering in person - like if somebody asks, "hey what is your book about", your answer is nutshell elevator pitch. A log-line is a little shorter -- just the very top-of-the-treeline description about what we are about to look at.

Personally, if I were writing a query letter, I'd probably go like this:

Salutation: Dear so-and-so,

Short intro paragraph: I'm querying you for A REASON / I met you at A PLACE, etc. I'm delighted to share TITLE, a CATEGORY complete at WORDCOUNT about LOGLINE.

About the Book: 1 to 3 paragraphs. Mine would probably be two paragraphs: ONE paragraph about the book, expanding the log-line, ANOTHER short paragraph to wrap up the first paragraph as necessary.

Bio: Previous publications if applicable, if not just a little something about yourself.

Sign off: With social media handles, etc.

For example:

#1 - Salutation

#2 - Intro

I have such fun listening to your podcast, and when I saw on social media that you are a sloth fan, I figured it was kismet and I should send this your way! SLOTH COPS is a twisty MG whodunit complete at 60,000 words, about two polar opposite sloth police detectives who must team up if they are to have a hope of catching the mysterious tortoise murderer plaguing their city.

#3, flesh that logline out:

Captain of the Sloth Squad Callisto Jenkins is an experienced veteran on the force; she's seen it all in her day, and has the gallows humor to prove it. Officer Stormy McNair is a rookie on the beat, desperate to make his bones as detective and prove to every doubter that so-called "bad sloths" like him CAN solve crimes. A foolish mistake during an investigation causes Callisto to take Stormy's badge and gun away and consign him to desk duty, but the hothead rookie can't stand being benched and figures out a way to get involved with Callisto's last case before retirement -- the case of the Tortoiseville Strangler.

#3.5, close out the pitch part:

The strangler doesn't take kindly to sloth cops on his turf, and Stormy and Callisto soon find themselves embroiled in a case that is much bigger and more sinister than they could have imagined. It will take Callisto's patience and dedication to the hunt combined with Stormy's brazen attitude and quick wit to get them out of the Strangler's lair with their necks intact, and put the shadowy tortoise killer behind bars where he belongs.

#4 Bio :

I'm Fiona Q Whittlestone, and I'm a professional private detective, which sadly, is a lot less exciting day-to-day than movies would have you believe! I live in Palm Springs, CA, with a 100 year old Desert Tortoise named Ambrose who, as far as I know, has never committed a crime. SLOTH COPS is my first novel.

#5: Sign-Off

--

Now - 1 and 5 obviously have to stay where they are. In my opinion, 2/3/4 make the most sense in that order, and that's about the right amount of room for them. But if you wanna do a hooky log-line, then the about, then the nuts-and-bolts -- that's fine! If you'd rather introduce yourself THEN put the description of the book and then the nuts and bolts -- or you need only one paragraph for the book -- or you need three paragraphs for the book but it still fits on one page -- that's fine! We just need all the info, and we need it on one page. That's it.

[milllkaa]

About Hector and Du`met

There is a lot of text and there will probably be a lot of mistakes. I am still learning English, so please ignore that.

I think a lot about Hector having a split personality.

Yes, he had "many personalities" and still uses some of them (because they have documents and bills and stuff on them) but the main ones are Hector himself and Du`met. He kills people with all the artistry ONLY as Granthem Du`met. Take his mask off and he'll just beat you to death with his own hands, without ceremony. I think Du`met is his lifeline. Hector is so confused about himself, about what he feels and thinks, about what he does... Tired of doubting himself. And this personality, this image of Holmes. He helps him.

After all, he's not just silent, is he? He doesn't make a sound the entire game, well, except for his heavy ASMR breathing and senile grunting lol. Where I'm going with this. Granthem is literally perfect for him (remember that moment in the limo lounge). He feels no pain, he has no emotion. He doesn't make mistakes, he does everything clearly and distinctly, and never doubts himself. He creates whole plays, playing with other people's feelings, getting inside their heads, and controlling them. Well, I think you've seen it all for yourself.

But Hector… that's different. Why do I think so? Well… his face only portrays any emotion in the "good ending" where the crew sails away on the boat. It's literally the only moment where he takes off his mask and immediately shows his true nature. But once the mask is on he is calm again, as if everything is going his way.

He also does not live in his hotel. Although think about it, since he is so inspired by Holmes, why not live there like Holmes himself? But no, after his "working day", he returns to the lighthouse. Home. And I don't think the reason is his mother on the first floor. No. There's something else going on here; he wants to distance himself from his Granthem Du`met identity, at least for the duration of his nap. Beat just Hector Munday again. And even though he's kind of buried himself, literally, I think he misses his profiler life.

Because even though he clung to his job so he could... not think about certain things in his life, neglecting sleep and food. He still loved his job. And it's pretty obvious he was...perfect for it in a way. Yes, and if the job was just for him to tick off, he wouldn't have been able to make such a success of his career. That's why he continues to live in the lighthouse.

And that picture of his eyes, thank you so much again @mia-cot! Now I can say with certainty that he continues to sleep badly, he is clearly plagued by nightmares. Since Hector has made a separate person (Du`met) of all his "bad" qualities, only the "good" is left in him. I'm generalizing, of course, so you can see where I'm going with this. That is why at this stage there is nothing we can do to help him. There is the perfect killer and just a man in every sense - Granthem Dumet. And there's the poor, battered kid who just wanted to live a normal life. Hector. And oh honestly, I've really been thinking about this for so long… These are just my thoughts that I wanted to share with you. And I'd love to hear what you think about it.

I always thought it was a little strange. Even though Hector buried himself, completely abandoning his past life, he still kept many of his things from his past. Even his birth certificate, his doctor's notes… the school principal's address to his mother. The invitation to the funeral. He saved all these things that hold important memories of his life. Every turning point. He kept it all because he never could give it up. No matter how much his mother mocked him, no matter how much his classmates mocked him, and no matter how much he suffered from his job. He still kept it all.

And why the fuck would they make such a sad story for a serial killer? Did they really think I would be able to hate him after all this information? I can't stop analyzing his condition, and his actions, I literally turn a blind eye to his unstable psyche and aggression, to the fact that he is a killer. Because it's not his fault. Fate was just laughing in his face, stabbing him in the back. But he continued to be "normal." He did everything to restrain himself, and his impulses. He was well aware of what was happening to him, imagine how bad it was for him to realize that. He couldn't help himself. But he couldn't ask for help either. He would lose his job, and work was everything to him. He knew what was going to happen and he just… accepted it. Sherman broke him down just in time.

He's not just a psychopath with a lust for murder. He is a man who has been bullied and kicked all his life, and I can't blame him for all the anger, all the negativity that he just couldn't contain anymore.

Oh, this was a VERY big post, I hope you had fun reading it. And maybe you found something interesting for yourself.

[omniscientwreck]

Tell me about your special little guy and his philosophy :3

Thank you so much for asking I've literally been thinking about this all day! The special little guy in question is Xaryl and he's a Knowledge Domain cleric I play in a game with some mutuals (oops!all party this probably isn't gonna contain serious spoilers for Xaryl but it isn't all stuff that he's fully laid out in campaign so i'm putting it under a cut. Do with that what you will) (sorry there's a lot, I created my own hyperfixation when I created Xaryl and I'm incapable of speaking about him briefly)

So this question is in regards to the ideas expressed in this post about the Luxon and the part about the Luxon that always stood out to me is the questions of Identity and how does one Know themself.

So Xaryl is a reader and a philosopher. He was isolated from his family as a teenager and taken away from most peer interaction his age to go assume a role in the Den he didn't want or ask for. His anamnesis didn't go correctly and his memories of his previous life are fragmented and have plagued him his entire life. He's hidden himself away and acted purely out of self preservation for decades, as long as he'd been with the dens.

So Xaryl's thoughts are essentially this: we cannot know ourselves devoid of each other. People (humanoids) are social creatures, we form groups and alliances and forge collective identities on various scopes (for example, being a Communist, being a nurse, being a particular person's brother, being a part of a certain family) and those add to, and inform our identites.

Further, we have different identites to and around different people. Then the question becomes something more like: which version of me is real? is every version of me real? do I have one identity or do I have many? does my identity exist as mine or is it a way for others to interpret me?

So with the Luxon, it created the primordials and then they were lost to the darkness as they warred within themselves, and so it scattered itself, hoping that eventually life would be refined and those that were bound to its light would live and live again and teach it about itself. It went dormant after that, it doesn't talk, so Luxon worshippers are left to determine "who am I and why am I?" for a being that hasn't really had any contact with it's followers.

So like, through all of this, lonely lost little Xaryl determines, in the middle of 80 years of isolating himself for his safety, that our purpose, and the Luxon's in turn, is to be known and to know. He works his way around to community and love as the meanings of life, and things to aspire to (despite not having those things for much of his life) so the way he prays turns into becoming the Luxon's friend. For decades instead of like "praying" he told the Luxon stories about his life, he tried to send it sensations of flavour or the smell of rain on cobblestone, or the sound and feeling of music. And he fought with the Luxon in his mind and said things he regretted in anger. He formed this totally one sided (until very recently but that's game canon) friendship and relationship and identity based entirely on something that, if he didn't literally get clerical powers from it, he might think existed only in his mind. So what does that make him? Xaryl, friend of the Luxon? Does that make it his friend in return? Is the true answer to "Who am I?" contained in the viewpoint of a single person? Is it responsible for the things its followers have done in its absence and silence? Is that its identity? What about the other side of the world, where surely there must be beacons? Do the people there think the same things? Could the same being's beacons elicit two completely different and opposed schools of worship? Much to consider.

Sorry this isn't as coherent as I'd like it to be and also sorry it's so long but thaaaaaaank you for asking I had a very tiring work day and it's nice to just talk about my oc's :3

[juszar2]

I miss the days when my writings were of politics and socioeconomic conditions plaguing the world. Sprinkled in was a little humor and later observations. Now the rot that had been stalking my life... Found a toilet paper low life very possibly. Lower than the worst options I could have had.

Not a shred of strength, zero dignity, no truth and do not leave your bag around. When I get an answer about even a general matter, I'm sure that it is quite likely a lie. I caution do not tell him anything personal nor of importance, he is not wise and is really like nothing. It's strange, if you would be pocketed by your spouse's enemies after all of the disappointments you brought in the past, you really have no foundation as man, but really even as a person. It just takes me back to him promising me after he'd just been bitched in front of me by those guys and did not even say to them they'd have to see him when not with his lady... He stuttered was quiet and it was really tragic especially because I didn't even know he'd tried to get the advantage on the other guy like a coward and that is what had them standing there bitching him. I stood up for him without a hesitation and was furious. I'd not known what he'd done, but I protected him. He swore over and over that he'd never not protect me nor let anything like that happen again. That he'd stand every time in the future. Repeatedly apologizing saying he was not a coward and here we are are the craziest display of cowardice and bitch-ness ever. Shocking, but I can say that God had shown me and so it is my fault. God made me beautiful inside and out for a real man with skills he could rely on to get us so far and.... This, a 15yr old girl with my homosexual adolescent enemy, criminal record, 4the degree new felony charges, evictions, a vile arrested development, kid stalker spread it open on forums, talking about what it calls pus** and calling other women babe and pics of them and their bodies...And doing nice artwork stalking me and I did not even know it was tailgating my life. This tissue discussing my childhood acquaintances as it questions him about my life and sexuality. It is severely concerned with my sexuality when I'm sure it understands. Just turtle neck and slacks and they have a hard time. It knows for certain. To Even Know anyone who would let this gross near my life is unforgivable to myself.

The most general matter. I would believe nothing and I would consider it false information. It is the saddest and a star, penny in a well, finding a coin flipped on heads cannot give me my life back and never have sat around here wasting it on... Nothing.

I love nature, water, and so much more... Lest I not tell my interests as stalkers may be watching and they'd contort their face to copy a photo of mine and emulate aspects of my personality and real simple attributes. Like being provided a full record of the obsession and stalking and realizing this rot was following me and my life

Never use a filter on my face. And not very photogenic either, so much better in person

[the-firebird69]

He thinks the case is fake and that we're doing it because the social security and he is trying to mess with it now I was trying to discontinue it and he's an a****** who could not kidnap him off the streets of LA so he's constantly trying to do that to him and it's hard to say you're a fruit cake yourself there and I'm not I want you to stop doing that you little retard and his response is to try and turn it up so go after him this last go-around and he would not listen and he's trying to get to DC downtown the tunnels forcing him out tracing where he's coming from and we're going to hit several bases momentarily and we're going to wipe them out you're like a plague if you let him grow down there they grow back in like days and they just close like madness and we're looking forward to them being gone and we have to hold the tunnels there's a huge Force it's assembled by the international community including warlock and the molar consistent going first and we say that's fine and their group is not that big anymore and they go down and they don't come out and tons of guy each and every time there's a huge group of them that goes first and and nice and they're people with the same mentality opposite side of the coin they deserve it and it's a way to figure out what the idiot has and depleting their weaponry and ammunition and both sides pay as of this morning right now the Mac morlock are at approximately 2.9%, and they have a global contingent of 0.5% ready and they're getting information on hardware that's at the gigantic diamond caverns and it's a lot and so they're going after them to try and get there they keep getting cut off by the clothes themselves and we are infiltrating down there as we have to to disarm devices constantly because they're incessant device planters and they're retarded people. My son is saying it too these people are gifted and it is fun to watch them die because they're so hated and it's hilarious torturing them you get your reward like right away they start crying and many wasn't doing anything torture them dead doesn't take long and yeah they die in hilarious ways and they finally realized their mistake and he's saying that too oh I shouldn't have crossed you and they say a lot so we're going to publish now

Thor Freya

That was in the upper part

Mac

[stylistiquements]

The Sorcerer pt. 1

Corpse Husband x gn!reader

Reincarnation AU | Summary :

The same candle lights up on Corpse’s desk every time you are reborn and turn 23. He has been looking for you during centuries but this time you might be closer than anticipated.  {Playlist}

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

You’re about to blow your 23rd candles and Corpse is about to experience the consequences of it. Somehow, something about your rebirth is different this time.

☾ Words : 6009.

☾ Warnings : angst, mention of death (only suggested and not specific), grieving, swearing 

Masterlist | Next 

What does it mean to be a sorcerer in 2021? Corpse wonders as he chooses an outfit for his black bean character, lightly tapping his fingers in a crafted rhythm against his dark wooden desk. Nothing, really. The modern days turned his kind into a groundless concept, legendary creatures at best and it’s truly a shame when you think about it.

“Alright, are you ready?” Corpse asks as he moves his mouse above the “start” button and projects everyone into a new round.

“I won’t forgive you like I did last round,” Karl warns Corpse, dash of amusement in his tone.

“Sure,” he scoffs and the devious ghost of a smile shines on his lips when the bloody word “imposter” appears above his virtual pink cat hat.

Sorcerers used to be the rulers of this world and the most famous of well-hidden secrets; no one talked about it yet everyone knew. You just had to be here, respect and adoration followed their every move. People from all horizons went out of their way to meet them in hope of witnessing a miracle.

Oh, how the tables have turned now. They didn’t have to hide their face back then and it all went the harmonious way until a certain day when their fate met a tragic outcome. The day when life took a turn for the hidden.

Corpse is somehow retired now. Maybe that’s why he started doing youtube in the first place; because the craving of being needed had to be fulfilled one way or another. Or maybe because the thrill of life has been gone for so long he had to try everything to fill the void in hope of feeling a drip of something again. The weariness of a mere life stiffened in his rib cage from time to time, preventing a proper breathing.

He could have still been able to practice his magic facelessly -he wouldn’t be the first one to do so after all- but it seems crazy, surreal even, for him to picture being so public about such a heavy little secret nowadays. He found comfort in the concealed, in the invisible so long ago.

See, that’s the most important reason why Corpse is who he is today but stopping the explanations there would be neglecting the truth. Corpse would, but I'm more honest than he is.

Somehow, he believes a little too seriously that a kid’s app was designed to ruin his life. He feels this rotting taste that burns his tongue every time he thinks about it, he always talks about it with great passion; as if one minute videos could compete against the thundering energy that travels from his veins to the tip of his fingers. Witchcraft tiktok got the last bit of his ancestral pride and that’s a damn shame.

His character ambles around the hostile corridors dipped in yellow light, looking for a prey to slice in half. He doesn’t have a plan yet but he sure knows how to improvise by now. Corpse deems that he’s rather good at it. He meets Tina in O2. She’s wandering around, running like a headless chicken. What if he took that expression a little too seriously? Alas, he can’t wrap his mind around the idea of the unforgivable and she escapes his reach. Corpse’s nose wrinkles, better luck next time.

His fictional blood thirst gets stronger when he hops inside a vent and observes Rae’s red character doing her tasks. Corpse knows what comes next, it’s inevitable. A hint of excitement and nervousness hatch on his chest.

At the same time on the other side of the country, the ones you love are carrying a big cake to your table. It seems so silly and it leaves you slightly embarrassed that people are celebrating the fact that you were born but, somehow, you can’t forbid that smile to reach your ears.

When you look at the cake, a snort escapes your control. Your friends drew a glazed picture of you but you find yourself hoping that there isn’t much resemblance between that Picasso-ish designed cake and your actual face. I mean, except for that particularity your face displays; eyes that don’t match in colors, one green and one hazel, it really just looks like a kid's doodle.

23, what a weird number. It doesn’t sit quite right with you for some reason. 22 is fine, same goes for 24 but 23 … Somehow, it feels like something is either missing or too much. You’re not too sure which one it could be.

The warmth that emanates from the candles is sweet and tickles your chin softly and everyone is singing along the most disastrous birthday wishes. You’re preparing for your wish. What could you need more? You’re a faceless horror narrator on youtube and life is just about good. I mean, there really isn’t much to complain about and that should be enough.

Your mind drifts off for a second, contemplating what the dream life could be about while one of your friends is already complaining about wax getting all over your glazed face. You could wish for material things but they come and go and their meaning is only ephemeral, maybe 23 is about getting more than that.

Ah, found it. You close your eyes. May I find the place where I truly belong. 23 candles are blown in one breath, not a bad performance.

That’s when the candle on Corpse’s desk starts shining a delicate and orange shade.

Corpse doesn’t notice it at first, too impregnated by his hunt, but when the unusual warmth finally informs him of the merry event, he wrestles to keep his mind into the game. His virtual character stands motionless for a second as he mutes his mic and takes his headphones off.

Fuck, not now please.

Somewhere, a new version of the love of his life turned 23. His mind drifts off, wandering near this idea as his eyes meet the flame.

It’s been hundreds of years and that fucking candle kept you hostage of his mind. Because Corpse couldn’t forget about you, he built those walls to provide you from slipping away, from invading too much of his busy mind. It was a compromise he made with himself so he couldn’t reach you entirely and, therefore, miss you completely. Yet, your rebirth leaks through the pores of his brain and past the fences no matter how hard he tries.

Corpse battles to breathe, he tries to get his mind back on the game but somehow his throat is already filling with a dangerously acidic concoction. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice immediately the way his fingers start shaking at a painstaking rhythm.

He moves his character around. Left and right. It’s mechanical and meaningless, nothing but a lost cause. Corpse clenches his grip around the mouse, hoping that the unsteadiness would pity him. How much longer can he carry that feeling? It sits on his shoulders and his chest. It tests out his patience, his own resistance to pain.

“Corpse!” Rae shouts wholeheartedly, rooting him out of his spiral. “Where are you?!”

Fuck; he has no ounce of idea of what is happening in real life, too busy going down this familiar and intimate loop once more. He swallows it all, praying that you would spare him some earned mercy. You’re always so cruel, unabashedly sneaking in and taking over his space despite all his efforts.

“I-huh- I’m in medbay, I have scan," he bluffs, hoping that no one would notice the way his voice cracks at the end.

Because if anyone did, he would have to admit that he’s not okay, that he never was and doubts that he ever will be. Just as if conceding the facts would’ve allowed him to feel how flourishing his despair was. There’s this knot inside his throat. It’s painful and he’s so tired. How many times was he left crawling on his bathroom’s floor when his heart fractured a little deeper? He misses you every fucking day but each rebirth brings back more and more longing.

He would love to abandon himself to the aching pleasure of this unsolicited reminiscence but he knows that if he did, you would possess him wholly and never give him back. You plague his mind like a mist that grows thicker and thicker on his lungs. It diffuses everywhere and intoxicates what’s left of him.

“Sure sleepy but that’s bullshit,” Tina whines. “We know it’s Corpse. He’s been sus’ the entire round!”

“He said he had scan, right?” Sean interferes, believing that Corpse is the jester. “Why don’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

They’re all waiting for Corpse to step in, to defend himself but he’s no longer here, too busy trying to swallow the emotions that are leaking all over the place. It gnaws him alive, piece by piece and it hurts so fucking much. Will it ever stop?

Silence is convenient, “I voted” badges get pinned on everyone’s chest. His black character falls into the lava, what an ironic metaphor.

“Sorry guys, something came up and I gotta go.” He finally says, hurry in his voice. He doesn’t try to hide it. In fact, he can’t.

“Are you s…” Rae’s voice gets cut abruptly when Corpse quits the call without further notice.

Corpse knows what’s next, when his head gets overcrowded by feelings and his heart too empty. It’s ugly, it’s messy and oh how he wishes it would be different this time.

The room is spinning from the crumbs of your sweet face and the trickle of your voice that drips through his ears as if you were still here. He clings onto that distorted and stained picture as if it was the ultimate proof that you were real. Were you even real once ? Remembering feels like repeating a word over and over again: with time, it loses its meaning. It wasn’t you he remembered, Corpse figured it out a long time ago. You weren’t there anymore.

The thought of it drives him crazy. He wishes he could get rid of that fucking candle, constant reminder of your rebirth away from him, constant reminder of the defeat he has to endure every time you turn 23 and you’re still not by his side. He has been looking for you everywhere for hundreds of years, from the biggest capitals to the most secluded parts of this world, without a single hint of your existence. You’re his greatest failure and he can’t, he won’t stand that.

Corpse grabs the candle and it collides with the floor with a thud that tangles with his raw voice. His chest moves heavily. It's scattered and in discord and there is this distorted gaze on his face when he remembers that the candle cannot be shattered. It’s this unsolicited spark of self-awareness that brings him closer to reality. Fuck. What the fuck is he doing? Corpse finally lost his damn mind. His hands wander uncontrollably in his hair and he looks around frantically for a second, trying to remember how to survive.

Corpse’s head is pressuring him, rushing him to turn off his computer and spill the words that are stuck on the back of his tongue on a piece of paper. That grip is unforgivable and unclear but he starts writing as if it was the only thing left to do, maybe it is. It feels like survival instinct at this point, it feels like the last attempt to collect the pieces of himself you left behind.

Dear you,

Happy birthday, wherever you are in this world. Another letter is about to join the pile. How many are there already? I wouldn’t know. I stopped counting since it made me sick.

As every time, I hope it’s the best birthday you have ever had. I remember the twenty-third birthday we spent together as if it were yesterday. I can no longer recall the way your eyes wrinkled under your bright smile or the sound of your echoing laughter but I do remember that warm feeling inside my chest, the pain in my cheeks from laughing with all my heart. How pleasant was it to be able to live it all with you? To be able to embrace you, to breathe you, to see you. Forgive me, my love, for I am no longer capable of picturing anything of you. I wish I could. I wish I could be haunted by a proper ghost, at least, and not just a glimpse of the range of emotions that animated me when you were by my side. All I can remember now is that you felt like a firework and that my eyes never met a prettier human. It’s so truly unfair to think about the fact that no one matters as much as you still do.

I am drifting off, am I? I always tend to do that in those letters. I hope you’re doing well, I really do. Did you spend your birthday with the ones who love you? I hope you’re happy and healthy. It’s the only important thing, or at least that’s what I have learned so far.

I hate those letters, they make me realize how lonely I am. Somehow, it feels like I’m expecting an answer that is never going to arrive.

Fuck. My skin aches from the lack of your touch. I miss you so fucking much. Just tell me what to do. I tried everything and you’re still stuck inside my brain. I’m a sorcerer for fuck’s sake, one of the most powerful beings to have ever existed and yet the concept of one single human defeats me day after day, rebirth after rebirth. I’m a fucking shame for my kind. I hate you. I love you so very much. Happy birthday.

Yours truly, Corpse Husband

The paper is stained by the storm that has been building up in Corpse's mind for hours. The letters are deformed now. Look at the mess you just made. He throws the letters away, where he can no longer see it and brings his knees to his chest, resting his head between his legs. He feels like screaming one more time but he’s choking. Sweet and sore agony grips his throat as his veins are burning with thick poison.

Don’t be fooled, Corpse would have been able to cast a spell or two to forget about your existence and spare himself a bit. Yet, it would only erase the last proof he had of you, not his feelings. He would have to bear the burden of a quest he could no longer figure out. He would be left longing for something that no longer existed. As if it wasn’t the case already. He wishes he could sleep, life would be so fucking easier if he could just fall asleep.

A few days have passed since your birthday. The thread between days and nights is thin and confusing and the candle on Corpse’s desk is still radiating with as much energy as the first day.

Corpse’s head is heavy, aching, he wonders if he could still carry it on his shoulders if he wasn’t lying on his bed. That sore body feels like it has been drained from an eagerness that has been growing for too long. Corpse groans, trying to figure out what’s sheets and blankets and what’s limbs, living up to the name he chose for himself.

Every ray of the sun is burning his skin. It leaves his body smelling like heat, he doesn't like that smell. Now, he could just get up and draw the curtains but that laziness is as weary as infiltrated. If only it could rain, maybe it would soothe his nerves and his growing migraine.

After a few minutes of silent fulminations, Corpse finally unlocks his phone and opens his texts one by one just to ignore them. He’s curled up on himself, as if a compressed version of his darkness could help in order to block the light. Sorcerers are supposed to be tied with nature, with every ray of the moon and the sun. His bond with the sun is molded, if not completely doomed to grow untie. Corpse is a sorcerer like no others and that goes without saying.

One text captures his breath and his attention, bringing back some interest into the numbness. It’s coming from you, y/n. Or at least, the “you” from this present life. The “you” who isn’t aware of the past and the “you” Corpse doesn’t know is the one he has been looking for during eternity.

In this life, the two of you aren’t close enough to be friends -and he would never let you take that role- but, by the time of your first Twitter interaction -which consisted of you tweeting emo Sykkuno with tattoo pictures and Corpse replying with a meme that said "If life is a simulation please turn it off", Corpse knew you should be near him at all time. Not too close for you to actually be able to touch him but definitely not too far. It’s peculiar but something that has to be felt, not explained; a primitive hunch so loud it couldn’t be unheard.

His mind is awake again. The plan for today, which consisted of him rotting in his bed, seems compromised right now. Corpse turns to lay on the left side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler. His brows furrow and he sighs heavily as he rubs his eyes with his thumbs.

Corpse really doesn’t know why he’d feel that way in the first place for someone like you. You always seem so organic, radiating, so free in the way you choose to exist. He envies you for being so authentic when all he can afford to do is remain hidden, where no light can really reach him if not to draw a faint shape of his being. No harsh feelings though, it’s just the way he feels about anyone who doesn’t sound fake. There is still a bit of remaining endearment in the way Corpse’s words are thrown at you, you just have to know what to look for.

Now, Corpse trades his horror narrator's advices against some social media help. Those things are bigger than him, he’s too old for that anyway. You think the way he still uses symbols as emojis is charming -no one does that anymore- but Corpse just can’t keep up with today’s slang and way of showing emotions via texts. Kids these days are just too creative with the way they express themselves.

[Hello, Mr Sorcerer, hope you’re doing good. I need your help on something.]

Huh.

He meets your words and his mind gets coated in sweat, frozen blood preventing the next heartbeat from happening. Who told you?

Corpse can’t wrap his mind around the fact that his most precious secret is being exposed with that much negligence. He can count on his fingers the number of people who are aware of his true nature, half of them are actually other magical beings of some sort. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

His head is hammered by thoughts. He thinks he’s screwed, that everyone will know. He can already foresee what is about to come. That’s why there is a bit of fear in the way his eyebrows are arching. His alerted mind screams for him to just throw his phone across the room but his fingers, covered in panic, are faster. The first text he sends is not directed to you, but to Sykkuno, his familiar.

Familiars are to sorcerers what assistants are to magicians. In short -but not limited to- a massive help.

Corpse’s link with Sykkuno transcends the law of words and thoughts. They just understand each other and the way they do, without even having to see each other, is just something that has to be witnessed once in a lifetime. It’s a sort of energy that travels through space, a special connection. It's light and invisible but leaves a warm trail on its way.

However, what doesn’t transcend their bond is the concept of time zone -which Corpse forgot about for a second. Sykkuno is probably asleep right now. Corpse’s panic takes back its race once he realizes he’s on his own and he types:

[Haha, very funny. You know, if you wanted to talk, you just had to say hi :)]

Denial, that will do the trick, right? You can’t be that persistent. Or at least that’s what Corpse hopes when he leaves his phone on an unstable balance on his forehead, waiting for an answer he hopes would spare his mind from yet another issue he has to take care of.

[I knew you’d say that but don’t worry, I promise I won’t snitch,] you reply, lips twitching under a sly smile. [I’m way too afraid of you cursing me or something.]

[Who told you shit like that anyway?]

[I just know someone.]

His expression hardens, that head keeps throbbing harder and harder by the minute. You’re so impetuous and it turns him into an impatient and choleric fog. The topic is too important, crucial and it shows how you truly have no idea what you’re talking about when you act as recklessly as you do.

[Some crazy folk told you about magic and you believed them, huh? Thought you were smarter than that.]

[Dream would be pretty upset if he knew you called him “some crazy folk”.]

Corpse stares numbly at his screen before sitting back on his bed, pulling away from his vision the curly strands that fell down. He throws a bunch of silent curses at the sun which is still attacking him, if not even more now. He types a few words but erases them in a snap, repeating the process once or twice more. Now he has to send another text, this one is for Dream : “we need to talk.”

What a weird day.

Questions, Corpse has so many of them but he can’t stop shaking his head with confusion. He had no idea you knew Dream. Why would Dream reveal something so critical as Corpse’s identity? Why would another sorcerer send you his way? That’s not how things are done unless it’s something they deem they wouldn’t be able to handle and there’s really a few things Dream wouldn’t be able to do. Corpse hesitates for second, fingers fidgeting in the air. He doubts that he would ever be capable of doing something Dream can’t do but does it really matter when, right now, you’re holding information you should never be holding in the first place?

[Feeling like trading secrets under the full moon?] You outbid. It’s always so tempting to tease Corpse when he sounds like a grumpy old man.

[A sincere fuck you.]

[That’s very rude, Mr Sorcerer.]

The way you avoid providing any sort of explanation grows in his mind like weeds that need to be ripped off. Really, from all the good timing in the world, you had to choose the worst one. But there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips when he does the math and realizes that, if you wanted to use that secret to your advantage, you would have done it by now. A slow relief that softens his headache. Also, Corpse is well aware that, as annoying as you can get, he can’t refuse you a thing.

[Fine, tell me what you need.]

[So I keep seeing the same number again and again and your name keeps appearing in my head at random times. Still don’t get the correlation but I know there is one. I wanna know the number’s meaning and how I can get rid of you.]

Corpse huffs, he’d like to know that himself. He’s about to laugh it off when he reads the text one more time. Something about it is mysterious enough to pique his curiosity. You mentioned his name, it bothers him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate you thinking about him but because it sounds odd enough to be something related to magic in one way or another. There’s this mix of excitement and apprehension that fills the pit of his stomach and now half of a smile is embellishing his lips. This buzzing sound in his brain, maybe it’s the final signal that he should start practicing magic again, the final signal his life will feel thrilling again.

[Call you in 5. This is a consultation by the way, I’m not doing this for free.]

[Fine, you rat.] You answer with a victorious smile.

Corpse’s words linger in the air. It’s smooth like velvet -you could almost touch it if you pictured it hard enough- and it’s soothing in some way. It’s deep mumbles and bits of light chuckles and a little magic. You’re spinning slowly on your chair, playing with strands of your hair. There’s a different tone in Corpse’s voice. He sounds tired and it’s mixed with something else you can’t really pinpoint. For the best or the worst, that, has yet to be determined.

“So.” Corpse says, bringing you back to reality. “What’s that number you were talking about?”

“Right. So, I keep seeing the number 5 everywhere. I wake up at 5:55 every morning. When my eyes are looking at the clock, it’s 5:55PM and it extends to absolutely everything.” You faintly slap your palm against your thighs in exasperation.

Corpse is silent for a moment as he tries to collect the bits of knowledge that are still hanging here and there inside his mind. As he expected, the pressure below his left eyebrow makes it hard to think. He really doesn’t get why Dream wouldn’t be able to take care of a matter that sounds so frivolous. It feels like the most important piece of the puzzle is missing , the one that makes the whole picture makes sense.

“Okay, this is not really my specialty but the number 5 is an interesting angel number.” Corpse hums. The word “specialty” echoes. Dream talked about that once and somehow, that’s how you finally realized that Corpse was, indeed, a sorcerer. Not that you wouldn’t believe the information in the first place but there’s a remarkable difference between learning and experiencing. What would be his specialty then?

Dream introduced you to this new veil a couple of months ago and you never fully believed in it before getting involved. Maybe that’s why you never talked about it to anyone. Even now, your skeptical nature always finds its way back to you. He said all sorcerers had specialties and that his was clairvoyance. You don’t really know what that means but you wouldn’t ask too much. Knowledge seems like a curse in that field, or at least that’s what you have learned from Dream’s distressed tone when he talked about the past. He always sounded like a broken record, a little out of tune, as if his soul was still partially stuck back there and maybe that’s why Corpse always sounded that way too.

“Do you believe in guardian angels?” You raise an eyebrow, high voice brimming with confusion.

“Do you?” Corpse pauses, you’re silent for a couple of seconds and he realizes that he won’t get an answer to that. “The number 5 is your guardian angel trying to tell you that things are about to change in your life. In fact, it means that the process already started.”

“You’re kinda scaring me though,” you say as you readjust your sit, nose wrinkling under an almost grimace. You don’t like it, you don’t like their world. It’s not yours, you’re only a human with a mere life and an almost mere job. Sometimes, you hate Dream for letting you on this secret you were now forced to keep. It always felt so two faced.

“You don’t have to be scared, the change is only gonna benefit you.” Corpse’s voice is soft and the way you can tell he believes in the words he is speaking is almost as surprising as reassuring. You can’t help it, you don’t like change. The unknown is called that way for a reason and maybe this reason is the explanation for why it needs to remain that way.

“Sure,” you coy. “What do I do about you? That’s what really interests me.”

He scoffs. Trust me, that’s what interests him the most as well. Yet Corpse knows no answer to that. He hesitates for a second and his eyes wander into the void. Should he let you know that he doesn’t have a clue, that it somehow scares him as much as it intrigues you? It feels like his broken sorcerer ego would crack even more if he did. Maybe he just had to find out before letting you know.

“Are you obsessed with me, y/n?” Corpse winces. Why would he have to travel through sarcasmland(™) to escape the question? His eyes go wide for a second, flickering on corners of his empty room. It’s only fair that he would tease you like you tease him, right?

“You’re just being annoying now,” you mumble, cheeks flushing in a vivid tint of pink and Corpse snorts.

Corpse almost forgot about himself for a second, about that damn candle, but it hits him once the conversation fades away and the static silence is the only thing left. So he gets up, grunts in complaint rooted out by sore muscles, turns his computer on and plays some rain sounds. The melody of droplets hitting the ground is reminding him how to breathe.

“Rain sounds, huh,” you whisper. “You like those.”

Corpse hums and the two of you are left listening to the rain. It tickles your ears pleasantly, so you close your eyes and relax in the back of your chair for a moment. It’s a beautiful disharmony if you really pay attention, just like Corpse is. You feel like the conversation is about to end, you don’t want him to hang up just yet.

“Corpse?” Your voice trails for a second and Corpse hums again. “Why did you decide to be faceless?”

“What did Dream answer to that question?” His tone is interesting, a bit higher than it probably should have been. What came up as conversation modalities turns into a piqued interest.

“He never answered me," you mumble.

“So people like you can’t take advantage of our nature in real life too,” he lies and you can tell by the half chuckle that travels with the answer.

You know you won’t get more from him, way less than you wish you did. Those faceless sorcerers always leave you hanging. They let you in on their little Hannah Montana life but never bear the consequence that is this endless and flowing well of questions. The rain rings heavily through your ears. It’s time for the call to end.

"Goodbye, Mr Sorcerer,” you sing before hanging up.

When the darkness finally surrounds Corpse, he slips into a strange place that greets him with a familiar smell; vanilla and freshly cut grass. The birds are singing. He takes a long inspiration, his body knows before he does. Corpse looks around, trying to let the image of the surrounding setting sink in.

That place seems oddly familiar, yet totally new; a kitchen made of golden wooden walls. It's decorated with an old and distinguished taste. The wooden table is dressed with a pretty blue and red tablecloth. Vases of fresh flowers displayed on parts of the kitchen, dried herbs hanging above the sink in front of the window. It’s dipped in sunlight, too bright to be real. The rays of light are swaying with the shadows of branches which are dancing outside with the wind. Corpse doesn’t mind the light for once, he even closes his eyes for a second to let every pore of his body get soaked in it. God, did he miss that place.

“Honey, I was waiting for you.”

Corpse’s heart jumps a little before clutching harder. He knows who’s here, he knows it’s his unforgettable love and the idea makes him almost want to never open his eyes again. He can feel it, the profound kindness and sweet smiles that are surrounding you like it always have and it makes his eyes burn with tears that are ready to trail down his cheek, sobs jostling inside his throat. Corpse wishes he could just cover you in embraces and kisses but he can’t, he can never do that in those dreams.

Corpse tries his hardest not to let the frustration immerse him in bitterness by controlling his breathing which could get carried away at any moment now. He finally swallows it all to look at you. There’s a significant disappointment on his face when he realizes yours is as blurry as always. He wishes he could just witness this beauty one more time. He doesn’t remember what your face looks like, you’re not real. It’s nothing but a dream and you’re not here.

“I made some cookies for you.” The ghost of you says as it points out a chair that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, inviting him to take a seat as it does the same. “Those are your favorite, remember?”

With a voice sweeter than honey, so bewitching, Corpse’s body works on its own and mimics your gestures. His eyes are frozen on your silhouette. He tries to remember the shades and colors that were once painted on your face. If only he could remember.

“Did you redecorate our kitchen?” Corpse asks as he takes a bite of the cookie.

“Did I?” Your past self wonders out loud. “It’s been so long, I can’t tell.”

The treat tastes as good as it always has, Corpse takes another bite. The silence in the kitchen is delicate, contemplative. Outside, the weather is lovely; white clouds floating above the endless and bright green meadows. Corpse tries to take everything he can from that dream, from the peacefulness he feels now deep inside, and the perfume of your skin, to the sweet voice that caresses his ears. If Corpse could stay here forever, he would.

“Why are you here, my love?” You suddenly ask, forcing Corpse’s attention which he refuses by looking away.

“I wonder if the wind is warm or cool outside, maybe I should check.”

Corpse knows what happens every time you visit his dreams : you end up asking this question, he answers and suddenly he’s alone and you vanished into thin air. The response is always the same; because I miss you. It leaves him feeling lonelier than ever, craving a presence he can no longer be blessed with. Just a little bit longer, please. He blinks rapidly to expel the few tears that are forming in his eyes, so the knot inside his throat wouldn’t become more unbearable than it already is. Corpse is left feeling so desperate and helpless.

In a precipitation he almost can't control, he gets up and walks towards the door. He just wants to feel the wind on his skin. Please, just a bit longer. Corpse is almost at the door when his eyes deform with stupor under the pressure of a hand that grabs his sleeve. His heart stops, he was never able to touch you in a dream before. What changed? There’s a moment of hesitation before his eyes travel from your hand, to your arm, to your neck, to your face and he can no longer swallow his emotions when he dives into your eyes. Your eyes, he can see them.

When Corpse wakes up, wiped out of his dream, his breath is short and sweat pearls down his forehead. He’s in a rush, he remembers something about your face, something important. He knows what to look for now; your eyes, your irises. They don’t match in color. The left is green, the right has a pretty hazel color.

☾ A/N : Welcome on this new AU my friends I’m so excited to have you here with me on this new journey! I hope you liked the first chapter. A big thank you to @moontwinkles for beta reading the chapter and being a big help 💗 How are we feeling about this? Faceless leo men being sorcerers and familiar Sykkuno??? Idk I’m a little too passionate about it. Don’t worry the next chapter won’t be as angsty as this one but I needed to express my thrist for angst lmao anyway let me know what you think! Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

☾ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 *OPEN* : @open-minded-chip-101​ ; @lochness-butmakeitsexy​ ; @bizarrebibitch​ ; @bellomi-clarke​ ; @ladybismuth​ ; @katyasrussianaccent​ ; @satanhauntedourcats​ ; @owl-llie​ ; @teenloves​ ; @notannis​ ; @mcntsee​ ; @rottenroyalebooks​​ ; @peachdoppi​ ; @mirahg​ ; @foxxtrot-116​ ; @koi-soi​ ; @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker ; @butterfly-skinnylegend ; @fanworrior ; @stickystrawberrysyrup ;

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Repeating History

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and alcohol. Canon typical violence.

A/N: this takes place during season 3 episode 11, birthright. i had a lot of fun studying this episode and making it my own. i have changed certain dialogue and who says what for the sake of the story. please enjoy!

The Purest Things Masterlist

(my gif! please credit if you use.)

january 2008

Syd Moore said, “Disregard for the past will never do us any good. Without it we cannot know truly who we are.”

+++++

Your alarm is often hushed before it even has an opportunity to set off nowadays because you usually wake up before it even has the chance.

4:25 A.M.

You groan and toss your pillow over your face. Maybe, just maybe, you can will yourself to sleep for a little longer. As if someone heard your pleas for slumber, your phone starts buzzing on your bedside table. Of course, it is unnecessary for you even to read the messages. There is a case.

+++++

"Last night in Fredericksburg, a 20-year-old woman, Molly McCarthy, was abducted," J.J. begins, "She's the third to go missing in the last 6 weeks. All disappeared from public places. No one's seen them since until now. A couple days ago, body parts with cigarette burns were recovered from a national park that was once the site of the battle of Chancellorsville."

"Were they able to make an I.D.?" you and Hotch ask simultaneously. Your eyes meet, but he breaks the contact abruptly. Flustered and insecure, you bury your focus deep into the file in front of you. The group discusses the case for a couple of minutes, but you are so concentrated on the papers that you hardly absorb any information they've shared.

There is something familiar about this case to you. Suddenly, realization strikes.

Rejoining the discussions, you say, "I remember reading about a case like this in Spotsylvania county. Similar markings on the bone. It was the winter of 1980, also in Fredericksburg. There were 5 women aged 16 to 24. They were buried in pieces."

"Same markings. Same civil war battlefield," J.J. responds in agreement.

The team agrees that this could be the works of the same killer. There are aspects of the more recent killings that would be impossible to copycat since those details had never been released to the public. But, if this is the same unsub, what's he been doing for the past 27 years?

+++++

Hotch focuses on the road while you watch out the window of the passenger seat. Occasionally, you sneak the odd peek at him. His stoicism is alluring, and you find yourself drawn to this demeanor like a moth to a flame. Piecing together the tiny glimpses you've collected thus far as if working on a mental puzzle, you scrutinize his attributes. His eyes bare the beginnings of crow's feet. Only his sideburns tease the speckling of salt and pepper undertones. His lips turn downwards at the corners, no doubt from years of scowling at unsubs.

Reid speaks up from behind you both and breaks your train of thought. Probably for the better, there's no reason why you should examine your unit chief so intently.

"It's funny--he always dumps the bodies in this battlefield, no matter what the risk."

"It's a respected landmark. He's flaunting," Aaron reckons.

"It makes him feel important," you say in agreement.  

Once you have arrived at the crime scene, you follow Agent Hotchner closely. Reid trails ahead, most likely trying to keep up with his own train of thought.

"How does someone not see or hear them?" You ask the sheriff.

He turns to you with a defeated expression, "It was dark. He had the advantage. Molly's boyfriend was the last person to see her. He said she was alone for a minute, maybe less."

Hotch surveys the surroundings, "He's patient and works fast."

"He's perfected his M.O.," Reid states while looking around.

You cross your arms as a wave of unease gets the best of you as you envision the moments leading to Molly's attack.

"If our unsub's pushing 60, he's gotta be strong enough to carry her a long way without her struggling," you bring out.

Hotch looks to you with a concerned squint. You shake your head, signaling to him that it's nothing you can't get under control. He nods in response. The sheriff agrees to point out the various entrances to the park.

"I'll catch up with you," your Unit Chief states. He motions for you to step aside with him, and you comply.

"You know, ever since my wife and I had our son, I dread receiving cases involving children," he discloses to you.

Tears well up in your eyes, "I can't even imagine, but sir, why are you telling me this?"

"This job will inevitably strike close to home on some cases more than others. It's okay for you to feel overwhelmed by it all every once and a while," he assures you.

"You never lose it, though."

He sighs heavily, "Maybe I should have."

Shortly before you joined the BAU, Hotch's wife Haley left with their son Jack. You never ask questions or stick your nose where it doesn't belong. It isn't your place, and you can't blame him for not wanting to bring his family struggles to work. He deals with enough broken families on the job as it is. Mixing his own personal life into the field would only make it more challenging to prioritize. Despite all this, you cannot help but wonder what exactly led to his and his wife's separation. You hope that they can find their way back to each other. The crimes you investigate do not need to claim the Hotchner's as victims as well.

+++++

"I'll let you talk to Chrissy Wilkenson," Hotch directs you towards the kitchen. You wipe your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants and make your way into the kitchen, Hotch following closely behind you.

"Mrs. Wilkenson," you say gently, "My name is Y/F/N. I have just a few questions about your husband. Where does Charlie usually go when he's stressed?"

"The barn," she stutters. You can tell she's anxious and afraid for the well-being of her family.

"Anywhere else, Chrissy?"

Hotch is called into the other room, and you continue questioning Chrissy. She's becoming overwhelmed, so you guide her to the dining room.

"I know this is difficult, Chrissy."

"Did the father of my child really do that to those poor women?" She cradles her baby bump.

Your heart breaks for her, and you choose to remain silent. Sometimes saying nothing speaks louder than words.

Footsteps bound throughout the house, and Hotch appears in the doorway, "The sheriff will stay here with Mrs. Wilkenson. We need you with us."

Standing up from your chair, you place your hand atop Chrissy's, "History doesn't have to repeat itself." It is almost as if she could tell you were reading her thoughts. The endless whispers that cloud her mind making her feel like she's left with only one choice, but there's always another option. That is all you are trying to remind her of.

+++++

As you and your team trek through the forest, you see a clearing.

"Hotch, this way," you beckon him to pursue your course.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, and you stop in your tracks. You make eye contact with Hotch and mirror each other's actions, dashing towards the opening in the trees. Your heart pounds in rhythm with your footsteps colliding against the ground. It is clear to you from your exchange with Chrissy at the house that the origin of the gunshot will shock everyone but yourself. As you reach the clearing and rush down the hill, your speculation is validated.

Chrissy Wilkenson is standing over the body of her husband, the unsub. A traumatized young man haunted by his father's past and plagued by the idea that children are trapped in the endless cycles created by their parents.

I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Jesus. Now is not the time for that.

The newly widowed woman claims self-defense, yet the cops handcuff her anyways. Inside, you feel conflicted while watching her get into the back of the squad car.

Hotch appears by your side but remains silent. Again, sometimes silence speaks louder than words. You bit your lip, attempting to hide the fact that it is trembling.

"What did you say to her as you were leaving the dining room?"

"I told her that history does not have to repeat itself. I wanted her to know that even when it feels like you are backed into a corner, there is always another way out. Sometimes people don't know where to look for their out thought," you quiver.

He lightly touches your arm and gives you a reassuring tilt of the head, "Just know that you did everything you could. We will never do this job perfectly. Doing the right thing usually costs more than it pays. You did your part.  I'm not a saint, and I am far from a hero, but I have integrity and honor, and I do this job to the best of my ability."

"If you can leave a case with a clear conscience," he continues, "you know you did the best you could. Any other thought process will eat away at you slowly but surely, and ultimately, it will result in the demise of your career and destruction of yourself."

+++++

After a seemingly neverending day, you all arrive back at Quantico.

"I could really go for a drink, guys. What do you say? Newbie's buying," you wave your wallet around frivolously.

"I could go for 5 drinks!" Prentiss exclaims.

"Count me in," Morgan winks at you. He never fails to make you blush.

Reid hesitates and you pout your bottom lip, "Please Reid! How could you not want a repeat of Dolly Parton night last month?"

Hotch comes down the stairs, "Dolly Parton night? Do I want to know?"

You and Derek snicker to each other as Spencer attempts to diffuse his own embarassment.

"9 to 5 is an iconic female anthem that certainly has a rather bewitching affect on a man when mixed with alcohol."

"You only drank Diet Coke that night," you roll your eyes at him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Hotch forcing his way through the small group formed around the desks.

Making your way over to him, you invite him to join, "Want a beer?" You second guess yourself, but it seems as though his rather stern expression softens ever so slightly when he pivots on his heels to look at you.

"I would like that," he answers softly.

He immediately returns to his original path and hovers near the glass doors. You casually make your way over to him, joined by Dave and Emily. A man barges in through the glass doors announcing Aaron's name.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes," the subject in question breaths out almost defeatedly.  

The yellow package he holds in his hands is all too familiar and instantly churns your stomach into knots. You gnaw at your bottom lip, drawing a metallic taste that causes you to cringe.

"What is it?" Emily speaks up.

There's no question as to what it is. Oh Hotch. I’m so sorry.

Hotch's eyes trace the package from corner to corner in disbelief, "Haley's filing for divorce. I've been served."

When he eventually takes his eyes off of the lettering, his eyes meet yours. They lock onto you and it is in that moment that you feel as though you have been given the key to unlock his soul. His eyes are so unusual at this moment; they are more vulnerable than you have ever seen. The stoic man is gone, and instead, it is the eyes of one who is in tremendous pain. You had mistaken his bloodshot eyes for physical fatigue on the plane, but now you see that it is emotional exhaustion as well.

If only you knew how badly I want to hug you and tell you that you won't be swallowed up by this darkness. There's a long road ahead, but you have so many people here who love you and are here to support you through this. You aren't alone. Trust me, I know.

In some way, you pray that he can read into your soul and see the pain you feel for him. Once more, your shared silence proves to speak for itself.  

At last, he breaks eye contact with you and finally releases the breath that you had been holding in. Dave grabs onto your arm, seeing the clear impact Hotch's news has on you, no doubt having also noticed Hotch's immediate response in looking at you.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can join you tonight," he excuses himself and escapes to the seclusion of his office.

Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

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