#forgive me father for i have sexualized an old man

[symphonicdemise]

@cybertr0nian said: Tailgate is slooowly leaning over from across the room, did someone say...potential suitors?

"A joke, little one. I am not interested in the Prime, regardless of universe."

Quick, no one tell Tailgate he's a terrible liar.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

sin, sin, sin.

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, catholic church setting, confessional, rafe kind of pretending to be a priest (itll make sense quickly), religious trauma, if youre religious and easily offended probably skip this one

rafe knows little about his mother, but the one thing he does know is that she was a devout catholic. maybe it's stories ward told him, or the fact that his strongest memory of her was her funeral, held in the same catholic church he's currently pushing the grand wooden doors to enter.

it's his last chance as he looks into the candlelit hall. to turn around and go back into the darkness of the night, let the inky blackness swallow him whole.

rafe feels a pang in his chest. good old catholic guilt his mother passed down to him. rafe lets out a curse before he steps foot into the church, wishing he got his father's fake christianity instead, going to church on holidays and only using the religion when it suits you.

rafe looks away from the altar, the cross hanging above it, and to the confession booth to the side of the pews. his feet carry them there with the false confidence he's always been able to paste on as a front.

rafe looks at the door and then swallows thickly. guilt, guilt, guilt. he's not sure anything could help, yet he opens the handle and steps inside.

the creaky door slams shut behind him as rafe sits and faces forward towards the screen, just opaque enough to make out a figure on the other side in the low light.

rafe realizes then that he doesn't know the words. 

“forgive me father, for i have sinned.” a voice from the other side suddenly rings out, a soft, feminine voice. rafe suddenly is aware of his mistake. “it has been two days since my last confession.”

rafe knows he should interrupt you, stop you from continuing on, but something in him stirs him to stay, his interest peaking.

“ive slept with another man. i know you're tired of hearing it, father. i just can't help myself. i can't seem to wait, it's like something takes over me. father, i feel as if i am possessed by some sexual demon.” 

you scoff and rafe can see your body crumple on the other side, becoming an even smaller shape.

“tell me what happened.” rafe says.

“i-i had a date. a nice catholic man, or at least who i thought was a nice catholic man. he took me to dinner, and then i thanked him by getting on my knees immediately after.”

“keep going…” there's something about your voice that stirs rafe, has his hand gravitating to his crotch, there's a sexual prowess in your voice mixed with the guilt and innocence, like you're describing the deeds of some other woman entirely.

“he didn't even initiate it. i did. i pulled him into my apartment when he was dropping me back home. can you believe that? he was being a gentleman bringing me back to my doorstep and i just had to be a total hussy.”

rafe presses his hand down against his growing cock, imagining himself as that so called catholic gentleman.

“i unzipped his pants and tugged them down. he wasn't even hard. i played with him over his underwear, kissed his length and sucked on it and everything.”

rafes hands follow your description as he leans back against the wooden wall, tugging down his zipper and closing his eyes to picture it even better, some anonymous bold woman.

“i then pulled his underwear down. right there in the front hallway. when i saw him… i knew i was going to sleep with him next.”

you pause for long enough that rafe realizes he needs to speak. he hopes his voice doesn't come out strained. “then you slept with him?”

“yes. didn't even make it to the bedroom, he took me against the dining room table. how am i ever expected to settle down and have my own children and a loving family when all i really want is that high.”

“how does the high make you feel?”

“it comes right before the orgasm, really.” your voice drops in octave, and rafe wonders if your pussy is getting wet reimagining the scene. “when he's inside of me, pounding hard, and i know he's about to lose it too.”

rafe pushes his underwear down and tugs his cock out, not kid himself any longer that he's not extremely turned on and cannot leave the confessional with his pants tented.

“we're moaning in sync, not worrying about the neighbors in that moment. im clenching around him and he's-” you hesitate for a moment, and rafe swears he hears a sensual exhale, as if you may be touching yourself on the other side of the booth. “he's stretching me out. i love the pulsing of right when he's about to cum-”

rafe lets out a moan as he strokes before he realizes and sits up suddenly, but his reaction is too delayed as you're out of your booth and opening the door to his.

“you perv! father-” you come face to face with a handsome young man instead of the elderly priest you expected. “you're not the father.”

your eyes then travel down to his cock and that devious part of you taking over again.

“it-it was an accident.” rafe says quickly, trying to explain why he's in the priests side of the confessional when you step inside and close the door behind you.

“i have another sin to confess.” you pull the skirt of your dress up, revealing that you're wearing nothing beneath, your glimmering wet pussy directly in front of rafes face. he could so easily lean forward and taste you.

“ive always wanted to fuck in the confessional.”

rafe grabs your hips and tugs you down. he doesn't even know your name. he doesn't need to as his lips smash against yours, wildly making out.

you reach down between your bodies, grasping rafes hard cock and giving it a few strokes before you line yourself up.

you hesitate for just a moment before sinking down as rafe moans into your mouth, hoping that his mother isn't up in heaven looking down at him desecrating this holy place with you.

you gasp and pull away from the kiss as you adjust, your pussy being stretched just the way you described liking it.

“fuck.” rafe hisses out.

“shouldn't curse in a place of worship.” you smirk at him, cutting off whatever reply he had as you begin to move, bouncing up and down.

rafe grabs your hips, helping you move. his hands are strong as they disappear beneath your dress, needing to feel your bare skin.

“so good.” you whimper, pressing your forehead against rafes, breathing heavily as the temperature in the small booth rises.

“fuck, your pussy-” rafe grunts out as his hips begin to snap up into your tight heat. 

“you ever had a good catholic girl like this?” there's a hint of playfulness in your voice that rafe is shocked you can manage with your labored breathing.

“from your confession, im not sure you're all that good.” rafe says, moving his hand to rub his thumb over your clit, mostly just to see the reaction on your face as you moan out.

hes thankful for the late hour as he doesn't move his mouth forward to silence yours, letting your beautiful symphony of pleasure escape through the confessional walls and fill the church.

“this high.” you arch your back, eyes rolling back in your head as your fingers tighten on rafes shoulders. 

he knows exactly what you're speaking of. that moment when you're both on the apex, his cock swelling inside you while his thumb rubs against your clit, doing anything he can to elicit a reaction out of you, to increase your pleasure even more.

“cum for me.” rafe commands in a shockingly even voice, even surprising himself as your body stills and then shakes, crumpling forward into rafes strong arms as your pussy clenches around rafes cock, and it's all he needs to release himself, thrusting upwards and spilling inside of your cunt.

you're both breathing heavily as you come down from your high, wrapped up in each others bodies and your own intersecting pleasure before you have to pull away, realization setting in.

“oh my god.” you giggle. “we just fucked in the church.”

“shit.” rafe laughs as well. this is certainly not what he meant to do when entering into the church, yet his soul still feels lighter as he looks at your smile.

“god,” you look up at the ceiling, as if you're talking to him directly. “im so sorry. im going to hell.”

“i guess ill see you there.” rafe chuckles before he's interrupted by a gasp as you pull off of him.

rafe is quick to get himself back together, very aware of the fact that you're still bare under your dress, his cum no doubt dropping down your thigh.

you push open the door to the tiny booth and take a breath of cool air before rafe is quick to follow you out.

“i thought i heard a noise.”

you both freeze as you look up to see the nun walking from across the aisle.

“do you need the priest? he's already retired for the night.”

“no, sister.” you respond, a soft, innocent smile gracing your features as you grasp rafes hand and pull him to continue towards the exit. “see you at service sunday.”

you both let out a laugh as you push open the large wooden doors and flee from any more questions.

“can i at least get your name?” rafe asks as you enter into the night, way lit by moonlight.

“no.” you smile back at him. “but i will have another confession to make. tomorrow. same time.”

[pedgito]

february is over and i can feel the seasonal depression leaving my body as we speak, i was a little lacking on reading this month being so busy irl, but i still have so many goodies on this list. i'd also like to add that some lovely mutuals are spreading much needed love to our BIPOC writers, so if you have any recs that you'd like to give some extra attention to you can check out these posts linked below (& feel free send them to my inbox too! i'm always looking for more fics to read!) x — x also, i've said this a few times in the past but i do have a tracked tagged #useralii and that isn't just for gifs (so if you have fics or edit that you'd like to tag me in, please feel free!)

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 21

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ prisonic fairytale by @kedsandtubesocks — 🌶️, ☄️

You’re looking for someone… what you find here in the fog instead has you staring into the abyss - and you discover it stares back (& wears the face of someone terrifyingly handsome)

↝ what remains of a man by @jolapeno — 🌶️, ☄️ (AO3)

Joel Miller doesn't care. Not about Pretty Eyes. Not how she feels beside him. Not when she's under him. Not when she's hurt and she doesn't come to him. Not. At. All.

↝ just this once by @punkshort — 🌶️

After yet another argument with your dad, his buddy across the street is there to help make you feel better.

↝ trashed by @gutsby — 🌶️

You fuck Joel in his filthy double-wide.

↝ see you at three (series - ongoing) by @/almostfoxglove — 🌶️, ☄️, ☁️

When your sister starts working nights, you're stuck with afterschool pickup duty for your eight-year-old niece. You love the kid, so you don't mind. And, sure—maybe you don't mind having an excuse to check out her classmate's dad, Joel, five times a week, either.

↝ the fuck it list (series — ongoing) by @auteurdelabre — 🌶️, ☄️, ☁️

During work at your father’s construction company, you’re inspired by your sexually liberated bestie to create a F*ck-It List of sexy experiences you’ve always wanted to try. But when the list accidentally ends up in the hands of Joel Miller— your dad’s best friend, the company’s co-CEO, and your immediate supervisor—things take an unexpected turn. Initially shocked by the discovery, Joel eventually agrees to help you tackle the list, leading to sexual adventures and undeniable chemistry.  However as you begin to fall for Joel the complications of your relationship come into focus, leading you both to realize that love may be one item you won’t be able to check off your list.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ visitation by @gothcsz — 🌶️

Javier visits you in prison after putting you in there.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐔𝐒

↝ guilty as sin (series — in progress) by @ovaryacted — 🌶️, ☄️

Being the daughter of a Senator of Rome has it's pros and cons, you lived comfortably while constantly being reminded of your insubordinate position in society. However, upon meeting General Acacius, your life changes as you begin to grow fond of him. The question is, will he reciprocate your feelings, or cast you out to suffer your impending doom of unwanted courtship?

✎ — ��𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ golden kisses by @mrsmando — 🌶️

Newly single, Dave finds comfort in life’s simple pleasures; among other things.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

↝ the mirage of a goodbye by @sawymredfox — ☄️

Forgiveness and healing are heavy words. They come with a price, one that may be life-changing tonight.

✎ — 𝐄𝐙𝐑𝐀 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓)

↝ wash & hold by @ak-vintage — 🌶️, ☁️

After discovering some unfamiliar clothes in your laundry (and losing some of your own in return), you begin exchanging messages with another resident in your apartment complex.

✎ — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

↝ of death and butterflies by @galway-girlatwork — ☄️

Everyone’s heard the stories of Lilith. Of how she came to be. But are the stories true? Is she really a demon or something else? She was not born of angels but created by Death himself. To walk between the land of the living and dead. But what happens when The Fates intervene and present her soulmate? Countless lives and re-incarnations have been lived and lost. Will Oberyn remember before another life slips between their fingers like sand?

✎ — 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 (𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒)

↝ leverage by @/ovaryacted — 🌶️

Clint kidnaps you and takes you on a crime filled cross country roadtrip where you slowly start to fall in love with him.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒

↝ sounds dangerous by @almostfoxglove — ☄️

When you reply to a bizarre craigslist ad, a stranger on the other side of the country charms his way into your life.

↝ the prettiest (series — in progress) by @/almostfoxglove — 🌶️

After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in. Now he'll do anything it takes to have you.

✎ — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒

↝ double lovin' (+ dieter bravo) by @iamasaddie — 🌶️

You doomed yourself to spend Valentine's day alone, buried in blankets and sobbing over Bridgit Jones' love story, but a surprise visit from Lucien and his friend turns your plans to waste.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐎

↝ cowboy like me by @chaotic-mystery — ☄️, ☁️

Dieter is terrible at accents for his new cowboy role, and an even more terrible neighbor.

✎ — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

↝ cherry stems by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️

Eddie rejects your advances because his friends are around. So you use them to your advantage. Piss Eddie off and maybe you'll get what you want. Maybe.

↝ eat your heart out by @eiightysixbaby — 🌶️

In which Eddie masters Valentine’s Day through the art of eating pussy.

↝ make me feel (+ gareth emerson) by @/gracieheartspedro — 🌶️

You fly out to reunite with your rockstar boyfriend Eddie Munson. After a long day, you decide to return to his bed on the tour bus, but it seems like it is already occupied by his bandmate, Gareth.

↝ the hat rule by @ghost-proofbaby — 🌶️

When eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you’re taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

[weebsinstash]

"Hero forced to work for/exploited by the villain who also has a big ass fetish for you" will always be one of my top tropes and goddamn does Cecil have the capacity to be such a massive creepy piece of shit like, forgive me father for I'm about to sexualize an old man again

Maybe it stems from my childhood where I was adultified really young and then raised to suppress my own feelings while also having to constantly perform emotional labor for other people but I've always resented the trope of "oh Superpowered Person, you're so powerful that you're OBLIGATED to help save others because you're the only one who can and if you're not personally jumping to solve every problem it's your fault if something bad happens" and I keep thinking of a Reader who, Viltrumite hybrid, mutant, magic user, whatever, you develop your powers and the GDA eventually starts crawling up your ass as you EMPHATICALLY refuse to help them with fuck all about dick nothing

Cecil starts spying on you and having you tailed because it's his job while progressively becoming more... unhealthy towards you. The level of monitoring and invasion of your privacy is extreme, but also, not untypical for the GDA in general, so it's quite literally required by him to watch thencameras all over your home, have your phone bugged, learn your routine and habits and personality. Yeah dude he's just watching you get all sweaty doing squats and personal training in your bedroom for "research purposes". He's definitely watching you work out and study and put insane amounts of effort to appear like you don't have any powers "exclusively" because he's required to and has to gauge if you're a threat and he totally isn't being some proud little pervert at watching you tone your body

Personally I've been thinking of a Reader who is more closer to a Kryptonian than a Viltrumite and you deliberately scare the shit out of Cecil to try and make him go away. Cecil tries to approach you for an interaction but misrepresents who he is and what he does. Sits down next to you on a park bench and makes small talk, like he's just someone from the area, trying to feel you out but also, feeling a certain thudding in his chest that he's getting to finally talk to you. And you humor him, putting on false pretenses yourself which he isn't aware of until you just drop on him something like "but why are you ACTUALLY talking to me, Director Cecil Stedman of the GDA?"

he sits there wondering how the fuck you would even know that, heart thudding and briefly being struck with the fear of God as you stoically tap the side of your head, "as a friendly piece of advice, sir, when you want to gather intel on someone who you don't know exactly what abilities they have, maybe you should tell your boys back at HQ to be careful about what they're saying into that little earpiece buzzing against the bones of your ear" as you then perfectly recount several of the things that his men had said over the codec while Cecil was sitting there and even mockingly repeating after them to prove that, oh yeah, you've got superhuman hearing

"I didn't join the GDA to sit and watch the Director sit on a bench and talk about the weather" "don't talk like Stedman is wasting his time you brat, this is basic intelligence gathering" "hey, if you want to watch Cecil ask a handful of stupid bullshit questions for 20 minutes instead of training the Guardians, be my fucking guest" and you just cross your arms and look down on him, "really, if you're the best the government has, I can see why you're desperate to scoop up anyone with even mild skills"

I want a superpowered Reader who, unlike Mark, actually genuinely PUTS EFFORT into trying to scare the shit out of him to make him fuck off and he's just like. Honestly turned on by it.

You have him held by the throat, squeezing releasing squeezing releasing as you have a lowkey villain monolog about "what makes you think if I wanted to help humanity that I would do it by working for the government, let alone a government that won't even let their citizens have good healthcare? Why would I waste my time pretending I'm patriotic and saving lives when you're just going to let kids keep dying in school shootings and people have to file bankruptcy over their cancer treatmenrs" and you're getting so up in his face he can smell what you have for breakfast and. You pause, scowling. "You know what, I'm gonna give you a free pass and assume that your dick pressing against your pants is just from the endorphins from the little rushes of oxygen I'm letting you have" and he's just nodding like "yeah yeah that's definitely the reason" but. It's not lmao

You could be actively antagonistic against this man and he's still. Tryna be friendly and shit, deflecting your hostility and sometimes even neutralizing it by being amicable and kind of kissing your ass a little bit. He's personally approaching you multiple times to try and recruit you, risking meeting you face to face because HE wants to be the one to talk to you. God forbid you're actually forced to defend the planet over some bullshit like "yeah I only killed that thing because it was heading towards where I live and I didn't want it to ruin my stuff" and here's Stedman, getting on your ass about how you're wasting your potential, you could be saving lives instead of fucking around at home in your spare time, 'think of all the good you can do, we could get you your own costume' and they already know your exact measurements because, oh yeah, Cecil's already seen your naked body several times over by having your bedroom and bathroom bugged

Oh, he'll sit and watch those monitors until the sun goes down, but if one of his younger colleagues nudges their buddy and cracks a joke about how seeing you in the shower "gives them something to enjoy later tonight" and just outright creeping and joking about gooning over you, they look up to see Cecil staring at them with borderline murderous intent and he plays it off as "take your job seriously, you fucking idiot, we're saving lives here" but nah dog they start creeping too many times and Cecil's pulling a Tanya the Evil by deliberately deploying them to a position where he knows they're going to get absolutely fucking bodied. Oh wow that guy he caught making deragatory perverted jokes at the water cooler over how muscular you're starting to get happened to get put on Hail Mary babysitting duty and the giant alien wound up eating him alive? Oh nooooo, not Jerry, he was so popular and everyone liked him, oh noooo how tragic. anyways back to business-

Cecil sends Nolan or the Immortal to try and talk to you to convince you to join the Guardians and it turns into a complete slugfest where you take a few good hits but ultimately wind up beating the absolute fuck out of that man and Cecil, where with literally anyone else would probably be reasonably shocked and terrified and immediately making contingencies, is glued to the monitors with a look of respect and awe, "see, THAT'S why we need them on our side. Look at how easily they took out one of our best defenses. We CAN'T let them go"

Deadass I'd consider working as a Guardian myself IF they paid me a metric fuckton of money and they obviously have the funds for it given how willy nilly Cecil uses that teleporter that takes literal billions of dollars every time he uses it. Cecil fantasizing in his head of the moment he convinces you to start working for Uncle Sam and how HE'S the one who managed to change your mind. Cecil watching you a throw a monster stories high around like it's fucking nothing and then going home and beating his dick like it owes him money

But also. A scenario where they put a thingy in your head or in your body. You eventually try to break off working for the government and even maybe threatening to leave the planet entirely and Cecil is hitting a button that completely incapacitates you. Think of how absolutely fucked Mark would have been if he didn't have his friends and Robot to protect him and remove that device. He would've been an actual fucking slave, always living under the threat of getting brain-blasted st any signs of disobedience. For you, it's being completely unable to leave the planet, or having any attempts to escape or avoid the GDA completely nullified.

They develop a special needle made from the parts of a monster who managed to cut you and you're held down flailing by other heroes who consider you a threat (and or are also perverts for you, like Nolan) as you get jabbed as they try to find a chemical concoction that's capable of sedating you. Maybe they find one. Maybe they can't. The horror is in the helplessness. You can no longer truly refuse any call to action by the GDA without getting zapped by something you have no ability to remove or disable. You're trapped.

I also like the idea of Reader being something like Darwin from the X-men where your power is that you respond and adapt to your environment. It turns out you developed powers like flight and superstrength because you literally live on a planet surrounded by aliens and people with magic and superpowers and your body adapted to those dangerous surroundings. Which also means, Cecil shocks you enough times and suddenly, you start tanking it. You take that electricity or trilling noise in your brain and suddenly, it starts to not make you hurt or disoriented as much; you're fucking eating it up like it's lunch. Cecil stands there and watches as you slowly stand to your full height, your expression shifting as you obviously can no longer be affected by the ONE contingency that was working on you besides having their very strongest all team up on you at once and only to SOME degree of success

Cecil knowing he should be fearing his life but truly being in awe of you. You're considering killing him and he's all but sighing, "wow, you really are something, aren't you. Just full of surprises"

But uh, as fun as that idea would be, I think keeping Reader trapped has so much more drama and angst and potential for fun, and now that you're under Cecil's full control, he can take delight (and be freaky deaky) at the fact he now has complete unrestrained access to you and you are never, EVER getting away. So hey kid, why not humor your boss and let him treat you after you just slayed a giant space monster. Why yes he did imply you were going to a celebration with other heroes and it turned out he's just taking you to a private candlelight dinner. What are YOU going to be able to do about it? :)

[dadbodbucky]

i had a bad day and then @tommystummy started talking about bucktommy arguments and this scenario came up and i latched onto it like a moray eel. please enjoy some raw, unedited tommy kinard angst

Tommy doesn't like talking about it. It being the roughly five years he worked under Captain Gerrard, alongside Howie and Hen, when he was deeply closeted and a major asshole. He can make his excuses, he can try to convey the feeling of looking into someone's eyes and only seeing your father's. He can admit to the humiliating nightmares he used to have of his father storming into the fire station and screaming at him. Neither of those are reason enough to be callous towards people who were being tortured in their own workplace.

Howie and Hen were much quicker to forgive him than Tommy was. In fact, it seemed like it only took one mumbled apology for them to shrug it all off. Water under the bridge, they had said. Just don't do it again.

And God, Tommy never did. After that, after finally taking his sexuality out of the box deep in the animal part of his brain, he told himself he would be different. He expected it to be hard, and on some level it was, but—

Tommy kissed a man for the first time (since high school) forty-eight hours after he was reassigned to the 217, quick and dirty in a bar in West Hollywood. Something in Tommy’s chest clicked into place when he heard the soft, deep moan of a nameless man wearing body glitter. He couldn’t go back even if he wanted to.

Before, he’d been afraid of this exact thing. He’d kept his hands to himself because he knew that his closet wasn’t resealable. It was one-and-done. Gerrard’s boys would have eaten him alive. But Howie and Hen wouldn’t. They didn’t.

It still took him a long time for him to tell them. They didn’t talk often, but they did keep in touch. Tommy owed them so many favors he’d probably be repaying them for the rest of his life, but they seemed more interested in just being his friend. A distant one, but a friend nonetheless.

Distance was fine. Distance was easy. Distance allowed for Tommy to keep his comfortable walls in place, even if he redecorated them a little.

It took him three months to realize how debilitating loneliness was. He was out, now, but without the close, albeit sterile and toxic, friendship of the boy’s club at the 118. Tommy longed for connection. He thrived on it. Something deep, and routine, and constant.

But nobody was volunteering. So Tommy resigned himself to his old hobbies, cars and Muay Thai and basketball, and introduced karaoke trivia to the routine, because he’d always loved singing but never had the guts to do it while he was closeted. It was nice. If anyone noticed Tommy’s near-compulsive schedule of activities, they never mentioned it. The years passed. Howie and Hen grew even more distant. Tommy liked their Facebook posts. He did their favors. He was still lonely, but he successfully put the version of himself he had been on a shelf in the deepest recesses of his brain, never to see the light of day again.

He was a good person now. He was good. He was good despite the skeletons rattling in the closet where his love used to be.

Then, Evan.

No other preamble necessary. Then, Evan. With his broad chest and blue eyes and insane, insane ideas.

Really, was Tommy not supposed to fall in love with him?

Things are great for a while. Idyllic. Peaceful, and exciting, and sweet, and so goddamn sexy, and safe. Tommy feels safe in Evan’s arms.

The problem, of course, is that Evan has this idea that he has to know every part of Tommy. All of him.

“I want to love all of you,” Evan murmurs, as a creeping sense of dread settles in Tommy’s chest, “Even the parts you don’t like.”

Tommy chews on his words, but Evan must sense something is wrong, because he props himself up on an elbow and leans over Tommy, brow scrunched in concern.

“There are parts of me that aren’t worth loving.” Tommy settles on, eventually.

He watches Evan’s heart break in real time, and it does nothing to soothe the growing irritation in his chest.

“I don’t believe that,” Evan frowns, “I think even when you were making mistakes, you were worth loving.”

Tommy huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh. “I beg to differ.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Can’t. Evan doesn’t like this. “Tom, that’s—that’s not how this works. You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of you I’m allowed to love. I don’t care what it is. I love you.”

Tommy isn’t going to win this argument, so he doesn’t even try. Instead, he forces himself to relax, and sighs. “Okay. Sorry, honey.”

He can tell Evan isn’t buying it, by the disbelieving set to his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lays back down and presses a gentle kiss to Tommy’s shoulder. It feels a lot like another declaration.

“I love you too,” Tommy says, bringing one of Evan’s hands up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. Evan revels in physical touch—it’s one of his favorite love languages, although he enjoys pretty much all of them. Mostly, Tommy thinks Evan was just love-starved for a long time.

Tommy is positive beyond doubt that Evan was never like him. It takes little talking to Howie and Maddie to confirm that he’s always presented his heart on a platter, warm and bleeding for whoever wants to carry it. There’s no universe where a callous man like Gerrard would have turned Evan into what Tommy was. Evan has never been a coward.

Tommy hopes that’ll be the end of the argument, but the next day, Evan sits down on the couch and says, “I know talking about your past is painful for you, and I don’t want to force you to tell me anything.”

Tommy senses a conjunction and chooses to remain silent.

“But,” there it is, “I don’t take back what I said.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again,” Tommy grunts, knowing he’s closing himself off.

“Then let me say it,” Evan presses, “There is nothing in your past that would change how I feel about you.”

“You don’t know that,” Tommy says, through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what I was like to Howie and Hen when they first joined the 118. I said things I shouldn’t have. I let Gerrard and his cronies get away with even worse. I let them get hurt, and I did nothing, because I was a coward.”

Evan looks at him with big, sad eyes. “You were scared.”

“I should have done the right thing anyway,” Tommy argues, “You think Howie and Hen weren’t scared? You think they weren’t terrified? Hen got up in front of everyone and gave us this big speech about how proud she was to be gay, to be black, to be herself. And all I did was stand there with this pit in my stomach. Like if anyone looked over at me they would just know, and then I’d be a pariah. Like her.”

“Tommy,” Evan says, dismayed, “She’s forgiven you so many times over for that. Beating yourself up about it does nothing.”

“It holds me accountable,” Tommy says, “It keeps me from being that person again. I hate the person I was back then. You would have hated him, too.”

“Maybe,” Evan shrugs, like it’s just that easy, “But I try not to hate people. I certainly don’t hate my loved ones for making mistakes. And that’s what you did. Make a mistake. Now, looking back on it, I can see that version of you. That Tommy, who was afraid and in pain. I still love him.”

“Stop!” Tommy snaps, but makes no move to get away from Evan. Evan’s hand stutters, but makes its way to Tommy’s shoulder, thumb rubbing over the joint.

“I love every version of all of my loved ones,” Evan says softly, “I love the version of Bobby who almost drank himself to death. I love the version of Eddie that fought people in the street. I love the version of Chim that punched me. I love the version of Maddie that ran away from me—several times, I might add. I love the version of Hen that almost ended her own marriage when she betrayed Karen’s trust.”

There’s about thirty different stories Tommy wants to explore in there, but Evan doesn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “And I love the version of you that stood by and watched because he was too scared to intervene.”

Evan leans in to plant a tender kiss to Tommy’s cheek. “I love him, and I love the Tommy who was in Iraq, and I love the Tommy who was almost a high school dropout, and I love the Tommy who loved to go hiking after middle school, and I love the Tommy who was late learning how to walk but early learning how to read. It’s not hard. He’s you.”

“I don’t want him to be me,” Tommy confesses, throat tight.

“But he is,” Evan murmurs, soft and soothing in Tommy’s ear, “He’s right here. And he’s doing right by people now. He learned how to be brave. He made amends. Hen and Chim didn’t forgive you because you killed that old version of yourself, they forgave you because you made an effort.”

It’s the first time Tommy’s ever heard it phrased like this, and something about the way Evan says it makes his eyes sting. Evan pulls him into a hug, tucks his face into the crook of his neck, and lets Tommy cry. Rubs his back through it. If Tommy pretends, he could be rubbing the uniform-clad thirty-five year-old firefighter, or the fatigued back of an eighteen-year-old soldier, or the thrifted cotton tee of a middle schooler, or the just-too-tight romper of a toddler. All the Tommies that never got this, all the Tommies that desperately wanted it.

For the first time since his mother died, Tommy is held while he cries, and after nearly thirty years, something in his chest stops aching.

[oldsoul007]

Shadows of the Sacred

father charlie mayhewxdetective reader

Summary: what begins as a case for y/n takes a turn to something far more difficult for y/n to resist

disclaimer: I’m not catholic and no disrespect to the religion at all just been wanting to write about him and the show. This is just a work of fiction. (Loosely follows the plot) I jus write for fun so I’m not giving it my all, be nice ;) and enjoy

Warnings: making out, blasphemy?, forbidden love, sexual themes, not proofread

masterlist

There's an undeniable allure to a man who is off-limits.

The office was noisy with the recent murders going on. Some psychopath was killing people and putting them into religious meaning. We have no clue who could be doing something like this. Lois was currently talking to some nun that came in here. She has a very weird vibe from her considering she’s a nun. I think Lois thinks so too considering how she’s looking at her.

I feel like I’m going insane lately. Considering I haven’t been able to sleep after seeing those things. Even in my dreams I can’t escape them. You think no matter how many years you’ve been working like this you’d be used to these things by now. I sat at my desk, the hum of the precinct filling the air as i sifted through a mountain of paperwork. The phone rang incessantly, and the chatter of my colleagues created a constant background noise.

Just as I was about to take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee, my boss, Lois, burst into the room. "Y/n, I need you on this one," Lois said, urgency in her voice. “Im gonna need you to follow that nun and the priest she was talking about to see what you can get off her” she says pointing at the nun walking out of the building. “What, you thinking she has something to do with the murders?” “No, at least not alone but I just there’s something about her.”

So here I was walking into a chapel for Sunday mass. Sunlight seeping in through the stain glass. Church bells ringing in my ears. The smell of old wood. Somewhere I haven’t been since I was 16 years old. I sit in the back behind an elderly couple hoping to go unnoticed. I noticed the priest sitting in his chair tapping his hand along to the choir. He’s wearing these dark red boots along with his priest attire seeming very serious. He looked very young for a priest, and was very attractive.

The choir stops and a light beams down on him. He stood up and started speaking to the congregation. I watched as Nun Megan looked up at him amazed. I zoned out until it was over. I watch as everyone flows out of the chapel stopping to speak to the priest first of course. I stand up to leave when I see the nun running around the corner. I seem to zone out on her suspicious whereabouts when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. “Shit you scared me” I turn around and meet face to face with the priest. “Oh forgive me father I-“

“It’s quite alright we all have our vices” he smiles. “I noticed you while I was speaking, I’ve never seen you before what made you want to come to our church? The blog?” He asks eagerly. “Um…I don’t know what blog you’re talking about? But no, I’m catholic I’ve just been inactive for a while and thought I should reconnect with the church.” “Oh well welcome back, we’re glad to have you.” “Me too…I’m y/n” I say reaching out my hand. He puts my hand in between both of his hands holding it. “Father Charlie Mayhew.” He smiles.

I notice movement to the right of me seeing sister Megan watching us. I drop my hand from his and act like I don’t notice her. “Well I better get going I enjoyed your sermon” I say backing away from him after noticing how close I was standing to him. He looked over noticing sister Megan too. I decided to leave so I wouldn’t draw too much attention. “Nice boots” I say as I proceed to walk out of the chapel.

I feel someone run up next to me, looking over to see sister Megan. “So what made you decide to come to our church?” She asked curiously. “That seems to be the question of the day” I say blankly. “Well it’s just we don’t get many new people joining the church lately” she says trying to keep up with me. “I just decided to come back after a while” I say grabbing my door nob to my car. “Bye now” I pull out a cigarette and start to drive back to the station.

I’ve been to many masses but nothing seems out of the norm so I decided I should talk to the preist more. He’s so intriguing. It always felt like he was staring at me but I think it’s just me being paranoid. After the service I lingered a bit waiting for everyone to leave so it was just me and him, with me sitting and him up at the altar putting out the candles. Me seeming to go unnoticed by him I carefully stand up and walk over to him.

“Father Charlie?” He turns around noticing it’s me he softly smiles. “It’s nice seeing you again y/n” "well, I really enjoyed your sermon today," i began. "It gave me a lot to think about." "Thank you, y/n," he replied, genuinely pleased. "I'm glad it resonated with you."

I took a breath, feeling a bit nervous but determined. "I was wondering if you'd like to have lunch with me sometime. There's a diner nearby that I've heard great things about. It would be nice to get to know you better outside of the chapel."

Father Charlie's face lit up with a smile. "That sounds wonderful, y/n. I'd love to join you for lunch. How about tomorrow?" "Perfect," she said, relieved and happy. "I'll see you then."

The door jingled as it opened and I spot Father Charlie settled into the booth at the rundown diner, the aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon wafting through the air.

"Good afternoon, y/n," he greeted warmly as I approached the table. "I hope you don't mind, I went ahead and ordered some coffee."

"Oh Not at all, Father Charlie," i replied with a smile, sliding into the seat across from him. "Coffee sounds perfect."

He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me better, almost drawn to me. "So, y/n," he began, his eyes twinkling with curiosity, "tell me more about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

I hesitated for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "I work in public service," I said, which was true enough. "It's a challenging job, but I find it very rewarding."

Father Charlie nodded, listening to me. "That sounds like a noble profession. It's always heartening to meet people who are dedicated to helping others.” “You know the more I talk to you the more I feel like I’ve met you before” I muttered. “Well I get that a lot” he chuckled. “Wait no, you went to pine valley high, it’s funny you said you always wanted to be a doctor” “and you said you always wanted to be a detective” I shuttered as he says almost suspiciously. “I mean look where we ended up” I laugh trying to change the subject.

“I always admired you in high school” he says eating a fry. “Really? I mean I always tried to go unnoticed” “I have no idea what you’re talking about you seemed so confident” “I mean that’s what I showed everyone” “I understand.” He said seeming to sense my uneasiness.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about the murders happening around town.” Father Charlie eagerly changing the subject. "…it’s been so unsettling lately," I said, trying to seem confused. "These strange murders have everyone on edge. It's hard to believe something like this could happen in our small town."

Father Charlie nodded, his expression serious. "I know. The community is shaken. People are scared, and it's understandable. The randomness of the attacks makes it even more terrifying."

I took a sip of my coffee, my mind racing with thoughts of the recent events. "this... it's different. There's no clear pattern, no obvious motive. It's like the killer is playing a twisted game."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Do you think there's anything we can do to help find the killer? Maybe there's something we've overlooked."

He pondered my question, unaware of my true role in the investigation. "We can pray for guidance and protection, and we can keep our eyes and ears open. Sometimes the smallest details can make the biggest difference."

I felt a pang of guilt for not being able to confide in him fully, but i knew my cover was crucial to solving the case. "You're right, Father.“

Father Charlie placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You should read the blog, Sister Megan has an interesting way of talking about the whole case" Father Charlie leaned forward, his eyes filled with passion. “You seem to know a lot about these events.” “What can I say I like true crime.” I joke.

As our lunch arrived, we delved into deeper topics, sharing stories and perspectives. An unspoken connection seemed to grow between each other. We found themselves sharing more than just professional interests; we talked about our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. The more we shared, the more we realized how much they had in common.

“Well I have to go now but I’d love to talk to you more. So I was wondering if you’d come by the monastery later tonight?” Father Charlie asked. “Uh is that allowed Father?” “I say so, I’ll see you later then” he said as he left money for food and walked out the diner.

I arrived at the chapel later that day as the sun began to set. I walk in and it’s completely silent. I walk around the corner to find steps trying to find Father Charlie.

“In here y/n” I heard him shout. "You know I really admire the work you do here, Father Charlie," i said. "It's inspiring to see someone so dedicated to their faith and their community." "Thank you, y/n. Your dedication to public service is equally admirable. It's rare to meet someone with such a strong sense of duty and compassion."

As I reach what I’m assuming is his room. The door in opened ajar so I gently knock trying not to push the door. “Come in.” I head him say. I push open the door to see him leaning against the wall in only a towel. “Oh sorry is this a bad time I can come back later” I try not to look down. “no, please stay. Would you mind closing the door?” He bops his head. I push the door closed with my back against it trying to resist getting close for him. His hair was wet which made him even more attractive, he was so toned and large.

“So um why’d you want me to meet you, here?” “Maybe I just like seeing your angelic face” he smiles, creeping toward me. "Y/n," he began, his voice tinged with regret, "I feel a connection between us, and I know that you feel it too, But I also know that there are boundaries we must respect. My commitment to the church and to my faith is something I hold dear." I nodded, "I understand, Father Charlie. I feel the same way. It's just... difficult to ignore what we feel."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of our unspoken emotions hanging in the air. Finally, Father Charlie spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. "Perhaps, I’ve been wanting a change in the church for a while, I mean it’s a new world”

“Father Charlie I- “Charlie please” he cut me off. I nodded. “Would you mind drying my back” he says reaching out a towel to me. I walk slowly toward him, taking the towel. He kneels on this wooden step stool thing and I proceed to walk over so I’ll be behind him. I hesitate and notice his back full of scratches and stitches. “Fa-Charlie?” I say as I gently start swiping the towel on his back. “Yes y/n” “what happen to your back?” I feel his shudder as I ran my finger gently over one scar.

He slowly stands up so we’re face to face with him towering over me. “We all have our vices” he says in a whisper, grabbing my chin with his hand gently. His eye piercing through mine. I could almost hear my heartbeat against his. “I should go” he grips my arm as I try and walk toward the door. I grab his bicep gently like he’s gripping my arm. “This isn’t right Charlie” “I know but if it’s wrong why does it feel so good” he mutters as he backs me up against the wall. His lips lingering over mine, his bare chest against mine, his breath against mine. He runs his lips done my neck leaving open mouths kisses along my collar bone.

I grab his face to look back up at me. “Fuck it” he says under his breath. He grabs my face kissing me harshly. I could tell he hasn’t kiss someone in a long time. I could feel his tongue against mine and running over my teeth. “oh y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.” He said in between kissing me. I let out a soft moan against his mouth, and that sound seemed to do it. He grabs me and lays me down on the bed.

He starts kissing me going lower down my body. Hot open mouth kisses. He pushes my skirt up kissing my upper thighs slowly. Sending shivers down my spine. I brush my fingers through his hair throwing my head back at the feeling.

And then I came back to reality. I push his shoulders to keep distance from him. “Wait, stop we can’t.” I say pushing my skirt back down. “Why?” He says brushing my calf. “Why? Charlie you have no idea how badly I want to but you’re…you’re a priest you took a vow. It’s a sin” “you’re not a sin”

…..

a/n: part || coming soon…

[slut4slytherinss]

Gold Rush

SEND REQUESTS!!

Summary: in which (fem!)reader is in love with Mattheo, but so is everyone else. Reader pushes her feelings deep down, convinced Mattheo, beautiful Mattheo could never love her. In doing so, hurting herself, and a certain curly haired boy.

3,014 words

Warnings: cursing, fighting, slight mention of sexual content, reader being self-conscious, Mattheo being an idiot, Mattheo and his big ego, angst, potentially more parts(???), not proofread bc I don’t have time, a few references to movies IF YOU SQUINT, possibly ooc Mattheo (I haven’t read Everything Black in a hot minute forgive me), use of Y/n, Tom Riddle is Mattheo’s father in this, Regulus is in fact dead (rip my man), Mattheo and reader being a bitch lol, in character-ish Enzo but not headcannon Enzo, THEO IS IN THE SLUG CLUB FOR THE PLOT IM AWARE THAT HE WASNT IN THE BOOKS

2nd person pov

Hufflepuff prefect reader

Female reader

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

Your eyes are trained on the dark haired boy, specifically those deep eyes. “I know I’m pretty, you don’t have to stare, love.” Mattheo grins, you quickly dart your eyes away, “I wasn’t staring.” you murmur. He scoots his chair back, the feet scraping against the old library floor, he stands up and walks towards you— not even bothering to push the bloody chair back in. He takes a seat right next to you and rests his chin on your shoulder, “You really should be studying, y’know? Can’t have m’girl failing her exams.” My girl. You roll your eyes. “I’m immune to your charms, Riddle.” You say, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself of that. “Are you, though? I mean, remember in first year when you—“ you quickly cut him off, a foreign red flush invading your cheeks. “I was eleven!” You whisper-yell, his grin widens at your embarrassment. “Okay.” He drags the word out, “Some things never change, badger.” You furrow your eyebrows “Excuse me?” “Y’know? Badger, you’re a Hufflepuff, unless you’re shagging Diggory and stole his tie.” He gestures to your yellow tie, you roll your eyes. “First of all, Cedric is taken and if you call me badger again, I will ruin your pretty face.” “You think I’m pretty?” Another eye roll. “If you keep rolling your eyes at me, they’re gonna get stuck back there.” Before you can reply, a girl you recognize as a Slytherin fifth year, only younger than you by a year, calls for the boy sitting in front of you. “Mattheo! I don’t have all day, c’mon.” He looks back at the blonde girl and sighs, “Merlin’s beard,” he murmurs, then calls out to her “I’m coming Eloise!” Causing you to let out a laugh. He gives you a look, making you laugh even harder. But once he walks away, you realize that he, Mattheo Riddle, is probably hooking up with that girl, that absolute model, making your smile fade. Making you feel like an idiot for even thinking that he’d like you. For thinking you should inflate his ego even further by confessing.

But I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. Everybody wants you. Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

You clutch your books close to your chest, dodging the hundreds of children rushing to get to class. Like every other day. A paper airplane comes straight toward you, it’s about to hit you clean in the forehead, you duck just in time— but a hand reaches out and catches it. You look over to thank the person, it’s Mattheo. Of course it’s Mattheo. That damned boy never leaves you alone. “You alright?” He asks, seeming genuinely concerned. Of course he does. He always does. “I’m fine, Riddle.” You spit out, fighting back your horrid feelings. He tries to speak but you just walk toward the potions classroom.

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush.

-

You sigh as you walk into the lavatory. Standing in front of the sink, you splash your face with some water. Trying to cool yourself down. “Y/n?” Fucking Mattheo. “I really don’t have time for your bullshit, what are you even doing in the girls la—“ you cut yourself off as you see Mattheo, a girl against the wall, not Eloise, a different girl. An older girl, a seventh year. Looking annoyed as ever. You let out a breath of surprise. Shaking your head you turn back around and walk out of the bathroom. Feeling like an idiot. Like always when it comes to that boy.

I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush. Everybody wants you. But I don’t like a gold rush.

“Wait! Y/n—“ he rushes out of the bathroom to follow you, he grabs your wrist and you turn around quickly. “Let go.” You spit out, he tenses his jaw. “Why are you even acting like this? You don’t need to get so pissed just because you’re jea—“ Slap. Your eyes widen, as well as his, “Did you just slap me?” “No.” you reply quickly. “You just slapped me.” he persists, “No I didn’t.” “Yea, you did.” “Yes I did.” you finally admit. “Why?” He asks, “You said I’m jealous, I’m not jealous. You just have a big head.” “I have other big things.” You slap him again. But this time on his forearm. And, oh Merlin. Why is his arm so muscular? Why are his eyes so deep and brown and beautiful? Why do his oh so pretty brown curls look so pull-able? Why do his lips look so perfect and kissable? Was he always this beautiful? Of course he was. He was always beautiful. You’ve known that since the first time you saw him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos.

-

You walk into the Slytherin common room with Dorothea, one of your closest friends, she’d convinced you to come to this party. And you’d stupidly agreed. You stupidly got drunk. You stupidly found Mattheo. You stupidly kissed him. You stupidly hooked up with him.

You look around the room, Mattheo has his arm under your neck. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself “yeah, okay. I can get out of here.” You roll over a bit, pulling the covers off of yourself carefully. You easily get out of his warm, soft bed. An odd coldness filling your body as you do so. You slip on your shoes and realize that you don’t have your shirt on, you look around his room, which is surprisingly clean— minus the clothes everywhere, on the doorknob, there’s your shirt. How did it even get there? You shake your head and walk over to it, putting it on over you. You hear Mattheo groan and you quickly look over, he’s still asleep, but reaching out in the bed, as if looking for you. It takes you a moment before you realize that you need to leave before him and his charm pull you back in.

I see me padding ‘cross, your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

-

It’s been 3 weeks. 3 weeks since you went to that party. 3 weeks since you found Mattheo. 3 weeks since you kissed him. 3 weeks since you hooked up with him. 2 weeks and 6 days since you woke up in his room and mission impossible escaped. You haven’t spoke to him, or anyone in Slytherin at all. In fear that he told everyone he knows and you’d never live it down. He didn’t. But you don’t know that. You’re choosing out a dress for dinner, you’re in the slug club, but so is Theodore Nott and those two are friends, best friends even. So of course Mattheo was the boys plus one. No matter that. Dorothea suggests a simple dress that shows off your body, but you shake your head, “No, Dor, that— that doesn’t compliment me right.” So you choose a dress that goes down to your knees, it’s long-sleeved, completely covers your cleavage, which was the goal of course. You paired it with some old converse, not liking the feeling of heels on your feet all night. You have your hair done nicely in your favorite style.

“No Mattheo, I really don’t agree with that, you’re so— so contrarian.” You shake your head, “Oh give me a break!” He groans, but you just give him a look, calling him an asshole with your eyes. He’s just told you an opinion on the muggle-world, he’s a pure blood, seriously, who does he think he is? Giggles can be heard from others sitting around you, including Dorothea and Theodore who are sitting next to each other. Slughorn tries to get you two to stop, “O—okay, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Y/l/n, please refrain from arguments at the table.” “This isn’t an argument, it’s a debate.” You correct.

As you’re walking back to your common room, you overhear some girls talking “Oh, wouldn’t they be such a cute couple?” One of them giggles, the other nods in agreement “They argue so much, plus, doesn’t Y/n Riddle sound so nice?” “Oh I dunno, I’m kind of jealous of her.” A third one adds. Your eyes widen as you realize they’re taking about you and Mattheo. You quickly butt in their conversation, “We would not be a cute couple! He’s insufferable and his ego is larger than himself!” You huff.

At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit. And the coastal town, we wandered ‘round, had never seen a love as pure as it.

-

“You know that you can’t avoid him all day, right?” Cedric tells you as he notices you staring in Mattheo’s direction in the Great Hall. “I can and I will.” The boy rolls his eyes, “C’mon, when me and Cho get into—“ “Don’t compare you and your girlfriend to me and Mattheo— that’s just.. no!” you mock gag, shaking your head. Cedric just grins at you knowingly, “Why are you smiling at me like that?” you ask, Cedric licks his lips “No reason.” “Shouldn’t you be making out with Cho in a broom closet or something?” you tease, he laughs “Yeah, probably. Shouldn’t you be getting in Mattheo’s pants again?” “Leave it Ced, it will never be.” You murmur as you look down at your tea, mixing it around lazily with your spoon.

And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause you know it could never be.

-

“Why are you avoiding me?” You stop dead in your tracks, goddamnit. Why is he everywhere? You slowly turn around on your heels, face reddening, “I’m not avoiding you.” you reply simply with a shrug. “Yes you are, I’m sick of it.” He rolls his eyes. “What’s it matter to you? We aren’t friends.” “What are you talking about? Yes we are.” “No, we’re really not Mattheo, you only talk to me when you know I’m going to leave.” You spit out, annoyed with everything, “No I don’t! I talk to you all the—“ you cut him off “Just leave it, I’m done here anyway.” You say before turning back around and walking away, “Well— don’t come crying back to me when you realize no one else cares!” He yells, letting his emotions and large ego get the best of him. “Fuck you!” “You’ve already checked that one off!”

‘Cause I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

He is such an asshole! Who the fuck does he think he is?! He has no right to speak to you— or anyone for that matter — like that. You huff as you walk into the Great Hall, feeling his gaze immediately land on you. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of meeting that gaze. Taking a seat at your own houses table, you can hear his friends laughing loudly, stupid boys. The only time you do look over at him is when you hear his fork slam against the table and he stands up from his seat, to be fair, the entire Great Hall looks over at him. He ignores his friends and clenches his jaw as he walks out of the huge room, brushing right past you and leaving a small gust of wind from where he walked. Your lips slightly part as you watch him, but you look away just as quickly. Refusing to let him get his way. You shake your head as you now look over at his friends — who you now realize are staring over at you. Furrowing your eyebrows you mouth an annoyed “What?” to them, hoping to get any explanation. Theodore just shakes his head at you, and Lorenzo Berkshire mouths back a “Nothing.” making you even more annoyed with these boys. You decide to take matters into your own hands and stand up, making your way to the Slytherin table where they’re sitting. “Hello, boys.” you raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Uh — hey..” Blaise Zabini murmurs, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with that dickhead who just walked out of the Great Hall making a scene?” Draco Malfoy laughs at that “Dickhead? Did you just call your little boyfriend a dickhead?” “He’s not my boyfriend Malfoy!” you exclaim which causes Draco to laugh and Theo to nudge his arm, Enzo speaks up “Um, Y/n he’s just upset you’re ignoring him.” now the rest of the boys groan, collectively murmuring little “C’mon man!”’s and “Enzo!”’s he throws his hands up in apology. Eyebrows going up you look at them, “Seriously?” you scoff “he’s mad at me because I’m not talking to him? After what he did?”

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush. I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush.

“Why don’t you just make it easy for him and tell him how you feel?” Theo speaks up with a shrug. “Excuse me? And how exactly do I feel Theodore?” you ask, twisting toward him. “You want him, obviously.” “Everybody wants him! I don’t — I don’t like that horrid feeling!” you exclaim loudly, catching the attention of others around you.

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush.

Lowering your voice, you rest your hands on the table, pushing Blaise’s plate away to do so. He stops in the middle of his chewing to give you a glare, then continues slowly chewing. “You’ve liked him since fist year, admit it.” Blaise speaks with his mouth full, so it’s a bit muffled. “Shut it and eat your potatoes Zabini.” you spit out. He shrugs and does just that. With Zabini out of the conversation Draco speaks again, “But really, stop leading our boy on.” “I haven’t led him — or anyone for that matter — on!” now it’s Theo’s turn to speak “Well.. you did kinda sleep with him and then leave the next morning,” “That was a mistake.” “Still shitty.” Enzo says. You huff, “That’s — no! Even if it was shitty, it’s not like I’m in love with him. He shouldn’t’ve expected anything from me.” Draco raises an eyebrow “Wow, didn’t know Hufflepuffs were such—“ “Dude, don’t finish that sentence.” Enzo says with an eye roll before looking toward you, “If you don’t like him, then don’t lead him on, it’s not difficult.” Looking him up at down for a moment, you sigh and your eyes move around the group at a quick pace. “Tell him I don’t like him, and — that I’m sorry or whatever.” Damn. That hurt you to say. Who knew it’d be this hard to get over him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful, with your hair falling into place like dominoes?

-

As you lay in your bed, miserable and alone, you think about Mattheo. Because of course you do. He’s plagued your mind since first year. Rolling your eyes, you silently curse yourself for not realizing how horrible it was to fall for him. He’s got the perfect life, minus the fact his father is literally the dark lord, still, he’s rich. He has hundreds of girls in love with him and multiple in his bed. You aren’t going to be any of those girls, not now at least.

My mind turns your life into folklore. I can’t dare to dream about you anymore.

-

You hear your name called out by a familiar voice, Pansy Parkinson, her loud — but not angry — footsteps reverberate along the stone walls of the castle. You stop walking just as she catches up to you, out of breath. She reaches for your shoulder to steady herself and you grab her arm to help her. “What’s wrong Pans?” You ask once she catches her breath. “Riddle told me about what you said.” You wince at the mention, “Oh.” She must notice the look on your face since she adds a quick, “Don’t worry, I’m not mad, that boy needs to learn that not every girl is in love with him.” As an afterthought. “Never mind that, you are,” you furrow your eyebrows “—in love with him. You’re in love with him.” She finishes, which causes you to stammer out a quick and defensive, “Am not!” In response. “You literally gave him a bouquet of flowers, which you handpicked, in first year.” “In first year! Yeah, but that’s not now!” She rolls her eyes, “Come on Y/n/n, you’re just going to end up hurting yourself if you keep saying that.” She then removes her hand from your shoulder and you do the same, “Okay, I’ve got detention now, see ya later.” Then she runs off. She literally runs off after telling you that you’re in love with Mattheo Riddle. As if you didn’t know that. As if you didn’t sleep with him.

I see me padding ‘cross your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

-

The last slug club meeting of the year before you leave for Christmas. You aren’t supposed to bring plus-ones, but Slughorn likes Theo too much and let him bring Mattheo. You sit slumped in your chair, dressed nicely though. Dorothea is sick so she couldn’t come. And Mattheo has the audacity to sit right fucking next to you. Purposely making those contrarian remarks, to get you to speak, so he can hear your voice again. Annoyed or not, he wants to hear it. But you don’t. You just stand up and move to sit beside Theo. Mattheo swallows and stops talking, looking down at his food.

At dinner parties, won’t call you out on your contrarian shit.

-

You sit by a garden in Hogsmeade, looking at the flowers silently. Of course, thinking about those girls from a few weeks ago at the Slug club meeting, how they were talking about you and Mattheo. Did everyone think that way? That’s impossible, he’s him, you’re just you. You barely know jack shit about each other. Sighing, you lay back in the grass and fiddle with the strings on your cardigan. It will never be.

And the coastal town, we never found, will never see a love as pure as it. ‘Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause it will never be.

-

He stands at your doorframe, knocking on the door rapidly. Hearing you groan on the other side and sheets ruffling. He quickly tries to fix up his messy curls and look at least a hit presentable, you open the door as he’s smoothing out his shirt, he’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you’re — well —in your pink unicorn pajama set, that causes him to grin widely. But then he hears your voice murmur a sleepy “Mattheo?” and becomes serious again. “Um—hey.” He smiles gently, out of character for him. “I know it’s late and all, I just had to um.. talk to you.” You rub your eyes and yawn, “Well?” You ask, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I know we aren’t close or anything, but I really fucking like you. I mean—really like you. It’s so weird for me to feel this strongly over.. well, y’know a girl who I barely know. But you’re just different, you make me feel things—things that no one else does.” He watches you watch him nervously, this is really different than the Mattheo you know. “Anyway.. what I’m trying to say is, I think we’d be really good together. I want us to try it out, if you’d have me?” “Mattheo I—“

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

-

A/N: IM SOOO SORRY FOR THIS TKAING SO LONG TO WRITE(literally ignore my spelling mistakes wtf) ANYWAY YEAH, LMK IF I SHOUKD MAKE A OART TWO OR SMTHING?????

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 1

Source for pic

Trouble 1

Word Count: 3819

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Dead Animals Mentioned; Reader in a terror-like state; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

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

Special Warning 2: I advise reading the introductory chapters first, as they give a sense of the story, introduce characters and locations and, this chapter starts off immediately after the Sanji chapter. Your first interaction with Zoro is in those chapters! If you don't want to read the other characters, I recommend reading, at least, Zoro's Chapter since it's their first interaction!

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I'm posting this but with some dread weighing on my chest, I'm afraid... I hope (and I'm crossing all my fingers and begging Lady Luck to be on my side) that I'm able to post one chapter per week. But if I fail this goal, please forgive me in advance... I do have the whole story planned, I just (sadly) don't have much energy to write it. Alas, I am too curious to see what you guys think of my grumpy green-haired cop. I hope you enjoy, let me know all about it, will you?

Masterlist | |Chapter 2|

Party at Luffy's on Saturday. Just the usual suspects. Meet at six and bring snacks! 

You stare at the screen of your phone, your teeth chewing absentmindedly on your lower lip. A party does sound fun. ‘The usual suspects’ means your classmates and friends, some of whom you haven't seen in forever and actually miss. 

“Son of a three-legged chicken! Goddammit!” And then there's Shanks, hurting himself and cursing like an old man because he refuses to get surgery. 

Should you leave him alone?

“Dad? Are you in one piece?” You scream into the living room as you fill your coffee mug. 

“Yes, Bug. I'm fine! I just stubbed my toe on the couch, it wasn't my back this time.”

With a heavy sigh, you take a long gulp of your drink and close your eyes when you scald your tongue, your fist pounding the countertop to stop a string of your own curses from leaving your lips. 

“Bug?”

“I'm fine, Dad!” Opening the cabinet to take a cookie from the tin to soothe your ache, you realise it's empty and release another sigh. Your father always had a sweet tooth, but you could swear that the tin was full to the brim yesterday! 

Since you need to buy snacks for the party, you'll use the trip to fill up the cabinets and fridge. “I'm going to the store, Dad. What do you need?”

And as Shanks lists rows of unhealthy things you're not really going to buy for him, you reminisce about the old school days when you and your friends used to hang out after school. 

Nami, Robin, Luffy, Zoro, Kaya, and Usopp, the usual suspects, as Nami said. Those were the good old days. But now that you are all grown up, will hanging with them feel the same? Or will you feel left out? 

Shaking your head as you gather your keys and purse, you realise that you're overthinking things. You've already spent time with Robin and Nami, and everything still feels the same. Reconnecting with Kaya at the clinic also felt familiar and heartwarming. You still haven't met Luffy and Usopp since you got back, but you can't stop a silly smile from forming on your lips when you think about your encounter with Zoro. 

When you were both younger, there was a time when you had the biggest crush on him. It happened almost right before you left your hometown. You were starting to feel rebellious from all the fights your parents were having, and Zoro had the ultimate ‘bad boy’ look. 

But then you left. 

And you didn't even decide to peek behind that door. And now? Well… now you are just off men in general. So you're hoping your first encounter will be the prelude to rolling back into an easy friendship full of banter and good times. 

-*-

You haven't been to this particular grocery store since you were a teenager, and it has evolved! What was a simple, small store with essentials is now a full-blown supermarket, and you have no idea where anything is. 

As you stumble blindly through the maze-like corridors, you sigh in relief. There, at the top of the shelf, lies the only thing missing from your list, the only sweets you're willing to bring to your Dad, his favourite cream-filled chocolate cookies. 

Just out of reach. 

You look around, feeling a little lost. Maybe you should ask for help, or locate a stool or something you can use for height. But as soon as you start to walk towards the aisle, a gentle tap on the shoulder startles you, and you shriek. 

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you. You look lost. Need help?”

A shaky smile curves your lips as you try to calm your racing heart. It's just a store clerk. His smile is cute, and clearly, he finds you cute too because he's smirking suggestively. 

“I just need the cookies on the top shelf. I can't reach them.” You smile politely, trying to show that you're not interested in flirting, but actually need his help. 

He walks with you until the end of the aisle and points at the box of cookies. “Those?” You nod with a smile, already anticipating leaving the store that gave you a small migraine. He lifts his arm, stops, lowers it again, and smiles at you. “Are they for you?”

Your brow quirks up, and your smile falters as you balance your heavy basket on the other arm. “No.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head, crosses his arms, and you frown. “A boyfriend, perhaps?”

“They're for my father.” You say, slightly annoyed, and point at the cookies again. “Can you please help me?”

Raising his arms, he nods. “Sure thing.” And then he lowers his arms again, pulling a sigh from deep within you with the gesture. “Say… what did you say your name was?”

“I didn't.” You have half a mind to turn away and leave the store without the cookies, except they are the only indulgence you are allowing Shanks amidst an entire basket filled with healthy food. So you force another smile through gritted teeth. “Can you please help me with the cookies?”

The tips of his fingers brush the box, and you raise your hand, but he lowers his arm again, making you grunt in frustration. “You're drop-dead gorgeous. How about I give you the cookies and you give me your number?”

Seriously? 

It's not even clever flirting, it's just downright aggravating. 

“I think I'll–”

“Is this what you wanted, babe?” A gravelly voice interrupts your tirade as an arm raises above your head, retrieving the box of cookies and waving it in front of your face. 

You feel your cheeks heating up, but you force a smile to appear so you can play along. Zoro's wicked grin lets you know he came to your rescue. 

“Yes, baby, it is. Thank you so much.” 

The look on the clerk’s face is a mix of displeasure and disbelief, but he doesn't move from his spot, so Zoro laces his hand around your waist and pulls you closer, raising his brow at the employee's direction. 

He finally gets it and wishes you both a good day before leaving you alone. After he turns the corner, Zoro loses his grip on your waist, and you don't read too much into the way you miss his touch. 

“Hey there, Troublemaker, making trouble?” He teases and you laugh. 

“Always.” Taking the box of cookies from his hand, you nod. “Thanks for the help, that was getting awkward! The cookies are for my dad.”

Zoro smirks and crosses his arms, a six-pack dangling from his index finger. “Mr. S. still likes those cookies?” A snort leaves his lips. “Guess some things never change.”

You're about to agree with a shake of your shoulders when you bump into the shelf, making it rattle. A squeak leaves your lips when Zoro pulls you away from the shelf just as a tin of biscuits rolls off and crashes on the floor, right where you were. 

“Careful!” He admonishes you as you hiss and thank him. After a stern look, his face returns to an easygoing smirk, and he shakes his head. “Some things never change.”

“Hey! I resent that.” But he's right. You're a hazard. And that's why he's been calling you Troublemaker since you were both teens. “Are you shopping for Saturday too, officer?” You call him an officer, but he must be off duty since he's wearing jeans and a tee. 

He nods with a chuckle. “Nami said to bring booze. Usopp, Robin and Luffy won't drink.” He raises the beers. “These are for Nami and I'll bring real alcohol for myself. I'll be off duty.” Then his smile falters. “I'm not sure if you drink or not. We've been away from each other for so long.”

Your eyes leave his for a moment as guilt washes over you. It's your fault you fell apart from your friends. You left, you chose to stay away during the holidays, you were the one who abandoned them.

“Not too much.” You sound small as a resigned sigh shakes your shoulders. “Just socially…”

The silence that drags afterwards begins to stretch into awkwardness, until Zoro snorts. “Well, if you decide to be social around Luffy, you won't drink much, but if you stick with me, Trouble, you'll drink a lot!” 

His teasing makes you grin as you balance on the tips of your toes so you can be at eye level with him. “We'll see about that, officer.”

A low chuckle leaves his lips, and you giggle with him. Then he reaches out and takes your heavy basket from your hands. “You done shopping?” 

“Yes, but I can carry my own groceries.” You say as you start to follow him down the aisle. And then you trip over your feet and smack his back with your nose. Zoro stops, turns his head, and raises his eyebrow in a very ‘you were saying’ manner, and you flush beet red. “Fine! You can carry the groceries.”

But as he takes another step, you grab his arm, squeal internally at how well-defined his bicep muscle is, and turn him the other way. “It's this way, though. Smartypants.”

Zoro grumbles and purses his lips but follows you wordlessly. You're still rubbing your sore nose when you give him a teasing smirk and playfully stick out your tongue. “I might attract trouble, but you still can't tell left from right to save your life.”

“Hey!”

“How did you pass the ‘How to Be a Cop’ exam?”

“That's not a thing.”

“I'm sure your captain has to stick a GPS collar around your neck, or they never know where you are…”

You can practically feel him fuming beside you as you walk up to the cash register, and you feel your chest bubbling with laughter. 

“Keep it up, Trouble, and the next thing you'll bump into won't be as soft as me.” He snickers as he helps you unload your basket onto the register. 

“Aww!” You take out your phone and place it in front of his face. “Say you're soft again so I can record it. I'm sure Nami will love to tease you about it.”

His smirk turns into a grumpy pout in a mere second. “I didn't say I'm soft. I'm just trying to keep you alive so you don't end up as paperwork on my desk. I've got enough to do as is.” You laugh so hard that the cashier stares at you both. 

“Sure, big guy. You'd probably get lost on your way to find a pen just to fill it out.”

Zoro's about to retort when the cashier clears his throat, clearly done with his job and waiting for you to stop flirting and pay. You blush and settle the bill, then wait while Zoro pays for his booze. 

Once again, he carries the bags for you and, this time, you don't even protest, knowing how futile it will be. 

“Thanks, but you don't have to walk me to the car. I'm a big girl, you know?”

Zoro grabs your arm before you bump into the door, which takes a beat longer to open, and you clear your throat as he hums. “Yes, you are.”

You focus really hard and manage to avoid stepping on a puddle and bumping into a cart just to prove that you can handle it, but Zoro's snicker is still in place when you both reach your car. 

“So what's a girl gotta do to get some good coffee around here?” You tease as you load the groceries into the trunk of your car and close it. Then you kind of want to smack your face against it. You didn't mean to sound so forward, you just wanted to spend some more time with Zoro. It all felt so… natural. 

He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, there's a good spot just around the corner. You can't miss it.”

“Oh, is it the best?”

“Nah…” He sighs and curls his lip in contempt. “Swirly Brows has the best coffee. But it's on the other side of town.” Zoro leans against the car, and you open the door. Either he's not getting your hints, or he just doesn't want to have coffee with you. 

“You mean Sanji?” He grunts in agreement and you sense some story there. “I've met him. He's really nice! And the coffee is to die for.” You smile and Zoro stiffens a bit. 

“Yeah, he's nice to all girls.” He leaves it at that, and you don't pry. The conversation stalls, and you linger, but he still doesn't say anything. 

Oh, well. Maybe you were the only one having fun, and he just felt like he was babysitting an accident-prone big baby. 

“I guess I'll–”

“Want to get coffee, then?” He interrupts while placing his hands in his pockets. 

“Oh.” You smile. “Thought you'd never ask.”

You close the door, lock the car, then pace a little faster to keep up with Zoro's long strides. 

“You sure we're heading the right way?” He groans as an answer, and you giggle. “It better be good coffee.”

“Like I said, it's good, not the best. But you can ask for the best on Saturday, the Cook will be there too.” His voice is clipped, like he thinks you might show some interest in Sanji, and you can't help but feel a little warmth in your chest. Is he jealous? 

But then his mention of the gathering churns your stomach for a whole other reason, and you become quiet all of a sudden. Zoro silently switches sides with you, making you walk on the inner side of the sidewalk as he takes the side closer to the road, and you sigh. 

“What's wrong?” Zoro's eyebrow quirks up and you realise he's splitting his attention between your surroundings and your expression. He's attentive to every car, every person, every sound, and motion. 

And he's doing it unwillingly. 

“I… I just… I'm nervous.” You finally admit with a resigned sound. 

“About what?” He grimaces. “The Cook?”

What? “No!” You let out an exasperated huff. “You guys stuck together all these years, and I left… I made no effort to connect with you, besides Nami and Robin, and you kept going with your lives. Now I just kind of fell back into your lives, and Nami is dragging me back into the group like I still belong.” You sigh without meeting his gaze and he places a hand on your arm to steer you away from a pothole you missed and would've tripped over if he hadn't seen it. “I feel like an outsider, that's all.”

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Excuse me?” You stop dead in your tracks just to stare at his smug face. “I’m baring my heart to you, and that’s all you have to say?”

Zoro crosses his arms and stares at you deadpan. He was never one to mince words or to soften them to deliver lighter blows, and you always cherished that about him. His brutal honesty. 

“You’ve been gone for a while, it’s true, and maybe some of us don’t quite understand why you didn’t feel the need to stay connected… to reach out… but that was your decision.” There’s a hint of hurt in his voice, and you feel shame shadowing your thoughts again. He’s talking about himself. Running a hand through his short green hair, he exhales a deep breath. “But you’re still part of the crew. You’ll never be an outsider. And if you think Luffy will let you feel left out, you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with.”

A small smile curves your lips, and though you’re not fully convinced, you resume your slow walk. 

“I know… but still… it’s been so long, and–”

“Careful!” Zoro’s hand shoots up, and he stops you just as you were about to cross the road with a red sign. “Jesus Christ, you’re even worse than before. How the hell did you survive all these years? You should carry a neon sign with you since you’re a walking hazard.”

A flush burns your cheeks as you cross your arms and pout your lip. “I was going to stop!” You weren’t. “I didn’t need your help.” You did. “I can survive very well on my own!” Barely.

“Geez, Trouble…” He chuckles softly. “I might have to keep a permanent eye on you from now on. I was joking about you becoming paperwork on my desk, but it’s becoming frighteningly clear that it’s a very real possibility.”

The light turns green, and you both cross it, reaching the coffee shop where Zoro holds the door open for you. You choose a booth near the window and fidget with the napkin on the table before the waitress comes to take your orders. 

“Are you still thinking about not fitting in?” You grimace. “Stop that. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Geez, Zoro! You really know how to cheer a girl up.” You thank the waitress when she brings your coffee. Zoro shrugs and blows on his. 

“I’m not trying to cheer you up. I’m just stating the truth.” He points at your coffee. “It’s hot, don’t drink it yet.”

Every time he does something to keep you safe, your chest constricts, and your heart pounds harder. He’s not even doing it on purpose, so he must be this careful and protective with everyone. You shouldn’t be feeling special at all. 

Being distracted by your thoughts, you ignore his advice and take a sip, wincing immediately from burning your tongue.

“What did I tell you, Trouble? Will you ever listen to me?”

“Maybe if you stop being mean.” You mumble between your teeth, not believing your words because he’s not being mean. He’s just being Zoro. Straightforward, no-nonsense Zoro. Like he always was. 

Conversation flows easily between the two of you after that. There’s a long moment where you both reminisce about your childhood and the silly things you and your friends did as dumb teenagers. Then you ask Zoro about life as a cop and what the worst dangers he has to face in a small-time town like the one you live in are. After that, he asks you about life in the big city and what you studied, and the smile you had plastered on your face for the last hour suddenly falls as you’re reminded of your ex and how he broke your heart. 

“What’s wrong?” Then it must have dawned on him because he grimaces and adjusts his form in his seat. “Shit, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it. It’s just…” You shake your head. “It was still a four-year relationship. Though anyone could see the end coming, I just didn’t expect to be cheated on.”

You sip the rest of your coffee while Zoro stares at you. “His loss.”

“What?”

“His loss. If he couldn’t see the wonderful person you are, he’s the one who came out of the deal losing.”

You try to read whatever is in Zoro’s eye, but you can’t. He just seems very serious, so you have to assume that he is being serious. 

“We started out pretty strong, in college. But then, when we graduated and he took over a lot of his family’s business - not all of it legal, for sure - he became distant and cold.” Zoro’s brow rises as he listens to what you have to say. “Everywhere we went, he brought bodyguards with him. It became frightening to go out, I was always expecting conflict to arise.”

You set the coffee mug aside and start to fidget with the napkin again. 

“There were nights when, even though we went out together, he had so much to do that I spent more time talking to his bodyguard than to him. It hurt a bit to separate because it wasn’t on amicable terms, but it wasn’t devastating.” 

You shrug, and the napkin flies out of your hands with the gesture. You mumble a curse and bend down to pick it up, not taking into account the corner of the table when you get up, so you bump your head into–...

Zoro’s hand?

“Ouch!” You still rub your head, but when you lift your body, you see Zoro’s outstretched arm with his hand wrapped tightly around the corner of the table, a look of disbelief in his eyes. “Uh… thanks?”

He shakes his head and removes his hand silently. “Trouble magnet… you’re a hazard.” He sighs and finishes his coffee. “I’m sorry for what happened. It sucks.” He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else, but then closes it.

“What were you going to say?”

“I’m being selfish. Forget it.”

“Zoro!” You press. He always says what’s on his mind, so why not now?

“I’m glad he cheated on you, there, I said it.” You blush and narrow your eyes at him, so he explains. “If he hadn’t, you might still be living in the city, and we wouldn’t be sharing memories over coffee right now.” He takes out some berries from his pocket to pay for the coffees and gets up. “Shall we?”

It’s clear he wants to end the conversation, so you nod and get up, both leaving the place in complete silence. It takes you another minute before you gather your voice. “I’m secretly glad too… even though it made me feel useless and unwanted for a while. I’m happy to be back.”

“You’re not useless.” He says as he pushes you aside before you bump into a street pole. “You’re trouble, that’s what you are.” He quips with a smirk, and you can’t help but chuckle back at him. 

The banter continues until you both reach your car, the sun starting to set on the horizon already. You open the car door but linger outside for another minute, Zoro’s company making you feel warm and happy.

Though you can’t shake a weird feeling, a prickling in your neck and  a slight shiver down your spine, since you left the coffee house. 

“See you around, Trouble.”

“Bye, Zoro. Thank you for the wonderful afternoon.” You get inside and close the door, leaving the window rolled down so you can wave at Zoro. He taps the hood of the car twice before shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.

“Drive safely, please.” He says with exasperation. 

“I don’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep.”

He groans, and you chuckle. 

“Bye, Zoro!”

“Bye, Troublemaker.”

And as you check the rearview mirror for the dwindling figure of Zoro, you can't stop warmth from spreading in your chest. Today felt light and easy. And you have a certain green-haired friend to thank for that.

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks

|Chapter 2|

[pearlessance]

Forgive Me, Father - Idle Threats [viii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel hears your confession and breaks all ten commandments in the house of the holy.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot, mention of sexual assault, murder, canon typical violence, renouncing of god, desecration of a church, blood, brief daddy kink

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The following days are easier than any other you’ve had since leaving Jackson. It takes two days, but Joel hears your laugh again and feels himself release a heavy weight at the sound. Once, when the two of you are switching watch shifts, you sleepily mutter his name. And he goes to you like he always will—and you whisper an almost incoherent confession of your affection. “I love you, too,” you say, and he tries not to think about the way it makes him feel like a boy your age, hearing those words for the first time. 

You move slower, and it’s not because of the extra weight strapped to your horses. Joel doesn’t say it, but he knows it’s because you’re afraid of returning to Jackson. Afraid of things going back to the way they were before this run.

In truth, Joel worries about it too. Worries about finding a new routine, worries about Maria and Tommy and Ellie, worries about what they’ll say. It won’t make him change his mind, he knows. Nothing would ever make him regret this selfish decision to keep you. But sometimes, in a too-long moment of silence, anxiety builds in his chest when he thinks of it. 

But you still have several days before you return, and Joel intends to soak up this sweet, delicate time with you while he still can.

A little over halfway back to Jackson, you stop before the sun sets and make camp in an old, abandoned church. The very same one advertised on the billboard Joel had seen on the way to Casper.

Some of the pews are turned over while others have been broken apart and likely set ablaze in the pile of ashes in the center of the floor. There are no infected, but there’s a stone statue of Mary that looms ominously in the corner, covered in dust and cracked along its painted surface.

Joel feels uncomfortable here. Feels watched, judged. His skin crawls and he thinks about pushing on until you find some other place to rest.

The altar table has been left untouched, decorated with a yellowed, satin ribbon draped along its center. The bible lying on top is flipped open to a passage Joel knows well.

Corinthians 10:13 

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.

It’s bookmarked not with a scrap of paper but with a silver necklace tucked in its spine. A dainty thing with a cross dangling from the end of it. Joel picks it up, watches it sway between his calloused fingers. 

And when he turns to face you, you’re standing in the middle of the center aisle and the setting sunlight casts a shadow across your face, making you look like some angelic being sent to him by God himself. “Did you ever come to one of these before the world ended?”

Joel nods, takes the necklace in his hands and finds his way back to you. “Quite a bit when I was a kid,” he answers. “My mom was pretty religious. We went to every Sunday service and sometimes the ones on Wednesdays, too. Even sent Tommy and I to the church's after-school program for young kids.”

He holds the necklace out to show you, and a shiver runs down his spine when you trace the cross in his palm, your touch electrifying. It’s just the smallest brush of your index finger, but it makes the air get caught in his lungs. “Pretty,” you say wistfully. “Do you believe in God?”

Joel jerks his chin in a silent demand and you obey wordlessly, turning away from him. He unclasps the necklace as you hold your hair out of the way. “I did,” he answers slowly, wrapping the silver chain carefully around your throat. “And then I didn’t.”

“And now?” 

He secures it and runs his knuckles down the nape of your neck. No would be the closest thing to the truth, but it’s not quite it. Joel thinks about lying to save himself the shame but rejects the thought as soon as it comes. “I believe in you,” he says quietly.

Somehow this confession feels heavier than his declaration of love. Perhaps it’s because this is the thing he’s struggled with, this strange worship of Judas. You’ve come to him in pieces, a shell of a girl, a betrayer—and yet it’s your altar he crawls to. It’s you who holds the keys to heaven, who controls both his grace and his damnation.

Joel leans forward and presses his lips to your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He can feel your breath falter, and so he does it again. This time a kiss to your shoulder, right above the collar of your sweater. 

His hands have a mind of their own as they find your waist. Joel knows this is wrong, knows how sinful it is, and yet he knows the only way to endure the taste of the forbidden fruit is to bite into it, to devour it, to consume it for as long as he’s able. He has spent so much of his life fighting, resisting, repenting—but maybe it’s time God asks for his forgiveness.

Your skin is smooth beneath his calloused palms. He slides them beneath your shirt, over your hips, up your torso. He pulls at the soft garment, and you lift your arms for him to make it easier as he pulls it off and discards it in the nearest pew.

And then his hands are on you again—this time tracing the edge of your jeans, pinky finger dipping slowly beneath the band around your waist, teasing. You’re panting now, chest rising and falling in quick succession. You say his name a little like a prayer and it brings a smile to his face. 

“Shh,” he says. “Patience is a virtue, little girl.” But he wants you, perhaps even more than you want to be touched, so his left hand finds the button of your jeans and undoes it. 

He moves slowly, and you stand completely still as Joel peels the too-tight jeans down your legs. You kick your boots off, and soon you’re standing in the middle of this crumbling church in nothing but a pair of baby pink panties and a white lace bralette, looking every bit the divine goddess he doesn’t deserve. 

When you turn to face him, there’s a playful glint in your eye. “Let me try it,” you say. “One question, though. Is it forgive me, father? Or is it forgive me, Daddy?”

Two things happen inside him at once. 

First, the crudeness of your words baffles him so completely that he laughs. Full-on laughs for the first time in twenty years. The vulgarity of it in a place of worship is somehow both amusing and horrifying. 

Second, all the blood in his head rushes south. Because the word daddy in your mouth is the most erotic thing he’s ever heard, the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard, and Joel knows right away that he will never have the strength to process why such a thing makes him so goddamn hard. Doesn’t even attempt it. 

He simply enjoys it instead. Allows it to drown him, consume him wholly. Accepts what is and what isn’t. Accepts that he is the most deplorable man that’s ever existed and it’s why he’ll never deserve you but it’s also why it’ll never matter. Because now…you belong to the most deplorable man. 

The devil and his pretty, perfect Judas.

And then you lower yourself to your knees in front of him and Joel struggles to keep his weary heart from bursting from his chest. 

His attempts at composure are blown to pieces when you press your hands together and look up at him through your lashes. With all humor bled from the moment, overtaken by a sudden hunger, you say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” and something evil stirs inside him.

Something more than sinful. Something ungodly. Something blasphemous. 

That cross is draped beautifully between your breasts, cleavage elevated by the angle of your arms.

Joel reaches out with both hands and runs them through your hair affectionately. “You look so pretty on your knees,” he says. “You got somethin’ to confess?”

You nod and a smirk graces your face. “I’ve been having wicked thoughts,” you say, voice taking on an innocent and girlish tone. “And…I’ve been giving into temptation, Father.”

“S’that right?” Joel licks his lips. His cock throbs in his jeans, desperate for your touch in a way it’s never been before.

He watches, transfixed, as you take your bottom lip between your teeth, taking your hands from the position of prayer and instead running them up his strong thighs. You slide them beneath his flannel, soft hands cool against his heated skin. “I’ve been letting a man touch me.” You’re whispering, but he feels each syllable down to his bones. “An older man,” you continue, pulling at his belt. 

Joel finds you mesmerizing. Thinks you’ve ruined him. Completely, utterly decimated the man he used to be. “Touch you how?”

You don’t take your eyes off his as his belt clinks against the button of his jeans. “I’ve let him inside me, Father,” you say, pulling down his zipper at a torturous pace. “I’ve let him in my mouth, in my heart, in between my thighs.” 

He never thought it possible, but his need for you grows teeth, morphs into some vicious, ravenous thing. Joel brushes his fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at the roots. “And what do you think you should do as repentance, sweetheart?”

Joel’s reminded of a siren’s song when you answer, “I think I should show a little extra devotion. Don’t you?” You pull his cock from his jeans, and the simple touch of your hand has him nearly shaking in anticipation. You break character for only long enough to giggle softly, wipe the back of your hand over your glossy lips, and say, “My mouth is watering.”

He smooths your hair back away from your face, admiring the way you look on your knees for him, just as desperate as he is. “Go’head, baby,” he says.

You don’t waste any time. You’re slow in your pursuit; tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his cock. Savoring, worshiping, devoting yourself to him and him only. You swirl your tongue around the head, licking up drops of precum.

When you finally take him into your mouth, you don’t stop until you’ve swallowed him whole, choking on it, nose pressed to the tuft of hair below his navel. It’s the most glorious thing Joel’s ever seen in all his life. And then you moan, and he can feel the vibrations of it down to his toes. 

You pull your head back far enough, and your mouth leaves him completely, connected by nothing but strands of saliva. Your lips are already bruised and swollen, but they pull into the prettiest, proudest smile he’s ever seen, and Joel’s weak in the knees. 

“Filthy little girl,” he says affectionately, hands still running through the silky strands of your hair. “Y’like that? Hm? You like that mouth filled up, don’t you?”

“Mmhm.” There’s so much love, so much worship in your eyes that he feels his chest pull tight. You take his cock in your mouth again, tongue sliding along the underside of it, cheeks hollowed out to take him in deeper.

Joel feels your devotion with each soft lick, each swallow at the back of your throat, each ragged, choked breath. He knows he won’t last long. Your mouth is too hot, too wet, too sweet. And when you pick up the pace, bobbing your head, fingernails leaving indentations in the exposed skin of his thighs, pressure builds at the base of his spine like a fucking noose. “There you go,” he encourages. “Doin’ so fuckin’ good, baby. Shit —just like that.”

Your cheeks are flushed, and Joel’s once gentle hands pull tight in your hair, guiding your mouth down onto him. It only makes those delicious moans around his cock that much sweeter. Your thighs are clamped tightly together, and he barrels towards euphoria as he thinks about just how wet he knows you are, his dirty little girl.

“Fuck, baby—fuck. Hold on, hold on.” He pulls your head back, cock slick and glossy, covered in your spit. He’s going to finish just like this if he’s not careful. “Gonna be over too soon if you keep that up.”

“Please, Joel,” you say. “I want to taste it. It’s all I want. Let me make you feel good.”

Joel thinks Michaelangelo never would’ve sculpted David, had his existence overlapped with yours. Because in all the time of the universe, a sight has never lived as beautiful as the one of you begging on your knees before him.

What kind of man would he be if he refused? Joel wants to give you everything you could ever ask for. Wants to give you the world at whatever cost to his soul.

So, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your bruised lips around his cock again. You feel like heaven, or as close to it as he’ll ever be allowed.

He comes at the back of your throat with a groan and trembling hands in your hair. Hands that are all too aware that they hold something holy, something divine. “ Goddamn —fuck. Mm, yeah. There you go, baby. There you go.”

His cock throbs in your mouth, and you don’t stop sucking until he’s completely spent. And when you do finally lean back and stick out your tongue, he’s nearly hard again at the obscene way his come drips down your lips, down your chin. 

Then you swallow, and Joel grins and rests his palm gently on your cheek. He uses the rough pad of his thumb to push the last few drops back into your mouth, and you suck it down greedily. “Gotta take it all, little girl. Make me proud, hm?”

And as soon as you’re satisfied, Joel’s pulling you back to your feet and pressing his mouth to yours in a ravenous kiss. He can taste remnants of himself on you, and it’s the most comforting sensation he’s ever experienced. It’s proof of your union, evidence of your devotion. A physical, tangible way to convince him he’s not alone in his sacrilege.

Joel lifts you off your feet, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He carries you to the altar table, lays you down, and pushes your knees apart. Normally, he likes to take his time with you. Likes to savor the way you taste, the way you feel. But he’s so hungry for you and you only that he cannot— cannot wait another fucking second.

But then you say his name and his every intention freezes. “You don’t have to,” you say, and it confuses him. You attempt an explanation. “I don’t want you to feel like you always have to make me finish, too. I just…I didn’t do it expecting anything in return. I want you to know that.”

You sound so sincere, so… benevolent. A far cry from the bratty little girl he first met. He presses a kiss to your temple and says quietly, “I’d never let my little girl go without. Not the kinda man I am, baby.”

He might be too old to go rounds with you, but he knows how to make you feel good. He’s real good at it, in fact.

Joel leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your clit, right over your panties. He delights in the way it makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds you make when he pulls the fabric to the side and slides his tongue through your wet warmth. 

He presses your legs back, opens you further, and laps at your pussy like a man starved for you because he is. You taste like redemption, like home.

Your hands weave into his hair, tugging lightly, and Joel moans when you press his face against your pussy like he just can’t get close enough. He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks hard, tongue rolling over it softly. 

“Fuck, that feels so good, Joel— God —”

A groan escapes him, lips vibrating with the sound of it. His cock begins to harden again, hanging heavy between his legs. He’s insatiable for you; returned to the needy, desperate stage of his masculinity he once thought he’d grown out of.

Joel quickens the movement of his tongue and slips a finger inside of you. Your back arches off the altar table and your hips grind against his face, smearing your slick down his chin, over his lips.

He hooks his finger inside of you and strokes the spot that makes you writhe. You look so beautiful he thinks you must be some divine being. It’s the only thing that makes sense in his head. 

Your legs begin to tremble around his shoulders and that’s when he decides to pull away. Because he wants you to cum for him, wants to be the reason you shiver and shake—but he wants to feel it. 

In one smooth movement, he pulls you to the edge of the altar table and sinks his cock into you deep.

“Oh my God,” you whimper. “Fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—!”

“Wait,” he says, stilling the instinctual rocking of his hips. You’re so tight, so smooth and wet as your pussy flutters around his cock. He pushes into you to the hilt but doesn’t move, doesn’t give you the satisfaction. He moves his hands to your lower belly, applying just a little bit of pressure. He can feel himself inside you, can feel just how full of him you are. “Want you to cum with me, little girl,” he says. “Can you do that for me? Hm?”

Slowly, experimentally, he shifts his hips the smallest bit, thrusting into you and laughing maliciously at the way you squeeze your eyes shut and whine for more. “I can—can try,” you stammer. “But it feels so —”

“Shh, I know baby,” he says, thrusting into you again, a little harder this time. It feels euphoric, indulging himself in you in a place of worship. He can feel faith in the air like magic, faith in you, in himself, in the love you share.

He moves again, fucking you slow and deep. If it weren’t for the way you make him feel, he thinks he might last a little longer. But the taste of ambrosia lingers on his tongue and he can see the pulsing of your clit and feel the tension in your muscles created from holding yourself back from the edge of pleasure.

Pride swells in his chest. His perfect girl, doing everything he asks, doing anything to please him. It makes him feel holy, like maybe the only godly presence in the room is him.

This is what you’ve done to him. You’ve taken this shell of a man and turned him seraphic, turned him sacred through your worship. Emotion builds in his throat when he thinks of it, when he realizes just how lucky he is to exist in this same universe as you, in the same lifetime. 

He kisses you deep and fucks you even deeper.

“Joel,” you pant, fingernails digging into the side of the altar table. The aged satin cloth has been wrinkled beneath your weight, hanging slightly askew off the edge. “Please, please, I can’t—!”

Warmth pools low in his belly. You sound so pretty when you beg. He presses one hand harder against your abdomen and uses the other to circle your clit. He can feel his cock move beneath his palm with each thrust and the sensation is the filthiest thing he’s ever experienced.

The pressure builds and builds and builds, and then finally —

“Go ‘head, baby. Cum for me,” he says, thrusting a little faster, rhythm faltering as rapture fills him like sunlight. Your legs tremble around his hips and your moans echo in the church as you find faith, too.

“I love you,” you say, and it feels like redemption. Like the opening of heaven’s gates. 

Like forgiveness.

You come down slowly, and Joel’s completely spent with almost no energy left. Yet still he helps you dress, pulls your sweater back on, and buttons up those too-tight jeans.

You eat together, rationing what little food you have left to try and stretch these precious days out a little longer. You admit around a bite of hard bread that you’re exhausted from the day’s ride and he is, too. And so you work together to stack the pews in front of the church’s double doors, sealing yourself inside but more importantly keeping anything outside from getting in.

There’s a window at the back of the church in a room Joel knows was once used for confessional. He leaves it cracked just enough to hear the horses outside if a commotion is caused. And then he holds you in his arms and sleeps. 

It’s the best sleep Joel’s gotten in twenty-five years, the sound of your voice echoing even in his dreams. 

But halfway through the night, the sound of whinnying and rambunctious laughter can be heard, jarring you both awake. 

You’re out of his arms and at the back of the church before Joel’s finished blinking his eyes open. 

He stands to his feet, heart racing behind his ribcage. 

Men’s voices, but far away. Several of them. 

He watches you move quickly through the church to the window at the front, watches you carefully peak through the dirty glass pane. 

Joel saddles up behind you and has never been more thankful that you skipped the warmth of a fire. Because fifteen yards away, there’s a group of men passing through. Some on horses, others walking casually beside them. They’re not subtle about their presence. 

Maybe they don’t think anyone’s around. And on any normal day, they would be right. Except this day, Joel’s here. You’re here.

He picks up his rifle from the makeshift bed the two of you created hours ago. 

You don’t move. You stay focused, transfixed as if you’re trying to see the minute details of their faces from this far away. You wipe the glass with the ivory sleeve of your sweater and it comes away grimy, covered in dust.

Joel knows there’s something you’re not telling him. Can feel the tension, electric and tight in the air, skin crawling with it. Your eyes are narrowed, focused on the sound of rambunctious laughter coming from the small group of men. 

And then your spine straightens and all concern bleeds from your face, replaced in an instant with rage. Red, murderous rage. Joel thinks he’s only seen that sort of frenzy in his own reflection. Now it stares back at him, mirrored and bloodthirsty. “What is it?”

You don’t answer. The scrape of your knife against its sheath at your thigh strikes a terror in him he hasn’t felt in years. His stomach turns uncomfortably because Joel knows, he knows something isn’t right. Something is going to go wrong. He can feel it in his marrow. 

“Stop,” he says. “Talk to me.”

It’s like his words don’t even register. You say nothing as you pull at the pews stacked in front of the doors. They scrape noisily against the hardwood floor, and Joel tries to find something to stop you, to get through to you—but that knife is still clutched in your blanched fist and he knows in your rage you’ll swing at him all the same.

“There are eight of them and two of us,” he tries to reason. “We have no ammunition, no bullets, no arrows. We have to let them—”

“Go?” You turn your frenzied eyes on him. “What’s now eight used to be twenty,” you say. “I won’t let them get away this time.”

“Then we plan for it,” he says, holding out a hand and taking a tentative step toward you. It doesn’t matter to him what your reasoning may be. Joel knows that sort of wrath, knows he’ll never change your mind. And he knows following you down this path of slaughter is bound to bloody his hands further, to taint his soul this time beyond repair. 

But he made a promise to you. Nothing in this world will you ever face alone. 

The problem is that Joel knows neither of you will make it out alive. Not in this. You got lucky back in Casper, and he’s got the knowledge and experience with age to know you won’t get lucky twice.

He can’t let you do this. 

“They won’t get far, okay? Not in an area like this. We go home— tomorrow. We ride to Jackson and we’ll get there in a day if we don't stop. And then we’ll come back for them, alright? We’ll stock up and track them down. I swear to you—”

“You don’t know,” you say, voice shaking. “You don’t know what they did—!”

“So tell me. Tell me everything. Give me the knife.” He reaches for it slowly, carefully. You eye him like he might grow claws and an extra head if you look away for an instant.

You don’t trust him, Joel realizes. Not at this moment, not with this. “Joel,” you say in warning. “Don’t.”

He wonders what’s led you here. Wonders about who’s distrusting hands you once placed your justice in. 

The answer comes to him the moment the question crosses his mind. 

“I’m not like her,” he says. “Look at me, baby girl. Look at me .”

You do. And though that frenzied look lingers in your eyes, something in you softens and he’s grateful for it.

“I’m not Maria. You understand me? When I make you a promise, I mean it. I will kill them. All of them. But we have to be smart about this. We have to do it right. Yeah?” He reaches out again. “Give me the knife.”

You angle it higher, just out of his reach. For a second Joel thinks all progress has been lost because he moved too quickly, too carelessly. But then you say, “Swear it to me. Swear on her life that you won't make me let them go.”

On her life. 

Not her death, but her life. A promise of certainty. An unbreakable oath. Because if he fails, if he shatters this trust, Sarah’s life means nothing.

Joel’s lungs ache. Everything hurts and his skin feels like it’s on fire because no one has ever seen him like this. No one has known exactly what to say, exactly which bruises to press. 

He nods slowly. “Okay,” he relents. “I swear on her life that we will find them.”

Carefully, you hand him the blade, and as if giving it away had flipped a switch, you deflate.

Joel slides your knife into the side of his boot when you turn away from him and go back to the window. 

He stands beside you, a looming presence at your back. Even though he wants answers, he doesn’t want to pry them out of you. And your silence allows him the space for his mind to wander into unspeakable places. Joel has seen firsthand the depraved, vile things that mankind spirals into beneath the weight of survival. 

For a time, even he had sunk so incredibly low. 

And because he’s seen so much, his brain is filled with gut-wrenching images, theoretical scenes of torture, corruption, and perversion. Each one is more brutal than the last. And in them all, you’re the center of it. 

You watch the group of men through the window until the blue illumination of their flashlights disappears from view. And the moment they do, you’re slipping through the window in the back of the church. 

Joel follows you, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. But he stays silent and does nothing but help you gather debris fallen from the trees in the wooded area behind the church. 

Once, he picks up a curved stick, and as if you’d seen it from the back of your head, you say, “No. Not that one. If they’re too curved, the arrows won’t shoot straight.”

 The two of you gather timber for over an hour. And when his hands are just as full as yours, you return to the church. Joel returns your knife and you attempt to teach him how to shave the stick correctly and to whittle the point of it into a weapon. 

He’s not even half as fast as you are. For every arrow he creates, you produce three. It’s a slow, tedious process, but eventually, you begin to speak. 

“It happened on the last run I did for Maria,” you say, eyes focused on the knife and wood in your hands. “I fell asleep one night. It’d been days since I’d given myself a chance to rest and it had finally caught up to me. I’d barricaded myself in a house and might as well have been dead to the world. Two of them found me. Didn’t wake me, didn’t try to kill me or anything. They just took my bow and my pack. My pack that was mostly empty, had nothing in it but a twelve gauge with two bullets, some cans of food, water, and those stale fucking barbecue chips.”

You shake your head dismally. 

“Should’ve fuckin left it. But I…I was afraid. If I came back to Jackson without the one thing she asked for, what use was I? What kept me there?”

It pains him to hear you say it. He wants to tell you you’re wrong, that despite what Maria has made you believe, your worth is not tied to what you can do for her. But he doesn’t. Joel just lets you talk. 

“I tracked them to a warehouse a few miles outside of Boise. Watched them for a while, memorized all the entrances, the windows. Even memorized their faces. They had two people on watch in rotating shifts. I didn’t want to kill them, considering they didn’t try to kill me. But I wanted my pack, and so I waited until four of them were talking during a shift change and slipped inside through the back.”

Your eyes darken, and Joel fears what you may say next.

“Didn’t go as planned. One of them saw me. Outed me immediately, of course. And I thought they’d kill me. Shoot me or something. But that didn’t go as planned, either. The leader was called Gabriel.”

Your hands around the arrow still and your eyes grow misty. You’re reliving it, as clearly as if it were happening now.

“He, uhm…held me down. Suggested the rest of them take turns with me.” 

Joel feels something inside him shift. Feels a decision being made, feels murder begin to drip down his fingertips like water.

“They’d already had my shotgun and took the pistol I had tucked in the back of my jeans the second they ripped them off. I thought…I thought it was the end for me. Because even if I survived it, even if I made it through all twenty of them…I might as well have been dead anyway.”

He understands now, Joel realizes. Understands why you were so infuriated about a run for a pregnancy craving when the price was this. His mouth runs dry.

Your words echo in the dark church. “Had my knife tucked up the sleeve of my jacket, though.” A small smile graces your face as you turn the blade over in your fingers admiringly. “Was able to stop Gabriel before he got any further. They were…stupid. Arrogant. Came at me one by one because why would you need more than that to fight a little girl with nothing but a knife ?”

Now there are only eight of them. The main perpetrator perished, his blood stained so deeply into your jacket that when you’d returned to Jackson they’d had to burn it. No salvaging anything from your destruction. 

Nothing but this vengeance, this promise to yourself to right those who wronged you.  He forced you to break it for your own safety. And though a surge of regret and sorrow trickles into his psyche, he knows there’s still an unbroken vow remaining. 

The promise Joel made to you. 

“Some of them ran. I tried to track them but after a few days, I just…I needed sleep. I wanted to go home.” You go black to fletching your arrow, whittling the end into a sharp point. “I’ll find them one day. Then it’ll be me taking turns with them .”

You don’t say much else for the next two hours. And he doesn’t, either. He helps you sharpen the timber into arrows and when you yawn three times in less than five minutes, he gives you his flannel and lets you lay your head in his lap. 

Joel smooths the tangles in your hair as you sleep. And when you begin to softly snore, he carefully shifts your head onto your sleeping bag and tucks the strap of his rifle beneath your arm.

When he slips out of the window in the back of the church, he latches it shut.  He decides against taking a horse, worried it’d create too much commotion. 

But he does take your serrated sawback knife, telling himself it’s poetic justice. 

They’re only two miles away, stashed in a rundown grocery store that’s been picked over one too many times. Two men sit outside the door. Old habits die hard, Joel thinks. 

One has his head tilted back against the stone wall, sleeping with an ease he doesn’t deserve.

Joel takes out the other one first. And he does it quicker than he’d like. He creeps up behind him silently, wraps one hand around his throat, and uses the other to cover his mouth. The snap of his spine reverberates through Joel’s hands, tingling from his palms down to his elbows. 

The other wakes with the commotion but doesn’t even have the chance to scream before your knife is lodged in his neck so deep the sharp point sticks out of the other end. 

Inside, the other six all rest as well. Joel wonders how they can do so peacefully, knowing they’ve given an innocent little girl fuel for her nightmares. A girl who’s lost enough, who’s sacrificed enough, more than anyone should—only to lose a piece of herself at their greedy hands.

He makes quick work of them. Even delights in the way life leaves their eyes. One by one, Joel uses your knife to slit each and every one of their throats. 

By the time he’s finished, his hands are caked in blood, splatters staining the sleeves of his heavy, canvas coat, and all that’s left of the men who hurt you are eight corpses.

You’re still sleeping when he slips back through the window of the church. It’s a little ironic, he thinks, to return here to this holy place with an angel inside, all while covered in the stink of death.

Joel sits beside you, back pressed against a pew. His hands rest on his knees, blood still drying beneath his fingernails. He watches you sleep and thinks his damnation is worth it if this brings you a sense of safety. 

Though he tries not to, Joel thinks an awful lot about Sarah. Thinks about how he failed her, how just a little more brutality could have saved her.

He’s spent years regretting that night, regretting holding on to the shred of humanity he had left when he should have been holding onto her. He makes a promise not to repeat the same bad habits. Makes a promise he’ll never let his naive desire for respite get in the way of his need to protect you, to keep you safe. He’s breaking the habit, the same as he did with Ellie, because Joel doesn’t think he'll ever survive a loss of such magnitude again.

It doesn’t matter what he has to become to keep you safe. Doesn’t matter the cost to his soul.

Your face looks peaceful but your fists are coiled tight beneath your head. As if even in your sleep you’re fighting something, always on the defense. He wonders if it’s a trait you inherited before or after those men, before or after your sister's death, before or after the accusatory way the inhabitants of Jackson look at you.

Joel feels something heavy rise up in him. Something akin to sorrow or grief. This deep, pensive heartache because it’s just not fair. You’re so young, so innocent, dealing with the same demons he still fights and sometimes loses to at age fifty-two. 

He doesn’t want this for you. Doesn’t want you to become volatile, murderous, monstrous in the ways he has. Joel spent so much time pushing you away and he thinks maybe it’s because there’s so much of his anger mirrored in you. That staring it in the face felt too harrowing, too raw. 

The longer he thinks about it the more pieces slot together in his brain. Your cruel words hurled at anyone who sets you on edge. Your inability to follow any direction that isn’t forced. The self-isolation, the distrust in even those you love most. That animalistic fight in you, flight and freeze be damned. The need to protect others before yourself—Joel, Ellie, Miley, even Maria.

You don’t deserve to live like this. Don't deserve eternal damnation or to experience the wrath of God for the monstrous things you result to when you feel all else is lost. Violence is the only thing that has never turned its back on you.

Joel’s melancholy manifests, a single tear sliding down his cheek. You’re just a little girl and it's not fucking fair. 

He doesn’t want this for you. He wants you to live a full, happy, peaceful life. Not one spent out here chasing ghosts, trying to find your worth in providing for others. He wants you to be protected, to know you’re loved even when you lash out, wants you to know that he understands. Joel wants to be that for you. Wants to be the unwavering support you deserve, wants to be the thing that pulls you back from that ledge you’re dancing upon. Joel wants to be for you what he needed in the darkest part of his rage.

But to do that, you’re going to have to relinquish a little more of that control you hold so tightly.

When you wake, it’s gradual. You don’t startle or flinch at the blood on his hands. But your eyes linger there on the red stain for some time before you ask, “All of them?”

Joel nods once. “All of them.” 

And then you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him, pressing your mouth to his, thanking him in the only way you know how. Your tongue tastes like sleep and ambrosia and sunlight, but when Joel cradles your face in his hands he leaves blood in the wake of his fingertips. The bright red is a stark contrast against the smoothness of your skin, the violence an antithesis to your innocence.

He slides his bloody hands into your hair when your hips begin to move. His cock hardens quickly as his body catches up with your intent, always needy and eager, always just waiting to join you in more than just soul.

While he unbuttons his jeans and slides his zipper down to pull his erection out, your mouth never leaves his. Even when you shove those too-tight jeans down your thighs just enough to make room for him. When you lift up on your knees and sink down onto his cock in one familiarized movement he can feel the vibration of your moan against his tongue, can feel the breath of air from your gasp as he settles in deep.

The stretch is blissfully painful, stinging in all the right ways. You rock your hips slowly at first, adjusting to the sheer size of him, adjusting to his all-encompassing warmth. Your fingers dig into his thick shoulders, desperate to keep your balance.

And then you lift just enough to come slamming back down, the friction setting his skin ablaze. Again, again, again —it’s hurried and needy and depraved. Your hips move fervently over his, seeking out what you know only he can provide.

Your eyes are squeezed shut when you pull your sweet mouth away from his. Joel watches you lean back and place your hands on his thighs for support, back arching, and somehow he finds himself even deeper inside you. You’re moaning and his breath is coming fast and he thinks you look more than just angelic from this angle. He watches you ride his cock and wonders if you were fucking made to do this. 

Cheeks flushed, lips parted, his name on your lips. Is this what Eve saw in the waxy reflection of the forbidden fruit? Is this what she saw when she knowingly abandoned paradise? 

Joel thinks it can’t get much better than this. Thinks the only thing that’s ever come close is the feeling of blood on his hands in the name of those he loves, in the name of you.

He wraps his hand around your throat, staining you even further red, and says, “I’d do anything for you. Anything .” 

He thinks about the Ten Commandments, about how he can cross off every single one of them with just this act alone. 

You shall have no other Gods before me. 

No divine being has made him feel like this. No divinity has ever reached up through his ribs and squeezed a fist around his heart. Not like you have. 

You shall make no idols. 

He thinks about the way you look in his canvas coat. Joel has found his own form of peace through you, has found forgiveness beneath your tongue. 

You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. 

Your pace quickens. The obscene, wet sounds coming from the place you’re joined echo in the walls of the church. “Oh my God, Joel, I’m—I’m close.”

He knows you are. Can feel it in the way your pussy squeezes him like a vise, in the way your rhythm becomes sloppy and desperate.

Keep the Sabbath day holy. 

Joel doesn’t know what day it is. But he knows he wishes he could stay here in this home you’ve made together within the bones of an old religion, wishes he could stay inside you. He doesn’t know if there’s anything more unholy than this insatiable desire.

Honor your father and mother.

He thinks about that day in the dining hall when embarrassment climbed Maria’s cheeks as you screamed in her face. Joel thinks she deserved it more than he realized that day. He thinks about the way you spoke to him in that watchtower, thinks about the way he’d had to drag you there by your hair, all while listening to every disrespectful thing that came out of your mouth and how a few short weeks later you got down on your knees and called him daddy. 

You shall not murder. 

He takes the hand wrapped around your throat and flattens it against your sternum. The blood is drying but still marks your skin in the shape of his fingerprints.

You shall not commit adultery.

Joel knows he’s supposed to be with a lovely, soft-spoken, age-appropriate woman but knows, too, that death would be kinder than the loss of you. 

You shall not steal. 

He was angry at first, about the strawberry scone. Mike’s wife is a kind woman who spends her time baking for the community. But Ellie likely never would’ve had the opportunity to try it had you not nicked the pastry. If it was always going to lead the two of you here, together, Joel would have stolen every last scone on God’s green earth. 

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. 

Lying seems a small price to pay for you, for your safety. He remembers telling Greg and Bonnie that you were running late the night you left him in the watchtower alone. He wanted to keep you safe then even without noticing that’s what he was doing. Safe from ridicule, from judgment. 

You shall not covet. 

He recalls seeing Abel’s hands on you, seeing his lips against your hair in a chaste kiss. Joel had wanted to kill him then, for touching what was his. He knows by taking you for his own, he’s taking you away from someone like Abel. Someone with a little more moral in their heart, a little less blood on their hands. But he doesn’t care because you’re his now and always. 

Joel lifts his hips in tandem with yours, meeting each stroke, thrusting his cock even deeper inside you. Your legs begin to shake around his and Joel thinks damnation isn’t so bad. “Anything,” he repeats. “Lie, cheat, steal.” His hand on your chest slides up again, wrapping tight around your throat. “I’d kill for you, little girl.”

Your pussy flutters around him and your spine bends in the most beautiful arch he’s ever seen. It solidifies his belief in one very important thing, the last nail in the coffin that cements the two of you together eternally.

This filthy, sinful devotion is cosmic. Celestial. Unearthly. So much more than a bible and cross. 

It’s worth it. It’s worth everything. 

“You like that? Hm?” Your rhythm falters but his remains steady. “Like that I’d spill blood for you, s’that it? That’s what got you all wet, sweetheart?” Your moans turn saccharine— sacrilegious. “Pretty pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, baby. Such a messy thing. I’d kill anyone for my little girl. Anyone .”

“Joel, I—!” 

He knows, he knows. Because he is, too. “Yeah, thaaaat’s it,” he says, drawing out each syllable. Your hands squeeze hard around his thighs and your muscles draw tight. “There you go, baby. Cum for me. That’s it. Sweet fuckin’ girl. Gonna fill you up. That what you want?”

You rasp out his name and the words��yes, please, please, and it sounds like a fucking prayer. It’s a hypnotic litany. It makes him feel cherished, adored. And the sound of it spoken in worship in the house of God sends him over the edge. 

Even though your legs tremble around his, you ride his cock relentlessly. Joel’s vision goes white and his hand on your hip squeezes tight enough to bruise. You feel so good, so warm and wet. You lift your hips and slam them back down until the oversensitivity becomes more than he can bear. His hand abandons the home it’s made around your throat and finds the small of your back instead, stilling you completely.

You lean forward, collapsing with your hands pressed against his chest. Joel wraps his arms around your middle and cradles you in his lap, all too aware of the divinity he holds in his hands. He presses a kiss to your temple and listens to your heavy breaths.

Some time passes. He’s not sure how long the two of you sit there with Joel still wedged deep inside you, basking in the afterglow. The sun rises outside and the songbirds of the morning begin to sing. 

Eventually, you lift your head and whisper, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Joel doesn’t understand. He’s stolen something he was undeserving of, only to be loved back. If anyone should be thankful, it should be him. 

It feels like a punch to the gut when you say, “For seeing me.”

Because he now knows no one else ever has. No one has ever seen your defiance as anything but a nuisance, has never seen you as more than a troublemaker, as a bad omen.  

But Joel does see you. He sees right through all that savage fight to the little girl beneath, that soft, childish innocence you keep under heavy guard. He thinks he’s been able to see through it since the first moment he laid eyes on you.

It’s her he wants to protect.

Joel takes your chin in his hand and makes you a commandment of his own. “I will always see you.”

[part seven] [part nine]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @elliesr1fle @pascaltesfaye

let me know if you want to be added! thank you to everyone for all the insane support on this <3

[masterist]

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Can you do Rook, Malleus and Lillia trying to give period pain relief the old fashioned way

Period Pain Relief~The Old-Fashioned Way | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

They realize that pain is a natural predecessor of the period. Now Twisted Wonderland is not devoid of painkillers and magic meant to sooth your laboring body. But would you know that? No. And the ones dangerously tipping on the edge of their sanity would much rather ease the pain themselves. The old fashioned way:

Lilia Vanrouge 

“C’mon love. Let’s do it my way! I’ll make it better I promise.”

While he may not have had a lot of sexual partners he’s already seen so much

Lived for so long

He’s bound to know the perfect spot to rub and the perfect pace to have you reeling

Blood is no obstacle 

He’s a former general! 

Though your blood is the only kind he’s interested in he doesn’t mind it or eating through it

He’s sure it will help those pesky cramps of yours 

No pain killers needed

Or at the very least distract from it

“Is this better my love? To fill your pain with the pleasure I give you? Want to see if it works all throughout the week?”

“L-il-ah~stop talking!”

“Oh yeah! I agree! It’s a great idea! All week let’s not stop!” 

He’s focusing on your pain right now and getting rid of it

Whether your together or not soothing you is his goal

And that’s almost enough to get him off on his own

He doesn’t even think about the true and core cause of your period

“Hm a baby…that would be nice. To be a papa again….what would you say about that Mama?”

“Forget it Lilia! This is a one time thing.”

“Sure sure until next month! And the rest of your life.”

Malleus Draconia

“Soothing your pain is a necessity but the root of the problem still remains!”

“I..don’t follow.”

“Your body burdens you because of your empty womb. Naturally the best way to resolve it is to fill it.”

He doesn’t believe in simply plugging the leak he prefers to drain the lake

Aiming to impregnate you once he gets a hold of your cycle’s schedule

Obliterating Your pain aside he’s binding you with him forever

No mirror or pesky pest that takes your attention away can take his place as your child’s father as his wife

The period is a sugarcoated excuse to do it

He’ll take your refusal and delegation as human-fear

Are you worried he won’t fit 

That you won’t be prepared 

About the future

No worries he’s Malleus Draconia

Your Tsunotarou

He’ll prep you properly, he’ll fund everything, he’ll even put a ring on your finger to make it official

In the end he’s here for you him

“M-Malle~hmm we can’t…it won’t~ah~”

“Shhh hush my child of man! Hng~our child is the true solution to keeping you beside me forever.”

He doesn’t quit care that it will return after the pregnancy but if your smart you’ll know his exact solution

“Then I guess we’ll just have another.”

“What?! I can’t handle that! I can barely handle one!”

“Fear not my treasure! My magic will soothe your pain.”

“You have magic that can do that…?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you use it before!?”

“I wanted a child with you and the period that plagues you would have ceased. This is what you would call a ‘win win situation.’”

Rook Hunt

“Oh mon Dieu! Please my ma beauté ultime! Ma délicatesse magnifique, let me bring you comfort!”

If you relent or are in so much pain you can’t explicitly refuse him he’s giving his aide

Blood is nothing to him

That’s not true 

Its everything to him

he delights in the carnal satisfaction he has when his mouth is drenched in it

Like the predator he aspires to be he stalked you, warded off interested parties, and has finally pounced

Free to indulge in your flavor

The forbidden that only comes once a month

“Mmm parfaite!”

“Rook~Don’t talk just~eek”

“Ah I understand! Smeck~ <3 Forgive my neglect.”

Hours upon hours 

He’ll happily stay between your legs

Sending a second of a glare before he lets up 

You’ll regret interrupting his feast

Studying your biology to know you inside and out

He realizes he could stop your period for 9 months

He plays with the idea

But ultimately decides he has more work to do

Your cage isn’t quite ready yet

“Rook I’m tired and I’m not in pain so can we stop?”

“Non non! This hunter’s got a ways to go before I tire my amour!”

“But I want to sleep!”

“Go ahead! When you awake I’ll be right here with you!”

[hwasoup]

Of Liquor and Speakeasies

🌵|cowboy miguel x reader

| summary: you’re sent off by your family to be engaged to a man for business purposes, what happens when you get kidnapped by an outlaw ?

| content warning: death, neglect, emotional abuse, implied sexual content, kidnapping, historic themes

| word count: 5.0k words

author’s notes: finally the first chapter to this new fic is ouuuttt, i hope you guys enjoy reading this ! Also ty ty to @monarchberrysblog for proofreading and for helping me create the aesthetic of the post and to @bluesidez for being inspo for cowboy migs in general !!

Chapter One

A baby cries in the halls of a mansion, nurses running everywhere as the main head of the household Mr. Suarez holds the hand of his beloved maid very tightly.

“Maritza you can make it” he says softly. The maid, Maritza, weakened from childbirth looked at her lover and whispered “i….i don’t have much time….” She exhales. A nurse comes in with the newborn babe swaddled in a blanket. “Mr. Suarez, sir….it is a baby girl…”

The man, delighted at the news, looks at his lover who is very weak.. “a girl my love. my only girl” Maritza weakly looked at him and said in a whisper, “name the girl y/n…let her have your last name so that she may live comfortably…let a governess raise her instead of your wife…for she will bear hatred for the girl until her dying days…I love you my dear…” She kissed the baby’s head for the first and last time and her eyes closed and her hands slipped away from her lover. Mr. Suarez in fear whined to her “ Maritza, no! My love - please don’t leave me” his voice trembling “you’ll watch her grow, I’ll make sure she’s safe. Just stay with me…” His voice cracks as he holds back a sob, looking down at the newborn “She needs you” Maritza croaks softly as she let out her last breath “ be…happy…”

Mr. Suarez, devastated as he felt her hand weakens hold and slip away, lowers his head to her lifeless hand, the weight of the loss hitting him all at once. He took the child into his hands, cradling the baby closer to his chest, tears pooling in his eyes, feeling the burden of this new responsibility, his only daughter out of four boys. He instructed the doctor to proclaim his lover dead and to hide the birth of his daughter from society and to instead, legally place her birth certificate under his wife’s name. “ I’ll protect you, mija. I promise….I’ll make sure no one ever knows the truth.”

Time flew and the baby was eventually raised by a wet nurse and a nanny until she was old enough to attend schooling. By the age of 5, the baby learned how to properly pronounce her name, y/n Suarez and was brought to a separate room away from the rest of the family to be raised and brought up by a governess. As y/n became older, her father constantly doted on her and visited her constantly and made sure she had her place at the dinner table as well. Of course his wife wasn’t fond of that, so she always made sure that y/n would sit at the end of the table next to her where she would always whisper to the child to remind her that she’s a bastard child and the product of an affair. Her older half brothers, doing the same behind their father’s back due to their jealousy of her receiving the most attention.

However despite that, the governess taught and raised to be a proper lady and to be forgiving while helping her to remain and grow her own personality. By the time y/n was 17, she was able to attend her first social gathering and heard the whispers of gossiping rich women like her, wondering about the possible new law that could be implemented; The banning of liquor and bars. She wondered of course how that could possibly work, but by the time she was 18 the law had passed and liquor was banned.

Her father enraged by the law decided in his business man thinking, to help the people of this country by opening secret bars where liquor will secretly be provided. By the middle of 1920, Mr. Suarez became one of the most wealthiest businessmen in the country by opening secret speakeasies while working under the guise of “owning businesses”

———————————————————————————————————————

Present time: 1923

“Father what do you mean I have to go to California to meet Mr. Prescott” y/n scoffs to her father. Mr. Suarez looked at her and strictly said “Drew Prescott owns the most famous hotels in Los Angeles… I want you to meet him, it would be a profitable marriage if he agrees to the agreement” Y/n groaned as her shoulders sunk. She looked at him but sighed “As you wish…” she says. Y/n walked out of his office and went to a maid to pack her things and book her ticket for the soonest train ride for California. As she walked down the hall to her room she spots her older brother and sighs as he approached her “What now Diego, coming here to belittle me again, to remind me i’m not one of you again ?” Diego chuckles and smirks as he leans his body against the wall. “Oh hermanita, such a sharp tongue, can’t a brother congratulate his little sister’s engagement, so quick to be defensive as well... Can’t a brother wish you luck? After all to be sent like a parcel to Prescott sounds fascinating” Y/N sighed and looked at him “I don’t need your fake concern. If you cared so much, it wouldn’t be what father gains from me”

In that same hall her second older brother, Marco walked by and stopped joining the conversation and laughing “Oh, but it is our gain as well considering the peace we’ll finally have. Mama will finally laugh for once after years.” Y/n bit her lip as her voice tightened in an effort to stay calm “you’ve always been good at making her smile anyways by just keeping quiet and pretending everything is perfect, but there is one thing i know the truth about..”

Diego leaned closer “ Oh? And what is that little sister ?” Y/N leaned in and whispered “That you, Marco, Deluca, and Juan are nothing but shadows. You say that I’m beneath you, pero… you’re more trapped in this house than I ever was. Diego’s smile falters slightly, masking his discomfort. Marco’s face hardens as the two walk away. Leaving her with feelings of disappointment as well as annoyance. However, there was no time to be disappointed as she had to start packing to meet this Prescott man. She packed some of her clothes, some dresses, some shoes, not too many though in order to not overwhelm and stuff her luggage. Drowning in her thoughts she wished desperately that somehow she could be dragged out of this, to be swept off her feet, a sign of some sort. Just about anything that would keep her from going to Los Angeles to meet this man. Y/N groans in frustration and throws herself onto her bed and sighed. She looked up and then spotted her book, a gift her father gave her when she turned 15, an old wild west book about an outlaw who falls in love for a mistreated upperclass woman. Its an old childhood book, and yet the pages were filled of a dream of freedom she longed for. She shook her head and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling of her bedroom.

She was ripped from her thoughts as she heard a knock on her door. Y/N immediately stood up and flattened out any wrinkles on her dress with her hands and cleared her throat while she spoke up “come in!” The door opened and there entered her father’s wife. Mrs. Suarez. Y/n immediately looked down and made sure not to make any eye contact or wrong movements around her. Mrs. Suarez took a turn around her room, her tone saccharine as ever “I see that you’re finally leaving, y/n. Took long enough. I thought I’d have to endure your presence forever” Y/N keeping her eyes down asked “Is there anything I may help you with ma’am ?” The older woman chuckled, circling her slowly “Help? Oh no, you’ve done more than enough. Soon, you’ll be out of the house, and I’ll no longer have to look at the mistake my husband brought home.” Y/N tensed slightly as she spoke softly “ I’m sure that Father only wants what’s best for the family.” Mrs. Suarez laughed bitterly at her words “Family? You’re not family. You’re a stain, an embarrassment. And once you’re married off to that hotel heir, you’ll be someone else’s problem.” She then stepped closer, grabbing y/n’s shoulder harshly, whispering to her “Just remember, no matter where you go, you’ll always be a bastard. And when you’re gone, I’ll make sure that your name is erased from this household.” Y/n flinches bur holds her composure as she spoke softly but firmly “That won’t change who I am” ….The woman smiles at her disgustingly and walked away “oh and by the way, your ship to New Orleans will be tomorrow…. I’ll make sure of it…maybe I’ll do it by making my husband a real daughter tonight” she then now finally left the room.

Y/N stared at the door once she left and simply muttered “I did not need to know about you getting all nasty with my father…” That night, y/n didn’t come down for dinner at the table as she was too busy staying in her room absorbing her surroundings and her current reality. She also didn’t want to come down simply because she was slightly disturbed due to hearing her father and Mrs. Suarez earlier moaning their heads off having sex which was unfortunately a hall away from her isolated bedroom. She should have known that Mrs. Suarez probably had that planned in order to torment her, which to y/n’s dismay did work.

The next day, y/n was at the port ready to board the passenger ship that would take her to New Orleans, there she stood with her father as she hugged him softly and whispered “please be happy and at peace now” she handed her luggage to a porter and went in line to get onto the ship. Finally making it inside after a bit of questioning and looking at her passport, she walked around to explore the ship a bit. Each step she took, she felt the weight of every step dragging her closer to a future she didn’t want. Her father’s words echoed in her mind: “A profitable marriage.” Was that all she was to him? Another business transaction? Of course she could only see the first class section of the ship as she was not allowed to even mingle with the commoners. As y/n walked around her heart raced as she glanced at the other women in their pristine dresses, their eyes filled with envy or pity as they stared at her outdated clothes. Her attire being from the 1910s, clothes that not even commoners wore anymore.She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling more out of place than ever. Y/n eventually found her cabin and sat down onto the bed. Looking around to familiarize herself with the window, the vanity, the dresser, and the bathroom. She sighed as she relaxed and closed her eyes for a bit of a nap in her temporary room. Time passes and the ship departed from the port and headed its way to New Orleans in three days time. Each passing mile to New Orleans felt like a nail in her coffin. The city that held the key to her future up ahead.

3 days later, the ship docked and y/n had officially arrived at New Orleans, there was people everywhere, jazz being played, a more warmer environment, the smell of the ocean clashing with the fresh smell of the nearby bayou. She then went through some questioning, some security to make her way to domestic arrivals and finally was able to get her luggage with her. She found her escort who would take her to the Union Station to finally get aboard the Sunset Limited, a steam train that has a route from New Orleans, directly to Los Angeles. As she walked with her escort she felt her hands getting clammy, her palms sweating, her breath shortening. Once she gets on that train, she will officially have to accept that she’s being sent off for marriage.”Drew Prescott” she mumbled quietly. Her escort brought her to the ticket stand and presented her paperwork and reservation for her seat. The ticket seller looked at her documentation as well as her passport and gave her the ticket. Y/N looked down as she read her ticket “platform five….huh…” Y/N eventually makes her way onto that platform and waited for a while in the first class seating lounge. An announcement was made, to alert all passengers to make way to the platform as the train was arriving. Y/N followed the other upper class men and women as to not get lost. Finally once she reached the Sunset Limited platform, she felt a sense of dread and fear. I can’t do this, I can’t marry a man I’ve just met. She holds the hem of her dress tightly to ease her anxious feelings.

A loud horn was heard. A huge black pullman train, the trains cars each having 6 wheels and painted with dark olive green paint with black roofs. The piece of machinery was a beauty, but it was also the one way ticket to her eventual fate. Y/N sighed once more and got on aboard. The train’s first class cars had spacious seating and chairs made with cushion and refineries. She kept walking to the next train cart and passed by the dining room, there was two rows of seating, the tables were made of either oak or mahogany, each table covered with a sheet of linen, the ceiling had chandeliers with soft illumination to bring a more softer ambiance, the carpet had an intricate design of what would be seen in baroque art. Finally she made it to the third train cart where the sleeping compartments would be. Since it was her alone traveling, she had her own compartment, y/n checked and noticed that her seat could convert into a soft bed. There was soft overhead lighting as well as folded sheets of the highest quality in the corner. There was also a bell to call for service from a pullman porter to make her bed and or to bring her refreshments. It was truly a compartment of the highest quality, and to even make things better her luggage was already tucked away in a small area in her compartment. At least she could take solace in this room of hers for a while. “Drew Prescott.” The name was already bitter on her tongue. Again after waiting for a while, the train departed. Her trip to Los Angeles finally starting, with the first stop being Baton Rouge. It was already nighttime considering the time she arrived by ship which was early in the morning. She knew it would be a good 8 to 10 hours until they reached to at least Houston. So she called for a porter to mend her bed, so that she could go to sleep and wake up in Texas.

The next morning, y/n woke up due to the announcement of the train nearing Houston in about 1 hour. She looked out her window and noticed the lush green farmland of Texas, lots of cows she had never seen before, even horses of different breeds she didn’t recognize. Y/N stretched her arms and got up from her bed and got dressed in a different abhorrent outfit that did not fit with the times. She once again called for a porter to make her bed into a seat again and went to the dining cart for some breakfast, by that time the train had officially made a stop in the growing city of Houston. It was much more different from her beloved New York, but she appreciated watching how this city was filled with different kinds of people. She watched as some people got off and how some got on the train and simply watched people as she ate a hearty breakfast For a good 30 minutes until the train departed again to San Antonio.

Somewhere in the middle of the route between Houston and San Antonio. Y/N was in the lounge cart doing some light reading in her old wild west book until the train came to a sudden halt. Y/n looked around confused and asked the nearest porter and asked “excuse me but why is the train halting?” The man responded with “oh nothing, they’re just refilling the coal and re oiling the metal for this lug to move on ma’am… nothing more” he popped off his hat a little to bid her a quick goodbye and walked through the train carts.

About 2 hours later, the train was still at a standstill, however a few miles away stood a bunch of men with their horses. One man however was loading up his revolver and some pocket knives in case of an emergency. “Alright gentleman, it has been exactly a long week of planning, this train will move in exactly 30 minutes and the security will get to the first class passenger car in 20…we have exactly a 10 minute window to loot the bags and find the diamond….take anything valuable” All of the men cheered in excitement and started putting on their bandanas and saddling up their horses. Their leader immediately got onto the back of his black steed and led the gang out from the shadows and straight to the first passenger car. Immediately the gang gets to work and managed to bust the car door open the leader stepped in and publicly announced “Mornin’ folks, sorry to bust y’all trip but this train car got somethin’ I want and imma get it….” The passengers yelped in surprise and scurried away in fear due to the man having a revolver in his hand. He then walked in between the empty space between the seats and spotted y/n, immediately he was confused onto why a woman was wearing something so out of date compared to the other ladies, he then carried on and continued as she lingered in his mind. A pretty woman simply sitting there reading a book not even phased by his appearance, not only that a rich woman as well. He couldn’t put his finger on it and kept walking and simply looted anything valuable that could be worth the money. Right before he left, he looked back at y/n deciding that he would kidnap her to ease his mind from questioning so much “cuse me young lady, but imma be kidnappin’ you now”

Y/n who was absorbed in her book looked up and saw the cowboy and her eyes widened ever so slightly, and for a moment she felt a bit of fear, the revolver in his hand, the confidence stance. Everything about him screamed danger. However, he looked interesting to look at. He had tanned skin and a muscular build. His eyes were a deep brownish red with short, brown wavy hair. He wore a long sleeve light blue shirt and had two buttons undone where you could peek at his pectorals and spot his chest hair. His jeans had red and blue chaps with a flame design and fringes on the side. The bottom of his boots were visible as well as a large belt with some ammo, a lasso, and another revolver hidden away by his torso. His face however was covered by his yellow bandana. Y/n stared for a minute, appreciating the clearly attractive man’s physique, if only those existed in New York she would have appreciated the city a bit more, but then realized what he said about her kidnapping her or something considering that the man had a deep souther drawl to his words.“pardon ?” She blinks a couple of times, then looks at him closely, as if weighing her options. But then something shifted, A sudden thought flashed in her mind. This is it. This is my way out. She looked at the man more closely, his rugged features sharp against the backdrop of a train car. A sign. This is the sign I was waiting for. Y/N quickly concluded that this was the sign. Y/N then paused with a slight smile crossing her lips and said “Alright then. Just let me take my book and purse”

The man looked at her in confusion, he expected the woman to jump, protest or scream, but the fact that she was quick to accept flustered him “ Wait…What? You’re not gonna scream or…I don’t know, protest?” Y/n rising to her feet, adjusted her dress and looked at him “Why would I? You’re offering me the adventure I’ve been waiting for.” She meets his gaze with a bold look. “Besides, it’s not really kidnapping if I’m willing to go.” As she packed her things, Y/N’s heart beat faster- not from fear but from the rush of freedom. For the first time, she was taking control of her fate. If I’m going to escape Prescott, it might as well be with this stranger. She simply then walked to the car’s door and hops out. The man stared at her confused, thrown off from his mood he muttered “Well, I’ll be damned.. wasn’t expectin’ this” but shrugged it off as he also needed to get off the train as soon as possible. He then quickly helped her mount his horse and got on right behind her. He pulled onto his horse’s reins and directed his steed and gang to the nearest town that was an hour on horseback. He chuckled to himself softly “You’re a strange one darlin’.”

During that ride however, y/n looked around the swampy area and asked “erm…do you know what town we’ll be arriving at ?” The man looked down at her and gruffly said “about a few miles out from Flationia…” y/n nodded as she understood despite not knowing where that was and kept quiet. About a few more minutes she then asked “what is your name…uhh sir?” The man quickly responded “My name is Miguel O'Hara” y/n nodded as she remembered his name “I’m y/n Suarez, it's nice to meet you..” she says. Miguel’s eyes widened at the familiar name, surprised to see that the grown woman with him wasn’t a child. “Suarez, huh, you look nothing like the missus or your father..”

y/n looked down and said “well uh...I am my father’s daughter...but not really his wife’s…” those words were enough for him to understand that she’s an illegitimate child. “A bastard child ey…” he mumbled. Y/n nodded at his words and looked into the distance “yea..” Miguel looked at the young woman for a bit then back at the terrain. The young woman clearly had some sort of history with being illegitimate, but he wouldn’t pry onto the subject.

Finally they arrived at the small town of Flatonia, a small bustling town that was slowly growing. He then got off his horse and took y/n gently as possible, then tied his horse onto a post, as his men did and they all walked into a single story inn. There were a few people already drinking at the bar and in booths. Miguel led them through the front room and headed to the counter. The innkeeper looks up to him and is surprised to see a man in a cowboy hat. “Well hello, stranger. What can I get for you?"

"I need a room. A big one. Me and my gang are gonna be staying for a night or two” Miguel says. The innkeeper looks at Miguel and his gang skeptically then looks a little closer* "And just what kinda business you boys gettin into to need a big room?" Y/n watched the interaction and then looked at her purse and bag of money. She decided that she would help them get inside the inn. Y/n looked at Miguel and back at the innkeeper. “Allow me” she says to Miguel, She then approached the innkeeper and looked into her money bag, pulled out a gold nugget and gave him the piece. However, the gold nugget has the Suarez name branded onto it, granting y/n immediate immunity if she were to go anywhere.

*The innkeeper's eyes widen when he sees the nugget. Immediately his entire demeanor changed as he saw her put the gold nugget on the counter "M-Miss Suarez! My apologies, I didn't know it was you! Of course, of course, I can get you the biggest room right away!" Y/n smiled and gave him a polite thank you. While they waited in the lobby for a bit, Miguel couldn’t help but praise her for quick thinking

"Impressive, darlin'. Didn't expect you to bring out the gold to get us the room that quickly." Y/n smiled at him and said “it's the least I could do for someone who took me away from the stickler rules of women in society…” Miguel raised his eyebrows surprised at her words but shrugged them off as he spoke to the rest of his men as they all waited in the lobby for the room to be prepared.

After a while the innkeeper arrived and brought Miguel, y/n, and his men to the biggest room. Miguel thanked the innkeeper as the man arrived and unlocked the room for them. He entered the room and looked around

"Well look at this, boys. I think this room will do nicely for us."

The rest of the men nodded and entered. They started settling in their space, claiming the beds they wanted. Y/n eventually looked around and found a bed that was closest to the bathroom and sat on it quietly feeling a bit uneasy, avoiding eye contact. “There’s enough beds for everyone. Surely you can sleep somewhere else ?” Miguel saw her and grinned as he leans against the bedpost. “Nah, I reckon you’ve got the wrong idea darlin’. You ain’t sleepin’ alone.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as Miguel’s voice lowered, the rough drawl sending a thrill down her spine. She clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking, determined to not show any weakness. “Can’t have you runnin’ off in the middle of the night to alert the law, now can I?” Y/N frowned as she stood her ground “I’m not going anywhere. If i wanted to be free, I wouldn’t have come with you in the first place” Miguel raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes glinting in the lowlight “That right? You sure do talk like you know the game, but trust me little lady, you don’t” He steps even closer to her, his presence overwhelming, lowering his voice as his eyes lock with hers. “Now, be a good girl and make room. We got a long night ahead, and I don’t plan on sleepin’ on the floor” Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and for a brief moment, her breath caught. She tried to look away, but his smirk told her that he noticed.

y/n looked down then back up at him, exhaling slowly before muttering “Well at least let me remove this dress of mine….this corset is getting hard to breathe in” she huffed out “and I need a nightgown…I can’t sleep in my day clothes ” she says as she goes inside the bathroom. She locks herself in there to start removing her garments. Her heart pounded, but not from feat. Something else was stirring- something she didn’t want to admit.

Miguel sighed at her trying to maintain her prim and proper attitude, despite the amount of sass she had just given him. He chuckled and simply looked for the innkeeper to ask if he had any extra nightgowns for her. After a while, y/n emerged in the nightgown and went quickly into bed, avoiding his gaze picking the left side of the bed since it was facing the wall. Miguel then went inside the bathroom and changed into his night clothes which was just a loose shirt and some short loose pants. He walked out. “You could have just left me back at the train..” Miguel, climbing into bed on the right side beside her “Maybe. But where’s the fun in that? You got spunk darlin’. Makes me curious to see what kind of trouble you’ll cause.” Y/n, hesitant whispers “ you’re giving me something I’ve never had” Miguel raised an eyebrow “And what’s that?”

Y/n hesitant, whispers as if admitting a secret, “A choice” Miguel stayed quiet a sinking realization filled the pit of his stomach as he processed her words. He hadn’t thought much about what he was giving her- freedom, an escape, but hearing her say it made him realize that maybe he was offering more than just a way out. Miguel in a low voice after pausing for a bit “No….not yet.” As the lamp flickered off, the room filled with the quiet breathing of the others, but the space between them felt charged. None of them said a word, and yet they were fully aware of each other’s presence.

lmk if you would like to be tagged and have your age in bio!

taglist: @cupcakeinat0r

[capseycartwright]

tagged by @livingincolorsagain to do a 2024 fic roundup and i am v late but hope u forgive my tardiness i have been enjoying a new year rot of the highest order. anyway apparently i wrote a whole heap of fic this year and didn't realise it until i made this post.

april

every little thing the sun shows, well it’s worth it 

Buck should – he should be freaking out, right? He’d lived thirty-two years of his life without coming close to kissing another man, and it should be making him freak out that tonight, he did – but Buck felt flooded with the oddest sense of calm he’d ever experienced in his life.

He’d kissed a man.

or - after his kiss with Tommy, Buck goes to Hen.

stay close, little brother

hen and maddie share a quiet moment of pride about their little brother at the buckley-han wedding.

may

all roads lead to eddie diaz

Eddie inclined his head slightly. “He is,” he hummed in response. “But it sounds more like you’re wanting to pick a fight here than discuss our mutual appreciation for how great a person Buck is.

Tommy, at least, looked slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before,” he admitted. “The way you feel about him.

or - eddie and tommy have a revelatory conversation about the buck of it all.

july

a sky full of stars

Christopher Diaz had always loved fireworks - the pop, and bang, and the way they would light up the sky with bright colours. His dad didn’t like fireworks though. His dad was afraid of them.

or, even in Texas, Christopher worries about his father spending the Fourth of July alone. So he texts Buck.

can't ignore the crazy visions of me in la

Margarita-drunk Buck ruminates on how beautiful Eddie Diaz is while his best friend is dancing to Chappell Roan. That's what LA pride is for, right?

- or, alternatively: Eddie spends his first pride as an out queer man in a gay club, and Buck is in love with him about it.

october

oh what a terrible honor it's been (to learn that my blessings are things you call sins)

Hey God, it's me, Eddie. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sitting in your house thinking gay thoughts.

Eddie couldn’t help but giggle to himself as he thought the words. If he couldn’t be a bit silly while having a sexuality crisis in a Catholic church – when could he? 

Christopher leaves for Texas, Eddie goes back to therapy, unearths an emotional lockbox he had been fourteen years old when he buried, and has a lot of thoughts about how Buck is sunshine incarnate. In hindsight, it probably should have been obvious he wasn't straight.

knowing damn well i haven't been touched by you

Buck’s been having a really weird year. Buck died, and he realised he was bisexual, and he got a boyfriend, and Christopher left and went to Texas after he walked in on Eddie kissing his dead mother’s doppelganger, Eddie had grown a depression mustache, and Gerrard was back at the helm of the 118 and Buck felt like he was starring in a Netflix Original about how a perfectly normal, functional, member of society was driven to commit murder.

- or, Buck's got a boyfriend, Eddie comes out and starts dating men, and Buck loses his entire mind, actually.

november

miss me, but let me go

“I have - I’ve carried this grief, for you, for so long, and I know I can’t let it all go, because a part of me is always going to grieve for you,” Eddie paused. “But I can’t feel like this forever, Shannon. I don’t think you’d want me to, either. So - I need to let some of it go. Okay? I need to - I need to be myself now. For me, and for Christopher. I want to be me.”

On November 1, Eddie builds an altar for Shannon and finds a way to let her go.

you're my sun, my moon, my guiding star

“Fine, let’s have it your way then,” Eddie slammed his phone down on the kitchen table. “You set me up a dating profile then – Hinge, Grindr, whatever you fucking want, Buck. Set me up a dating profile, and you pick which random man I need to sleep with to make it so you feel okay about wanting me.” 

in which evan buckley gets dumped, gets drunk with his best friend, realises he's in love with said best friend, and lets his abandonment issues get the best of him. because your first is never your last, right? so buck can't be eddie's first: he needs to be his last.

december

i'll be home for christmas (if only in my dreams)

It was a silly thing, Buck had started, right when Eddie first got to El Paso – we’re looking at the same sky, he’d quipped, on one of their nightly Facetime calls.

Even when they were far apart from each other, they were still able to look up at the same stars, and if they just remembered that, maybe the distance between El Paso, and Los Angeles, wouldn’t feel so cavernous. That’s what Buck had promised him.

simply having a wonderful christmastime (maybe)

Eddie's family were about to arrive for the first Christmas they were hosting in LA as as couple, and, well, Buck felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack so great it would be in the Guinness Book of World Records for the destruction it was liable to cause.

or - the buckley-diazes are hosting christmas for the first time, and buck is freaking out, a little. he has a good reason, he swears.

see the lights, hang the stockings

Eddie finds out that Buck has never ever had a Christmas stocking of his own. He's very determined to change that and share a few Diaz family traditions.

everyone has probably done this already so apologies but tagging @doeeyeseddie @thatbuddie @clusterbuck @hattalove @mellaithwen @sibylsleaves @piningbuddies @eddiebabygirldiaz @hotshotsxyz

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (42)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

When morning came, he felt as if they were different people, as if they had been reborn in blood and fire, were gods in human bodies, sent from the heavens to experience human joys and sorrows, pleasures and tragedies.

The Maiden and the Stranger.

The Wife and the Husband.

The Water and the Fire.

He felt a kind of satisfaction at the thought that they were now married of their own free will − he got rid of that uncomfortable feeling that at the end of the day it was just an agreement between their fathers, that they had nothing to say in the matter.

He now felt as if he had regained control of his life − he had chosen her as his wife and she had chosen him as her husband. She was expecting his child, which they both wanted and which they both intended to protect.

His hand did not leave her warm womb for a moment as they slept cuddled into each other, her headdress had fallen from her hair and lay somewhere off to the side, both of them in complete disarray, dirty from the ground, lying only on the warm grass.

As it cooled in the morning he covered them with his robes, their bodies entwined to warm each other − there was something wonderfully primal and magical about sleeping under the stars, and he thought that if given the chance to survive the war, he would do it more often.

However, the sun was rising higher and higher and they had to return to camp.

They did not receive a cheerful welcome, Borros moving towards them furiously as soon as he saw them coming out of the forest nearby, followed by Criston and several other commanders.

"Where were you two? People thought you ran away like cowards!" He called out loudly, clearly enraged, and he was unable to hold back the malicious grin that flashed across his face.

Angry fool.

"I was busy with my nuptials to my wife, my Lord." He said calmly, but her father only snorted, not believing him.

"Do you want to make a fool of me in front of my soldiers?" He hissed − he raised an eyebrow at his words, surprised by his insolence and how easily he had forgotten their unwritten agreement. He put his hands behind his back, looking down at him, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"I married my wife in the tradition of my ancestors and Old Valyria. As far as I know it is not specified by law how many times I am allowed to marry my own wife, is it?" He hissed, and it was only then that Borros glanced at their lips and hands, noticing that something had indeed happened between them.

He felt like laughing at his surprised, confused expression.

Criston looked at them in disbelief, amusement on his face − he shook his head, sighing heavily.

"We have been looking for you for a reason, Your Grace. Your brother arrived at the camp tonight." He said softly, and he felt his heart begin to pound like mad, his pupil dilated in shock.

Daeron.

He had made it.

"Lead me to him."

Criston led them to one of the tents − his younger brother rose from his seat, his face beaming and joyful at the sight of him.

He thought with pain in his heart that the last time he had seen him he had been a small child, but now he was almost a man.

"Brother!" Exclaimed Daeron and they both threw themselves into each other's arms, exchanging a manly, strong hug, patting each other on the back.

"Forgive me for taking so long, Aegon has ordered me to come to King’s Landing and oversee the march of our troops towards Harrenhal. I arrive with reinforcements" He said proudly moving away from him, and he felt a wave of relief fill his body.

I arrive with reinforcements.

So indeed, his brother and grandfather did not just pretend to do something. They were moving into action so that they would have a chance to win this war.

Good, he thought.

Very good.

Daeron finally glanced behind him and it was only then that he remembered that his wife was standing behind him. He wanted to introduce her, but his younger brother was quicker.

"My Lady, I am glad to finally meet you. My brother has told me much about you in his letters." He said lightly, and he felt his heart stop. He threw him an enraged, horrified look, turning his head quickly, pretending that the last sentence had not been said.

"I feel honoured, my Prince." His wife replied softly, he could hear the barely concealed satisfaction in her voice at the sound of what she had just learned. He hoped she would not torment him with a question about what was in those letters.

He would have burned with shame.

His wife finally grunted quietly, bowing to them again.

"I will leave you alone. I’ll go back to our tent." She added quickly, seeing him throw her a warning glance.

In the state she was in now, all he dreamt of was her sitting in their tent and not going anywhere − if he could he would tie her to the bed and fuck her all night, leaving her then in the care of the servants until his return.

He decided, however, that this would be a rather brutal solution and she would certainly not like it.

He only hummed and nodded, allowing her to leave.

When they were left alone Daeron threw him an amused look that he didn't like.

"Ser Criston told me that you and your lady-wife disappeared from the camp tonight." He said lightly, an almost childish frown on his face. "Does it have anything to do with your cut lips and hands?"

He looked away, feeling increasingly embarrassed by this conversation, not knowing completely what to say.

"Mmm." He just hummed, recognising that the objects on the table were attracting his particular attention, taking one of the books that apparently Daeron must have brought with him from the Old Town. His younger brother, however, was not giving up.

"I take it then, that your wife, despite your fears, has forgiven you?" He asked tauntingly, and he gave him a warning glance, not wanting to delve too deeply into these matters.

"She did." He muttered at the mention of his embarrassing, distraught letter he sent to him after his wife's body burned in the fire. His brother turned his head away, thoughtful.

"Well… since I am to marry Lord Grejoy's granddaughter soon I would like to know what the secret to a successful marriage is." He said finally, and he threw him a surprised look.

He had completely forgotten about it and felt remorse.

"I wish you to be as fortunate as I am." He said finally and Daeron threw him an uncertain smile, which, however, did not reach his eyes. He decided to change the subject.

"What are the orders from our brother-king?" He asked, turning away, pacing around the tent. Daeron sighed heavily.

"Well. He wants us to bring him news of victory over the usurper. He will give us everything we need. However, as concerned as I am about the disparity between our dragons. Our spies report that Daemon is looking for bastards born of dragon seed." His brother said, and he gave him a shocked look.

"What?"

"They want to tame the dragons hidden in the caves and mountains and make these people into dragon riders. And that would dangerously tip the balance in their favour." Daeron said, and he ran his hand over his face feeling suddenly hot.

Their forces were evenly matched anyway, the additional dragons would have complicated everything.

Vhagar was strong, her jaw would crush any of their dragons, however if there were so many she would not be able to keep up and would scatter.

Vhagar had her own temper and when enraged or distracted she could stop listening to him.

"What has our King decided in this regard?" He asked at last, and Daeron cast him an uncertain look.

"That we would find them before them and kill them. That we would send out our assassins." His brother said, and he nodded.

It didn't matter if they were innocent or not, if they knew what they were going to die for.

They were a threat to him, his wife and their child living in her womb.

I will kill anyone who stands in our way.

After their conversation, Aemond summoned his most trusted, three unassuming men and explained to them the complexity of the whole situation. He told them everything he knew and tasked them with the search.

They were to show no mercy.

After speaking to them, he returned to his and his wife's shared tent and froze when he saw that there was no one inside. He pressed his lips together, feeling his anger filling him − he decided that when his wife returned he would rethink tying her to something to make sure she kept her word this time.

He ordered his guards to find her and waited, sitting in a chair with his back to the entrance, tapping his finger impatiently on his armrest, furious. However, when he heard footsteps as she walked quickly inside, and then her loud, broken sobs he stood up at once, looking at her with surprise and horror, his anger evaporating like steam.

"What happened?" He asked uncertainly, the first time he had ever seen her in such a state, tears running down her pale face, her cheeks and eyes all red from the sobs, her breathing accelerated, her body trembling in convulsions.

He wanted to come closer to her but saw that she had stepped back, looking at him with a gaze from which he felt discomfort.

"Did you threaten my father?" She asked, barely drawing in air, and he felt his heart stop.

Fuck.

Had he told her?

He thought quickly of any decent answer that wasn't also a lie.

"I gave him a warning." He said finally, and she shook her head, burying her face in her hands.

"You said you'd apologise to him for your behaviour and make things right." She mumbled out breathing with increasing difficulty as if she was experiencing some kind of hysterical attack, he could feel his heart pounding like mad, sweat on the back of his neck.

"I apologised to him and told him what I expected while assuring him that I would never humiliate him in public again." He said hesitantly, not taking his eye off her, hoping that his words would somehow reassure her.

"You told him you knew about his bastards, but you didn't tell ME about it!" She exclaimed at last, hitting her chest with her hand, looking at him with livid pain in her eyes.

He looked at her with his lips parted feeling his heart pounding hard, his throat clenched.

He was unable to get anything out of himself.

"That his illegitimate child is in fucking Harrenhal, that he has lied to me all my life! You used me to get what you want from him, his army in return for not telling me, that's how you figured it out?" She shouted with a rage and pain he had never seen in her before.

He looked at her feeling ashamed, feeling remorse, feeling caught in the act like a little boy.

He didn't know what to say.

No amount of explaining could make it sound good.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together.

"Just don't tell me you didn't mean to hurt me. You know how to do that like no one else." She said with a pained expression and he felt a powerful squeeze in his stomach and a sting in his heart, as if she had stabbed him with a dagger.

You know how to do that like no one else.

He thought with embarrassment that he felt like crying.

He felt like crying because it was true.

When he had pushed her away after the first week of marriage, when he had said she was incapable of giving him an offspring, when he had tried to manipulate her father behind her back by exploiting his weakness for her.

He realised painfully acutely how bad a person he was.

He watched helplessly as she fell to her knees sobbing loudly, as if someone was tearing her apart − suddenly, her breathing became laboured, as if she was unable to catch air in her lungs, and, horrified, he quickly sat down beside her and embraced her, cuddling her into himself.

He thought she would lose their child because of him.

That the gods would send punishment on them because of him.

It was always happening because of him.

"− I beg you, calm down − calm down, my sweetest −" He whispered fearfully pressing his lips to her hair, rocking her in his arms like a small child, stroking her neck and back with his hands.

All he wanted was for her to be safe, for nothing to happen to her or their child, for them not to suffer again for his mistakes.

"− you used me −" She whispered in a breaking voice, and he felt a sting and discomfort in his chest. "− I trusted you −"

For some reason, he felt anger at her words − he thought that surely it was Royce who had told her − he had seen the way he had looked at him during the meeting, he sensed that something had happened between him and their father during that conversation.

What right did he have to interfere?

Why wasn't she furious with him when he was clearly hiding it from her too?

"Let me guess. Who told you? Royce? You don't hold a grudge against him?" He hissed and felt her push him away suddenly, backing away at him, looking at him with an anger.

Despite his rage, the feeling that they were moving away from each other again and arguing made him feel miserable.

"Royce didn’t mean to hurt me. You wanted me to remain unaware, to hold my father in your grip." She asked mockingly in a tone which he didn't like, and for a while they both measured each other with frustrated glances.

He squeezed his eyelid shut, turned his head and swallowed loudly, letting the air out.

He had to admit to himself, albeit reluctantly, that she was right.

"I had no choice. Without his army, we don't stand a chance against them." He said feeling how heartless it sounded, how pathetic a man he was.

"Forgive me. Go and tell him you know. Just please, calm down." He said, placing his hand on her stomach. He saw her lower her gaze and was relieved that she did not push him away.

He sighed quietly when he felt the touch of her hand on his, their fingers entwined on her womb. He felt the warmth in his heart and placed his free hand on the back of her head, drawing her to him so that she lay between his legs on the grass, pressing her face against his chest.

He could feel that her breathing had calmed down and she had stopped crying − he didn't know what more he could say, so they were both silent.

"How did you find out?" She asked quietly and he froze. He didn't know what to say. He decided he could no longer afford to lie and swallowed hard.

"I had Criston find out all about your family before I flew to Storm’s End.I wanted to know what house my future wife came from and what I could expect." He said lowly, a note of embarrassment in his voice and uncertainty about how she would react to his statement.

"And what else did you find out?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he did not answer for a moment.

He remembered exactly the day of Aegon and Helaena's nuptials. Despite the joy of the whole kingdom and the beautiful sunny weather, there was a grim atmosphere in the Red Keep. He knew what awaited his siblings − he somehow sympathised with them and with himself.

He knew that he would see Lord Borros' daughters − his mother have remarked to him that it would be in good taste for him to speak with them and exchange pleasantries, since one of them was to become his wife in the future.

He felt like throwing up at the thought.

During the nuptials, he saw them out of the corner of his eye, but immediately turned away seeing that the gaze of each of them was fixed on him, as if he were some sort of exhibit. He felt uncomfortable at the thought and thought they would have killed themselves for one kindly glance from him. After a moment, however, he involuntarily turned towards them and began to count.

First.

Second.

Third.

Fourth.

Where was the fifth?

Beside them stood Lord Borros, clearly bored and tired after his journey. He also did not spot his eldest son anywhere.

While wishing the bride and groom, Lord Borros approached the table with his daughters. He felt uncomfortable under the onslaught of the girls' gazes and looked away, but listened carefully to what their father was saying. The King greeted him graciously and cheerfully.

"Borros! It's wonderful to see you on this happy day, as well as your beautiful daughters. Where is your first-born son and your youngest child?"

Lord Baratheon grunted quietly.

"Royce and my daughter had to leave to represent me on an important matter at a meeting of my commanders, which could not wait." He said perfunctorily, and he pressed his lips together, taking a sip from his cup, furious.

She preferred to leave with her brother to deal with the usual commanders rather than meet him, the Prince, perhaps her future husband.

Little whore.

Who did she think she was?

Despite his mother's impatient stares, he did not speak to any of Lord Baratheon's daughters even when they tried to shyly approach him, pretending to converse with his sister. He thought they were pathetic attempts to get his attention and he took satisfaction in the blush of humiliation each time they walked away with nothing.

Despite his mother's pleas, he postponed his arrival in Storm's End for as long as he could.

Why should he hurry if four of his chosen ones were simply desperate and competing with each other, where one of them didn't find it valuable to even see him?

He felt humiliated by such a choice, where he, a Prince, a descendant of Valyrian blood, half man, half god, had to choose from among women so bland and uninteresting.

He would catch himself, however, sometimes, when he fucked some random, pretty, dark-haired servant girl from behind, imagining that it was her, the girl who despised him, whom her father hid from him, about whom Cole himself could find out nothing.

He imagined that she was the one who was so wet for him, that it was her hot body that clenched steadily around his fat cock, that it was into her body that he sank again and again with brutal, sure, deep thrust of his hips.

He imagined that she desired him.

"So fucking wet for me. Is it so hard? Is it so hard to give your Prince the little bit of attention he fucking deserves?" He panted as he clamped his hand on her soft hip, his eye closed, his lips parted in pleasure, the loud, sticky clicks of their shared moisture and the slapping of their sticky bodies against each other echoed in his chamber.

The girl beneath him wanted to reply something aroused by his words, but he would not listen to her.

She was just a vessel onto which he transferred his imagination, his desire.

He heard a word start to come out of her mouth, probably an acknowledgement of his inquiry, but he clamped his hand on her neck choking her, making her breath get stuck in her throat.

"Be quiet or I'll fucking strangle you." He hissed lowly.

The girl squealed and didn't dare utter another word until he finally slid out of her and came hard, panting heavily, all hot and sweaty. He opened his eye and saw the same sight in front of him every time.

Terror and arousal.

These whores wanted it.

He felt like spitting on her.

His mother, however, finally lost patience. She believed that by not making a decision he was making Lord Borros' daughters whom he would not choose, less likely to marry by getting older and older. He didn't care about their future, but curiosity eventually won out.

He wanted to see her.

And he did.

"That he has a fifth daughter whom he never took to King’s Landing, who wasn’t present at my brother’s wedding in the Red Keep.” He said carefully, swallowing loudly, she could feel his heart pounding hard. “That he wanted me to be unaware of your existence." He said feeling his heart pounding hard at the mere mention, shivers passed down the back of his neck.

He leaned toward her ear breathing unevenly, wondering whether to tell her or reveal to her what was going on in his mind even before she met him.

"His decision, however, turned against him and I became fucking obsessed with you."

He whispered, feeling as if he had just revealed to her his darkest secret, a fragment of the madness that ran in his blood.

He felt her tremble all over at his words, her hands tightening on his leather tunic.

He felt arousal at the thought that she had in fact given him what he craved.

Herself.

"I wondered if you were thinking of me or crying yourself to sleep at the realisation that you would become my wife. I fucked my hand for months thinking of you, of how you looked when I saw you for the first time. Wet, scared, pale, innocent. Mine." He hummed, and she drew in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his chest.

He ran his nose over the top of her head, brushing her hair away from her face with his fingers.

"You were pulsing with life, and I was completely dead, full of nothing. My heart was like a cold, damp cellar with no windows or doors." He said thoughtfully, drifting his thoughts back to the first days after her arrival, when he would sit in the evenings and stare into the fire, thinking of her.

"− Aemond −" She whispered quietly, but he continued.

"I took you because I knew you were afraid of me. I took you because you couldn't and had to love me at the same time. I took you because I wanted to fucking devour you." He hissed, leaning over her and biting her neck brutally − she squealed loudly, surprised, clasping her hands on his shoulders.

He pulled away from her and looked contentedly at the red mark of his teeth on her neck, a sign that she was his, and felt his manhood throb hard at the sight.

Often when he was in bed with her he sucked painfully hard with his mouth on the skin of her breasts, her back, her buttocks, because he noticed that the next day small purple bruises would appear in these places.

He was marking her.

Even when she covered those areas with her chemise or gown, he knew those marks were there as much as she was.

Signs that she was only his.

His wife caught herself with a hiss where he had bitten her, and he felt amusement at the expression on her face, red from tears, her eyes large, scared and aroused at the same time, her lips tightened, her eyebrows arched in displeasure.

He slipped his hand into her hair and pressed greedily into her lips, tearing at their just-healed wounds, causing pain to himself and her at the same time, hearing her quiet squeal. He pulled away from her, looking down at her, his lips slightly parted.

"− so perfect for me −" He hummed low and she flushed, lowering her gaze, swallowing quietly. He pressed his forehead against hers and they continued like that for a long moment, embracing and kissing.

After a moment Criston walked into their tent − embarrassment was painted on his face at this intimate sight, but he did not let her get out of his arms, looking at him expectantly without even getting up from his place.

He didn't give a shit.

Criston informed him that tomorrow morning there would be a meeting to unite all the commanders, which was to introduce the newly arrived forces to the camp with the state and situation they were in. He nodded at his words without saying a word.

Although he knew his wife had forgiven him, what she had learned saddened her deeply and she did not speak much the rest of the day.

He watched her carefully wondering how to deal with Royce, how to get him to stop meddling in matters that were not his.

He was starting to get on his nerves.

He decided, however, that it would have to wait for now − he didn't want her to suffer because of him again.

She was with child and had enough to worry about already.

He undressed, watching in silence as she lay on their bed with her back to him sighing quietly, heartbroken at what her father had done.

He wasn't surprised.

He would have been heartbroken too in her place.

He lay down beside her, his hand laying on her womb, warm and soft. This instinct seemed natural to him − the desire to protect her and their child, to let her know that whatever was happening around them, his thoughts were always with her.

He murmured quietly, placing a soft, wet kiss on her neck when he felt her small hand on his, her sign of acceptance, of closeness.

She had never rejected him.

She had never pushed him away.

He pulled away slightly, turning her onto her back, and she threw him a sleepy, surprised look. She obviously thought that he craved close-up with her because she only pressed her lips together, looking at him pleadingly.

"I'm so tired… please." She whispered and he brushed her hair away from her cheek, looking at her with a calm look on his face.

"Will you let your husband kiss you between your thighs?" He asked and she widened her eyes in surprise. She hesitated a moment, then nodded.

He murmured contentedly and with a gentle movement lifted her nightgown, laying himself comfortably between her legs, parting her thighs.

To her surprise he wasted no time, leaning over her at once − his lips clung to her soft, plushy folds, trailing his mouth up and down her womanhood, teasing her puffy bud with the tip of his tongue. He heard her mewl in front of him, her body trembling from this soft, intense sensation.

This was what he wanted.

He wanted her to melt under his touch.

"− your husband will take care of you, my sweetest −" He whispered, closing his eye, purring contentedly, feeling her moisture, feeling the warmth inside her, clenching his hands on her hot thighs. He felt her hand in his hair stroking his head after a moment, her hips timidly responding to his caresses with rocking.

Her breathing quickened as the tip of his tongue began to circle more boldly around her clit, drawing from her throat the quiet, innocent moans he so loved to hear. He sank his face into her moist folds purring quietly in satisfaction, sliding his tongue inside her little slit, tasting her at last in her entirety, her wetness spreading over his senses like sweet nectar.

He felt her arch beneath him, taking in a deep breath.

He often caressed her like this when he wanted to reward her and he knew that nothing aroused her more than the slow, sweet licks of his tongue and his praises that she always craved so much.

"− my sweet girl − so good to me −" He murmured, sliding his tongue deep between her hot, moist walls, rubbing her spongy bud with a sticky click.

Each time he made a full flick he made sure that the tip of his tongue rubbed against the small spot that made her whole body tremble. He heard her moan helplessly, her hips pushing against his face with increasing impatience.

"− please −" She mumbled. He smirked under his breath and hummed softly, not giving her what she needed, knowing that the more he teased her the stronger her fulfilment would be.

She wanted to ask and she wanted him to deny her.

He loved watching her find her edge as she became a sweet, moaning mess, beautiful and licentious just for him.

"− not yet − a good husband knows what's best for his wife, doesn't he? − if he says not yet, then not yet −" He murmured calmly as if he were explaining to her some self-evident truth, the law by which the whole world was ruled.

He heard her swallow hard, quivering beneath him, her two hands combing through his hair, involuntarily pressing her body against his face, wanting to feel him as close as possible.

His tongue slowly began to speed up, slipping deeper, his hand slid lower, his thumb trailing around her pearl in a slow, gentle circular motions − a helpless moan escaped from her throat, her insides clenched involuntarily around his tongue.

"− just like that − look at you − just a little more and your husband will let you come, hm? − can you do that for me? −" He asked between his treatments, each time sliding his tongue out of her and sliding it back in with a loud click of her moisture − he could feel he was all sticky from it, it leaked from her entrance onto the bedding like the pulp of a ripe fruit.

He loved the sight, loved the smell of her womanhood, loved the warmth of her.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled out with difficulty, so helplessly and innocently that he smiled with tenderness, feeling himself get all hard at her words.

"Mmm." He murmured contentedly, returning with his tongue between her throbbing walls, all puffy with desire, feeling that she was on the edge, her moans getting louder, the bucking of her hips faster and thirstier.

His tongue sped up, finally licking and teasing her as hard as she needed − he heard her surprised moan of delight, her body writhing beneath him seeking fulfilment, panting all over.

"− my good wife is about to come for me, isn't she? − go on, come on my face, give your husband what he needs −" He exhaled, his finger began to intensely squezze the area around her little clit. She moaned suddenly as if surprised, and threw back her head, her lips parted in pleasure.

"− o-oh gods − Aemond − Aemond − Aemond −" She cried out wearily, panting heavily, her thighs quivering in his hands.

He murmured contentedly as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her, licking all that dripped onto his tongue, teasing her over-stimulated insides. He felt her hands wanting to push him away, a helpless mewl erupted from her lips and pleas for him to stop, but he wasn't going to do it.

"− sleep − your husband is going to spend all night between his wife's thighs −"

_____

Taglist 1

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17 @queenofshinigamis @rae-seri @dark-night-sky-99

[misscherrys-world]

Jung Tae Ju x fem!Reader

It’s my first fic since long time ago 🤭

Also English is not my first language so please forgive me for any grammatical mistakes. 🫶🏼

It turned a little bit darker than I intended it to be so enjoy!

Relationship status: ✨ enemies to lovers ✨

✨Trigger warnings: injuries, insults, blood, the reader has a crush on taeju and taeju doesn’t know, drugs, gangsters stuff. Slight mention of sexual activities. Mention of death several times. If there’s something else tell me.

✨No usage of Y/N

Third POV:

Feet steps echoed the hotel room where she stayed close to the infamous Jung Tae Ju, he hated her guts. Of course he should hate her she’s the daughter of that one family that betrayed Dongcheon, she was on the run for several months avoiding getting herself killed by Taeju’s cold hands.

She shared a history with Taeju though, before everything went downhill, she was only 17 years old and she was growing that little crush on Taeju. In her perspective he was tall, handsome and everything she wanted basically for a teenager. Although he was way older than her, he was in his late 20’s when they first met.

When she turned 18 her father decided to throw her a huge birthday party and invited Choi Mujin. Of course Mujin won’t come alone he would drag Taeju with him. It was their first interaction, he wished her a happy birthday and gave her the present he bought. She was a blushing mess, she thanked him in a very timid voice. He was just acting emotionless and professional like always. He was clueless about her little crush over him.

Time passed and she turned 20, she got more involved with her family business, more interactions with him, exchanging information, drug deals and lots and lots of money. And her little crush turned into something bigger.

She won’t forget the very first time he touched her like a man would touch a woman. She was only 21 when she got shot, a single bullet to her thigh, he was the only one not busy while both your father and Mujin had to deal with someone. Taeju was the one who took out the person who shooted her, she felt like it’s true love. That night after he helped her with her wounds she was the one who made the first move, a very soft kiss on the corner of his lips, he was confused maybe it was the pain killer she took. He connected their lips together, he’s after all a man who is stressed out and she was a very fine woman in his eyes, he didn’t have any romantic feelings for her though. The night air was very thick as they slept in the same bed, sweaty and relaxed.

That didn’t become a habit, because soon everything was crashing down. Her father betrayed Choi Mujin. At the same time she was in Taeju’s embrace, he got the call, he knew what to do, but he didn’t, he didn’t kill her, he informed her about her father’s betrayal and gave her time to get the fuck out of his sight. It was humiliating. She was treated like a prostitute, and she didn’t even blame Taeju for his actions.

Soon after that incident, she learned that her father was a stupid man, he did that to get his hands on the drugs all over South Korea and to get his only daughter killed. She was the only inheritor of her mother’s wealth, since her beloved mother died in a car accident it’s been clear that her father has set it up. So she learned her father wanted to inherit all that money from her.

She ran away, after several months she send a message to Taeju explaining everything, explaining she was a victim too. He saw the messages, no response though. One day Dongcheon found her hideout, 3 men were sent to kill her one of them was him, Jung Taeju, she managed to escape for the second time but with several wounds from Taeju’s pocket knife. He wasn’t aiming for several cuts but to end her that day. What she doesn’t know that her father was dead the day after she left Taeju’s arms.

It’s difficult time for both of them, she is hurting physically and emotionally, he wasn’t able to kill her with an ease as he thought, he learned that as he hated her he loved her more.

They decided to put an end to this situation. She went to Choi Mujin’s hotel, she knows Taeju would be there. Taeju at the same time he decided to face her, kill her, hug her maybe. He was confused. He reached her side at the hotel room, left all of his weapons and his logical mind out side the room.

“ Taeju..” she said softly with a nervous sigh. He almost lost his cool the way she said his name, he was weak for her voice. “I want to sort things out, your father is dead the day you left my home.” Taeju informed her, she didn’t feel sorry for her father, she stayed silent nodding to him to continue, “It means you’re the one now in charge of your family business and your family did betray Dongcheon-“ she cut him off “I never wanted this life, I’m not responsible for my father decisions, that bastard killed my mother, and he tried to kill me too, my life is fucked up!” She exploded with tears, it wasn’t easy for her to cry in front of someone.

Pity filled Taeju’s eyes, her father betrayal for her was way worse than his betrayal for Dongcheon. He lowerd his head not knowing what to say next, she moved closer to him with a small pocket knife in her hands he recognized it, it was her 18’s birthday present, he’s the one pick it up at the store and request to carve her initials on it. She puts that knife in his hands “Please end everything here, don’t make me feel this pain anymore I-“ he cuts her off placing the knife on the coffée table at his side and cupped her face with both hands to place a kiss on her lips, it was deep, said many things without saying a thing. He broke the kiss and looked her in the eyes “We don’t have to be this way, I can’t kill you, I just can’t..” he said with a very soft tone, a tone she never heard from him before, it was a tone you’d hear between two lovers. She felt for the very first time she is loved. Taeju for the very first time he is in love.

[defensivelee]

Six Lives Won't Make You Happy: Will-o’-the-Wisp

A happy October 14th to all! It certainly isn't for Mary, who's dealing with her increasingly unhinged father and a nasty methamphetamine withdrawal. But her work awaits for nothing! On the other side of things, Bentinck, Anne, and William decide to go fox-hunting in the city of Nayaflitt. It turns out the touch of a dwaallicht spirit may be a curse as well as a blessing.

Here is the AO3 link! This chapter's a bit more relaxed, but fun nonetheless.

CW: explicit violence, murder, death, gun use, heavy drug use, addiction, withdrawal, smoking, drinking, mild alcoholism, abusive relationship(s), abusive parent(s), domestic violence, implied/referenced child abuse, ableism, implied/referenced psychosis, fantastic racism, objectification, dehumanization, public humiliation, rape threats, normalization of rape/sexual assault, implied/referenced child sexual abuse, implied/referenced non-consensual incest, prostitution, explicit sexual content, ritualistic sex, explicit rape/noncon.

It was a truly peaceful night, nothing could ruin it. The wind was gentle against his face. The sky above was pure black, save for the stars that flickered and then fell to the ground some immeasurable distance away. The dark red blades of grass seemed to protest against every lash of his tail, as if they wanted him to lie still. Forever.

I am not staying here. He managed to sit up, holding a hand up to his heart. It no longer beat in his chest, nor did he hear his own breaths as he tilted his head up towards the sky.

“I did not expect to see you back so soon,” he heard an echoing voice say behind him. “William.”

William turned around to glare at the feathered devil, coiled there as if preparing to leap. His orange eyes matched the glow of his claws, which tore at the grass as he approached on all four of his legs, the scales on his back shaking slowly. His long, thin tail was made of nothing but rattling bone, as were his open jaws.

His name was William, too, when it was translated from the ancient language of Infernal. Only, he was the first William, the oldest William; indeed, the oldest devil in the world— the Prince of the Western Kingdom, right at home in the devils’ realm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the younger William said, backing away warily. “It’s not my fault Bentinck didn’t come for me on time.” He shook himself out at the thought, at the memory of waiting so foolishly for help that came too late. Bentinck had held him to his chest, and William had leaned in like he always did, but it was a thoughtless gesture. Being so close to his Ally’s beating heart, he wanted nothing more than to rip it out with his teeth.

“You could have saved yourself,” the Prince said. “You did it once before. You do not need your Ally when you were born with so much power within you.”

“If I could have saved myself, I would have done it, old man,” William hissed. “But the fucking spells you devils left us with require the use of our voices and hands, none of which I had!” He paused, lowering his head. “Bentinck could have done it. It’s not unreasonable for me to expect better of him.”

“I did not give you six lives so you could sit around and wait for your Ally to come save you,” the Prince said, pacing around William. “I respect you, boy, but forgive me if I have any doubts after witnessing every day slip through your fingers with no progress at all.”

“Maybe if I had all the promised gifts and powers of an Overlifer on day fucking one, this wouldn’t be happening,” William said. He kept having to turn this way and that, trying to keep his glare on the circling Prince. “But no, you make the Overlifers wait six lifetimes. You make them die over and over again to reach their full potential. It’s like you punish us for daring to want more!”

“Why, yes, William, that is precisely what we are doing,” the Prince said with a chuckle. “Power cannot be obtained without sacrifices. You know that better than anyone. Shall I list the memorable dead?”

“There’s no need—”

“Oh, ‘tis not a long list, child. I did say the memorable dead, after all.” The Prince sat back to lap contentedly at his claws, like a lazy cat. “If I listed all those deaths you never cared to remember, we would be here for an eternity.”

“If I didn’t care enough to remember them, then I correctly decided that they weren’t important enough to remember.” William tilted his head to the side. “That’s not on me.”

“Are you trying to be dense here?” The Prince equally tilted his head to meet William’s gaze. “You have decided that in order to do what you want with the world, some people have to die. Is it so wrong for the devils to decide that sometimes you have to die, too?”

William nodded firmly. “Who do you think you are to limit our strengths, to clip our wings?”

“Must I remind you who you owe your lives to?” The Prince leaped towards William, baring his teeth before his face. “Who do you think you are to speak to us like this?”

William leaned forward, staring right back at the Prince’s bright eyes. “I will have your kingdom after your death. I am essentially your heir, and you would do well to remember that. The end of your rule draws near. Remember that I decide if you die or not.”

“I am your oldest ancestor.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first relative I kill,” William said, stepping back. “Has it been six hours yet? I’m getting bored of your realm here.” He knew that would sting; the devils could not stand any insult to their home, perhaps because they knew how much better the land they had left behind was.

The Prince’s scales shook faster, but he otherwise ignored the slight. “Not yet. Why are you so eager to return to such a hostile world?”

“What am I going to do here?” William flicked his tail over the grass. “Besides, Bentinck came for me. I...should be safe now, right?” He winced. His voice sounded a little more desperate than he had intended, as he realized that he truly had no idea if Bentinck had gotten out of the burning Hoerenkast or not.

What if I’m still dying? His whole destiny, cut short by a measly little fire!

Or, even worse— what if Mary had taken him back, after all? She had made it very clear that there would be no exceptions made for him anymore, especially now with her father lying dead and helpless as well. She would still want William to be there for when James woke up, wouldn’t she?

I’ll just wake up to another nightmare! He swallowed, realizing he was shaking at the thought of still being in their hands, and he felt the Prince’s tail come up to his chin.

“You are safe now, trust me,” came the rumbling voice. “But you are always welcome to stay, child.”

“Fuck, no, you want me dead,” William said, pushing him away. He took a deep breath from the wind picking up around them. “If you promise I’m safe, I’m going now. They need me up there.”

The Prince sighed. “Very well.” He straightened himself up as he began to trace a summoning circle through the grass with his claws. “You will return with more power than you have ever known, but remember that there is still more to be found.”

William bowed his head. “You will not see me here again. Not for a very, very long time.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “I will prove to you that I don’t need all the power you hold back from me to fulfill my destiny.”

“We shall see about that,” the Prince said, looking up at William again. “One last thing. When you return, your doctor will give you an order that I advise you not to follow.”

“Oh, really? My doctor?” William wondered what Bidloo could possibly want now. Had he been with Bentinck? He hoped not; he could only imagine how insufferable he must be acting right now.

“Yes, he’s there now,” the Prince said. “This is the only time I will tell you this: do not listen to him.”

“Why not? Is he a traitor?” William narrowed his eyes, but received no answer as the Prince suddenly turned away, smacking his tail hard against William’s chest. William stumbled back with a cry, waving his arm out behind him to catch himself, only for it to go straight through the summoning circle, and pull him down with it.

“Cryptic bastard!” William shouted as he fell through, the energy sparkling all around him nearly being enough to knock him out again.

No— but it was enough to bring him back out of the inevitable claws of death.

🝰🝰🝰

“He’s almost up, Mary.”

Mary looked up at her stepmother, standing at the doorway of her room. What on earth was she talking about? It must have been important if Maria was looking at her like that. But she couldn’t remember, she couldn’t remember a thing that had happened to her, ever, and was only present here, lying uselessly on her bed. There was something streaming down her fingers as she lifted them away from her mouth.

“Oh, you’re bleeding again!” Maria rushed to her side, and Mary quickly sat up, backing away from her. That was it, the scent of iron on her hands.

“It’s fine, what are you going on about?” She kicked her legs out at Maria, who shuffled back in surprise. “You always act like this when I get high! Like you’ve never seen it before! You don’t have to act so offended.”

Maria tilted her head to the side. “I’m not.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should try it some time.”

“Acting offended?”

“Getting high, you stupid bitch!” Mary yelled. “At least then you’d have a reason to be seeing shit for no reason. And maybe you don’t have to look James straight in the eyes. You’ll be okay, you got that?”

“Mary...” Maria laughed nervously. “There’s always a reason. Whatever I see is meant to help all of us here, meant to help you, and- and James, even if he doesn’t realize it sometimes.” She reached out to gently place a hand on Mary’s shoulder, as if she were trying not to scare her off, to keep her there. “Even if you don’t realize it. They’re not...senseless hallucinations. I’ve had them since I was a child.”

“Seems pretty senseless to me,” Mary said. “Some of it, anyway. Most of it.” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s just all the smoke you breathe in from me. I mean, I see stuff, too. Now and then. I know those aren’t...divine visions, or whatever special name you like to call your lunacy.” She turned away and lay back on the bed with a groan. She left bloodstains on the pillow as she clenched her fist over it. “Don’t act like the worst thing in the world is what you are— fucking crazy.”

“Ha!” Maria barked out a sad, bitter laugh. “Yeah. So are you.”

“Am I the worst thing in the world?” Mary smiled back at her.

“No, Mary, of course not.” Maria shifted up beside her. “You know that.” She hesitated before adding, “Did you want to see your father now? I...understand if you don’t want to, I don’t imagine he’ll be too pleased with you. I just want to make sure I’m at his side when he does wake up.” She lowered her voice. “So that snake Churchill isn’t the first face he has to see.”

Oh, there she went again. Mary had no idea what she was referring to. If it had to do with James, though, she had to be there, didn’t she? Besides, she didn’t know why he would be unhappy with her at the moment. Hopefully he would have forgotten whatever it was by now. He played such strange games with everyone around him, though; she could never tell what it would be.

“I’ll go,” Mary said, sitting up.

“Are you sure?”

“You would keep a daughter from her poor old father? Why would I ever refuse it?” She wiped her fingers on her skirt and got up, though it took some effort. She pushed her hair back, glaring ahead at the light outside her room. She didn’t want to step out there, under the unceasing glow. But she knew James would have liked her to.

“Come on, then.” Maria took her hand and led her out of the room. Mary followed, keeping a hand on the wall as she walked. She thought she might have been tearing it open, despite the perpetually short nails she kept; there was an incessant buzzing at her fingertips that had been growing lately, every time she smoked her pipe.

It was, to her relief, much dimmer in the stairway, as well as in the main salon, where she saw a small crowd of Disciples gathered there. Those with tails whipped them about impatiently, staring down at something on the white sofa. Devils below, why did it have to be white?

“He’s all healed by now,” Maria told her as they stepped in. “We’re just waiting for the devil to release him.”

The devil? What devil? Mary opened her mouth to ask, but snapped it back shut when she saw that all the Disciples were staring back at her with wide eyes, letting her pass almost too easily. They did so in a very slow, ghostly manner, as if she were all alone in this room, and her six lives were enough to consume the ancient spirits surrounding her. She thought she could reach out and wave them away like leaves.

Six lives. She paused before the sofa. What a foolish thought. The power was never hers to wield.

“No, Mary,” she heard a faint, familiar voice say beside her, echoing deep in her mind. “It was always his.”

She glanced at the speaker. She realized she truly had smoked too much when she saw her uncle Charles standing there, just as he looked before his death, save for one broken horn. He smiled at her, though his blank eyes were far from friendly.

Right. She remembered now. She turned away from him, letting him disappear into the back of her mind, and knelt in front of the body before her. That of her father, who had been shot last night...by none other than her sister. She’d pay for that, Mary would see to it.

Oh, she had done other things, too— she’d started a fire, which might have explained the unusually sore throat Mary had today, and she’d spoken to Ally Marly, but all of that paled in comparison to the secret she had revealed. It had the power to destroy the leadership of the Disciples.

Of course, it hadn’t, but she still would have liked killing Anne before she spat out the revelation that Mary and James had both killed Charles. She didn’t like the stares she was receiving now, the hacking coughs she heard behind her. Anne wasn’t here, so Mary knew that, at least for now, she was where they turned their ire towards.

She lifted her head towards James, lying so still and beautiful, his curls falling over his eyes. He would be angry, too, that she had let slip the truth so easily; it was undoubtedly why Maria had only asked and not ordered Mary to be here. She didn’t know where else she was supposed to be, though. He’d surely be looking for her the moment he opened her eyes.

Maria approached cautiously beside her, sitting up next to James and dipping her head to kiss one of the filaire-marked horns. Behind her, Marly leaned down over the sofa, staring at Mary through narrowed eyes. He looked like a starving cat.

What does he want? Was he disappointed she and Maria had survived his treacherous actions? Well, he would have more to worry about when James woke up, she would make sure of that.

She thought she had her explanations ready as her father began to stir, opening his mouth wide in a yawn that displayed the gleam of both his white and golden teeth. She wouldn’t be able to explain away everything, especially since she knew he would be very, very angry, and yet she dared to hope, clenching her teeth so hard that it sent shivers down her neck. It hurt.

James opened his eyes, sitting up with such force that Maria jumped back in surprise. He curled his lip back in a sneer as he glanced down at his clothes, none of which had been changed since he had been shot. He must have smelled the blood; Mary could see the fur on his tail standing straight up as he looked around.

The Disciples all bowed their heads deeply in greeting, but James did not acknowledge any of them. Instead he looked straight at Maria and asked, in a slow, uncertain voice, “Where is William?”

William. Mary might have despaired at the sound of his name, but hearing it this time only made her feel her heartbeat more acutely. She wiped the sweat from her face with her arm and looked up to face her father. At least this wasn’t the worst thing he could have said.

“You weren’t awake for this, but Anne started a fire,” she began. “She used a Western fire spell, so you know she wanted to kill us all. Indeed, it spread so quickly—” She stood up, nearly tripping on Maria’s lashing tail. “It was a choice between saving you or catching him, and he scurried away so quickly. I mean, he was like a little fucking rat, you really would have had to be there.” She mimicked the motion of crawling with her hand. “Oh, I guess you were there. But not awake, right? Right. So he left, and we had to take you instead, and Maria saved both of us! You and me. And herself, too, I suppose. We were the last ones to get out.” She clapped her hands and looked back at everyone else. “It’s very likely that William probably died there, burning alive as you might have wished him to be. There’s nothing left of him, and he was the only casualty...save for yourself.”

She turned back towards James and Maria, in particular raising her eyebrows at her stepmother. If it were up to Mary, they might have kept William, and this whole mess within her would be over, but Maria had insisted on letting Bentinck take him back, for whatever nonsense reason Mary couldn’t understand. All she knew was that Maria had allowed William to slip away, allowed him another day to come back and destroy them all.

So she hoped that it was enough for James to believe her and cast his gaze away from Maria. She had saved Mary’s life, now Mary could save her, if even for a little while— an eye for an eye, it was what the devils would have liked to see.

James managed to stand, his hand on Maria’s shoulder for support. “So we are sure,” he said, “that William is dead.”

“I think so.” Mary smiled at him, backing away slowly.

“Well, at least Anne did something right,” he spat, much to her surprise. “I wish I could have been there to see it, but that’s one less thing to worry about.” His eyes glittered. “How cute; she must have thought I would forgive her. Poor thing. Did any of you happen to capture her?”

“She hasn’t been seen since,” Marly answered, bowing low before flitting to James’ side. “And neither has Sarah.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, and Mary couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t know where either of them went!” she said. “You were speaking to them both right before the fire spell was cast.” She pointed straight at him, feeling foolishly like a child choosing her favorite treat from right outside a shop’s window. It delighted her. “And then —get this, sir— you left us! You fled to save your own skin, never looking back once for James. Some Ally you make.”

Her smile widened even as she heard the mocking, disbelieving hisses from the Disciples. Marly jumped a little, his gaze flicking from her to James to Maria.

“I- I was always thinking of you, sir,” he said to James. “I only tried to- to speak to Sarah to dissuade her from fleeing with Anne, but I don’t know if she really knew about your daughter’s plans until the very end.” He glared back at Mary. “I know I didn’t. Besides, I was the one that saved you, not—”

“Enough.” James flicked his tail to silence him. “Don’t lie to me again.”

“I’m not—”

“John, I said enough.” There was a warning in James’ voice as he turned his head towards his Ally. “Has anyone else defected, or was it just your beloved Sarah?” He spoke the word with a sly smile growing on his face, and Marly swallowed.

“No, I don’t believe so. We’ve all stayed.”

“Ah, how wonderful.” James stepped forward, starting to circle and weave through his followers. “It pleases me to see you all here after that unnecessary revelation. You must recognize how far I will go to ensure only the very best for the descendants of the Eastern Kingdom. More importantly, you surely recognize that an Overlifer must do everything he can to ensure his voice is heard above all others. He must be willing to make sacrifices. The moment a limb loses all functionality and becomes nothing but a painful, stinging burden...he must be willing to cut it off.”

Mary glowered at the Disciples who still lashed their tails suspiciously. Couldn’t they see how dedicated James was to them? If it had been the other way around, Charles would have never killed James, he would have let the whole cause rot. There was someone with no honor, no determination, no backbone. James was always meant to rule in his place.

So what if he just...hastened the process?

“But it is also necessary for an Overlifer to listen to his Eastern subjects.” It was Madam Finch’s deep voice which spoke, that of the only Disciple Madam in Altos Diablos, dressed accordingly with the odd cravat and justaucorps. She always had a severe look about her, though Mary didn’t know how honest it was. She had always been nothing but polite.

“An Overlifer commands absolutely,” James said simply, stopping in front of her.

“An Overlifer cannot possibly rule if every subject is unhappy,” Finch said. She lifted her head to look into James’ eyes, blinking tiredly. “I trust that your word is law, but some things have historically never been allowed to pass by the followers of your ancestors. Believe me when I say that I have never agreed with those rebels.” Her tail flicked slowly from side to side. “But I can understand why they did what they did.”

“Is that a threat?” James snapped.

“Let’s just say it’s an unprecedented situation, sir,” Charles Talbot, Finch’s favorite whore (and, by extension, Mary’s as well) piped up beside them. Today he had somehow managed to look more exhausted than his mistress. “Killing an Overlifer, of the highest divine blood and rank, even for the sake of becoming one yourself...it’s never been done before. Can it be done? Should it be allowed?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mary said. She stared at Talbot’s thighs as she spoke, ever so slightly exposed in between his shorts and boots. She’d certainly like to be in between them again. “My father is better, and his choices now as an Overlifer cancel out the will of a dead one.”

Talbot gave her a look she couldn’t read, and said nothing more.

“I don’t mind this so much at all,” Spencer said, approaching rather noisily with his heels. “It’s the lies that stung, sir. I would have followed you anywhere.” He was smiling, but his tail, lashing slowly, revealed his discontent. So even him.

“Does this mean you wouldn’t now?” James asked. His features seemed to soften as he looked back at Spencer.

There was a pause, then Spencer bowed his head. “I would. But you must think about where you would be without us.” His gaze burning, he turned around and walked out the door.

James snorted. “Insolent snake. I’ll deal with him later.” Waving his tail at everyone, he said, “You may be Easterners, but remember that I decide your future in this world. My brother promised glory, but I won’t make it so easy for you. Around here, you earn your place. So glory you may receive, if you simply behave.” He flashed a grin at Finch. “But you can also earn yourself a fate worse than death. You would all do well to remember that.”

It was only sensible. Mary didn’t know why they all looked so stunned, their high horns blurring at the edge of her vision as if they were reaching up towards the heavens. This was how she had always lived, understanding well that the more use her father had for her, the more favor he would show her, and the happier they could all be. It was a peaceful existence, where she could numb her mind and let James pull the strings for her. It was so easy to kill when the order came from his lips.

She was the daughter of an Overlifer. Everyone else here had the honor to serve him, to bring him one step closer to his solution for humanity. What more could they want?

Just follow orders and you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted and more. She looked up, and it seemed to her that the Disciples might have been speaking. There was the mindless drum of conversation all around her, but they all appeared to be frozen in place, disappearing beside her as she began to walk towards the stairs again.

Everything I’ve ever wanted. She’d been following James for twenty-three years and yet she could only feel a sort of new, aching grief within her as she glanced back at the frozen figures.

“Mary. I’d like to see you alone, please.” That was James in her ear. She looked up at him and followed him up the stairs, resisting the urge to cling onto his tail like she had when she was a child. At least she had more reason for it now, unsteady as she was.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing she said once they were alone in the corridor.

“Why did you tell her?” Already James was circling her, like a wary lion with his tail swishing from side to side. It looked sort of funny; she had to stifle a laugh.

“Anne? I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted a reason to kill her, you ever thought about that?” It was a lie, she never once had thought of it. But she was of hardly any use to James anymore, she only made their dear father angry. It wouldn’t have been such a great loss to Mary. Not if she just spent the rest of her life as high as she had been that day.

“I would have liked to avoid killing my own daughters,” James said in a low voice.

“Ha, well, you wouldn’t have been the one doing it, anyway. You’d just send me again, wouldn’t you? I can kill anyone.” Mary tilted her head to the side so that she was leaning against the wall. “We could try getting high some time. You and me and Maria. And then we can kill anyone we want. You know, I think if you’d been shitfaced enough, you could have killed Charles yourself. You could have strangled and beaten him. It would have been so easy for you.”

James paused his pacing, turning his head sharply towards her. “What kind of goodbye would that have been for him?”

“Yeah, right. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Will you shut the fuck up, Mary?” he snapped. “You don’t know anything about what happened that night. You were just there to kill him, and you did your job, so keep it professional, why don’t you? I don’t need to hear your opinion on the...customer.” His tail wagged a little at the tip, as if he were amused at the remark.

“Mm. Well, you know. Just some feedback.” Mary shrugged. “Besides, I’m not complaining. I’m just saying, if you’re getting high, that’s more power to you.”

“You revealed our secret while you were high!” James said bitterly. “And you couldn’t even kill Anne once she knew. Two of the most important orders I have ever given you, and you disobeyed both of them.” He stepped closer to her, and Mary gritted her teeth as she looked up at him.

“Never on purpose—”

She was cut off by her own yelp as he reached out to pull hard on her hair, bringing her so close to him she could smell his metallic breath. “I can’t believe you’re my heir,” he said, “and you have done nothing lately but bring us further and further from our destiny.”

“I thought you were going to live forever,” Mary said faintly, and her father shoved her back, hard enough for her to nearly stumble and fall. She gasped as he began to walk towards her again.

“That doesn’t matter! What matters is that you must always serve me, and somehow you keep fucking it up!” With those last words, he raised his fist, only narrowly missing her eye as she turned her head. She felt the impact there anyway when it landed, her vision blinking out for a moment when she fell back against the wall, hitting the other side of her head as well.

Shit. She rubbed at her cheek and tried to scurry to the side when she felt James’ shadow over her. But he took hold of her wrist, pulling it sharply towards himself so that she fell back against him. She cried out, feeling him take a step back at her weight, but then he shoved her down on the floor.

“Ugh- fuck!” she cried out as she landed on her back. She was shaking so hard she could hardly sit up, though she frantically tried to scoot away when she felt James’ presence right down beside her. “Sir- sir, please, you don’t—”

“You’ve become no better than your sister! Am I to be alone in this forever?!” he shouted at her, crawling over her and pinning her arms above her head with one firm hand. “All you and Anne have ever done is ruin everything I’ve been trying to do here, you’ve never done so much for this like I have!”

“N-No—” Mary could hardly catch her breath, her chest heaving below her father’s. What was all the blood for, then? Did her father never smell it upon her, like she did on him?

Or perhaps she was remembering wrong, after all. Sometimes it happened when she was high enough. Reality was rather disappointing the next day.

She saw a flash of silver above her, and then it came down on her face, sending so sharp a sting through her that she opened her mouth to scream. It was muffled as James shoved his forearm into her mouth, forcing her to bite down as he landed blows from the buckle on the belt he had slipped off. Her arms were free now, but try as she might, she couldn’t push him off, couldn’t make him stop.

She was glad she kept her eyes shut, or she would have seen the fierce gaze that she remembered from a time so long ago, yet somehow also a time where everything was the same as it was now. She would have seen his lips curled back in a determined snarl. She hated that it was all a lie, then, that he truly thought so little of her that the worst he could offer her were these mindless beatings.

Damned beast! She bit down as hard as she could on his arm, and still he did not move. She could no longer hear anything but her own racing heartbeat, her shallow breaths becoming faster as the seconds ticked by. She could feel tears slipping out the corners of her eyes.

“By all the stars,” she heard James exclaim once he was done, sitting back with a huff. “I don’t know why you would do this to me.”

Mary lifted her head cautiously as he stood up. She could feel that, for the most part, he’d struck her face and arms. Her eye that had escaped his first punch couldn’t even open now.

“I’ll kill all the disloyal snakes that I have to,” James said, turning away from her. “I don’t care why; if they so much as even suggest that they no longer believe in my rule, I will fucking devour them myself.” He glared back at her. “But they were happy before. The blood will be on your hands.” With that, he disappeared down the stairs.

As if he cared about that. She was quite offended that he thought she would— any traitor, no matter the reason they dissented, deserved to die!

She pushed herself up with a grunt and stood up, swaying in the air until Charles reached out to steady her. Instinctively, she leant against him, but instead she fell hard against the wall, hitting her head on it.

“Will you stop doing that?” she mumbled. She let herself slide back down the wall, clutching at her still-frantic heart. She hated Charles. She hated this false high; it didn’t even make her happy for a moment. None of it did at this point.

So why do you still do this? Just stop. It hurts. It hurts, just stop. She buried her face in her hands with a shaky breath. Just smoke like everyone else.

No, no, she couldn’t do it. She had to keep going— being sober never made anything better, anyway. She could at least try to have some fun.

For now, though, it only brought her and James nothing but trouble. Nothing but uncertainty and the fear of the beginnings of something working beneath them. She’d seen the look in Spencer’s eyes, like a festering wound.

She wanted to scream that she had tried, that she had always done whatever James had asked of her, but none of it could ever compare to this. They’d spent years building up to this, to the moment James would finally rule, and she had just shattered it all. 

Somehow, it was explained to her that she always did.

🝰🝰🝰

Anne turned her head to the side as Bentinck leaned down to kiss her neck, letting out sweet gasps when he shifted his hips forward, deeper into her. She was warm underneath him, her hands shaking slightly over his shoulders, her legs spreading just a little further to grant him easier access.

“A-Ah— my lord—!” Her eyes glistened under the rising sun as she cried out. Bentinck paused for a moment, listening to her huffs, borderline prayers, before starting up again. He stroked at her horns, kissing them while she buried her face in his chest.

“You don’t need to call me that,” he reminded her gently.

“I- I want to,” she said, her face flushing as she smiled up at him. She brought her hands up to his hair and pulled him closer, sighing against his lips before kissing him. Bentinck certainly had no problem with that; he shut his eyes and continued that way.

He was the first to break away with a ragged gasp. He bowed his head to stifle a groan as he came, feeling her body shudder against him. She laughed breathlessly beneath him.

“Have I pleased Lord Portland?” she asked.

“Well...have I pleased Lady Anne?” He pressed another kiss to one of her horns and backed away with a stretch. He hoped they had been quick and quiet enough to not have disturbed Bidloo downstairs, but he truly couldn’t have waited any longer.

I just hope that William doesn’t mind that we used one of his guest rooms for this. He glanced back at the door, and Anne sat up beside him.

“You have,” she said. “Very much.” She pecked at his cheek, then looked downwards and said, “Hey, do you mind if I get your condom?”

“Oh- what?” Bentinck turned sharply back towards her. She merely blinked at him, waiting for his answer. Somehow she had never looked more serious.

“Well, I need all the blessings I can get,” she said. She nudged one of his legs to the side and began to slip off the condom on him. She held it up over her head once she pulled it off.

“What are you doing?” Bentinck laughed nervously.

“They say it’s better to drink straight from the source,” Anne said, opening her mouth wide. She began to squeeze all the cum out onto her tongue, a few drops falling from her lips and landing on her chest. Bentinck swallowed hard as he watched.

“But this will do,” she said as she finished. She wiped absently at her mouth, and Bentinck bounced forward and kissed her. She returned his kiss with a soft sigh, reaching up to hold his hand, cupped around her face.

“Hans,” she said, opening one eye to stare up at him as he lifted his head. “An Ally such as yourself—”

“Oh, please, Anne, enough of that,” Bentinck cut in. “We’re here as lovers, are we not? I love you. That’s all there is to it.” He hated that he had to let her go and get dressed; she appeared so vulnerable there on the bed, her eyes narrowing.

“And I love you,” she said cautiously. “Very much.”

“Is something wrong?” Bentinck tilted his head down at her. He hadn’t liked the way she said that.

She seemed to think on it for a moment. “No,” she said at length.

Oh. He didn’t exactly believe her, but it seemed the matter was quite done on her end, as she turned away to dress as well. Maybe what she needed was time, then.

He didn’t mind that. Right now, if Bentinck was correct, William was just on the verge of waking up, and he’d no doubt be pestering Bidloo about where his friend was. For some reason, Bentinck was already dreading speaking to him again.

“No Ally clothing today?” Anne asked behind him.

“Um, n-no.” Bentinck cleared his throat. “Don’t have it on me, anyway. And William doesn’t like seeing me with it. I don’t have to make this whole...situation worse for him.”

“Do you like it, though?”

“Well...maybe a little.”

Unfortunately William had already woken up when they got downstairs, sitting up on the bed and giving Bidloo a nasty scowl as the doctor spoke to him. Bentinck peeked in through the doorway, trying to remain hidden, but William caught him an instant.

“You—!” He stood up, but Bidloo pulled back on his arm.

“Sit down, you just woke up!” he said. “You’re not so steady yet.”

“Fuck off, I know more about my state than you do,” William retorted.

“William, I’m right here,” Bentinck said, sitting beside him on the bed. Anne stood beside him, her wary gaze kept on the Overlifer.

“Oh, finally, you’re here when I need you,” William said. He glared up at Anne, then back down at Bentinck. “What is she doing here? Do you know what she did to me? Or- or do you just not care?” His tail lashed furiously behind him, swatting Bidloo in the face. “You get this traitorous snake out of my house or I’ll kill her myself—”

“Enough,” Bentinck said sternly. “It’s because of her that I was able to save you.”

“It’s because of her that I was captured in the first place!” William yelled. “How could you trust a Disciple? If she came back to help, it’s because she just wants the protection of an Ally, and having one be mad at you doesn’t exactly put you in the good graces of the devils.”

“That’s not true,” Anne broke in. “Trust me, I would have liked to see you die—”

“Anne,” Bentinck warned her, but she went on.

“If Hans didn’t love you so much, I might have said nothing at all,” she said. “I only came back because I knew how much it would hurt him to lose you. I don’t expect nor want your gratitude, but because of you, I can never return to the Disciples now.”

William seemed so angry he let out a real growl, like that of a devil, and turned to Bentinck. “The point still stands. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t believed she loved you.”

“I do love him!” Anne cried.

“Silence!” William snapped his jaws in the air. “I’m talking to my Ally.” He crawled closer, his tail twitching behind him as if he had no idea who sat before him now. Bentinck wanted to back away, but found that William’s stare was just as effective as any Southern mind spell.

“Hanni,” he whispered, leaning his head against Bentinck’s shoulder. “You never knew of this plan, did you?”

“No, of course not,” Bentinck said. “She knocked me out, too. I was fine, though,” he added quickly, glancing back at Anne. “And then I wanted to go get you. I’m sorry I couldn’t go sooner, but- but I promise, it’s thanks to Bidloo and Anne that I knew where you were. If I had known of James’ orders to her, I wouldn’t have left you alone, so you—” He hesitated, glancing over at Bidloo before taking William’s hand in his own. “You must forgive me.”

William bowed his head, and Bentinck realized then that his master truly stank, of blood and smoke and spirit flesh. He’d been too late, late enough so that whatever torture James had been planning had probably already been carried through. William’s face was clear, as, it seemed, was the rest of his body, but the devils could only mend physical wounds, not memories. His clothes made the ordeal more obvious to Bentinck, torn and stained with dry blood.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Do you know,” William began, “how fucking embarrassing that was? To kneel before James, to be unable to say a word to defend myself?” He stood, turning away from all of them as he spoke. “I’m sure no Overlifer had ever suffered such dishonor. For a moment there, I saw James in all his triumph, standing high above us all, and I saw the madness in his eyes...in his heart...” He nodded once. “I was afraid, not for myself, but for what would become of the world once he had his way. Once I was dead. And I thought I would die.”

“William, what did he do to you?” Bentinck made his way towards him, but William stopped him with a flick of his tail.

“I guess you would have had to be there, right?”

“He said he was sorry,” Anne said in a low voice. “He didn’t have to go at all.”

“But he did,” William said. He turned back to stare at her, in his eyes a coldness that Bentinck had only seen from the Disciples. “That’s the bare minimum. What I truly wanted and expected was for him to come quickly, before I had to face all those Disciples, before that damned spirit tamer—” He stopped himself, his lip curling back in a sneer. “Well, I’ll let you imagine it for yourselves.”

“Did they call snake’s eye for an eye?” Bidloo asked, his small tail twitching anxiously.

Shit. That wasn’t something Bentinck had considered. He knew James wasn’t above it. He looked up, holding his breath as William opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“No.” He still stared at Anne.

That didn’t sound entirely convincing, but it wasn’t exactly anything he could be made to talk about. Bentinck glanced at Anne, who shrugged and turned away.

“Well, that’s good. They might have, though, after the first execution.”

“Yes, so naturally you must think you came just in time, didn’t you?” William hissed. “Just after they had beaten and whipped me.” He flicked his tail at the back of his shirt, still covered in dried blood. “You were all pleased to let that happen.”

Bentinck ran at his friend then, bowing his head to kiss one of William’s horns as he held him close. He heard William gasp softly, but he didn’t protest, merely stood there and dropped his head on Bentinck’s chest. He felt a long tail coil around his body.

A whipping— Bentinck had survived that before. It wouldn’t have killed him, but William could have.

No, he had saved Bentinck’s life instead, and here the Ally stood, clutching pathetically at his master who he had failed over and over again. Anne was right, somehow; he didn’t deserve William.

“Truly, forgive me,” he said. A tear fell from his eye and onto William’s head, and the Overlifer looked up with wide eyes.

“Falling in love with a Disciple who betrayed and captured me,” he said. “I should have you killed.”

Well, maybe you should. Bentinck dropped his gaze as William lifted his hand up towards his cheek, wiping at the tears that fell there.

“Unfortunately, she’s right. You still came. Both of you.” To Bentinck’s surprise, he laughed. “And also, I love you.” He jumped up and wrapped his arms around Bentinck’s neck, still laughing and clinging onto him with his tail. “Even as I lay dying, I- I was so, so happy to see you.”

Bentinck stumbled back and laughed too, pushing the hair out of William’s eyes as he smiled down at him. “You- you really are too kind.”

“Well, I don’t hear that one often,” William said. He let go of Bentinck and directed his grin towards Anne, though his tail now began to lash again. “But it’s true, isn’t it? Anne.”

“What?” Anne jerked her head up. Beside her, Bidloo snorted, but he paid no attention to them, instead looking down at his phone.

“You cannot stay here,” William said. “I appreciate what you did to help Bentinck, but you’re still a Disciple. You’re a risk to us if you stay. And,” he added, his expression now becoming serious as it was before, “you are not to return.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sir,” Anne said. Her eyes glittered as she looked over at Bentinck. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I could never return. I’m no longer a Disciple. James’ rule is far worse than I ever imagined it would be.” She sighed again, wistfully this time. “I suppose I don’t really want to stay here, either. But I trust I’m safer under the protection of the Devils of Orange-Nassau than I would be if I just walked alone.”

To hear her so certain about this decision once more was another thrill to Bentinck. He couldn’t help but walk over and give her a light kiss on the cheek. She lifted her head slightly as he did so.

“So you betray us first, and then immediately after, you want to join our cause.” William let out another laugh, though Bentinck could detect the sarcasm in it. “Oh, that’s fucked. Especially when you might just be another spy.”

“Not this time!” Anne said, looking helplessly up at Bentinck. She hesitated before bowing low, taking William’s hand to kiss it. “You have my word.”

William raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move. At length he said, “You’re forgiven, Hans. But this one will have to earn that honor. I trust you to keep an eye on her until then. Understood?” He snatched his hand away from Anne and turned his fiery gaze back to Bentinck.

“Yes, sir.” Bentinck nodded once. It certainly wasn’t an impossible order, and he trusted Anne to stay true to her vow. He reached out to squeeze her hand once to reassure her.

“Are you done now?” Bidloo looked up, holding a lighter in one hand and his phone in the other. “I want to get out of here.”

“You can leave whenever you like, you know.” William glared back at him.

“No, idiot, I can’t,” Bidloo said. He stood up and stretched. “Been with you all night just to tell you that you need to stop dying.”

Bentinck winced, and the fur on William’s tail stood straight up. “You don’t think I know that, you—”

“Well, clearly whatever your strategy is isn’t working,” Bidloo calmly interrupted. “You told me once before that you were working on getting the Earl of Albemarle to come to you. Hurry it up.”

Albemarle! Bentinck’s blood ran cold as he remembered the sharp-toothed grin the fox spirit had flashed at him, right before Anne had knocked him out. That beast had been out to kill.

“I’m trying,” William began, but Bentinck cleared his throat.

“Actually, Anne and I came across him at the- the abandoned mall we went to,” he said, hoping the mention of the place wouldn’t stir up memories that were too unpleasant. “I was going to capture him, but Anne, she- um—”

“Anne, huh.” William sighed, falling back on the bed. “By all the stars. And you didn’t think that was the first thing you should have brought up?”

“Sounds like maybe he isn’t so elusive to you, after all,” Bidloo said. “You go there and see if you can track him down again. It would save me a lot of trouble, and the whole rest of the world, too.”

“Some doctor you make,” William growled. “Aren’t you supposed to give me the prescription yourself?”

Bidloo let out a high, bitter laugh. “Oh, no, I’m not spending any more time with you than I have to. You and your Ally can handle it.” He opened the door to leave, lighting a cigarette as he did so. “But actually handle it. Those are my orders, William, not as your doctor, not as your subordinate, but as someone who doesn’t want to see James rule the whole world.”

William blinked up at the ceiling. “Done.”

🝰🝰🝰

In the Mercia governorate lived the greatest Allies in the world, among them the ruler of Altos Diablos, watching the nation from his place so far up among the clouds. Mary had never really understood Ally Lucky Balcer, as he seemed ever so fond of the Stewarts when it must have been obvious to him the animosity they held towards him. At least James was much better at hiding his contempt than Charles had been. When he was ordered to report to the Administrative Hoerenkast, where every Master of the Devils reigned from in the governorate, he dropped everything he had planned for that day and set off almost immediately.

He took Mary and Marly with him, Maria being left to run the Disciples in Berufungsachse. Mary thought it a little offensive that he should not have left her in charge instead— she who was the heir! But James had made it clear that he wanted Mary beside him, and it would have been only Mary had it not been for the fact that an Ally was quite logical to bring to a Hoerenkast.

On the train ride there, however, James revealed a yet more flattering reason for bringing Mary along. As she stared dejectedly at her cigarette, smoking it for even a fraction of the thrill she got from her meth, James blew smoke out from his own lips towards her face.

“Mary,” he began, “we are going deep into enemy territory now. I want you to take out at least one Ally, preferably one of the governors. They’ll all be there, Lucky and I are meeting with them.”

“Whatever for?” Marly asked beside him.

“They’re trying to get a bill passed to limit the power of monopolies. They want my opinion, as a man who runs a few of them myself.” James paused to take a drag from his cigarette, then held it out towards Marly, who took his turn as well. “Lucky’s words, not mine. With luck I can get them to shut the fuck up about it.”

“Are you friendly with Lucky?” Mary asked. She had been wondering about it since the day she’d been caught by the Master and his Doves, noting how easily it was for him to forgive her. He had asked her to take a message to James, simply don’t do this again. And now this...

“Stars above, no,” James said, rolling his eyes. “But Charles was, in his...way. I suppose his influence is still felt.” He flicked his tail, dismissing the matter. “Oh, you know how it is with us. In any case, the order stands, Mary.”

“I’ll do my best.” She bowed her head, though inwardly she was panicking a little. How was she supposed to do this sober? Her father hadn’t given her methamphetamine for a few days now. She was exhausted, her eyes fluttering through a damnable headache that would certainly make it harder to aim her gun or blade.

More importantly, it wasn’t fun like this, and ecstasy would only make it worse. She was tempted to tell her father, but he had always been adamant that she was a better assassin when she wasn’t high. He might have been correct nearly a decade ago.

Truly, have you not been paying attention this whole time? She didn’t dare ask the question that would displease him more. Instead, she focused on taking all that she could from the cigarette she held.

Supposedly, when she was younger she had been taken into the Administrative Hoerenkast with her father and uncle, but she remembered nothing of it, nor did she remember the rest of Mercia very well. The governorate where she had been born was crowded today with Doves at every corner, though the streets of the capital city, Ferociudad, seemed emptier when compared to New Amsterdam. This was not a place where just anybody could be expected to survive.

Inside the Hoerenkast, there were far more Doves guarding the place, standing on the numerous floors above them and glaring down at the guests through their masks. The shadows seemed to get darker near the top, but Mary could still see the brilliant eyes blinking at her. At any moment they were ready to aim their guns down at her.

If I fuck this up even a little...

“Did you want to come in with me?” James asked her, his tail flicking at the edge of her vision.

“It sounds boring,” she admitted. “Why don’t you take Marly?”

Take him if you like him so much, she added darkly to herself. Marly glanced at her, stepping closer to her father as they walked.

“I will,” James said. “I suppose, then, you will wait here and—?”

“Are the governors here yet?” Mary asked in a hushed voice. Almost immediately, the Doves leaned in closer from their places above.

“Yes. You’ll have to wait until we’re done.”

Are you kidding me? Had he set her up to fail on purpose? She shook herself and began to look around for any quick exits, the ones that wouldn’t set off any alarms, out of sight from the Doves. She noticed, too, that everything echoed here, so shooting wouldn’t be an option.

I could try poison. She knew they were also invited to dine here, and it was certainly easier, for she could expect no fight from her chosen target. Devils below, if she was quick enough, she could even kill all of them.

“Ah, James Stewart!” came the greeting from down the hall. Mary recognized the voice, though it was quite different hearing it sober now. She looked up, saw Ally Lucky walking towards them, as always with a few Doves at his side. “You came, love!”

“There was no reason why I shouldn’t have,” James said, rolling his eyes. He stepped back as Lucky approached, laughing and patting his shoulder as if he were greeting an old friend. At this, Marly drew back, looking Lucky up and down.

“How are you, dear?” Lucky asked. “You look worse when you’re not covered in stars, you know. Oh, but you are a lion!” He ran his hand through James’ hair, and Mary narrowed her eyes.

Who the fuck does he think he is? For whatever reason, this was the one Ally whom Mary was forbidden to kill, when he seemed the most insufferable to her out of all of them. All Allies acted as if they owned everyone who spoke to them, but to do it to James, who held more power than anyone else— he deserved to die!

“Please, sir,” James said in a voice remarkably calm for him. “I am here on official business.”

“Ever so dedicated,” Lucky cooed. He glanced at Mary and Marly, his smile spreading wider in a way that made Mary’s skin crawl. She knew false kindness when she saw it. “Hello again, Mary. Will you be joining us?”

“Oh, n-no,” Mary said, glancing at James. “I can wait out here.” She felt the Doves glaring at her. They surely recognized her from when they had last seen her, though this time instead of it being obvious that she was high, today it was too obvious that she wasn’t. But what was she to do? James knew how she got in withdrawal, and had brought her along anyway.

“Stay out of trouble,” was the last thing James said before following Lucky down the hall. Marly smiled at her not unlike Lucky had, and then they left her standing there alone, watching them go through lidded eyes. How tempted she was to throw her blades at them.

Even you, James, she thought, though she immediately felt sick at the idea. She turned around and left them as they were.

The water in this Hoerenkast ran far longer than any of the streams back home, leading her to a kind of waterfall that fell in front of the entrance to a grand meeting room. The most faithful followers of whatever Ally sat here would have to step through the water to see their idol.

But there was no one here, so there was no need to show such foolish reverence. Instead she simply squeezed through the gap in between the entrance and the water, skipping through the little stream and nearly falling into the room.

It was as if she had stepped into a jungle; it was strangely humid in here, patches of sunlight beaming down upon the throne in the middle of the room. The rest of the room was dark, but she could see plants hanging from the ceiling, as well as the spot in front of the throne where the stream formed into a gentle spring. As she stepped towards it, lights from beneath the water flickered on as if they had sensed her, highlighting a single goldfish swimming alone.

Hm. Real pretty in here. She looked up when she heard a small meow come from behind the throne.

It was a pure white cat, staring at her curiously. It stepped back as Mary sat down in front of the spring, then ducked behind the throne, its tail flicking from side to side. Its gaze dropped to the fish.

“What, did you want to eat it?” Mary asked in amusement.

“Lady Mary.” A deep voice called her name behind her, and the cat ran off into the darkness, much to Mary’s disappointment. She looked back, glaring at the masked Dove standing in front of the waterfall.

“Hello,” she said. “Want a picture?”

“No.” The Dove tilted his head to the side. “My children watch you. Even after I told them that you tried to kill Master Lucky and that I have seen you in such a miserable state for a girl of your status. Even after I described the tattoo on your neck in great detail.”

“You haven’t seen it,” Mary said. “Quit lying to your kids, they deserve better.”

“We all know what a Disciple’s tattoo looks like,” the Dove said. “And we know why you’re here.” He twitched his tail behind him, and a couple other Doves stepped through the water, already holding their spears out.

Ugh. She began to reach for her spells, her favorite knife.

“You are here to kill him again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe just you,” Mary said. With that, she took a slip of paper from her pocket and ripped through it with her knife, yelling, “Accelerami!”

It was a spell written by Maria, though it had sounded too good to be true to Mary. And yet, it worked to make her practically fly through the air, the Doves before her nearly frozen in time except for the slight movement of their arms as they began to lift their spears. She paused for a moment, remembering Maria’s instructions on how to make use of the spell.

You may get as close to your enemies as possible, but the moment you touch them, your speed will return to normal. Use it once, to finish a fight.

How was she to finish this? She held the knife up to the lead Dove’s throat, then braced herself before shoving the mask up to make room for the blade to pierce through the skin. She shoved it far deeper then she had intended to as she slowed down again, and the assisting Doves sprung back in shock. Blood rained down on them as she pulled the knife out, letting the Dove fall beneath her.

“What kind of spell—?” one Dove uttered in horror. “Only devils reach such speeds!”

“I wasn’t intending to kill you,” Mary said. She looked down, realizing that the body was bleeding out into the stream. She kicked it away, but it was too late; she could see the blood running through the water already, and certainly others would as well. “Now look at what you’ve done—!”

“Who cares, just shoot her already!” The other Dove reached for her gun, and Mary panicked, kicking out hard at the stream before her. The water splashed the Doves, who instinctively lifted their tails to shield themselves. She caught them in her hand and pulled back, bringing them towards her and shoving her knee up into one Dove’s belly. He fell in the stream, and Mary took his spear, swinging it around towards the Dove that was still standing.

“I’ll kill both of you like I killed your friend here,” she said. “I can cast the spell again and you won’t even have time to reminisce on your lifetime. It’s just—” She snapped. “Lights out.”

“Cheater,” hissed the standing Dove. She lifted her head, ever so slightly, but Mary saw it. She turned around in time to knock the gun out of the other Dove’s hands, realizing with a new wave of nausea that it had been pointed straight at her head.

“Devils below, you never learn!” Mary shoved her spear into the Dove’s thigh, throwing another one of Maria’s spells behind her. “Return to your master!”

Just as she predicted, the Dove behind her shot at Mary, but the bullet never reached her. Mary tore the spear out of the Dove in front of her, kicking him back towards the ground, and turned around to see the other Dove falling back against the wall. There was blood pouring from a clean hole in her chest, which heaved up and down desperately for breath.

“Who- who taught you such things?” she heard her remaining opponent ask with a shaky voice. It sounded distant through the ringing in her ears.

“Well, I don’t know where she learned it from, either,” she answered, out of breath herself. She pushed her hair back and pointed the spear back down at the Dove’s chest. “You call yourselves Doves? Protectors of the Master? It’s little wonder this government has grown to be as weak as it is.” She raised the spear above her and slashed it with finality across his throat.

Oh, James help me. She remained there for a moment, wrinkling her nose at the scent of the blood on her clothes and the floor. If anyone came in now, they would see what a mess she’d made of things. They would finally see her for who she was, a murderer, and then they would turn towards James and know that the Disciples of Restoration were still in operation after all.

This really didn’t have to happen! Truly, it was their suspicion that had killed them. Of course, they’d been right, but how wrong they were to think they could have protected anyone. She took one by the horns and began to drag him to the back of the room, nearly stumbling over the stream.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she huffed, dropping the body again. Even if she hid them all now, they would be found eventually, and it would all be traced back to her. But that didn’t matter much when she remembered just how loud the gunshot had been. Had the rushing waterfall been enough to stop the sound from reaching any other Dove?

Surely not. She leaned back on the throne and brought a hand over her eyes. They’re going to catch me, and James—

He would kill her, maybe. There were only so many failures he could take from her. It would be a mercy, however, if it would spare her from going to one of the rehabilitation facilities, especially the one where that Devil doctor, Govert Bidloo, ran the show.

“Two minutes until they arrive.”

“Huh?” Mary looked down, thinking for a moment that one of the Doves was still alive.

She saw only the fish staring up at her. It turned this way and that, and then said, “Need some help?”

“Oh?” She decided to humor her hallucinations this time, induced by the grief of her brain, longing for the stupid crystals that only impaled and disfigured it. What a foolish, poor head she carried on her body; she considered putting it out of its misery with one of the guns here as she stared at the fish that had been made an actor against its will, taking orders from the director, psychosis.

“I could take these clowns with me,” said the fish. “I could wash the blood from your hands. I ask no favors, but you will remember my deeds forever, do you understand? You must.”

“Yeah, nice try,” Mary said. “I wish it were so easy.”

“Nothing is so difficult for a dwaallicht remnant.” The fish jumped out of the water then, spreading its fins which became wings, and then humanoid arms, its body becoming longer and larger. It fell forward on the ground, sitting up on its claws and looking back at Mary.

Indeed, it appeared to be a humanoid spirit, wearing little save for an orange silk in between his legs, and golden bracelets which matched the color of the fins on his limbs. The scales on his tail were far more varied in color, as were the ones on his face, forming into fins above his head that acted as some kind of elegant mane. He curled his lips back in a smile, revealing dozens of needle-like teeth.

“Wow,” Mary said, though she couldn’t find it in herself to be impressed. “So you’re real?”

“Let’s see.” The goldfish spirit smacked his tail against the water, splashing Mary’s legs. “How’s that?”

“Stop that!” She stepped back. “You said you could help me, didn’t you?”

The spirit hummed thoughtfully. “One minute left. Do you accept?”

“Alright,” Mary said, unable to think of anything else to say. It wasn’t as if she had any better ideas.

The spirit laughed and opened his mouth wide. His tongue began to roll out of his mouth endlessly, and it kept going as he took the bodies, one by one, all in a single hand. He scooted back into the spring and clawed at the water with his feet, pushing the bodies in with his tail. They disappeared as soon as they hit the water, sliding in as if they went to another world. And yet, the water remained clean and still.

The fish then swiped his tongue about the place, flicking it up and down to wipe the blood off of every surface. He then turned to Mary and ran his tongue over her body as well, the blood sliding off easily with the saliva. Somehow, she remained dry, save for her hair.

I can’t just be seeing this, right? She stared at her reflection in the spring, her appearance now only as unkempt as it had been when she had first arrived.

“What sort of magic is this?” she asked.

The spirit rolled his tongue back into his mouth and grinned. “You, too, can learn it. Now, I must be on my way, for in ten seconds the Doves will arrive here, and you must have a good excuse.”

“Hold on,” Mary said. “I know you asked for nothing, but can I offer you something, anyway?”

“What?”

“You could always come eat me out, if you want.”

He barked out a laugh at that. “Truly?” Then he jumped in the air and back into the spring, and in an instant he was a fish again. He dipped into the very bottom and disappeared with a mere plip! of the water.

She heard the rush of the waterfall briefly interrupted by rather harsh footsteps, and she looked up at the few Doves that had entered the room. As they did so, the white cat she had seen earlier bounded in front of her, pressing itself against her legs with a loud purr.

“Mary Stewart,” one of the Doves greeted her, too polite to have been one to recognize her. “We- we heard a sound—”

“I did, too,” Mary said. “I thought it came from outside.” She glanced down at the cat. “I like the kitty you have here.”

“The kit- I mean, the cat belongs to Lady Ildicó,” the Dove replied. “In a sense. One day, as she knelt down before this very spring to drink from it, the cat bounded out from within her crowd of followers and went up to drink with her. Since then the cat has lived here, waiting for whenever she returns to visit her father.”

Ildicó Balcer. Mary recognized the name, for the daughter of Master Lucky was one of the most famous and beloved Allies in the world, admired more than even her father. She could not, however, remember exactly what that woman did.

“Is she here today?” Mary asked. “As one of the thirteen governors?”

“Yes, she’s the governor of Berufungsachse.” The Dove tilted his head to the side. “You live there, I thought you might have known this.”

“I, um—” Mary laughed. “Oh, well. You know. Not really into politics. I mean, I’ve never voted in my life, really.” She shrugged, changing the subject. “Why on earth would she drink from the spring, though?”

“Does it every time she meets with her followers here,” said another Dove. “To give thanks to the city that raised her. She’ll do it again tonight.”

“Ah. I hope to be there, then.” She paused, then added, “I want to leave an offering.”

The Doves bowed their heads and left her there, presumably to pray. Instead she waited until all was fully silent before she took a vial of what was supposed to be a deadly poison out of her bag. It might have been thallium, some fancy shit like that, but she could hardly remember what James had been saying to her the day he had given her the vials. She just knew it would kill.

She opened the vial and poured its contents neatly into the spring. She watched the powder dissolve for a moment, and then she looked at the cat, staring up at her with its brilliant green eyes.

“Do not drink from this when your lady does,” she instructed it. “There’s my offering.”

The governor of Berufungsachse— James would be so very, very pleased.

🝰🝰🝰

William could hardly hear the words of the hushed voices behind him, but he knew that they spoke of him. He was leaning against the window of the car, right beside Bentinck, who was one of the voices; quite improper, if you asked William, since he was also the one driving. He clenched his fist and looked to the side, where his milkshake shook over the cupholder. He took it and slurped on it loudly, interrupting the conversation behind him.

“How is it?” Bentinck asked after a moment.

“The shake? Fine.” William set it down again and sat up to face his friend. “Are you absolutely sure you did not sense the Earl there? It’s not unheard of for spirits to be able to hide their presence.”

They had gone back to that abandoned mall the day before, even if William had felt the fur on his tail bristling as soon as he had stepped into the shadows. He was supposed to be looking for Albemarle, but he’d only been waiting for Elizabeth Villiers to jump out at him again, her fingers digging into his hair just to smash his head against the wall. He had tried to fight back, of course, even trying to land a bite here and there, but she’d been incredibly quick, and he was not used to surprises. Even if he should have expected no less from a Disciple of Restoration.

Much to his relief, however, they’d gotten out of there quickly after Bentinck had announced that he sensed no presence of any remnant here. It made sense; Albemarle had been sighted here once, it certainly would not be the last time if he stayed where he was, but it annoyed William to no end. Now they had to drive up north of Berufungsachse, to one of the only shrines dedicated to the fox. He was as loved as he was hated for all the blood he had spilled throughout the centuries, and it was unknown if he would appreciate the shrine enough to stay away from the visitors, or if it would instead attract him to the taste of their adoring blood.

As glad as he was to be out of there, it was beneath an Overlifer to visit a remnant shrine, and this one in particular was two hours away from New Amsterdam by car. He’d been tempted to take a jet, but Bentinck had dissuaded him of it, saying they couldn’t risk bringing attention to them now, just as they were about to catch one of the most famous spirits in the history of the Four Kingdoms. Albemarle had always been wanted and hunted— whoever was the one to catch him would only be the next target, but William had other plans.

So it was just the three of them, in Bentinck’s car, with Anne sitting behind them. She’d just been leaning forward to speak to Bentinck, but now she lay back, sipping on her own milkshake that they’d stopped for twenty minutes before.

“Are you doubting him?” she asked. “You might have seen something, too, Overlifer.”

“It’s not something I was trained for,” William said, rolling his eyes. “I just don’t want to go all the way up here to waste time.”

“It would have been quite a fuss to fly over here, anyway,” Bentinck cut in. “Just relax, William. We have an hour left. You can take a nap.”

“This isn’t one of your usual cars, is it?”

“No.” He reached out to pat William’s hand. “You didn’t, ah, tell the Disciples about this, right? They didn’t...get any information out of you?”

“As if I would ever let them get anything out of me.” William lashed his tail upwards, catching it and inspecting the tip. It was hard to believe it had ever been broken, hard to believe—

Count. One, two, three.

He let go of his tail with an involuntary shudder. How easily the numbers had spilled forth from him, as if Spencer had taken control of his tongue. But it would not happen again, he swore that now. Surely a broken tail was a more tolerable pain the second time. Besides, it was a meaningless list. A simple order. It’d be much harder to get him to admit to anything else.

If you think you have me, Spencer...you’re mistaken. He swallowed. It felt as if his neck had started to burn, right where the gloved hands had caressed and lifted his head.

I’m not that easy. I’m not that—

“William.” That was Bentinck. “You’re safe here.”

“Hm?” William looked up, forcing out a bitter laugh. “W-Well, yeah, obviously. I know that.” He brought a hand over his chest, realizing his breathing had sped up, slightly so. Had Bentinck noticed?

“Drink your shake, it’s cold.”

“I know.” William sighed and lifted the straw back to his lips. “Just wish you would have brought something better to drink.”

“Are you telling him to drink and drive?” Anne barked out behind him.

“No, I’m saying that I can drink, he can drive,” William said. “Nothing illegal about that. Encouraged, even. Right, Hanni?” He leaned on Bentinck’s arm. “Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.”

“I just think we should all be sober before we have to capture a deadly spirit,” Bentinck said.

“You know you like me better when I’m drunk.” William flashed Anne a smug smile before looking back out the window, turning up the volume on the radio. “Wait, shut up. I like this song.”

“Never heard it,” Bentinck said.

William opened the window, narrowing his eyes slightly against the wind. “Shame. It’s an honor to join the choir of an Overlifer.” He smiled, genuinely this time, and took a breath before raising his voice over the violins.

“Oyfn furl ligt dos kelbl,

Ligt gebundn mit a shtrik.

Hoykh in himl flit dos shvelbl,

Freyt zikh, dreyt zikh hin un tsrik.”

They arrived at the shrine about twenty minutes after another stop, this time insisted on by William, who admittedly could not resist even the worst of beers from the gas station. He drank two cans before they had even exited the highway, and one more as they drove through the city of Nayaflitt. It was quieter here, and significantly less wealthy, William noted with a displeased flick of his tail. At the very least, one could see the sky here.

“The shrine is behind one of the Hoerenkasten here,” Bentinck said once he had parked the car. “I’d like to have a word with the bitch who decided that a little spirit’s shrine is worthy enough to be anywhere near an Ally’s meeting place.”

“Neither of you matter under mine divine eyes,” William declared.

“Isn’t he your fucking friend?” Anne glared at him.

“Well, yes, but if he matters then that is why. Not because of—” William flicked a finger out towards Bentinck’s unnaturally dark gaze as well as the ridiculous outfit chosen for today, complete with a corset, a blue and white skirt, and thigh-high stockings. “All this.”

“It’s the greatest honor I could ask for,” Bentinck said, smiling at William’s waving hand.

The servants at the Hoerenkast were quite startled to see that an Ally and his handler were visiting, bowing profusely and kissing Bentinck’s hand in greeting. They rushed to ask if it was a meeting room he needed, if he intended to stay for the night, but Bentinck explained that they were merely here to visit the Albemarle shrine, and that if all visitors could be cleared out from it so that he would be alone, that would be perfect.

“Your followers are so obnoxious,” William muttered through his mask as they bounded through the halls. The Hoerenkast here wasn’t as large as the ones at home, and nowhere near as splendidly decorated— there wasn’t even a stream that William could see. There were, however, stained glass windows, showcasing history’s bravest Allies and fiercest devils.

“One day you’ll be in my place, William,” Bentinck said. He glanced up at the windows. “That’ll be you there.”

“Yeah, cheer up, soon we’ll have to look at you everywhere we go,” Anne said. “Doesn’t that sound fun? We look out our windows, it’s you; we turn on the TV, it’s you; we go for a stroll in the park, it’s you.” She trailed off and stepped closer to Bentinck.

With everyone’s gaze upon him. Wasn’t that what he had always wished for, as a boy? He would be happy when the whole world could only look up at him.

They’re looking at me. They’re all looking at me, and I—

There was a presence behind him again, the same one that had been there when he had knelt on the ground, the chain about to swing back down on him. And they were all watching him scream.

Ugh. He turned around, so briefly that Bentinck and Anne didn’t notice, but it did the trick. There was no one there, after all. He bowed his head and kept walking.

The shrine itself looked like just another meeting room to William, though the entrance was far smaller, so that both Bentinck and Anne had to duck to enter. They were met with a great altar in the center of the dark room, dozens of spears propped up on the walls, surrounded by masks that resembled white foxes. Two tapestries hung at the back of the room, singing praises in Infernal.

“William,” Bentinck said. “Light a candle.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“You’ve got a mask, don’t you?” Anne asked.

“Alright, enough,” Bentinck said. “I’m just saying that since he’s on his fourth life, he should be able to do some minor Western spells. Eastern, even, with his ancestry.”

“Don’t talk about my Eastern blood to my face.” William shook himself out. It was strangely cold in here for a Hoerenkast, and yet he realized he was sweating, his gaze unfocused as he looked around. Maybe he had been drinking too fast.

I could try. He didn’t think an explosive spell like the one Mary’s sister had cast would work without the paper, but maybe something small...to light a candle, like Bentinck said. He walked towards the altar.

“Light my way,” he said, snapping his fingers just over the wick of a candle that sat atop a plate shaped like a scallop, right beside a wooden fox figurine. It seemed like a hazard, in his opinion, but the subsequent spark that came from his fingers was small, and the flame stayed where it belonged. 

“Aw, William, look at that!” Bentinck exclaimed. “I told you you could do it. You get more powerful with each day.”

“Well, that would have been useful.” William drew away and looked around the room. “You gettin’ any presence of the spirit yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then we’re going to need a summoning circle, right?” Anne asked.

“Maybe if either of you brought something to draw with,” William said. “I didn’t.”

They fell silent for a moment, then Anne piped up. “I have an idea. Hans and I accidentally summoned the creature at the mall, when I blew him to entertain the other spirits that were there. Maybe if we did something like that...”

“Are you telling me you want me to watch you two go at it here?” William frowned. “I’ve seen more of him than you have. Besides, we’ve tried doing that this whole time and we haven’t sensed him once.”

“Maybe he just liked me more,” Anne said with a shrug. “I don’t see why there’s any reason he should reject us if we draw a summoning circle out of Ally semen, though.”

Bentinck started laughing. “I- I mean, if you want to do that, I wouldn’t mind.”

William sighed. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” He brought his hand up over his mask, thinking for a moment. It had worked, after weeks of trying, only when he wasn’t there to see it. What a truly insolent spirit. He knew what he was doing.

He dropped to his knees in front of Bentinck, slipping off his mask and setting it aside. “Alright, then. Masturbate.”

“On your face?” Anne said doubtfully. “Aren’t you going to blow him, too?”

“I don’t want to swallow it if we’re going to draw the circle with it.”

Bentinck’s face flushed, and he laughed nervously, glancing at Anne. “Oh, dear...William, I’m not so sure—”

“Want Anne down here with me? Alright, Anne, get over here.”

“Mm, very well,” Anne said, not at all hesitating. She sat down beside William and smiled up at Bentinck, reaching up to pat his thigh. “Go on, we’ll be right here! You’ll do so good, I just know it.”

Bentinck made a clear effort to swallow before pulling down his skirt, slipping out his cock that was noticeably hardening already. William leaned forward to press his cheek against it. His breath quickened for  a moment, but he lifted his hand to his chest, willing himself to keep quiet.

“Oh,” Bentinck said. “Ah, well—” He began to stroke his hand up and down his cock, until William could tell when it had reached his full length. He backed away, his tail twitching.

“You know, you can imagine whatever you like,” Anne said, her eyes glittering.

“Don’t make me do some crazy shit, though,” William said.

“Ah- fuck—” Bentinck was stroking faster now, his eyes lidded. “C-Can’t one of you just suck it?”

“Can’t you even fuck yourself properly?!” William growled through gritted teeth. “I’m not doing anything in front of Anne.”

Anne laughed and spit onto Bentinck’s cock, but didn’t move any closer. “Will that help?”

“Y-Yes, thank you...” Bentinck huffed and continued. William saw him bite his lip and guessed that he was already close.

Too damn easy. He wished he could have been more intoxicated for this, but nonetheless he turned to Anne and brought her closer to kiss her, one eye kept up on Bentinck. She seemed to understand, for she leaned in as well and met William in quite a repulsive kiss, if you asked him. Still, he made sure Bentinck could hear his sigh.

“So fucking cute,” Bentinck grunted. It was a few minutes before he finally came, though William shuffled away to leave it on the floor instead. At this Anne looked a little dejected, but she did the same.

“That was very good, Hans,” she said. “Look how much we have now!”

“Yeah, great, perfect,” William said, rolling his eyes. He was absolutely going to wash his mouth out as soon as he could. “Now, are you going to draw the summoning circle?”

“I don’t know it,” Anne retorted.

“I, uh- I don’t, either.” Bentinck still looked flushed, trying to catch his breath. Anne stood up beside him and leaned in to kiss his cheek, and William looked down at the mess on the floor. He had memorized all the summoning circles for the Prostitutes of the West a long time ago.

“The one Hoerenkast without a stream, of course,” he muttered. He placed a finger in Bentinck’s cum and began to trace out the circle across the floor, as big as he could with the amount he had. He heard Bentinck laugh awkwardly behind him as he pulled up his skirt again.

At last William knelt down before the circle, nearly falling over as he did so but hiding it well. He was quite dizzy now, and he wished he had taken some water from the servants. He would need to be fully lucid for this.

He leaned forward and tapped his hand over the center of the circle. “Come to me, fox,” he whispered.

To both his surprise and amusement, the circle began to glow, and he shuffled back beside Bentinck, his tail twitching in anticipation. Bentinck straightened up suddenly, his eyes narrowed.

“Is he here?” Anne asked him.

“I’m starting to sense him...”

“Get ready to capture him as soon as he comes out, then.” William shoved his hand in his pocket, quickly checking to see if all his most important spells were there. Anne loaded her gun, and as William glanced at her he realized it was the same one that she had forced down his throat.

What the—

“Wrong way!” a delighted voice yelled out behind them. Before either of them could turn around William felt sharp teeth, like that of a dog’s, dig into his neck, jerking him to the side with enough force so that he slammed hard into the wall, horns first.

Shit. He looked up, dazed, and saw the beautiful spirit in the form of a young man smiling triumphantly down at him, drops of blood staining his toothy grin. William had often heard of how breathtaking the creature was, with his ashen hair that had grown all the way down to his white, bushy tail, matching the small, pointed ears on his head. But it was another thing to witness this himself, to look up and see the clever blue gaze flicking down to meet his own.

“You- you are the Earl,” he breathed out. He lifted his hand to the wounds on the back of his neck; thankfully, they were shallow.

“And you are going to die,” Albemarle said pleasantly. “Fools, the lot of you. You had no need for such a drastic summoning circle if I was already in the same realm as you.” He bowed low, his torn black dress nearly slipping off his shoulders as he did so. “I merely obeyed your call so I could come destroy you at last.”

“Damned beast!” Bentinck tore a spear off the wall and pointed it at Albemarle with a vicious snarl entirely unfitting for him. “If you surrender now then I won’t have to sedate you. It is the greatest honor to serve an Overlifer—”

“This Overlifer?” Albemarle barked out a laugh. “Oh, but he is even smaller than I could have ever imagined! He is all bark, no bite whatsoever, like all of the others.” He turned around to face Bentinck. “Ah, Lord Portland, how the mighty do fall. I never thought I would see you so desperate to please me.”

“It is an Ally’s purpose to submit to the will of the Overlifers!” Bentinck spat. “As it is the purpose of all dwaallicht remnants.” He brought his spear back in, then pointed it directly at the ground. “Enough of this. By the ancient order of the dwaallichten who created our Earth—” He shoved the spear nearly all the way through the tiled floor, and the sharp end came out of the wall, right above William’s head.

“Shut your mouth!” Albemarle hissed, springing forward before the spear could go through him. He raised what William believed to be his arm, hidden by an exceedingly long sleeve that widened as it approached and dragged on the floor. It was rather unusual, as his other arm was uncovered save for a long glove that still showed off his fingers and claws. But a strange glint at the bottom of the sleeve caught William’s eye.

“Bentinck, get out of the way—!” he called out, just as Albemarle flung his sleeve forward with all his strength before he had even reached Bentinck. It was like a ferocious swipe of a fox’s paw, and, just like any other paw, there were huge, thick claws sewn into the end of the fabric. Sharper and more precise than any blade of steel.

Despite William’s warning, Bentinck clearly hadn’t been expecting it, as he’d been pulling his spear back up, thinking he had enough time before Albemarle reached him. The weight of the claws, however, knocked it out his hand, then drove through his stomach.

“Hans!” William scrambled up to his feet, crying out at the same time Anne did. He was unsteady, he realized, and whether it was the loss of blood at his neck or the drinks he could not say.

“Miss Villiers!” Albemarle grinned at Anne, standing triumphantly over Bentinck, who had dropped to the floor, clutching at his wounds. “I’m surprised to see you here after you stopped him last time.”

“I didn’t do it for you!” Anne shot at him twice, and he jumped swiftly up in the air, transforming into a lithe, white fox.

“So you want to play hunter now?” Albemarle landed on Bentinck’s shoulders, bowing his head to sniff at his wounds. “Ah, how divine! You have many years left in you, far more than anyone else here! Even more than your Overlifer!”

“Get off of me, rat!” Bentinck grunted, taking Albemarle by the scruff of his neck and flinging him at the wall. The spirit returned to his humanoid form as soon as he hit it, falling to his knees for a moment.

“W-Well, my lord,” he said through gritted teeth, getting back up with some effort. “What great strength. You have not changed a thing about yourself, have you?”

William rushed to Bentinck’s side. “How deep is it?” He ducked down and held his hand up to the open wounds. Bentinck winced.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said. “I-I can still fight.”

“Nonsense, stay down.”

“But you said—”

“That’s an order, Bentinck. I can handle a spirit.” William stood up and smiled ruefully down at him. “Besides, you already did the work of the circle, didn’t you?” With that, he picked up the spear that Bentinck had dropped and threw a spell in the air.

“All blades become bullets!” he shouted in Infernal as he slashed through the paper with the spear. He then swung the spear to the side, bright orange reflections of the blade flying off of it like thrown knives. Most landed on the floor and wall and disappeared upon impact, but a few got caught in the tangle between Anne and Albemarle. She’d been stabbing at every open spot on Albemarle’s body with her own spear, though unable to land anything as he transformed from human to fox and then to human again.

He didn’t have time to bounce away as one reflection landed deep in his thigh. He ducked back with a shriek, just in time to dodge the other two, and Anne rolled to the side, her eyes widening.

“Damnit, William, you could have hit me!” she yelled.

“Keep fighting him!” William called back. He took out another spell, murmuring, “Écartez vos ailes, Majesté.” As the paper burned away in his fingers, the shadows on the wall reached out towards him, and he willingly stepped into them, allowing the claws of the Southern Kingdom to hide him. He flipped the spear over onto the blunt end.

“Y-You think this will stop me?” Albemarle laughed, holding his hand over the wound on his thigh. “This will heal in no time at all. I have survived far worse things—” He began to step away from Anne, who glared at him, clutching her spear to her chest.

William came up behind him, raising the spear high above him as Albemarle continued to back away, hissing and lashing his tail. Anne paused, as if she had seen the shadows move strangely behind the spirit. Before Albemarle could notice the look, William smacked the spear as hard as he could on his head.

It knocked him to the side and into the altar, and William shook off the shadows to reveal himself. Albemarle blinked up at him, evidently dazed, before William gripped his hair and pulled him up to his feet.

“Ah, you wanted to run already?” William asked. “That’s always been your thing, hasn’t it, my child? Always running away, leaving a trail of blood in your wake.”

“You are certainly in no position to say such a thing,” Albemarle growled, his ears slicking back. He began to lift his claws towards William’s hand, and William threw him to the ground, towards Bentinck. He flicked his tail once.

Bentinck sprung at the gesture, sinking his fangs into Albemarle’s neck before the latter could get up again. Albemarle flinched, biting his lip lightly, but said nothing as Bentinck backed away and spoke the word that every one of his opponents so hated.

“Relax.”

Albemarle had no choice but to obey, bowing his head but keeping a wary eye on Bentinck. He bared his teeth as William and Anne approached.

“You have me now, does it please you?”

“Very much,” William said, strapping the gas mask back on his face. He buried his hand back in the hair behind Albemarle’s neck, much as if he were scruffing a fox. “You could have come to see me without a fight, you know. You could have been a guest and not a prisoner.”

“I...have enough dignity to refuse to...to submit to an Overlifer who wishes to use my body,” Albemarle said.

“Use your body- no, no, that’s never what I intended.” William shook his head. “I wanted to speak with you, maybe strike a deal of some sort, but then you had to attack and cause all this.”

“It was you who- who wanted to capture me— ‘tis what you said—”

“By the order of the dwaallichten who created our Earth, I command you to be silent,” Bentinck said. Anne helped him stand, blinking anxiously down at his wounds. “You will do as William commands. You’ve ignored his calls for too long. That’s a lot of nerve for a dwaallicht spirit.”

Albemarle lashed his tail, keeping his fierce gaze on Bentinck as William began to drag him out of the room. All things considered, he was remarkably docile, William noted with pleasure; maybe an Overlifer wasn’t valid under those flashing eyes, but an Ally always would be. And yet...nobody had to know that.

“Hurry up,” he called behind him, picking up his speed. “I think the servants would like to see this.”

“The servants?” Anne echoed. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know what we were doing here.”

“We’ve just caught what is perhaps the most desired spirit in the world.” William lifted Albemarle up slightly. “Are you kidding me? Let the Disciples see just how invincible their enemy is now.”

“They’ll want to take him from you,” Anne said. “Especially James. If he knows where Albemarle is now, he’ll stop at nothing to capture him. And Marly is, well—” She glanced over at Bentinck. “He’s more skilled than even Hans is.”

“But never as powerful as an Overlifer,” William said. “Let them come.” He saw the servants up ahead, as well as a few of the worshippers that had been cleared out of the shrine, and he waved his tail in greeting as they turned to look at him.

“Followers of Ally Bentinck and the Master of the Devils,” he announced, “I have captured one of the state’s greatest enemies. He has always killed to serve his own lifespan, and then fled without facing any of the consequences, but today he is tried as a human killer.” He lifted Albemarle up in the air, gripping his neck firmly. Though the spirit was around his own height, he was quite a lot lighter. “The Earl of Albemarle has been captured. The people of Altos Diablos have nothing left to fear from him.”

Albemarle’s face flushed as the people stared, as they stepped closer and then drew back as if he would pounce at them suddenly. One servant cleared his throat.

“W-Well, sir, with all due respect, what is a shrine without its spirit? Is that why you came here today, to catch him when he only expected to- to be able to grant a few prayers?”

“Worshipping a deadly spirit is a choice only masochists and cowards could make,” Bentinck cut in. “This pathetic beast tried to kill me.” He lifted his hand to show the blood on his stomach, and his subjects gasped. A couple servants bowed briefly towards him before directing him to sit down so they could look at his wounds. Anne hesitated before walking over to stand at William’s side.

“We were only defending ourselves,” William said. “And my lord will take care of him in his own Hoerenkast back home. He’ll be the last Ally he harms.” He brought Albemarle down towards his face, so close he could see the blood the fox had drawn on his teeth. Albemarle curled his lip back into the beginnings of a snarl.

“I have seen...everything,” he let out in a hissing whisper.

William stared back for a moment before dropping him back down to the ground, giving the small crowd around him a displeased look. A few of them were taking pictures of the spirit lying before them; good, as long as he showed up as well.

“The Western Defense Company has always been dedicated to the safety of every citizen of Altos Diablos,” he said, inciting the name of his most famous corporation, “as we all know that the threat of Grand Cabaret has never truly gone away. The continuous production of our firearms has kept them in their place thus far.” He could nearly scoff at the gleaming eyes of his audience. Had they forgotten his Grand Cabaretian grandmother so quickly? “But for too long the threat of such spirits has gone unchecked. Rest assured that Ally Bentinck and I will work endlessly to eliminate their insolence once and for all.”

“What do you intend to do with Lord Albemarle, sir?” another servant asked. “Do you intend to take advantage of...the legends we have heard of him?”

William rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. I have no need for it, I know my life will be as long and prosperous as that of my father. No, Albemarle will be killed. There is no reason a human should live beyond a century.”

“Killing such a powerful spirit? Can it be done?”

“The question is if it should.”

“He’s been a danger to humanity for the longest time...”

“Surely not so much that he needs to be killed! His power holds value!”

There were already new people trickling in, having seen the illustrious figures of William and Bentinck through the windows, only to be faced with none other than the Earl of Albemarle. The Earl himself tried to sit up, though he seemed too shaky to do so. He blinked expectantly up at William.

“Go on, my child, give them a smile.” William nudged his shoulder with his tail. “For whatever reason, they’re all afraid of you.”

🝰🝰🝰

Albemarle’s chest rose and fell, his youthful face covered by his tangled curls. Bentinck had finally ordered him to sleep, and he’d been perfectly peaceful since, lying as limp as a fox pelt when William had carried him up the stairs, into a guest bedroom. Even in this state, he seemed impossibly light.

Bentinck winced as Bidloo poked his last open wound with a needle, and the doctor looked up with a scowl. “How long were you and William with the news stations, again?”

“Trust me, it didn’t last long,” Bentinck lied. As soon as the city had found out, of course, then it’d been a mad scramble for the interviews with William, who was already so respected by the media and had long shaken off the bloody legacy of his grandmother. Oddly enough the stations hadn’t been so interested in speaking to Bentinck, rather they asked Anne for his opinion. It seemed they didn’t want anything to do with a bleeding Ally on camera.

So it had been a few hours before they could get back, and though Bentinck could already feel the lacerations healing, they were nowhere near fully sealed. He wondered how such a strange weapon could be so dangerous. Even now he saw the claws hidden under the long sleeve, which fell off the side of the bed and had nearly slid all the way down off Albemarle’s shoulder.

“Didn’t last long,” Bidloo mocked. “Yeah, well, no matter how long it takes, if you keep bleeding then it’ll be harder for your devil to heal you. If I’m not in there in time then you need to get to a fucking hospital, you hear me? This needed fucking stitches!” At the last word he roughly pulled the needle back out, and Bentinck bit his tongue, clenching his fists over the arms of his chair as Bidloo continued.

“You- you could be nicer about it,” he said. He swore Bidloo hadn’t numbed the wound only because he enjoyed seeing his patients in pain, a fact he had admitted to dozens of times before. But Bentinck didn’t bring it up now.

“I’m not taking shit from an Ally,” Bidloo muttered. At last, he finished and stood up, opening and closing a bloody, gloved fist. “Looks like the healing time might be more than twenty-four hours. Call me at the same time tomorrow so I can see how it is.”

“Thank you.” Bentinck bowed his head.

“As for that fox...” Bidloo turned towards Albemarle, pushing the furry tail to the side so he could see the wound on his thigh. It had already been bandaged. “How long does a spirit take to heal? Do you know?”

“With ones like these, I would say about the same time as an Ally.”

“Mm, well, his was much deeper than yours.” Bidloo ran his hand along Albemarle’s thigh. He’d wiped off the blood, though the white stocking that stopped at his knee was still heavily stained. “William didn’t curse the spear he used, did he?”

“I don’t think so,” Bentinck answered. “At least, not before he cast the Southern shadow spell.”

“Ah, that one.” Bidloo’s features softened. “You always hear about that spell in great legends or fairy tales, and yet, no one’s ever been able to cast it. An Ally hasn’t done so publicly in decades. It might as well never have existed.”

“But William has,” Bentinck said. “So it does exist.”

“William, oh, William,” Bidloo sighed. “I would ask myself what I would do without him if I didn’t already know.”

“And what is that?”

“Same as I’m doing now.” Bidloo shrugged and got up. “I’m surprised he actually listened to me this time. If he tries to fuck Albemarle tonight, tell him I wouldn’t advise it. I don’t want that wound opening again.”

“You’re hardly one to care,” Bentinck scoffed.

“If only because I don’t want to come here again anytime soon.” Bidloo flashed him a wide grin before stepping out, leaving Bentinck alone with the spirit.

Damn. He inhaled sharply as he looked over at Albemarle. He really is beautiful. He had to admit, it was one thing seeing him shrouded by shadow, glowing unnaturally as he had been in the mall, and it was another to see him now, lying still under the moonlight that was slowly rising through the window. His body was not unlike William’s, with that slender waist of his, though there was certainly more softness around his chest and thighs.

He looks younger, too. How was it possible, he asked himself, leaning forward to lift Albemarle’s face in his hand, that such an ancient spirit should appear more divinely timeless than William, an Overlifer who had only just reached his thirtieth year?

He should have savored the moment that he had been allowed to bite into Albemarle’s neck. He remembered, all too clearly, how the fierce, wiggling spirit had stiffened under him, how the fire had left his body but not his eyes. He’d felt the slight shudder as he had backed away, and had seen how the noble head had dropped as if in instinct. He’d thought nothing of it then, but regretted it now.

You know what your place is, after all. He let go of Albemarle just as William opened the door, Anne at his side.

“How was dinner?” Bentinck asked.

“Better than anything I usually have,” Anne said. She glanced down at the bandages on Bentinck’s belly. “Are you healing already?”

“Slowly, but yes.”

“And Albemarle?” Anne sat down on the bed, looking at him with an expression Bentinck couldn’t read. “He’s kind of cute, Hans.”

“I- I was thinking the same thing, but, um...” He trailed off as William stepped forward, dropping to his knees in front of the bed, resting his head right in front of Albemarle’s. His tail twitched once, twice.

“You’re not seriously going to fuck him tonight, are you?” Anne asked. “He’s still hurt. Besides, he’s got a right to be awake for it, and you won’t...rape him, right?” She glanced at Bentinck. “I mean, if Hans claims you’re so much better than James...”

“He is!” Bentinck cried. “But Albemarle is a spirit, and he must know that his raison d’être is the service of the greater powers above him— the Allies, the devils, but most importantly, the Overlifers.”

“Does that mean he must obey?”

“Yes!”

“And what if he doesn’t want to?” Anne’s eyes widened. “Will you go ahead with it anyway? Will you pressure him until he has no choice but to accept?”

“That- those are no- spirits cannot—” Bentinck shook his head helplessly, looking over at William.

“Cannot what? Cannot be raped?” Anne stepped in between them both. “Oh, yes, I’m sure your master must think the same thing of Allies and everyone else beneath him.”

“Silence!” William stood up, his eyes blazing. “I will not rape any spirit, but I will not wait forever, either. You must understand, Anne, that just as it is his duty to accept what I have to offer, it is my duty to provide him with only the very best experience, especially for someone with a title such as his own. It’s an honor for me as it is for him. I will—” He paused, noticeably swallowing. “I’ll have to think on how to go about this. But I will not do anything until I know he will allow me to do so. He’s not a human, but he’s no animal, either.” He glared at Bentinck. “I mean, what do you take me for?”

Bentinck felt his face warm up with embarrassment. “You should know that you’re not the equal of the remnants.” There was something else that irked him about William’s stern refusal to touch Albemarle, but he couldn’t place it, though he suddenly realized it was weighing on him more heavily than concern for William’s honor did.

“Should the Overlifers not rule with fairness, something the Allies think they’re so far above?” William lashed his tail in irritation. “They oppress their followers; we listen to and protect them.”

“That’s a lot of talk from someone who commands the same authority as James Stewart,” Anne said.

“James is a false Overlifer,” William hissed. Though he was shorter than the two of them, his presence suddenly became larger than life, his tail bristling as he spoke. “I am not. It offends me that you both should think that I hold the same status as him.”

“N-No, William, never that,” Bentinck said hurriedly. “But I mean, that’s exactly what I’m saying! You’re so much greater, your power is- it’s incomparable, really, you don’t deserve to bend to the whims of a mere spirit.”

“And I suppose my father didn’t deserve to bend to the whims of a child, either, did he?” William cried out suddenly, his eyes filling with tears as he clutched at his chest. “Because he was an Overlifer? Should I then become the very man himself? Fuck you, Hans, seriously!” He pushed Bentinck to the side and rushed out of the room, hiding his face in one hand.

“Ah, shit— William! That’s not what I meant!” Bentinck began to follow him before hearing the door downstairs slam shut.

“That was really weird, Hans,” Anne said, raising an eyebrow when he looked back at her. “Is that what you really think?”

“I- well- we have the creature now, shouldn’t we take advantage of this chance?”

“If he can consent, then you would do well to remember that,” Anne said. “I can’t believe you’re an Ally and your Overlifer has more sense about this than you do. Even after everything he’s done to you—!”

“He has done nothing to me!” Bentinck realized tears were gathering in his own eyes, and he blinked, turning away towards the window. “Nothing at all. I’m serving him, as I always have. And I’m proud of it.”

Anne sighed. “It’s so hard to watch this happen, you know? If you can stop just one more person from being hurt, then why shouldn’t you?”

He’s not a person, Bentinck wanted to say, but found himself unable to speak through the lump in his throat. He’s not a person, and neither am I.

“P-Please don’t go,” he said at length. He bit his lip; how pathetic he sounded.

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” Anne said with a shrug. There was a flicker of disappointment in her eyes as he changed the subject, but she seemed too pleased to drop it as well. “James knows where I live. You know I can’t go back—!” She tried to smile as the pitch of her voice heightened near the end.

“Then- then you can stay here, of course. I’m not going anywhere.” He held his hand out towards her, but she jumped into his arms instead, wrapping her own around his neck. He could feel her shudder against his chest.

“The world isn’t safe with people like them,” she whispered. “I’m scared, Hans.”

🝰🝰🝰

Mary watched her stepmother dip under the radiant water, the glow coming from the many lights within the pool. Yet it seemed the water itself was the sole giant lamp behind the house, interrupting the darkness of the surrounding trees and starless sky above them. For this reason Mary much preferred swimming here during the night, sometimes alone, and sometimes not.

Maria swam back up again, leaning on the edge of the pool and handing Mary the phone she had dropped at the bottom. “You always do this,” she said. “Are your hands really so—?” She cut herself off, instead reaching out to take hold of Mary’s shaking wrist.

“Maria, I think I’m going to kill myself.”

“No, you’re not,” Maria said firmly, letting go of her again. “Your father will come around when he realizes you can’t kill anyone during withdrawal.”

“But the thing is that I did,” Mary said. “I killed Ally Ildicó.” The news had come about a few days later, that the governor of Berufungsachse was dead. There would have to be someone to replace her, and already the grief of the nation was overshadowed by the Allies here squabbling to get to the top.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Maria said.

“Did you want me to disobey?”

Maria tilted her head to the side. “No,” she said. Changing the subject, she stepped back a little, shaking her wet hair off her shoulders. “Come in with me! Is your phone okay?”

Mary tried to turn it on. The dirty case seemed no cleaner than before, and was in fact dripping its filth over her fingers. But the phone itself seemed to be just fine, as it turned on to show her the wallpaper of her favorite character from the latest game she had played on stream.

“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.” She sighed and pushed herself in the water, though the smell of chlorine in the air made her headache no better, and her shaking only got worse as she stepped ever deeper, in spite of the warmth of the night.

She watched Maria do laps around the pool, yawning, though the shock of the cold water kept her awake. She found herself staring mostly at Maria’s red and white bra, cute with all its ruffles, the swimsuit a present from James if Mary remembered correctly. Of course, she told herself that it was merely the bra that she was looking at and nothing else.

Her own swimsuit was nowhere near as impressive, pure white, though a little stained since it had been a while since she washed it. At least her chest was bigger and covered in more tattoos, she noted with a glimmer of pride.

“Oh, stars above, that’s nice,” Maria said, popping up beside her so suddenly that she splashed a bit of water onto Mary’s glasses. “Why don’t you swim? They tell me you loved it as a girl.” Wondering who they could possibly be, Mary shrugged and looked to the side. “I don’t know. I just can’t anymore. But the water isn’t so bad...” She smiled and then ran her hand through the water, bringing it up to splash Maria in the face.

“Oh— Mary!” Maria jumped back with a laugh.

“What? Your face is already wet!” Mary grinned back at her, and Maria smacked her tail hard against the water, returning the violent splash. Mary tried and failed to cover her glasses in time.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” she cried. “I don’t have a tail!”

Maria laughed again. “And a very good thing you do not. You’d never stop moving it!”

“Hmm, maybe,” Mary said, feigning thoughtfulness. “But it’s just as well, I can play with yours instead!” She took hold of Maria’s tail and pulled it back towards her.

“Ow, by the stars—!” Maria twitched it in her grasp, but Mary gripped it tighter until Maria cried out. “Alright, that’s enough!”

Mary let go of it and sighed. “Sorry, sorry. It just really is so fluffy, you know.”

“So I’m always told,” Maria said, examining the golden tip.

Mary’s amusement was soured by the voice of Marly, calling out even before he was visible in the shadows of the house. He bounded forward, wearing the familiar, revealing attire of an Ally, and reminding Mary who the most tattooed Disciple truly was.

“Where is James?” he asked.

Maria narrowed her eyes. “What do you need him for?”

“Nothing that should warrant that face,” Marly retorted. “I wanted to tell him that William is alive, I mean— he’s all over the news! He’s caught the Earl of Albemarle in Nayaflitt.”

“Albemarle?” Mary asked. She turned to Maria. “What does that one do, again?”

“He grants you a longer life,” Maria said thoughtfully. “But Overlifers have six of them.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Marly huffed before sitting down in front of them, the water rippling as he did so. “Think on it, our enemy survived, and for all we know, he’s still on his third life. Nothing can harm nor kill him, and as long as he keeps sleeping with Albemarle, then he’ll live forever. This is- this is the worst thing that could have happened.” He sounded almost distraught at the end there, but Mary couldn’t help the skip in her heartbeat.

Immortal William? She was oddly relieved to know that the world would be graced with his beauty and presence forever, whereas she would part with it eventually, hopefully soon. Her only regret was that once she left without him, she would never see him again, wherever the dead fled to.

I suppose it’s a mercy for him, though. She sighed, smiling foolishly down at her reflection. Her stupid, traitorous heart rejoiced as she realized she could never kill him now, after all he had escaped from. The fox had freed her.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Maria said, her voice quiet but startling Mary nonetheless. “Albemarle is a spirit. His protection can’t do anything against the attacks of a devil-sent Overlifer. Most of us can’t break through it, but you know better than anyone that James wouldn’t want us to. That’s his prize to win.” She laughed, a little sadly. “And as long as William’s on this life, it’s guaranteed to him and only him.”

“So the extra years— James can just- he can just interrupt that?” Marly’s eyes widened. “Are Overlifers so powerful that they can defy even Albemarle’s touch?”

“That’s the hierarchy.” Maria shrugged.

“If it’s the hierarchy, then why can’t Allies break that, too?” Marly asked. “We’re more powerful than the spirits.”

“Because they’re still devils, after all,” Maria said. “And you are not.”

“Spirits are devils,” Marly muttered, shaking his head. “Silly...silly.”

“Oh, who am I going to believe? The one who thought spirits could truly override the powers of even the Overlifers, or myself, who was literally raised in a Hoerenkast?” Maria lashed her tail in the water, splashing Marly slightly. “It’s common fucking sense, Marly, get with the picture. You’re an Ally.”

“And you dare say I’m of a lower rank than those filthy remnants—?” Marly began to stand, but evidently the smell of smoke came to them all simultaneously, for he froze at the same time that Mary felt her heart sink.

“Ooh, did I come just in time for the catfight?” James laughed behind them, his tail swishing in amusement. He appeared rather disheveled, his hair wild and his shirt unbuttoned, showing off the elegant R on his neck as he took a drag from his cigarette. “Calm yourselves, ladies. What is it?”

Marly glared back at him. “William is alive. But these two instead concern themselves with the fact that spirits are supposedly more powerful than I am.”

James’ head snapped up. “What?”

“William,” Marly repeated slowly, “is alive.”

“I thought you told me he was dead, Mary.” James turned towards her, and she backed away in the water with a nervous smile. “Did you not make sure of it?”

“I-It seemed only logical. I mean, where could he have escaped to, you know?” Mary stammered. “He was weak, you- you damn near killed him yourself. I didn’t expect him to be able to get up.”

“You couldn’t have shot him?” James asked. “Just to make sure he stayed down?”

“It was a lot, James,” Maria said hurriedly. “She could barely escape herself. If she had stayed any longer, it would have been at the expense of her own life.”

“Every Disciple must be willing to give their life for the cause,” James said.

He was met with silence. Mary didn’t dare look up at him. Did he truly mean that; would she have been of more value to him if she had died, but brought William down with her? It had been the whole reason for her training, after all.

Who am I kidding? Of course that would have been better. She could have been dead, alone with him, but now that would never happen. She closed her eyes, the lights of the pool suddenly being too much for her head to tolerate.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, again.

“Don’t ask me for your fucking drugs ever again,” James spat. “I don’t care how sick you get. You have the audacity to ask me for this shit that you don’t need, and I’m over here like an idiot just giving it to you. But when I ask for something, you can’t ever do it right.”

“Sir, I killed Ildicó!” Mary cried, finally looking up. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Don’t try to pull that shit with me,” James said. “You know very well what your main duty was.”

“P-Please, sir, I—” There she went again, her voice breaking with the tears that began to spill from her. “I c-can’t- I can’t live like this—!”

“You will live,” James said coldly, “as you have allowed William to.”

“James, please, it really isn’t so serious,” Maria said. “No one can kill William now, anyway. No one except for yourself.”

“What are you saying?”

“William has the Earl of Albemarle now,” Maria explained. “If he has already kissed the spirit, then no one can harm him for however many years he’s received. But,” she added hastily, seeing the look on James’ face, “what’s little known is that an Overlifer can bypass this protection. Ferocity willing, he doesn’t know about it, either, so he won’t expect any attacks from you.”

“What?” The news didn’t seem to mollify James, much to Mary’s dismay. “You expect me to kill everyone myself? I have things to do, Maria.”

“We can always bring you William,” Maria said. “But we cannot harm him.”

“By all the fucking stars, girl, if you can capture him, you can kill him!” James snarled. “What does a spirit matter? All three of you have been of no use to me in regards to our rival, and because of your carelessness, he’s become even more impossible to deal with!”

Mary knew the wiser thing was to remain silent, her voice choked behind the lump in her throat, but there was something on the back of her mind that she couldn’t resist bringing up. “S-Sir, I thought you- you wanted that glory. You relieved me of that duty...remember?” Perhaps James had forgotten.

Her father turned his blazing eyes towards her. “Because I knew none of you could do it.”

“Exactly,” Marly cut in. “So you shouldn’t mind doing it yourself, right?”

“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should!” James slapped his tail against the water, splashing them all in the face. Marly in particular, still wearing his makeup, looked displeased as he drew away. “It’s not about William. It’s about who is in charge here.”

“James, please, I- I’m very sorry,” Maria said, reaching out to rest a hand on his leg. “But it isn’t the end of the world. Sit down, we can talk about it.”

“Failures like these can spell an end to our world,” James said in a low voice. He sighed and then dropped down to lie beside the pool, resting his head on Marly’s lap. “Stop making excuses, Maria, for both yourself and for my daughter. You can’t hide behind anything; I know what you did wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Maria repeated softly, but James didn’t answer.

Mary had heard it all before, just as James had heard their endless apologies that he, in his infinite mercy, accepted and forgave. It would be over tomorrow, and then maybe when he was in a better mood she could ask to get high again, but for now she listened and wished the world wasn’t so full of love for the wrong thing. If only Bentinck hadn’t returned for his master, if only Mary had truly meant it when she said her farewell to William.

Her father seemed to calm down as he blew smoke up at Marly’s face, then almost immediately held the cigarette up to his lips. “Say, Marly, you haven’t heard from that hydra Sarah again, have you?”

“Excuse me?” Marly blinked down at him in surprise.

“You heard me,” James said. “What a false siren. You see now that she loved you for your power, right?” He smiled and lifted his hand up to caress Marly’s cheek. “She was so happy to leave you as soon as she saw where your true loyalties lay.”

Mary snorted. It was Marly who loved James for his power! He would be nothing without his Overlifer, and he knew it well. She shook her head; sometimes her dear father could be such a lovesick fool.

“I- well- no, sir, I never doubted her love,” Marly said, backing away. “As I surely don’t doubt her love for Anne. If she helped your daughter with her betrayal, then it wasn’t out of malice. She would follow Anne anywhere.”

“But not you,” James said.

“I don’t need her with me at all times. I’m an Ally, and Anne—”

“Oh, Marly, baby, hush now,” James cooed, gripping Marly’s face more forcefully now. “You know I have always loved you more than she has. I’m just very, very glad my warnings have rang true at last, and now it’s just...you and me.” As if on cue, Maria started to back away, but James flicked his tail at her, ordering her to stay.

False siren. The words rang in Mary’s ears. It was Marly who ripped James away from his true family, from Maria, from his destiny— how could James be so blind? If it were up to her, she’d have gladly dragged Marly all the way into the water, and held him there until he stopped moving beneath her.

“Sir, I love you just the same, but Sarah was my first handler and I won’t part so easily with her,” Marly said, narrowing his eyes as he tried to wrench his head away from James’ grasp. “I’ll never forget the kindness she treated me with when you- you—”

James sat up and butted his head against Marly’s shoulders, the force of his horns being enough to knock the Ally to the side and into the water. Mary gasped and covered her face, trying to shield her glasses from the water as much as she tried to hide her laughter.

“Ah, Marly, my true, true love!” James cried as he stood up, grinning down at Maria for a moment before he shifted his glittering gaze to Marly. He dragged himself out of the pool, gasping and coughing.

“Y-You— you fucking snake, you—” Marly could hardly speak. He wiped at his smudged makeup, then let himself fall forward on the floor, a hand held up to his heaving chest. He looked up with wide eyes as James stepped towards him. “Get- get away from me, James—!” Evidently, he heard Mary laughing, for he turned around to glare at her. “Shut the fuck up!”

“You can try and make me!” Mary retorted, turning to Maria with an amused smile. But Maria only looked pale, seemingly unable to tear her eyes off of her husband.

“I think I’ll stay right here,” James said pleasantly. He kneeled before Marly, digging his fingers into his Ally’s hair and jerking it up so that they faced each other. Marly cried out, but remained still as James spoke to him.

“The end of this dance draws nearer,” he began. “Berufungsachse is without an Ally governor, and you are without Sarah. Do you know what that means?”

“I- I—”

“You will run, and you will win,” James said. “And I, as your loving husband, will be at your side, telling you what is best for this noble governorate. We will purge this nation of...what was it? Heretics, Vita-marked?” He brought Marly closer and practically whispered, so that Mary had to get closer to listen with horrified awe. “Until we’re the only ones left.”

“Husband?” Marly repeated, his breaths shallow.

Husband. Mary snapped to attention. It can’t be—

“John...will you marry me?”

Marly visibly swallowed, his hand shakily trying to pry James off of his hair. When he didn’t answer, James leaned forward and kissed him. At first he tried to pull away, but James held him there, gripping his wet hair until Marly at last fell limp and returned the kiss.

You damn siren. Mary inhaled sharply as James drew back, licking his lips.

“I- I can think of no greater honor,” Marly said at length, and then the two kissed again, much to Mary’s disgust. What a truly ungrateful rat he was, pulling away only moments before until he inevitably must have realized what he had to gain from such a union. 

“James, are you sure?” Maria asked, her voice sounding strained. “By marrying you, he marries me as well.”

“Damnit, Maria, I thought you would be pleased,” James snapped, glaring down at her. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? Hm? I provide for you and I’ll provide for him as well. You have nothing to complain about.”

“I understand why it’s necessary, but surely there- there must be some other way—”

“Enough.” James stood abruptly. “Neither you nor Mary have pleased me as of late. Maybe with him living here I’ll finally get some fucking peace in this house. At the very least, you can allow me that.” He took Marly’s hand and turned to leave.

“Of course,” Maria said. She waited until they had left before she looked at Mary.

“This is fucked,” Mary muttered.

“I- I don’t understand, you killed Ildicó!” Maria cried. “And nobody has found out, you did perfectly! Isn’t that what he wanted? Is that not what he wanted?” Her voice shook, and she took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. “What was I to do, let William die?”

“That might have been better,” Mary said.

“You don’t understand, they were telling me— the devils, they-”

“The devils?” Mary cut in. “You mean the shit you see? They told you to let him go?”

“Some did,” Maria said. “Not all. But I knew it wasn’t illogical, Mary, I’ve never had reason to distrust them.”

“Is this not reason enough?!” Mary gestured vaguely around her. “James is going to marry Marly, do you know how badly you have to mess up for him to do that?”

“I- I’m sure he was planning it already,” Maria said.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason he did it in front of you,” Mary said. She began to get out of the pool, grunting with the effort. “And it’s because of how fucking unbearable you make yourself here. He can’t stand you, Marly can’t stand you, I mean, even I— what the fuck did you think was going to happen if you told him about the little Overlifer loophole with Albemarle?”

“It’s better than nothing!” Maria reached out to take Mary’s hand, but Mary pulled away with a scowl.

“You need to get some serious help!” she said. “You’ve let shit like this happen too often.”

“Oh, quit acting like you weren’t so relieved to see William spared!” Maria yelled. “You’re in love, aren’t you? Just like I was when I met your father!” She followed Mary out of the pool, shaking herself. “And look at me now!”

“Ha, I’m looking, alright!” Mary shook her head without turning around. “I’m not going to run away with him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No, Mary,” Maria said. “I was actually hoping you would.”

Mary paused. Her heart seemed to inexplicably stop. What did she—?

“Look at me now!” Maria repeated. “I, the wife of the ruler of all the universe! His only wife, I might add, and I will remain forever so!” She raised her voice even higher. “I’m happy! I’m very happy!”

“Fucking madwoman.” Mary waved her hand dismissively and kept walking, turning on her phone as she did so. She needed to get out of here. Her mind was still on Talbot’s thighs from a few days ago, and she knew that if she called him now, he’d be happy to go anywhere she pleased.

And then, of course...she couldn’t go on like this. No, something great would have to pass, something that would at least momentarily distract James from his vitriol and his prospective marriage.

“Do you know what that means? I will rule with him! I will be your queen— no, I will be your angel! Even you can’t live up to the name, can you?” Maria kept on. “And it’ll be me, only me, eradicating this rebellious, ungrateful human race!”

What Mary needed was Anne. Someone who dared take the first life of their Overlifer could not be allowed to live peacefully in this world. She knew James would enjoy punishing the insolence, the defiance, as he always had with Anne. Her poor, idiotic sister.

“I think James will go down with them, too!”

Mary pulled her towel about herself and began to call Talbot, the very same number dozens of people called each day to have their fantasies realized by the adored King of Hearts.

“Do you hear us, Ferocity? Do you hear our prayers? Ah, of course you do—”

Mary held her phone up to her ear. “Charles, dear, where are you right now?”

“The Law of Honorable Succession still survives!” was the last thing she heard from Maria.

🝰🝰🝰

There was some sort of toast going on when William walked into the club, where the patrons were all gathered around up close to the largest stage, their eyes bright but dull with the numerous drinks they had no doubt already finished. Nonetheless, they held up their shot glasses at the command of the young man who stood upon the stage, dressed in what was clearly a mockery of the attire of the Allies. His brown curls were voluminous and wild, but they failed to hide the dark, disfiguring scars all across one side of his face that reached down towards his neck, covered only slightly by an eyepatch. William recognized them as the scars that only acid could leave on a person, for he had attended enough sessions of torture to see it used often.

He wondered briefly if this man, with his clear Eastern descent, was involved with the Disciples at all, and that was how he had come to suffer such an attack, possibly at the hands of the Devils. If he was involved, then William had to stay hidden here, away from the quick, amused gaze of the stranger’s single eye.

“Praise be to King Louis!” he was saying, met with much roaring and applause. “Soon arrives the Southern Kingdom, and I expect to see you all here again for the festivals. Ferocity willing, I’ll have Ally Marly with me.” He blew kisses at the adoring crowd, who held countless guilders up towards him, whistling as he bent over to take his tips.

Southern Kingdom! William snorted and sat down at the bar, watching the man descend the steps of the stage. That was most certainly a Disciple, then. His sharply twisted horns were small, but telling, and his long tail, with the fur at the tip styled into the shape of a heart, twitched with sudden apprehension as he weaved through the guests. He waited a moment before sitting down on one of the many white sofas, right beside a large, graceful figure who leaned in to kiss him. There was something lazy, but affectionate about the movement, something familiar—

Mary! William gasped, but before he could get up to see her, he heard the bartender clear her throat behind him.

“Mr. Nassau,” she said. “It’s an honor to have you here. Can I help you with anything?”

“Not right now, but you’ll have your chance, trust me.” William flicked his tail at her and kept walking. He realized then just how alone he was out here, how wide open he was left without Bentinck. There was little chance that anyone who saw him here, Disciple or not, wouldn’t recognize him. If he had company, he had to admit that he liked entertaining and lecturing the young businessmen here who looked up to him so, even if their admiration was superficial. But here, stalking nervously through the darkness, he felt as if every glance was that of a potential assassin.

As he got closer he began to hear Mary’s laugh through the chatter, and he could no longer resist the pace he was going at. He bounded forward, crying out, “Mary!”

Mary looked up, her companion jolting a little beside her. She grinned to see William approaching, a smile that made his throat run dry, and she got up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Devils below, you’re here!” she said, her words slurring slightly. He found it difficult to react when even her simple embrace took his breath away, even after everything. “Oh, you look so much better than when I saw you last.” She gasped and drew back. “But what a terrible night to come out here, do you know how many Disciples are swarming about?”

“You should have told me,” William said, smiling back up at her.

“Idiot, I might have,” Mary said. “But how was I supposed to know you’d come here? I mean—” She looked around. “Are you alone? Why are you here?”

“Same reason as everyone else is,” William said with a slight bow. “To drink until you know nothing.”

“You’ve got enough money to do that at home, don’t you?”

“Oh, I can’t stay there. Not right now, we have that- that fox there with us, I couldn’t stand him.” He tried to clear his head of what Bentinck had said. Perhaps he felt bad for pinning it all on Albemarle, but it was an answer that would make more sense to Mary. “He makes my skin crawl. But of course...there’s no shortage of whores out here, either.” He glanced at the man who had been kissing Mary only moments before, and Mary laughed, batting at his shoulder.

“You can have the one at home or you can pay for one here,” she said. “I saw pictures of you posing with Albemarle, like my father posing with a jaguar he shot in Grand Cabaret. I must say, I wouldn’t blame you if you had decided to stay home, after all.” She lowered her voice. “Especially when James was so convinced you had died in the fire. You could have fooled him if you hadn’t drawn so much attention to yourself!”

“Sooner or later, I always end up in the news.” William shrugged. “It’s better when I can control the information that comes out about me.”

“You’ve made James furious,” Mary said. “Unbearably so.”

“Have I?” William’s eyes widened, and he leaned in, squeezing Mary’s hand. “Are you well? Has he hurt you? I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s not your fault.” Mary gripped his hand and began to lead him towards the stairs near the back of the room, where the lights became fewer and fewer. “You can’t be seen here...”

There was the tapping of heels behind them, and William looked back to see the scarred stranger rushing after Mary. “My lady,” he called after her, “is it so wise to go alone with- well, with him?” He bowed his head slightly towards William. “You know I would keep any secret for you, but this borders on treachery, and with your father so displeased with you, I shouldn’t want you to—”

“Are you calling me a traitor, Charles?” Mary turned to him, her eyes flashing. “Or are you jealous? I’ll go home with you later, so just let me have this moment with William. Alone, please.”

“Mary, please, just think about it, I know you respect him, but—” He took her hand. “If you go any further than that, you put yourself in danger, and this betrays everything you’ve ever been taught.” He paused, then added, “Will you try to kill him?”

“Even if I was, I wouldn’t be telling you in front of him, idiot.” Mary tore her hand away. “I know why I do the things that I do. I won’t reveal any secrets, I promise.”

“But you’re still—”

“Shut it,” she snapped. “Shut up now. Has my father not spoken civilly to William before? I can do the same thing, and I am as faithful as I’ve always been to this cause of ours.” She stepped closer, her hand drifting up to her belt, where William guessed she held her gun. “But if a word of this reaches him, trust me, I’ll find out.”

The said Charles glanced at William, then bowed briefly at Mary and walked away. Mary rolled her eyes and skipped up the stairs, flanked by a more hesitant William.

“You were kissing him,” he said. “When I first saw you.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “He’s damn good at it, too.” She laughed and leaned precariously over the railing, smiling down at the scene below. “That’s Charles Talbot for you. He’s kind of fun when he isn’t being annoying. Have you ever seen his stuff?”

William shook his head. “Is he an actor of some sort—?”

“You don’t know the King of Hearts?” Mary’s eyes widened in shock, but then she laughed again, turning away from him. “I don’t know what I expected.” She pulled out a chair from under a small table and sat down with a sigh. “It was nice to see you smiling, you know. In those pictures of you with the fox. I mean, it was good to see you so alive, you know?”

William swallowed as he sat beside her. “Y-You never told me your streamer tag. I’d like to see you...alive as well.”

“Oh, it’s stupid—”

“Never as stupid as the movies your father’s Ally is in,” William teased. There seemed to be a flicker of darkness over Mary’s gaze as he spoke, but he must have imagined it, for she smiled back at him, leaning in to stroke at his horns.

“Oh, alright, as long as you give me one thousand guilders every time I go live,” she said. “I call myself the ‘lemonwingsangel,’ which is a weird theme, I know, but you have to keep in mind that I made this account when I was twelve.”

“It’s perfectly fine.” William pulled out his phone. “I can follow you right now.”

“And subscribe too?” Mary added hopefully. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Fine, I’ll subscribe.” He let her lean on his shoulder to see his screen as he did so. After a moment he realized his tail was coiling instinctively around her, and his face flushed.

“You haven’t gotten any drinks,” Mary remarked once he was done. Her own breath smelled of alcohol, something oddly sweet.

“I’d like to be sober to talk to you,” William said. He lifted his head as her hair brushed against his chin.

“Aw, really? But you’re so amusing when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t think it’s...safe. Not out here.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Was- was Talbot looking out for you? Or was he drinking too?”

“No, he needs to be sober for what he’s doing,” Mary said. “I’ll be fine, William.”

“I- yeah, that’s...probably good.” William sighed. “I’m sorry about your father. I’d have stayed hidden if I had known, but there was only so much time that could have worked out for, I mean—” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for- for saving me. Even if you knew what would happen. I remember looking up at your face, and- and it was the last thing on my mind before I—”

“Before you died,” Mary finished. “Again.”

William bowed his head. “Yes. Trust me, I was trying not to do it while you were holding me.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I saw you die,” she said. “But I don’t want to see it again.” She sat up, and William looked at her, so covered in both shadows and vibrant light. It was hard to see her eyes under her glasses, reflecting everything they caught, but even then he could tell her smile was sad. “Have you slept with the Earl of Albemarle yet?”

“I- I will,” William said, almost defensively. Mary tilted her head to the side.

“Well, do it quickly. You know that only my father can—” She paused and drew away. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing, William.”

He reached out to take her hand, resting on her lap. “Has he- has he hurt you?”

“Oh, yes, but...it’s nothing new.” Her voice shook slightly. “I- I keep messing up, but I don’t understand. Have you heard of what happened to Ally Ildicó? I killed her, I did what he asked—” She inhaled sharply and dropped her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t kill you. And I don’t know if...I’ll make it through tonight—!” She rubbed at her eyes, and William sat up abruptly. “You mean to say he’s going to kill you?”

“N-No, not that, I just...I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know what any of us are going to do.” She placed her glasses down on the table, still wiping at her eyes, though William could tell it wasn’t stopping the tears. “It’s so hard to be there, but I can’t just leave.”

“Mary, I- I killed my father,” William said. He lifted her chin gently in his hand. “You can do the same. Besides, you killed Charles, didn’t you?” He remembered Anne’s furious announcement, the interruption that had ultimately saved the rest of his lives. “That’s pretty good, you know. It’ll just be another Overlifer.”

“I did it for James!” Mary cried, pulling away. “It was an order, okay? And- and what use would it be, why did Charles have to die if I was just going to kill his brother, too? Why did I do that, then? Why do I do any of this?”

“So you can be the next Overlifer, Mary!” William urged. “Look at you, with the power to kill even Charles! Something I couldn’t manage myself. You were made to rule, you have the ruthlessness, the power, the audacity.”

“You don’t understand, you’ve only ever seen me that way— you don’t know me at home.” She lifted her legs up to her chair, resting her head on her knees. “I’m such a fucking mess. It’s my father who- who’s fated to rule the world, and that’s just fine with me. I couldn’t handle it, I- I just want to help him. That’s my destiny, and if I turned away from that to defy and murder him, then what would be left for me?” She looked up at him in bewilderment. “I’d have to go with him.”

“So you’re just going to live like this? Forever?” William asked. “Mary, even I had a breaking point.”

“Oh, I’ll die eventually. He won’t.”

“Is that how you want to die?”

She paused, then shook her head, her voice quiet under the music. “No.”

“Your friend Anne didn’t want to die like that, either,” William said. “And neither did your sister. Please, Mary, I’m always here, I’m always...waiting for you. You know there’s something more to life if you also know that this is no way to live.”

“And what’s that? What is that something more? Do you know?” She scooted closer to him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re an Overlifer, too. Are you living?”

“O-Of course,” he said. Her gaze was like knives at his throat. “I’m doing what I’ve always wanted.”

“You’ve always wanted this?” Mary looked disappointed, and oddly enough William felt the same.

“It’ll get better when I fulfill my destiny.” The words he had always repeated to himself as a boy felt empty now.

“Destiny, destiny!” Mary fell down against his lap, resting her head there. “My destiny was to kill you, and I have to say, I’m happy now that I didn’t. I’m so very tired of the word of Overlifers. Both of you.” She sighed bitterly. “Is that heresy?”

“Do you not believe in me?” William sounded more desperate than he intended.

“I’m an Easterner,” she said. “Of course I don’t.”

“I would spare you,” he insisted, but before he could add more, Mary sat up on the table in front of him, crossing her legs.

“What a fine honor you do me,” she said. “I told you I didn’t want you to save me, especially not you. James never told me that serving him would be easy. I-” She swallowed. “I know what must be done to unite his world, as surely as you know what must be done to unite yours.”

“It’s not about what you want, Mary, it’s about what you need,” William said. He reached out, hesitating before cupping her face in his hand. “You need to get out of there. I want you to be happy, and to not be afraid of every choice you make. I want you to come with me.”

“So you want to be my prince?” Mary’s features seemed to soften. “My dear, heroic prince. The misguided tortoise who runs behind me still.”

“If- if that’s what you would like.” William tensed as Mary reached up to place her hand on his. “I’ll be your prince. Whatever will save you.”

“Ah, William, you could at least try to make me swoon,” she sighed. “And maybe I’d think about it more. You’re not tempting me at all right now.” She pushed his hand away. “Are we really, truly in love? Is that what this is?”

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, both to himself and her. “You saved me a few times, but then what?” He shrugged. “I...don’t know anything about you. And you know nothing about me, either, except for what you’ve been taught.”

“I know that you believed in me from the moment we met.”

“I was drunk-”

“And yet you found it in yourself to tell me,” Mary said, blinking tears away once more. “Why? What kind of joke did you try to play? To give me hope like this, always, always making me think I can be more, just to rip everything away at the last minute!”

“That’s all I’ve given you, Mary. But you—” He stood up and leaned in towards her. “You’ve returned the favor. You’re an angel of second chances, so give yourself one, as well.” Now, he thought to himself, and tilted his head up to kiss her.

She was quite taller than him, especially now, but she brought him closer, gripping his horns as she did so. He waited a second before allowing himself to close his eyes. For all her sharp edges, in this moment she felt very soft, fitting perfectly around him.

“I do want to fall in love with you,” she whispered as she pulled his head back slightly. “If I haven’t already.”

“Then I’ll do everything to convince you,” he said. “I already love you, always—” He cut off and jumped up to wrap his arms around her neck, his tail twining around her body. “I’m sorry it just wasn’t someone better. Someone who could save you.”

“It just had to be you, huh?” Mary laughed above him, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m sorry, too. That it was me. I mean, you have someone like Bentinck!”

“He’s not you,” William said firmly, taking a step back. “For a while I thought I would marry him, but...I just can’t look at him like that. I know it isn’t his fault, but he’s keeping me entangled with the shit I just want to...forget.” He felt his face get hot with shame as he tried to remember how much she knew, but nothing seemed to have changed, anyway. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on it. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to love an Ally. Another Overlifer by my side would command far more respect.”

“Even if I’m an Easterner?”

William thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Why does it matter? I’m part Easterner, too.” He had never taken any pride in it, to be of mixed, polluted blood, a result of his father’s foolishness in choosing a partner he had never cared for, anyway, but now he decided that the rules had been bent for a reason. He was here now, and he loved Mary like he loved no one else, like no one had ever, thankfully, loved him.

“Ha! Then I wonder why he hates you so.” She got off the table and yawned. “My father, I mean. He was close to your mother.”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” William muttered, flicking his tail dismissively.

“Very well. Then let us both shut up about these stupid things.” Mary placed her hands on the railing in front of her. “Damnit, William, I came here to drink and you’re not even letting me do that. Can we make this a real date, please?”

“Well...would you like to dance?” He held his hand out to her, and she took it, her chipped nails causing him to grit his teeth with discomfort. But he said nothing as she led him back down the stairs, nearly tripping on her heels.

He felt the loud music was even more annoying than when he had first walked in, especially when he tried to speak to Mary, but she seemed happy enough to simply hold him as she swayed her hips, drifting ever closer to him. They were both out of breath after a few songs, William before Mary, but she ordered Talbot to bring them more and more drinks, so they never were apart. Her proximity to him was starting to make him sweat.

William was relieved when they finally stopped. He hadn’t realized he’d been feeling as if he were about to fall over the whole time, dizzy as he glanced around at the blurred lights. He collapsed back on the sofa he’d first found Mary on and groaned.

“William, we’ve got margaritas!” she cooed at him, holding the ornate cocktail glass out to him, filled with a frothy blue liquid. “Do you want one?”

“Yes, thank you.” He snatched it from her and hardly tasted the margarita as he sipped it all through the straw, though the burn when he finished it made him gasp as he gave the glass back to Talbot. He held a hand up to his chest, realizing his clothes were damp, though he couldn’t tell what it was. “Mary, can you smell my tits? What is that?”

Mary sat on his lap, eliciting a grunt from him. “Damn, I don’t know. I can’t smell shit.”

“Ugh, Bentinck’s gonna smell it all over me and he’s gonna be like William, you can’t be doing that! And then...I’m going to fuck him, and he’ll shut the fuck up.” William slammed his fist down on the sofa and laughed bitterly. “Yeah, that’ll be nice.”

“You don’t want to make love to me?” Mary asked wistfully, tracing his horn with a finger.

“Oh, I could do it right now. Come here.” He sat up and kissed her, sighing as her tongue slipped into him eagerly. She bucked her hips against him, and he let his hands drift up to her chest, where he squeezed her through her buttoned-up shirt and bra. She was even softer now.

She had his shirt halfway off his shoulders when Talbot finally cleared his throat beside them. “Mary, I am told your father is here.”

“Huh?” She looked up, licking her lips. “Why the fuck—? What time is it?”

“Just past midnight.”

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t get to fuck you, either!” Mary stood up and pushed the hair out of her face with a sigh. “Ugh, fine, but you’re coming with me.” She looked back at William. “You’ll be okay?”

“Really better than I’ve ever been.” William grinned ruefully up at her.

“Whatever you say. Don’t get roofied.” She dropped down to kiss him once more before running off with Talbot, laughing and pushing him along. Talbot glanced over at William as Mary paid the tab, then followed her out of the club.

William sighed and began to get up, his eyes on the bar. He was startled by a gloved hand coming down on his shoulder.

“No, no, stay! Don’t go!” A bright red tail twitched at the corner of his vision, and he froze as he heard the familiar voice above him. “I’ll bring you anything you like.”

He swallowed as Robert Spencer came around him, kneeling in front of him before the sofa. He held a full shot glass, which he then tilted up towards William’s lips, ordering, “Drink.”

“Y-You’ve spiked it,” William growled, scooting back.

“No, I haven’t.” Spencer gulped down the shot and crawled closer. “Do you not like vodka, little one? I could always get you something else.”

“I— that won’t be necessary,” William said. He curled his tail in as Spencer stood up again. “What the fuck are you doing here, jackass? Come to gloat?”

“You should be the one doing so,” Spencer said. “Considering you survived, and now you’ll never die again. I wonder...” He lifted his hand up to his horns. “If I ran these through you, would the fox himself come to stop me? Or how does this work?”

“You think you could harm an Overlifer?” William laughed bitterly. “You can try.”

“You think I couldn’t?” Spencer smiled, his eyes glinting. “I already have, remember?” He sat down beside William, lifting his fine legs, as always in their long, shiny boots, up onto William’s lap. “We should catch up a little. How have you been?”

“Better before I saw you here, cunt.”

“Oh, better indeed,” Spencer said. “You were getting real close to James’ daughter, weren’t you? I suppose it makes sense. Both of you make yourselves very easy.” He flicked his tail at a host walking by. “Two shots of your well vodka, love. Thank you.”

William snorted as the host walked away. “Think you can buy me with that cheap shit?”

“You’re drunk enough for it.”

“Well, can you get your fucking legs off of me before I—”

Spencer cut him off. “What a filthy mouth! Is that what you were kissing Mary with? The princess doesn’t deserve such a foul-mouthed Westerner.” He sighed and sat up to look William in the eyes. “You look a little roughed up, but well, otherwise. It pleases me to see that you’ve recovered.”

“Sure it does.” William rolled his eyes.

“No, really! Ever the suave businessman, aren’t you?” Spencer got up, pulling on William’s tie as he did so. “So you’ve got the money to pay for this.”

“What are you on about?”

Spencer pushed through the crowd of people and hopped up onto the largest stage, lifting his fingers to his mouth and whistling. “Forgive me, I know the stage isn’t open tonight,” he announced, “but would you all want to miss this?” He untied his hood and whipped his pink hair about, met with much applause. “Now it’s up to you to see the rest.”

What a ridiculous show, William thought. He was only too happy to take the two shots that were brought to him, glaring ahead at Spencer on the stage. He moved very predictably, in William’s opinion, swinging his hips to the bells of the song and stomping a heel to the beat as he sauntered around the pole. He hooked one leg onto it and pulled himself up, spinning once before climbing up higher, his tail twining around the pole. He winked at William and let himself drop back.

Ugh. William’s face flushed, though he was unsure if it was out of embarrassment or simply the alcohol. He ordered two more shots and watched the crowd work themselves into a frenzy over Spencer’s exposed chest, revealed as he hung upside down and his shirt fell over. There was a green tattoo quite literally snaking its way down his belly, what looked like a resting serpent. But William caught only a glimpse of it as Spencer swung himself back up again and spun around the pole.

He hoped he would faint as he downed more shots, as Spencer spread his legs before the audience and hopped off the pole. He slid slowly to the ground, to his knees, and began to unbutton his shirt. Lucky for the bastard, the collar he wore must have hidden the R that was undoubtedly on his neck.

William buried his head in his hands when Spencer bent over, his ass and tail straight in the air. He managed to block out most of the subsequent noise from the crowd, though as soon as he closed his eyes he felt a wave of nausea run through him. He shuddered, looking up and into the lights again. As he breathed, he became oddly aware of his chest rising and falling, pounding louder than the music.

Spencer at last came back to him, his eyes glittering with amusement as he pulled his shirt back on. He had what looked like hundreds of guilders hanging from his belt. “You greedy boy. I knew you'd drink them both. And then some, hm?”

“Fuck you,” William mumbled, hardly audible.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “What was that?” He then glanced to the side and chuckled.”It's about time we get out of here. I'll pay for you. I made enough dancing for those needy worshippers.”

“Nooo.” William batted at Spencer's tail, and Spencer laughed again, walking away. 

Did he intend to come back? There was a dim sense of dread in William’s skull, and he tossed his head back on the sofa. He could run, of course. He doubted he could drive in his current state, but he could hide in his car, at least, and Spencer wouldn’t know which one was his.

He got shakily to his feet and began to weave his way through the people, shoving back against anyone who accidentally bumped into his shoulder or stepped on his tail, which dragged on the floor behind him. He met every apology with a fierce growl and kept walking, though every unsteady step startled him.

“Woah, William, watch out,” he heard Spencer say behind him. “You’ll fall like that.” He flung an arm around William’s shoulders. “It’s a good thing you have me, hm?”

Where is he taking me? William wanted to pull away, but he knew he wouldn't make it very far out on his own. He could wait. As they stepped outside, the sudden quiet made something rise in his throat, and instinctively he clung onto Spencer's shirt with a groan.

“Are you well, little one?” Spencer asked. “We're almost there.”

“I- I'm leaving now,” William said, swallowing hard and wrenching himself out from under Spencer. “Thank you, but—”

“Oh, that's perfect,” Spencer said thoughtfully. “I came here with the others. We can just take your car back.” Seeing William’s expression, he added, “You seriously didn't think I was going to let you drive like that, did you?”

“I sure as fuck don't need you to drive me.” William glared at him and began to stumble off, bunching up his limp tail in his fists.”I- I would rather die again, out there in the fucking streets.” He paused and turned back to yell, “Kill yourself!”

Spencer followed him, his heels tapping ever closer in a way that made William's heart race. “Let me drive you. I can't let you die out there.” He took William's hand and kissed it. “Please.”

William ripped his hand away. “You- you'll take me to James, you sly bitch. If there's anything you can do for me…just die.” He saw his car out of the corner of his eye and edged closer to it, wondering if he should scream for attention from the other people out in the parking lot. But what then? Who would come save him? He knew he made himself very unpopular among the younger citizens of Altos Diablos.

Spencer looked around, then suddenly took him by the hair and slammed him back against the car. William gasped, kicking out at him as he felt the gloved hands run through every one of his pockets. They were uncomfortably warm.

“Get- get the fuck away from me, you—” He was cut off as Spencer took him by a horn and forced his head down on the car, his knee coming up in between William’s legs. William bit his tongue, keeping his fiery gaze on Spencer as he lifted the car keys triumphantly.

“You’re quite weak for an Overlifer,” he said, unlocking the car. “Why an SUV? You don’t have a family.”

“That’s none of your fucking business!” William fumbled for the gun in his belt, before remembering with dawning horror that he’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t brought one with him. Perhaps there was one in the car, but then what—

Spencer’s arm came around his neck, pulling him back as the former opened the door. William clawed uselessly at the long gloves before he was thrown onto the backseat, his tail getting caught under Spencer’s heel. He pulled it out and sat up quickly, curling his lip back in a snarl as Spencer got in with him, shutting the door behind him. They were left in darkness; even the lights outside hardly reached them.

William realized he was sweating as Spencer crawled closer, and he drew back further still, lifting his legs up. “I- I’ll fucking kill you,” he grunted, looking around for one of his pistols. He swallowed again, the sickening taste in his throat returning. He let his head fall back with a sigh.

“You know you need me, William,” Spencer said pleasantly. He moved one of William’s legs to the side and smiled at him. “I look upon you with the eyes of a serpent.” With that, he pulled William’s head in, kissing him rather distastefully.

William shuddered at the force of the tongue that slipped through. Truly it was like that of a serpent’s, and as he felt it shoved down his throat, he finally retched, tears springing to his eyes. Spencer shuffled back just as William turned to the side, vomiting on the floor of the car. He winced at the burn in his throat, coughing until he was sure he was done.

“You couldn’t have waited?” Spencer sounded disappointed.

“I- I didn’t— you are—” William could hardly speak through his gasps. He fell back and covered his eyes with a hand. He knew there was nothing left in him to vomit up again, but he still felt nauseous, especially in this heat.

“Shh, little one. I’ll take it from here.” He heard Spencer begin to unbuckle his belt, but he no longer felt as if he had the energy to move. His legs were heavy as he shifted them up slightly, feeling Spencer’s hands on his belt.

“You’ve done this before?” Spencer asked once he had pulled William’s pants off. He began to unbutton his shirt next, and William looked up at the pierced stars on the elegant gloves.

“I asked you a question, William.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” William felt his hand shake as Spencer lifted it towards his lips, kissing it once more. “Very good. You’ll call me sir, do you understand? Like all those I take under my blessed protection.”

I fucking hate you, William thought, but he nodded.

Spencer spit down onto his hand, spreading William’s legs and then spitting down there as well. William jolted at the feeling of the uncomfortable, wet leather entering him. He turned his head to the side and held his hand over his mouth. It hurt, but not for long.

“Alright, we can make this quick.” Spencer sat up and looked through the pockets of his shorts, taking out a cigarette. He lit and took a drag from it as he lined himself up with William. He was fully erect already, William could tell. He whimpered as Spencer rubbed the tip up against him.

“You like that? Good boy.” Spencer leaned over to kiss him again, fully pushing himself in. William cried out into the kiss. His hand came to grip Spencer’s shoulder, involuntarily.

He moved like William would have expected of him, with something of impatience but nonetheless grace. He huffed with every thrust, keeping the cigarette held up to his lips with one hand and the other on William’s waist. His tail flicked behind him in amusement.

He was big, almost painfully so. William couldn’t resist his gasps, then his groans, forced out of him almost rhythmically with the obscene sounds the rest of his body made. He began to buck his hips against Spencer, trying to catch him in the right place.

“Ah, good boy,” Spencer sighed. “This is how an Overlifer should fuck. I hope you know that you’re better than James so far.”

“Thank- thank you, sir,” William let out. He tossed his head back with something approaching a shriek as Spencer shoved himself all the way in, blowing smoke all over his face. He coughed and tried to wave it away, only for Spencer to take his wrist and pin it down beside his head. It sent a spark of fear to him to realize how truly powerless he was in this moment, how Spencer could strangle him if he wanted.

He looked up with teary eyes, panting softly as Spencer smiled down at him. The Disciple was louder than him, taking deep breaths and sighing often, his gaze admiring as he stared down at William. He seemed to pause for a moment, then let go of William’s hand, instead running it under his shirt, stroking at his chest. William let a cry slip out of him when Spencer picked up his speed inside of him. His hand came up to grip the gloved wrist.

“Devils below,” Spencer breathed out. “William- ah, William, my love— I pledge myself to you, forever— nothing can take me from you; oh, my leader, my Overlifer, my savior.” He seemed to get more tactless, slamming into William like a true Eastern beast. William let him take control and fell still, meeting Spencer's praise with nothing but his own moans.

At last he heard Spencer hiss above him, stopping deep inside him. His hips still rocked slightly; William guessed he was done now, judging by his eyes that drifted shut after a moment.

“You know how to finish a man very well, don’t you?” Spencer smiled as he pulled out. “Look at that sloppy hole! Very beautiful.” He took a puff from his cigarette and kissed William’s lips once, then shifted his lips down to his neck. William turned his head to the side with an insistent whine, and Spencer drew back with a laugh.

“Ah, very well.” He lashed his tail once. “By the stars, it smells in here. Sorry about the mess in your car, but boys like you like to have other people clean them up, anyway.” He pulled his shorts back up, not even bothering with the belt. He took the keys that he had placed in the cupholder beside him and moved up to the front, his swishing tail hitting William in the face.

“P-Please don’t take m-me to James,” William managed. He wanted to sit up and get dressed, but he only had the strength to hold his arms around himself, trying to ease a bit of the sickness. “Sir.”

“Of course not,” Spencer said. “I already told you that I can’t let you die. You’ll take the whole world down with you.” He glanced at William from the rearview mirror. “We’re going to your place. Where do you live?”

There was some objection in the back of William’s mind to telling Spencer his address, but there was no other way about it. He couldn’t call Bentinck now.

“You best tell me, William,” Spencer piped up again, “because I’m not yet done with you.”

[lilyofthevalleyys]

I love Rosekiller and I think I’ll make a fic rec list about it. Enjoy reading!!

Check the reblogs for more fic recs :)

1. any fic by graveryavery

My summary (MS): seriously, they’re amazing at writing. Have your pick of whichever fic.

Link: graveryavery

2. Drunk on Love by amethyst_citrine

status: 1/1

Summary: Evan Rosier has been in love with his best friend for years. He thinks that every time Barty Crouch Jr. flirts with him, it's just an act, making him roll his eyes and walk away. But maybe Evan is drunk, and thinks it's a good idea to stop running.

MS: Rosekiller at a party. Oh, what could go wrong? These two lovebirds are such idiots honestly

Link: Drunk on Love

3. Midnight Rain by blackmojito

status: 1/1

Summary: In the middle of December, in a house that's not his own, Evan learns the true meaning of warmth.

MS: I love their writing style in its short, sweet way. Also fluffy christmas fics? yes please 🤲

Link: Midnight Rain

4. I’m Not Going To Teach Him How To Dance With You by greensenne

status: 18/18

Summary:

“You’d be my best man wouldn’t you, Evs?

There’s an ugly pain burning low in his chest as he says, “Of course. What are friends for?”

Or, Barty's father forces him into an arranged marriage, and Evan is to be his best man. Which would be fine if Evan weren't head over heels in love with him.

MS: I know, this is a classic and everyone’s heard of it. But for the new people, this is probably a good place to start to get into shipping Rosekiller. And yk, a reread would be good 🤭

Link: The fic bcuz the title is too long

5. Spider-Man: Death Eater Parade by basiliscus

Status: 5/14

Summary: Evan Rosier has been Spider-Man since he was 15 years old and he is tired. He saw it all, he did it all and he hates himself more than any Rita Skeeter ever could. Evan Rosier has seen people die. He let people die. Evan Rosier is tired, his moral code is broken and then a ghost from the past comes to haunt him 5 years after he thought he buried him and sent him off to hell.

Barty Crouch hates Spider-Man. He can't stand the bastard who's willing to let people die when he has the ability to prevent it. Barty spends almost every day on whatever scene Spider-Man goes to. Only break to this routine is an awkward university dropout Evan Rosier that stumbles into his life.

Evan is living a double life as Spider-Man and quite literally hates it. He meets the only person who hates him more than he hates himself.

There's no person on Earth who hates Spider-Man more than Barty. The issue is Barty falls for Evan.

MS: Alright, here’s a Spider-Man alternate au fic with double identities and a enemies to lovers. It is still ongoing though, but love anyway

Link: Spider-Man: Death Eater Parade

6. A Truthful Joke by justreadandwritex

Status: 9/9

Summary: Evan and Barty have been best friends since the age of three. Now they're sixteen, at Hogwarts, surrounded by couples. They joke about it - a lot - but at a certain point, when is it a joke and when is it a desire?

On top of a sexuality crisis and family issues, has to deal with another feeling, or rather feelings. For his best friend.

And while his best friend seems to pull away from him, Barty tries everything in his power to keep Evan in his life. They're best friends after all, right? Just friends. Ha.

*Some chapters will discuss homophobia or family issues but I always give trigger warnings

MS: It’s beautiful and I like it. That’s it.

Link: A Truthful Joke

7. Annoying by godforsaken_mess

Status: 31/31

Summary: barty accidentally texts the wrong number. evan just happens to be the victim.

a texting story that i got the idea to write at 3am so you can expect perfection (sarcasm).

obviously rosekiller is the main ship but i'll shift focus onto the other ones from time to time so that they can happen as well.

more focus on the slytherins ofc but the friend group is split up so please forgive me 🙏

i don't own any of these characters!!

MS: Evan is a little shit here and I love him so it’s fine. Also love a good text fic so just 🫶

Link: Annoying

8. Call It What You Want by lxcuxex

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Sometimes you two are worse than Regulus and James.”

Evan’s attention immediately snapped towards Dorcas who paused mid bite, “What? It’s true. You’re bickering like a married couple.”

Barty simply grinned, leaning forward. “Our fifth anniversary is coming up isn’t it my sweet Evan? Shall we go on a trip, love? Perhaps the countryside?” He suggested, watching as Evan’s face flushed a pink, bright on his freckled cheeks.

or

The one where Barty and Evan are too clueless to realize they are basically boyfriends.

MS: The last part of the summary is so true though. Anyway, love this fic and idk how many times i’ve reread it

Link: Call It What You Want

9. One got shot and the other got lost by All_for_the_andreil

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Barty, what the fuck?”

-or-

Barty Crouch Jr. slowly losing his mind when he thinks Evan is dead and then being his psychotic self when he finds out he's being held hostage instead

TW: Blood and violence

MS: Look, I know I said I love a lot of the fics here but this one might take the cake. I love psycho Rosekiller even more than I love fluffy Rosekiller. If you look carefully, you’ll notice this may be the only crazy, semi-canon fic in this rec list, so yes.

Link: Too long title that I’m lazy to type

10. don’t want none of this (good times all times) by cherryknots

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“They’re messing with you both,” Lily whispered in his ear, and he had to lean in close to hear her over the cheers that were louder now as the kisses around the circle grew sloppier with each couple.

“Hm?” Evan blinked, still staring at the spot that had been previously occupied by Sirius. He was long gone now.

“Sirius and Barty,” Lily clarified patiently. “They got you and Remus right where they wanted you. I think that Sirius is currently… making it up to Remus right now in the dorm…"

Evan lifted his eyes back to Barty, who was still staring at him. At how close he was to Lily, a frown deepening on his face.

Oh?

So that’s what this was?

A small smile grew on Evan’s face, and he nodded in understanding. If Barty wanted to play, then Evan would, too.

or, Evan is dragged to another Gryffindor party, and to his dismay, Barty has to kiss Sirius Black during Spin the Bottle.

MS: Evan flirting back to Barty? Are you serious? Yes please. *snatches it and consumes greedily* but anyway, it’s a short fic about them messing with each other, although I have no idea why they would want to do that but yk, ok

Link: Too long title yet again

11. The Very First Night by constellationgrayson

Status: 1/1

Summary: Barty is a detective. Evan is a jewel thief.

But Barty wasn't always a detective, and one look from Evan is making him wonder if his new life is really as fulfilling as he wants it to be.

MS: A somewhat forbidden romance and I am insanely grateful to the author for making it a fade to black kinda scene at one point. Or maybe I just skipped it I can’t remember.

Link: The Very First Night

12. We Found Wonderland by kazsbf

Status: 1/1

Summary:

"Barty never liked closed captions before he met Evan. He hated the idea of having to read something he was meant to be watching, but he learned to love having closed captions automatically turned on for all his devices. He even had them set to automatic on his phone just in case Evan wanted to watch something when they were in the car or the library. He liked seeing Evan's eyes light up when he didn't have to turn them on and make accommodations for himself--they were already there for him."

MS: In other words: Evan is deaf and Barty arranges a date for them that accommodates his disability 🫶 Barty being the sweetest boyfriend

Link: We Found Wonderland

13. remember that night by regulvrs

Status: 1/1

Summary: Evan and Barty share their first kiss. The only problem? Barty doesn't remember it. And that ruins Evan.

MS: Angst with a happy ending! I wanted to throw something at Barty to knock some sense into him but tbf to him, he was drunk, though I have no idea how it works having never drank before or see someone truly drunk but ok

Link: remember that night

14. Sparks fly by bluesofacushion

Status: 1/1

Summary: Evan is head over heels in love with one of his best friends. What can he do? It’s not like Barty likes him back. He is fully determined to keep his secret with him to the grave but Pandora has other plans.

Based on ‘Sparks Fly’ by Taylor Swift so it’s mostly just fluff

MS: It is a sweet fic that is yes, mostly fluff

Link: Sparks fly

15. gods & monsters by littleredpartydress

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Barty, can we talk?” Evan asked.

Fuck. Is it serious? He couldn’t talk to Evan about something serious right now.

“It’s private so, uh, do you mind following me?”

Of course he minded.

“Sure,” Barty agreed.

OR

Barty and Evan get together after Evan is encouraged by Pandora.

MS: Pandora being the matchmaker here is beautiful

Link: gods & monsters

16. To Be Seen by twoclosetothestars

Status: 1/1

Summary:

“Well, how long have you liked me for?” Evan asks.

“Since when I stayed at your house for summer break before fourth year,” Barty confesses.

“So really you have no room to judge because you didn't mention anything either!” Evan points out.

“Whatever,” Barty grumbles. “We’re both idiots. Now can we get to the part where we kiss because I’m really looking forward to that part?”

“I’m an idiot now, am I?”

“Yes,” Barty agrees. “An annoyingly beautiful, funny, smart, amazing idiot who I’d really like to kiss right now.”

“Sweet talker,” Evan teases, and then his lips are on Barty’s.

MS: They are idiots in love, your honor

Link: To Be Seen

17. All for you by dramaticwitchbitch

Status: 1/1

Summary: Evan was pining. He knew he was. But simply knowing that did not make him feels less pathetic. It should be impossible to fall on love with one’s best friend. But Evan’s poor heart had gone and done it anyway. Barty, of course, was wholly oblivious to Evans pining. Evan supposed it was a blessing anyway. He wasn’t sure if their friendship would survive the thing.

The thing, was what Evan called is quiet obsession with Barty that threatened to burst put into a huge love confession along the lines of, love me like I love you, let’s grow old together; every time Barty smiled at him. Or flirted with him. Or just sat next to him, smelling sinfully good. Or just existing in Evan’s vicinity. Evan had it bad.

MS: Rose is down so bad and so is Bee

Link: All for you

Hope you enjoyed reading all of them :) and surprise surprise, there are more fics that I have yet to read so i’ll most likely be adding on to this :D