#hair falls in 2-3 days of itching

[indianfasttrack]

महाराष्ट्र में तेजी बढ़ रहा है 'टकला वायरस', खुजली के 2-3 दिनों झड़ जाते हैं बाल

महाराष्ट्र में ‘टकला वायरस’ का खौफ राज्य के तीन जिलों में तेजी से फैल रही बीमारी वायरस की चपेट में आए 40 लोग ‘Takla virus’ is increasing rapidly in Maharashtra, hair falls in 2-3 days of itching न्यूज़ डेस्कमुंबई- पूरी दुनिया से लेकर हमारे भारत देश में भी चीन से पनपे एचएमपी वायरस (HMP Virus) का खौफ जारी है। इस बीच महाराष्ट्र में एक अजीबोगरीब बीमारी तेजी से पैर पसार रही है। इस बीमारी में लोगों…

[lologoinsolo]

Minds Us All Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 TW: Mentions of blood! Non-con sedation And kidnapping!

“Make her off…” Kyle murmurs under his breath. That annoying smell of something far too clean and sterile has kept him up. Everyone has been taking time to sit besides Johnny in the hospital bed. “Make her off,” he jolts a bit when the door opens. John’s not looking his best but he’s trying to keep himself strong. Johnny took a bullet and nearly died for him after all.

“What’s that?” John says, tiredness etched into his features as he takes his seat besides a sleeping Johnny. The doctors worked relentlessly to keep him alive, now he just needs to wake up from his coma. “Heard you muttering, do you need a break?”

Kyle merely scoffs, he and Simon’s been sitting here the most. He still can’t get how devastated Simon sounded when Johnny was laying in a pile— he shakes his head and breathes deeply. “You remember that girl,” he says offhandedly, “the one that acted weirdly around Johnny.”

John’s beard crinkles slightly, “yeah? Johnny mentioned it once. Gave a report and everything.” He leans a bit forward, “why?” The gears in his head starts to grind.

“She told him that sunshine can’t go down the tunnel.” John freezes and Kyle continues, “I don’t get it. She was clearly frightened and confused.”

“She said sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Kyle sighs, “said it like a prayer.”

“I called Johnny, sunshine, before we went in the tunnel.” At that Kyle sits up. “I told him that we wouldn’t go down easy”.

The man’s eyes widen. “Make her off, make her— Makarov!” He shouts and the nurse makes a shushing noise, Kyle doesn’t seem to care as he stands up. The realization crashed down on him. “She knew,” she had to. “John, she knew.” How else would she have known that Makarov would’ve been there before anyone else?

The tiredness ebbs from John’s face and the Captain shows up. “Get Laswell on the phone right now, Gaz.”

…

You watched the news repeatedly after you left the hospital. You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, everything felt wrong. Those blue eyes haunt you every time you blink. Your left side of your head throbs and aches, an itch on the inside of your brain. You hate it. You hate him. You hate that you can’t help but wait for a sign. A sign that you’re not as crazy as the doctors have made you out to be.

A week passes and nothing, another and nothing. You give up hope till the news recounts a ‘gas leak’ in a tunnel. Causing multiple problems and a near casualty. You drop your remote when your vision shakes your world and you see the man with familiar blue eyes being rushed on a gurney. Voices shouting at you, voices you’ve never heard giving commands. Your hands claw at your hair and you feel bile coming up your throat from the intensity of the sight. He’s bloodied up and his left side of his head looks at though it’s been cracked open with the blood gushing out.

You scream and fall to your knees when you manage to pull out. Your stomach lurches and you struggle to stand. You grab your keys, your wallet, and anything useful and drive off. You don’t know where you’re going but you're running. You never stay long when the visions come true, you can’t risk yourself. You won’t.

So you move, move around quickly and find a job. You found a hole in the wall apartment, no one would come looking for you here… at least you hope. Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and you feel like maybe your life is coming slowly back together. Your visions have been weak but consistent, the only one that’s ever shaken you was blue eyes but he’s probably okay now. Hopefully…

Getting off of work, a job at the gas station. Something easy to blend into and no one bats an eye when you don’t look okay. Everyday has been feeling weirder. You’ve been writing more, visions are starting to stay longer. They’re getting worse again, the left side of your head throbs more every day. You’re tempted to run again but you don’t have the funds to do that. Taking a deep breath you push the apartment's creaky gate open, trudging along up the stairs to your place. You pull your keys out and as you do a warning flashes through you.

A man with a beard is sitting at your table, holding a gun, waiting. Waiting. He’s— you don’t open your door and you take off down the stairs. Your panic is rising with every stomp of your foot. You are near the gate and a flash of a hand goes through your mind's eye but not quick enough when you’re grabbed roughly. Can’t even scream when a hand clamps right over your mouth.

“Shut it,” a voice as deep as the ocean growls out. Your arms are forced behind your back as you cry and flail. You try to move them back but your assailant cuffs you quickly before slamming a hand back over your mouth before you can even call for help. Something cold is then pushed against the center of your back and it doesn’t take your curse to see that it’s a gun. “Walk. Now,” you hear a click and you tremble a step. Your arms are painfully tight against your back as he shoves you forward.

You walk up the steps and tears run down your face when he doesn’t even turn the knob, the door just opens for him. Meaning it was already unlocked. He shoves you once more to your kitchen table, the man with the beard that your curse showed earlier is sitting there. Waiting with a gun on the table. “Sit,” beard says, the one behind you gives a sharp nudge from his own gun and you sit.

“Pl-Please, I— I don’t have,” beard raises his hand and you try desperately to not whimper. “Please,” you beg, hoping he doesn’t kill you. You don’t know what they want or who they are.

“We need to talk.” Is all he says, he leans forward. The chair groaning under his weight and you blink back your wet eyes to see that he’s wearing a fishing hat. “You’re not hard to find, you know? Never stay in a place for long though.” His eyes squint and your struggle to breath when says without saying that you’re being tracked and watched. “Why are you running?” He doesn’t ask, he expects an answer from you. That gun on the table won’t allow you to deny him that.

“I…” you swallow, you can’t seem to stop your tears or the snot. You rub your face as best as you can against your shoulder. “Am I in t-trouble?” It’s not the answer he wants and his hand moves to his gun. “Please!” You shout suddenly, “I don’t know what I did wrong! Tell me, please— I don’t have any money. I’m sorry, please.”

He says nothing as you plead and beg, the one behind you doesn’t even make a gesture. You didn’t even recognize that he was wearing a mask, a skull one at that. A grim reaper that’s come to reap.

“Don’t kill me,” you blubber, you’re trembling so much that you’re surprised you haven’t vibrated off the chair. “Just— just tell me what I did wrong.”

He stands and you flinch, his hand trails as he walks around you. Shrinking under his hard gaze even more, “how did a girl like you work for Makarov, hm?” He chuckles mirthlessly, “could spill your bits out easily,” the one behind you grunts in agreement.

“I don’t,” you shake your head repeatedly side to side, “Makarov? Who? I don’t—“ beard grabs your chin and squeezes tightly making you whimper.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” He sneers, “one of my best nearly died but you told him to not go into that tunnel.” His thumb shifts harder against the fat of your cheeks. “Why?” That’s what confuses him in the entirety of tracking you down. If you did work for Makarov, why did you tell Johnny about it?

“Tunnel?” You murmur, tears rolling down your face and he does you the single kindness of flicking them away. It dawns on you now. “I-I,” you start hyperventilating, your anxiety through the roof as you try to breathe. The visions come flooding back and you scream.

…

10 minutes prior.

Gaz searches through your computer. Searching for something that could prove that you work with Makarov. It’s the only thing that makes possible sense, you’re practically normal. Your records scream ‘normal’, Laswell couldn’t find anything save for the fact that you’re an only child that went through numerous foster homes.

“Son of a bitch,” he slams his fist against your desk. Your search history is useless save for everything else. Sourdough starter, flower pots, seeds, gas, kitchenware, gas, star lights, dresser, gas. He sighs after looking at all of it, he hears a woman crying and he knows that Price is already interrogating you. He’d feel bad but they all need answers, “what are you hiding?” He mumbles when he sees gas, floor, and dresser typed in repeatedly. Almost like it’s important but why would you type it so many times. “Maybe she wanted new flooring?”

He leans back, taking a breath and he rolls his neck. “Gas…” his eyes move towards your dresser, “gas,” it starts to click, “Gaz, floor, dresser.” He pushes off and runs to your dresser. He opens it and digs through your clothing for something, anything. He lets out a gritted curse when there’s nothing.

He runs his hand down the sides, “floor,” a light bulb flickers to life in his head and he gets on his knees. His hands tap on the floorboards and he hears a hollow sound. “Gotcha,” he pulls the floorboards back and he sees numerous journals. Some old and some new, he grabs the newest one and he flips it open. Flicking through the pages and most of the dated entries makes no sense. Some are singular words to full on spirals of paragraphs. The latest one that’s dated today brings him to a stop.

Gun, man with gun, home, no safe. Run, run, mask, grab, gas will read, gas is read. Read. Read. figuring out, knowing. He knows. Knows. Knows. Scream.

Just as he reads that last word he hears a scream and he comes running downstairs with his gun in hand. He sees you screaming as Ghost shoves a needle into your throat. You flail and flounder, tears staining your cheeks and you manage to get off the chair. Ghost stands over you as you try to crawl away but there’s no way to escape. You hold out for as long as you can but eventually you give in. The sedative works quick and Ghost gives a nudge to your soft side but you make no movement. “Out like a light,” he hears the big man say. He crouches down and turns you on your back.

“Sir,” Gaz says, holstering his gun, “you need to see this.” Price glares down at you but he follows after Gaz upstairs to your room. “She—“ he doesn’t even know where to begin, “she knew we’d come.” He pushes your room door to open more. The journals he rummaged through is sprawled out on the floor.

“Makarov?” There’s a tight look on his Captain's face when Gaz shakes his head, “then how, Garrick?” Ghost is probably taking you to their van right now. Everything’s off record and he’s sure someone is bound to call the police with how you screamed. Just what he needed, he sways to move his weight to one side as Gaz looks bewildered, confused, and shaken up.

“Here,” he passes off your journal with the entry written before the one Gaz had read. It’s dated yesterday.

Man. 1, no, 2. Gun, man with gun, home, no safe. Run, run, mask, grabs. Grabbing you. Men, 3. 3 men, 3 total. Blue eyes. Blue. Same Blue. Hurt? Are hurt you? Will hurt they you? Scared. No. Stop, stop. Needle! Taken. Dark, van dark.

[slut4sugu]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 — HOBIE BROWN

❀ including: nsfw themes, so minors please don’t interact! Mentions of: Choking, edging, blowjobs, fingering, biting, thigh fucking, size kinks, dumbification, threesomes, wax play, quickies, creampies, etc. (nothing crazy dw loves) ❀ Summary: what the title says! An nsfw alphabet for hobie brown! (Aka my husband <3). #- a word from kam: since this was requested and im bored here you all are!

Back to masterlist . ୧ ‧₊˚ ♫: Slut me out- NLE CHOPPA

A- AFTERCARE (what their like after sex.)

No matter how tired he is he always cleans you up and gives you some water afterwards (unless you like emptied his balls or sum shit-) Sleepy kisses and tight cuddles until you both fall asleep, the playlist you originally had playing earlier that night still playing as you both fall asleep <33

B- BODY (their partners favorite body part)

Honestly he loves your body as a whole and claims. He doesn’t have any favorites but..he fucking loves you thighs bro. Doesn’t matter the size, just the feeling of thrusting his dick in between them or seeing his cum spurt out on them turns him on so much. Would def go crazy if you got his name tattooed on the inner sides of your thigh.

C-CUM

Honestly hobie loves the feeling of cumming inside of you but as I’ve stated before as much as loves to see his cum dribble out of you he loves coming on your cute body and taking pictures after wards (if you’re okay with it of course <3) If you were to ever tell him you would want him to finish in your mouth instead of inside js expected to go 2 extra rounds js because of that <3

D- DICK SIZE (how big are they?)

6.5 inches when soft but nearing 8 when he’s hard. (Yeah that shit is touching your heart girly) Also he’s a bit girth too, so every time he pushes into you it feels like you being split open for the first time all over again. And he cannot get enough of you saying he’s ‘too big’

E- EXPERIENCE ( do they know what they’re doing?)

Hobies been with many others before he’s met you, hes not a sex god or anything. However he’s a quick learner and knows what makes you feel good. When you first had sex he literally unclipped your bra with one hand, while his other rode up your thigh as if it was easy. When you’ve seen many of your ex’s struggle with getting it off with both hands, so needless to say it was attractive to see him multitask without breaking a sweat <3

F- FAVORITE POSTION

He honestly doesn’t have one, but he is fond of cowgirl. He loves seeing your tit’s bounce ontop of him, and gets veryy turned on when you lean down on him and beg him to help you reach your climax. Or when you feel more dominant and choke him lightly, loves that shit

G-GOOFY ( are they serious in the moment?)

He’s on the more serious side, though he will tease you a little if your a loud moaner or if you whine a lot. He loves getting on your nerves <3

H-HAIR (are they groomed down there?)

He trims so it’s not hairy or anything

I-INTIMACY

Veryyy romantic with you, hobie always tries to take his time with you unless your both just itching to fuck. Slow and lazy kisses pressed to your lips while his hands are all over your figure. It almost seems like he’s edging you at times because of how much he’s pacing you but he just wants you to know how much he appreciates his girl <33

J- JERK OFF ( how many times do they do it? Do they do it a all?)

When hobie isn’t with you or when he wasn’t dating you he’d jack off 2 times a day on average. Thinking about your pretty moans and how you jolt every time he sucks at the one sensitive vein on your inner thigh, while he fists his cock in his hand needily. Wishing it was your small soft one <3

K-KINKS

Choking, bondage, sensory play, spanking (to some degree), edging, overstimulation, degradation & praise, dry humping/grinding though clothes, semi public sex (fucking you in a closet in hq if your a spider) dumbification, size kink, creampies, the list goes onnn

L- LOCATION (where do they prefer to do it?)

He honestly would fuck you in a storage closet or in a public bathroom if he was that horny, though most of the times he likes to have the seclusion of having you to himself in his/ your apartment

M- MOTIVATION ( what turns them on?)

Anything. This man can get turned on by you simply not wearing a bra under his band tee and see your hard nipples due to the cold of the ac. Then a few thoughts about you later..you’re now under him getting your pussy eaten out all because you didn’t wear a bra.

N-NO (turn offs, things they wouldn’t do.)

Wax play, threesomes, having someone else watch you, knife play

O-ORAL (giving or receiving, and how good they are at it)

Hobie absolutely loves having his head between your legs, hearing your gasps and moans just turns him on so much and can calm him down after a long day. He’s really fucking good at it too, he’ll use his fingers and his tongue at once if he feels like being a tease or just anxious to feel you cum

Now on the receiving side: he’ll rarely say it verbally but he loves seeing you on your knees for him, almost as much as he loves feeling your pretty lips around his shaft. Seeing the bulge in your throat from trying to take all of him turns him on so damn much.

P-PACE ( how fast are they?)

Depending on his mood he can be slow and deep or fast and rough, he usually quickens his pace when he’s getting close, his head in the crook of your neck usually whispering dirty things into your ear to near your orgasm. But usually he’s in the middle, hitting your g-spot with deep thrust and a good pace.

Q-QUICKIES

As I’ve said before, if he’s horny enough he’ll fuck you for a good 8 minutes in a supply closet if he needs your cunt that bad. Though he really prefers having all the time he wants to make his pretty girl feel good.

Sorry loves i got tireddd, hope you enjoyed the hcs though!

[toournextadventure]

when you love it pt.3

Summary: Enid brings one of the children over for an extended career day.

Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: Swearing, flashbacks of violence Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

If one more miserable soul dared to interrupt the single hour of peace you had somehow managed to thrust into your schedule, you would end up representing yourself in court.

“I think they want to bury you,” Sara said with a pathetically insincere laugh. She dropped yet another box down in the already overcrowded corner of your office.

With a sigh, you set your reading glasses down on the desk and looked up at the young assistant. Far too young, you weren’t convinced she was even old enough to meet the strict qualifications your office had set. Not even old enough to have the tired leaden look in her eyes that life brought upon those with the wisdom to know better.

Though, you supposed Wednesday would have qualified for the position at her age. Perhaps you should curb your judgment.

“I beg of you,” you said slowly, “don’t bring anymore until tomorrow.”

“But there’s still-”

“-Don’t,” you whispered. She met your eyes before nodding once and giving you a closed-mouth smile.

“I’ll put them away for today,” she finally said.

You watched closely while she shuffled back out of the door. Her smile was more genuine before she closed the door and you could, once again, fall back into your chair and breathe. Just close your eyes for a moment, forget the disaster of a case that was haunting your every waking moment, and breathe. Deep inhale… slow exhale.

Much better.

Soft light filtered through the closed curtains on the windows. Pain pierced the dark, leaving an ache in your eyes and a rumble within the very centre of your brain. You quickly placed the sunglasses until they rested comfortably on your nose. Or not, you thought as the glasses slid down slightly. It was, perhaps, time to go home and wash your face.

No, not home. An apartment, nothing more. No, that was a lie as well. It was slowly becoming slightly more home-like. The walls were no longer bare, holding precious pictures of the younglings and their mothers. On the kitchen counter was a rusted whisk your Little Bane had dug up from the park across the street. A black hair tie sat on the bathroom counter next to the hair dye-stained sink.

Your phone vibrated loudly against the wooden desk. Pain pricked the inside of your mouth, radiating from the point of your fangs. The words “Break Over” illuminated the screen. Taunting you. Slowly, your jaw opened, pulling your teeth from the fleshy sheath they had created within your cheeks. Your mouth was filled with a throbbing ache that was quickly sated with relief, much like removing a splinter from a wound.

A cold finger swiped over the screen, turning the alarm off. So much for a chance to breathe, you thought. Perhaps you could use the busy work once again. Each moment your eyes were closed was another moment stolen by desire of the past. A useless endeavour if ever you had seen one.

Your phone vibrated on the desk once more. The image that appeared left your lip curling in disgust. Nonetheless, you picked it up and answered the call as you stood up from your desk and walked toward the ever-growing mountain of boxes.

“What do you want, Bas?” You asked, annoyance already dripping from your tongue.

“Always so hostile,” he said with a chuckle. “Can’t a brother call just to talk with his sibling?”

“No.” You pushed a box onto the ground and watched the contents spill out.

“One day, you’re gonna miss talkin’ with me,” he said. “You’ll be in a bind and think ‘Damn, I sure do wish Bas was here to help me out.’”

“What do you want, Bastien?” You repeated. Your fingers itched with the wanton desire to hang up.

“How’s your little rougarou?” A chair creaked on the other end of the line. Asshole. “Or your pretty little witch?”

“You have two seconds to get to the point,” you said gently. The bones of your spine cracked as you bent to pick up a file.

“That witch’s blood turned you rancid.”

“Good day, Bas-”

“-Hold on!” Your finger froze over the “end call” button. Something shifted on the other end of the line; you waited impatiently. “You heard from Constance lately?”

“Why would I?”

“'Cause she’s your sister.”

“I barely talk to you,” you mused. Pages flipped past your fingers. “Try again.”

“She got one a’them on her heels.”

You hissed and dropped the file. A small bead of blood engorged itself on the small papercut on your fingertip. The lack of light left the droplet appearing dark and ominous. You needed to get home and have a drink before long.

“One of what?” You asked. You lifted your finger to your mouth, licking it clean. The small cut healed over quickly.

“Daddy’s friends,” he whispered. “The mean ones.”

Your head lifted slowly. “Mawmaw Laveau?”

“Mawmaw would never,” Bas huffed in indignation. “Although word on the street is she’s achin’ to give you a whippin’.”

“What for?” You asked. “I ain’t- didn’t do anything.” You slammed the pile of paper down on a box. “Who’d you hear that from anyway?”

“You remember TJ?” You hummed in the affirmative. “He heard it from his ole lady, and she heard it when she was gettin’ her hair did.”

“Sue’s place?” You sat on a box.

“Where else?” He replied. “The ladies always talk way too loud, and one can’t help but to listen. They were talkin’ how Mawmaw’s been askin’ if you’ve been around, say she just wants to talk.”

“Mawmaw ain’t never wanna just talk,” you mumbled.

“Say she’d at least let you pick your own switch.”

You sighed. “She mad as hell.” The box groaned underneath you. “You sure she’s lookin’ for me?”

“That’s what TJ’s ole lady said, and she ain’t never got gossip wrong.”

“Shit,” you whispered. You’d need to call Mawmaw soon; you were too old to be picking a switch.

Wait.

“Who’s chasing Constance?” You asked. Feet planted firmly on the ground, you stood up and started digging through files once again. Not that it mattered; you weren’t paying attention.

“Hmm? Oh, them Hunters are after her.”

“She better not bring those classless bastards up here,” you said. “I have a reputation.”

“And your forbidden loves.”

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded.

“If she shows up, I’ll turn her away,” you said with a shake of your head.

Bas sighed on the other end. “Family used to mean somethin’ to you, ya know.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Bas’ words gently bounced off the inside of your skull, moving back and forth like the old DVD logo. No, he wasn’t going to guilt you into putting yourself and everyone else in danger. If Constance couldn’t keep her head down, that was on her.

“She would help you out.”

“Jesus, Bas, fine,” you groaned. “If she comes by, I’ll do what I can.”

“Knew you loved us,” he taunted.

“Good bye, Bastien.”

“Bye, cher-”

-You ended the call before he finished. A shaky hand placed the phone back on your desk before you returned to looking at the files. That you had pushed onto the floor. Like a petulant child.

“Why would I do that,” you whispered to yourself in disappointment.

Instead of picking up the papers like the sensible, mature adult that you were, you plopped onto the floor. They were going to remain a mess whether they were in the box or not, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. From the looks of it, you had at least another two weeks of nonstop work ahead of you just to sort what was useful and what wasn’t.

The passage of time marched ever forward. With your phone across the desk and all clocks removed - after The Great Skip, as Sara called it so fondly - you kept track by the drinks that appeared by your hand. As the afternoon passed, teas were left in the nicer, law firm-branded mugs. When the sun set, tall glasses of cola were set neatly on the hotel coasters you had stolen and brought back. The moment morning rolled around, steaming coffee in your personal, broken mugs brought you comfort.

You had only gone through six boxes.

Every fibre in your body stiffened when your office door opened. Janice poked her head in, blinking frantically in what you assumed was an attempt to see in the dark room. When unsuccessful, she mumbled a “for Christ’s sake” before the overhead light flickered on.

In a disgusting caricature, you hissed and lifted a hand to cover your eyes.

“You have a call on line two,” she said.

You rubbed your eyes harshly, leaving stars in your vision. “Who is it?”

“A Wednesday Addams?”

Come on, Willa, put it down.

Your mouth watered.

“Want me to push it through?” Janice asked.

Pages flipped past your fingers. Wednesday’s mug sat dutifully by your knee, nearly empty of the coffee it had held. Black, for her. You were supposed to call her a few days ago. She had made you promise after your Little Bane had finished talking with you over some sort of game they had wanted you to learn for them.

“I’m busy,” you said against the knot in your throat.

Janice looked down at the paper in your hand with a raised brow, but otherwise shrugged. “I’ll let her know.”

She slipped out of the door, leaving you alone in the overly bright, oppressive room. Perhaps, with the added threat of Wednesday calling back again - and again, and again, and again - you could work more efficiently. After all, the longer you were at the office, the more likely Wednesday would just show up.

That in itself was terrifying.

You were nearly finished with another seven boxes when the door opened once again. Janice threw it open, allowing it to slam against the wall. Nothing new for your office, you didn’t even flinch.

“Just a moment,” you said, pushing the glasses back up your nose as you searched for a particular name�� ah ha, there it was.

“Go home,” Janice said.

“Mmm after a while,” you replied.

The file in your hands lifted upward.

“Hey,” you griped.

“Go home,” Janice said again.

A woman with more kids than you could count - all boys, bless her soul - and a husband who actually pulled his fair share, Janice was not a woman to be trifled with. The moment her hands rested on her hips, everyone knew they were done for.

Just as you were in that moment.

“I’m not quite done, darling,” you said softly, hoping the gentle words would ease her anger.

It did not.

“Go home now or I’m changing the locks on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I’m calling your bluff,” you threatened.

You were wrong. In reality, Janice was no match for your strength, you both knew it. However, when she packed your bag and pushed you out the door, what were you supposed to do? Fight her? Absolutely not, you were no fool. The sun was bright and you were tired, and with that, you returned home.

—---

You had just finished drying off from your shower when you heard a knock at the door. Four rapid knocks, a little heavy handed. Deft fingers tied the string on your sweats as your bare feet padded across the living room. Three more knocks.

“I’m coming,” you said just loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear. For the love of the maker, you hoped it wasn’t Consta-

“-Hi,” Enid said with a gentle smile.

All the breath left your lungs. “Hello.”

“You two are disgusting,” Ophelia grumbled, pushing her way into your apartment as if she owned it.

Definitely Wednesday’s child.

“Don’t touch my things,” you called back to her. The Addams’ child was nothing if not a particularly adept kleptomaniac.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t touch,” she called back.

You opened your mouth to argue, but promptly shut it. Keep it together, you thought. The child was well aware of what she was doing, and she did it every single time you had the misfortune of crossing her path. She was your mortal enemy, and if she wasn’t the eldest of your lost loves, you would have slain her where she stood ages ago.

She was your favourite.

“Sorry,” Enid said, “she’s in a mood.”

“Since when is she not,” you questioned, stepping aside and ushering Enid into the apartment. She, too, knew where to go.

“You’re out of food,” Ophelia called as you entered the kitchen.

“Then get out of my fridge,” you shot back.

“I’ll put it on your card.”

The child grabbed your wallet from the counter and walked into the living room, throwing herself on the couch. You cringed when she lifted her feet, putting her shoes on the furniture. Animal, you thought with a sneer.

“Are you simply here to steal my money and dirty my furniture?” You asked.

“Yes-”

“-No,” Enid said quickly. “Ophilia had something to ask you.”

“And she couldn’t have called?” You asked.

“Ew,” came from the couch.

“Wednesday tried a few times,” Enid said. “You… never answered.”

Her smile fell slightly and the drop crushed your unbeating heart. Of course. Wednesday wasn’t one to call over frivolous matters. If you had been a sensible person, you could have avoided all of this. Including the teenager that was still flipping through your wallet.

You sighed. “What is your question?”

Ophelia slammed the wallet shut. “I’m so glad you asked.” She stood up and stalked over to you, much the same way her mother did. “I have decided to become a criminal defence lawyer and, as such, would like to shadow you for a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” You asked.

“Well a day simply won’t cover all the necessary information, and one week is barely scratching the surface,” she explained. “No, a few weeks is necessary for an optimal learning environment.”

“And where do you think you will stay?” You asked.

“Here?” She replied quickly. Sassy. “If I’m shadowing you, I need to witness every part of the lifestyle, not just the job.”

“Gomez already looked at renting an apartment for us,” Enid chimed in.

“There’s no need for that.” You gave her the most comforting smile you could manage against the onslaught of thoughts speeding through your mind.

“So you’re saying yes?” Ophelia asked.

You held your hand up, and silence fell upon the room. Deep breath in. Hold. Slow breath out. One thing at a time. The case you were working would be slow going and rather uninteresting, which would either bore the girl or excite her, you weren’t sure. Nonetheless, she would not be meeting actual criminals, which meant it was the perfect time.

Housing. Gomez had always been overly generous. One of the few people you had met that actually spent their obscene wealth instead of hoarding it. If Ophelia were to be staying for a much longer time, you would accept the rented apartment. For a few weeks? She could stay in yours, you had a spare room anyway.

You supposed you would need to stock up on more food so she wouldn’t wipe you out with disgusting takeout. And blood. She had the nasty habit of smelling like her mother…

“You cannot have access to anything confidential,” you said.

“No gorey secrets?”

“None.”

“Shame, but fair,” she said with a shrug.

“And you relinquish control of my wallet.”

You held your hand out toward her and waited. And waited. Enid giggled beside you but quickly hid it behind her hand. Well, attempted; you could still hear her. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach and up through your throat. Thank the maker you couldn’t blush.

Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Fine, take it.” She slammed the wallet into your outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You slid the wallet into your pocket. “When would you like to start?”

“Now,” she said quickly, “I’ll go get our stuff from the car!”

Oh. Oh, they had already brought their stuff? You turned slowly and looked at Enid. She couldn’t hide her own blush, but you didn’t mind. You found it rather attractive to see her face flushed with blood. Delicious even. Fangs pricked at the inside of your lips and you quickly turned your sight elsewhere.

“She had an entire argument ready in case you said no,” Enid said softly. The floor creaked before you felt her warmth against your arm.

“I’ll have her turn it into a closing argument,” you said. “Give her a chance to practice.”

“Careful,” that warmth turned into a soft hand resting on your bicep. “She is 100% Wednesday’s daughter. She’ll have you here for a week.”

“She’s already holding me hostage in my own apartment,” you teased.

Then you hesitated. Enid’s nails absentmindedly scratched against your skin, just light enough to tickle. You had kept her at (mostly) arm’s length for a long while. If you ever snapped, you refused to allow her to be on the other end of it. Not again.

But you missed her touch oh so much.

Small gestures, you could manage that. You lifted your opposite hand and placed it over hers, fingers instantly finding the small scars that littered her skin. Not all of them were from you, which left an uneasy peace within your mind. Just the feel of her hands underneath yours brought joy back into your cold chest.

“Will you be staying?” You asked quietly, your eyes meeting hers.

Until she looked away. “I wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with it.”

You wouldn’t. If you hurt her, if you hurt Ophelia, it would kill you. You would walk to the nearest hunter - perhaps the one chasing Constance - and offer yourself. With her being so close, it was almost inevitable something would happen. You couldn’t rely on luck to keep them safe. After all, where had luck gotten you before?

But if there was ever one person that could stop your violence, it was her.

“I would love if you stayed,” you said.

The look on Enid’s face was exactly like the one you had seen back in college. When you would bring her one of her sweet treats after a rough day. After offering to draw her a bath when she was tired. On those nights when Wednesday was out studying and you both sat watching the stars, waiting for her to come home.

It broke your heart.

“I’m not staying if you two are going to act like that the whole time.”

Enid’s face reddened. “Would you like some help with your stuff?”

“Yes please,” Ophelia said. “If I don’t keep you busy, we might end up with another Addams.”

“To your room,” you said, pointing in the direction of the guest room. Not like she didn’t already know where it was.

“My room?” She asked, looking you dead in the eyes as she passed. “Seems we get another Addams anyway.”

Enid rushed off, and the warmth of her hand vanished too quickly. Within seconds, you were craving her touch again. It left an unusual tingle on your skin that you couldn’t quite describe. Pathetic, really. And yet, surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Not this time.

—---

The change of pace within your miniscule household was… nice. Enid slept in your room, even though she had argued for a solid 13 minutes over the fact. Yet you had prevailed, insisting on sleeping on the couch because “family does not ‘couch surf’.” Ophelia had, of course, taken notes through the entire debate, and you were thoroughly interrogated afterward.

Dinners were shared at home. No more late nights at the office, not when a child’s health was at stake. Not to mention Janice wouldn’t have allowed it anyway. Enid was a spectacular cook, Ophelia as well, and they teased you each time you attempted to help. Instead, they relegated you to grocery shopping (though they teased you for that as well).

The two of them worked like a well-oiled machine. While Enid claimed the girl was all Wednesday, you disagreed. You could see it in their humour, or the specific way they fidgeted with their hands. While incorporating a few more blacks than her senior, their fashion sense was identical.

Time at home was something to crave instead of dread. There was joy and laughter within the walls. What once was a dwelling of anguish and blood was now… bright. For the first time in a long time, you had something to look forward to again. All that was missing was Wednesday.

One step at a time, you reminded yourself each night. Wednesday’s blood was tempting even after finishing a meal. Bas had suggested what he called “micro dosing.” Small moments with her, enough to get you used to her scent again until it was nothing more than background noise. You begrudgingly agreed it was… a wise idea.

Perhaps, with Ophelia smelling just like her, you could get to that point sooner rather than later.

“Don’t forget lunch!” Enid said as you ushered Ophelia out the door. The prosecution had delivered another two dozen boxes to your office, and you needed to get a move on.

“Thanks,” Ophelia said quickly, grabbing the lunchbox Enid had gotten her. It matched yours.

Enid pressed a kiss to her cheek and rushed her forward. You gave her a small smile and thanked her for the lunch as well. Before you could leave, you felt warm lips on your own cheek. Every nerve in your body short circuited, freezing you in place.

When had you last felt the warmth of her lips?

“It’s just a kiss, let’s go.”

Enid pulled away first. Unlike the small touches she left throughout the day, this left a lingering heat. It radiated from where her lips had been to the rest of her face and… oh. Oh, that was what a blush felt like. You were blushing. She had made you blush.

Oh.

“We’ll go for a walk after work,” Enid said. “Now go, you’ll both be late.”

She pushed you - with more force than necessary for a human, but the perfect amount for you both - until you were out the door with Ophelia. Your mind was still a jumble of feelings, no words would form. Nothing but warmth.

“Mother would laugh at you,” Ophelia said. 

She wasn’t much better as she grabbed your hand and pulled you with her, leaving a second heat on your skin. It was… nice to hold her hand. Like she wanted you to be near, desired your presence. Was that… was that how Wednesday and Enid felt with all their children?

Was this parenthood?

Janice handed you both a mug of coffee on the way to your office. She had taken a liking to Ophelia - who wouldn’t? - and made it her goal to keep the girl fed and hydrated with whatever she wished. ‘Don’t spoil her,’ you had begged to no avail. It was a fruitless endeavour, you had abandoned it within a day.

No surprise in the least, Ophelia was rather good at digging through documents. You had said she couldn’t read anything confidential but… well, it wasn’t like your clients were the most upstanding citizens. After all, you simply had to tell the judge once that it was an internship, and she had readily accepted the arrangement.

The routine was rather simple. Together, you had hammered it out within two days. Ophelia would look for anything involving the criteria you had given her, and you would dig deeper to see if it was useful or not. On occasion, she would make the executive decision if it was helpful or not. Her intuition was rather impressive.

Half a dozen boxes had been searched and removed by the time lunch came along. Neither of you would have noticed if Janice hadn’t told you she was going to pick something up. She had smirked at your matching lunchboxes before leaving.

You both ate in silence. It was rather nice. It reminded you of the countless hours you spent with Wednesday. Not a single word, just enjoying each other’s presence as you did your own thing. You shouldn’t compare Ophelia to her mother as often but it was the only thing you had.

“You’re the one who tried to kill my moms.”

You choked on your tea, barely recovering before shooting a look at Ophelia. She wasn’t looking at you, just eating like normal. For a moment, you weren’t sure she had spoken at all.

She looked up at you. “I know what vampire bites look like.” She shrugged. “And claws.”

Her face remained impassive. You couldn’t gauge a single thought or emotion. A useful skill for a lawyer, not so much for someone who had somehow pieced together that damning piece of information.

“What makes you say that?” You asked.

“They didn’t tell me,” she said quickly. “I pieced it together myself.”

Her icy blue eyes stared into the spot where your soul should have been. The chill sunk deeper into your bones.

The women you loved. They were bleeding out.

“I figured that’s why you flinch when mom touches you,” she continued. “It hurts her feelings.”

You killed them both.

“Auntie Yoko says I smell just like mother,” she said, finally setting her sandwich down and forcing you to hold her gaze. “Do you wish to drain me too?”

It only exacerbated the sharp pain in your chest to see just how much you had taken from her. From your girl. Your Wednesday.

“No,” you said softly. “I would rather be staked.”

The thought of being so near to her forced a shake into your fingers. Your words rang true, whether she believed them or not. If anything were to happen to her by your hand… the thought wouldn’t even form in your mind. It was unfathomable. Nothing could cause you to lay even just a finger on her. You couldn’t.

“Good,” Ophelia said just as softly. She rolled her shoulders back and grabbed her sandwich once again. “Because mom would totes wreck your shit again.”

The day continued as usual, for everyone else. Work was completed, more boxes were removed, and the weather on the walk home was nice. Ophelia talked of the things she had discovered and you knew you should be proud of her. Her work ethic was admirable, and she was beyond clever.

At home, your girls talked of their days. Endless, animated discussions about the weather, what they had done, the cute little frog they had seen earlier. Like mother like daughter, of course. They just talked and talked and took no notice of you setting your things by the door and walking to your office.

The door closed with an almost inaudible click. Everything was in its place, and you quickly reached for the mini-fridge in the small closet. Inside were three bags of blood. Like an animal, you ripped the top off the first and devoured it, the cool liquid pouring down your throat.

It didn’t quench the pain.

You repeated the action with the other two bags, feeling engorged yet unsatisfied. The ache was still present. It was a small miracle you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror; you could feel the damp spots on your shirt and the stickiness on your lips. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. You fell into your chair, eyes glued to the red dripping from your fingers. Why did it not help?

Knuckles rapped lightly on your door, but you didn’t comprehend what it meant. The blood stained your fingers quickly. Even if you scrubbed, it wouldn’t come off. It never came off.

A soft hand rested on the spot where your neck connected to your shoulder. You flinched. Their nails scratched lightly against your skin. Fingers pushed past skin and now-exposed muscle. You would recognise the warmth even in the fires of hell.

“So,” Enid said softly. “Ophelia knows.”

“Do you believe I would hurt her?” You asked.

In the mirror, you could see Enid looking down at you. The look in her eyes was different. Pitiful, maybe? Gears turned behind those blue eyes, considering your question. Her answer would dictate the next step. If they were both concerned you would hurt her, you would leave. There was a couch in your office, you could sleep there. It was comfier than the one at your own apartment, you wouldn’t complain.

Enid’s other hand rested on the other side of your neck. Your eyes fell shut at the pure comfort from her touch alone. You could die happy with her hands around your neck, if she so wished it. It would be a rather intimate way to go.

You felt helpless as she tilted your head up. When your eyes opened, you were met with her unwavering gaze.

“If I believed that,” she started slowly, “I wouldn’t have let her stay here.”

Her nails scratched the underside of your jaw. She was close enough that you could smell the perfume she sprayed directly behind her ear. A delectable scent that was entirely Enid. Not overly sweet with a hint of citrus. After all these years, she still wore what appeared to be a strawberry lip gloss.

She was too close.

“You wanted to go on a walk,” you said quickly.

Enid didn’t move.

“Ophelia wanted to go out,” she said. “She’ll be gone for a while.”

“How do you know?”

“She took your wallet.”

You sighed. Of course she had. If she kept it up, your wallet would be kept under lock and key, not even you would be able to use it. That girl was going to rob you blind one day. And by the looks of it, you were going to let her.

“Want to watch a movie with me?” Enid asked.

“Are your parents home?” You asked.

“It never stopped you before,” she said with a smile that you couldn’t help but mirror. “Please?”

How could you say no to her perfected puppy-dog face?

“I’ll change while you get it ready,” you said.

Your undead heart raced in your chest as you both went your separate ways to get ready. The sounds from the TV echoed through the apartment. You stood in front of your dresser, looking at the options, as worried about what to wear as you had been on your first date with her. It left you as giddy as a college kid again.

It took only a moment to put a shirt and shorts on, determined to keep it cozy. You rushed to the bathroom to clean the blood from your face and hands; you needed to be presentable. Thankfully, Enid was wearing the same and already had a spot saved on the couch. A spot directly beside her. Where you would be able to feel her warmth against your thighs.

Deep breath in. Hold. Slow breath out.

“I picked a good one,” she said enthusiastically. “It suits you.”

You couldn’t hold in your laughter as she pressed “play” on Legally Blonde.

“That’s going to be Ophelia one day, just you watch.”

“She’d never be caught dead in pink,” Enid teased.

The movie started, and Enid placed a bowl of popcorn between the both of you, held in place by one of your thighs and one of hers. Strategic. It put just enough space between the two of you that you could feel yourself relax. You couldn’t hurt her over popcorn.

College flashed before your eyes. Watching movies with Enid, which inevitably ended in not watching the movie at all. Her lips on your neck and hands on your hips. Her smooth skin under your carefully controlled teeth. The movie longnce, t forgotten on even the worst of days.

Warm fingers brushed against yours. You blinked once. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Enid’s fingers brushing against yours in the popcorn bowl. Breath caught in your throat. What should you do? Enid never did anything accidentally.

Fuck it.

With buttery fingers, you flipped your hand and wiggled your fingers between hers. It was messy and childish. Enid instantly squeezed your hand owice, three times. Something the three of you had done in college when words were too much, but a gesture was just enough. Three squeezes for three words. Your chest ached.

You turned to face her. She was already looking at you with those hooded eyes that had always been a weakness for you and Wednesday. Enid would play dumb to get ahead, but it never worked for the both of you. You were painfully aware of the tactics she used. The only difference was you still fell for it.

It couldn’t happen. Your eyes searched out every scar she left unhidden. Each bite and clawmark she had received by your hands. You had marred her skin permanently; she would carry you with her until the day she died. It couldn’t happen.

She bit her lip.

Fuck it.

The popcorn bowl fell to the ground as you rushed forward to press a kiss to her lips. Almost instantly, her hand lifted to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you closer. She tasted of fake butter and too much salt. Her lips were just as soft as you remembered. Softer even, if you were being honest. Blood rushed beneath her skin, sending an electrifying jolt everywhere you touched her. You could hear each heartbeat, forcing your own to match the erratic rhythm.

It was a clumsy kiss. Enid leaned forward to capture your lips again. Something sharp stung the inside of your cheek. Your eyes flew open. You pulled away quickly and turned your face, readjusting your jaw in an attempt to keep your fangs back in check.

“Are you okay?” Enid asked quickly, sitting up and following your movements.

You hummed in reply but started focusing on the pieces of popcorn littering the floor.

“Fangs?” She asked.

Silence. You nodded slowly.

“Performance issues aren’t uncommon in older vampires.”

Your head turned so quickly the bones in your neck cracked. Her hand was already covering her mouth, which you knew hid a smile.

“How dare you,” you whispered.

“I’m just saying, it’s fine,” she said with a shrug. Her hand finally lowered to her lap. “No pressure.”

“That’s pretty rude, Mrs. Addams,” you said.

Enid moved across the couch until she was leaning against your arm. You remained still, allowing her to do as she wished. She removed her hand from yours - you instantly missed the warmth - and pulled your arm over her shoulder until she was cuddled securely into your side.

“This works just fine,” she said. She shimmied a little more until she was situated perfectly. “Wednesday will be jealous.”

Her fingers interlocked with yours again as she fell silent, watching the movie. Your fangs still pricked the inside of your mouth, but it was manageable. Enid was horrifically warm against your side, and her fingers scratched against your skin, and for the first time in over a decade you let yourself lean back on the couch and relax with one of your girls in your arms.

[baniisharur0tte]

Thin Walls (P.2) ☆

(part one here)

Suguru Geto hears you playing with yourself in your apartment begging for him. Roommates are here to help you when you need it, and he is just too eager to please :)

word count: 3.8k <3

content: SMUT!!! 18+!!!! hair pulling, mild choking, P->V penetration, fingering, oral (F!Receiving) dark/gothic sexy talk (idk how to describe it, it's dark and sexy idk) very mild shame kink, praise kink, slight Dom!Suguru

authors note: sorry for the delay!!! i wanted this posted 4 days ago smh... there was so much demand for a p2 i wanted to make sure i got it RIGHT, my princess suguru deserves only the best. this has some mild religious undertones, i kept with the Type O Negative theme and based this one around Christian Woman. thank you so much for all your support!!! MWAH!!! <3333

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"you called for me, you need some help?"

a wash of cool goosebumps raises your skin as his voice resonates around the room, clashing against the heat in your face as you are stricken with a vulnerability you had been lusting after, but never entirely prepared for.

Suguru strides over to the edge of your bed, placing his large hands adorned with chunky rings on the soft mattress caging in around your feet, a dark wash of need over his face as he watches you, eating you hungrily with his eyes.

your hand still laced between your thighs, mind whirring.

a feeble "can you please?.." falls from your lips, the thick tension in the room snapping.

without another word, he scooped you up, his arm under the arch of your back lifted gently off the bed as he pulled himself on top of you, lips crashing together.

a tangle of limbs finding each other, your arm trapped against your clit for a moment before you find a way out.

the cold buckle of his black jeans pushes against your pelvis as his heavy hands explore your body, sloppy kisses trailing down from your lips, your neck, decorating your chest.

"you've been- calling my name for weeks- when were you going to get brave enough to come get me?" he pants between red love bites.

his breath hot on your skin, his hands squeezing and groping all over your body in a sick adoration. a heady lust tangling your minds like an ugly amalgamation, a thoughtless beast raring it's head.

"i didn't know.." you trail off, so consumed by him unable to think for yourself.

"know what?" he purrs, taking your earlobe into your mouth.

"i didn't-fuck-know if you wanted me" you gasp.

"i've needed you since we met.." he murmured against your neck, sending a shiver down the side of your body.

he sits up, backlit by your tv against the heavy looming darkness of your bedroom. the creeping feeling that maybe you were the last two people alive, or perhaps the first two people to ever experience pleasure swirled in your mind.

the undercurrent, a feeling of singularity.

warching him peel off his shirt against the cold light of the tv screensaver, a uniquely inorganic glow against the most human sight in your known existence encouraged the feeling of a stranded, sequestered experience.

behind the heavy lock of your front door, here you were.

alone in your room with suguru.

a tension had been planted the day you met. watching him walk into the diner, your booth facing the door in the lively bustle of coffee pots and tall stacks of pancakes whisking around between tables, a deafening silence fell around your ears. no longer were you one of many in a crowd, but two halves of a singularity.

you tucked it away, burying it under laundry and moving boxes.

but as the weeks passed and clutter found it's home around the apartment, you kept tripping over that itch laying at the foot of your bed.

that lust was carnal and dark, an urgency you were not fit to embody. so you hid in your room, the heat of your bed hiding you behind yet another locked door.

but the walls were thin, and you were hungry.

he irritated that infection of yours, a sickness he burdened you with. a sculpted back made to be clawed, teeth sinking into his shoulder. long silky black hair you were- as far as you understood- prophesied to tangle your fingers in, tears welling in your eyes as you wracked with pleasure.

how Edwardian, haunting.

but there is no place for reckoning with god in the mundane monotony of a job, the line at the grocery store, the online interface of your rent terminal.

but here you were, lying through your teeth to protect yourself from....

from what?

the very idea you had desires you didn't understand? a darkness you possessed you didn't approve of?

you knew he felt it, you saw it in his eyes. a vicious curiosity bubbled under the surface, a silent chaos under the cool veneer of an aloof bookworm.

why lie? why pretend you didn't see it? once the tension breaks, the church doors open. the confessional is your only solace. kneel upon the grater to find peace and revelation.

stripping himself of invention in front of you, his long broad frame unfurling up over your bed with a looming intimidation, you spill your guts across the sheets.

"i lied," you whisper quietly, "i knew. i was afraid, i think." you twist your fingers together in nervous anticipation.

falling around you, his long arms caging you in under him, his hair a silken sheet curtaining around your face.

"afraid of what?" he said lowly, a softness in his voice.

"i think.... i was afraid to admit i needed you. i didn't want to... acknowledge it." you whispered so quietly, only he would've heard you had you not been so utterly alone with him.

"whats so scary about a need?.." he purrs as he kisses you deeply, sinking into you. ".. you've been haunting me, passing through my walls at night and infecting my dreams. i can say with certainty, i have a need for you." he murmurs against the soft flesh of your lips, trailing kissed and bites down to latch onto your nipple, his strong veined hands groping your chest so hungrily.

"i-it's not that easy" you gasp, stumbling over your own moans getting caught in your throat. "i was afraid it was... dark. that i-aah!" you choke out, already coming undone under him.

his chest pressed to your heaving stomach, his dark hair splayed across your body as he pleases you, slowly- torturously- works his way down your body.

"that you what?" he questions, a syrupy lilt to his voice-somewhere between a genuine curiosity and a mockery of your wavering constitution.

"...that i was doing something wrong." you whisper as if confessing a sin at the knees of a god.

he reaches down to unbuckle his pants, shuffling them down to his knees. laying his weight back on you, the throbbing pulse of his aching cock trapped in his underwear presses against your eager, drooling pussy. a small stifled moan escapes your lips as he grabs your jaw firmly and forces you to look in his dark, heavy eyes.

"do you feel that?" he whispers softly, the ghost of his breath dances across your face as he slowly grinds his cock against your clit.

you squirm and whimper, nodding quickly.

"that is you. that's what you've done to me-" he grinds into you harder, the roll of his body and the taut flex of his stomach hypnotizing you as he stares deeply into your eyes. "-this is the wound you left in me that will never heal. you are the knife i twist inside myself. this is wrong. what we've done to each other is wrong. but do you care so much about the morality of a need to choose to suffer without it?" his hand slowly slides down to rest on your throat, a gentle pressure causing your head to swim as he watches you intently, rolling his thick cock on your clit over and over again, a slow sensuous movement you utterly break down under. "i-" you stutter, tears welling in your eyes as you are overwhelmed with pleasure, "w-we would eat each other like monsters, claw each other to nothing" you whisper frantically, approaching an orgasm, your wet slick soaking the front of his underwear as he continues grinding his hard length into you without reprieve.

he kisses your forehead firmly, his weight shifting over you placing more pressure on your throat as he times your orgasm perfectly, so aware of the sounds you make and what they mean, understanding perfectly what your pleasure looks like.

mumbling against your forehead, he whispers, "i'd destroy myself to please you, to be consumed by you is just as well."

his words shake you to your core, a vile dedication alighting your sheets in a twisted consecration. you undo completely, legs shaking and eyes rolling back as you cum against his thick cock, his name falling mindlessly from your lips over and over again as he gives you the first of many. small encouraging "mhm"s and "just like that" fall over you as he fucks against you, working you through your high.

as you settle, your chest heaving and your legs falling limp, he slowly works off the rest of his clothes and trails his lips down your body once more, this time not stopping at your chest.

savoring and worshipping every inch of your skin, stopping frequently just to rest his chin on you and stare deeply up into your eyes, a palpable reverence emanating off him as he lavishes in the salty sweat on your skin, the plush of your thighs, the music of your gasping breath as you recover.

lacing his thick arms under your thighs, he gently places kisses on the inside of your thighs, licking stripes and devolving into hungered bites, leaving red marks up to your knee. squirming and groaning in his arms, he smiles up at you. "impatient, pretty?"

you hide in your hands, shying away. "no, it just feels g-good" but your body tells another story, hips bucking against his chin as he rests it on your clit, slowly pushing his chin into your wet lips.

"reverence is a slow fever, love." he purrs as he dips down and places light kisses on your clit, the fluttery ticklish brush of his lips on yours was torture. slowly and meticulously swirling his tongue over you, eyes rolling back as he finally tastes you.

"i've waited so long to know you, and you taste amazing" he mumbled against your lips, lavishing in your scent, the way you taste, how soft you are. he abandons restraint, pulling himself deeper into you by your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. you watch him eat you so hungrily, eyes rolling back grunting and growling against you, his hair falling in his face as he pushes his jaw against you. creating artwork with his tongue, the rings on his slender fingers glinting in the glow of the tv. the light washing across his bare back illuminating the flex and roll of his muscles as he moves your thighs, pushing them farther apart, pushing them back against your chest, crushing his face with them. he devolved into a frenzy, desperately chasing every way he can please you. plunging his tongue deep inside you, fucking you on his face, dragging long stripes up to your clit, sucking and gently biting you, watching you squirm under his attention.

the lilt and pitch of your moans tell him he found the rhythm you need, he keeps that pace perfectly for you. any notion of a sore jaw or neck was irrelevant and unimportant to him. he would break his bones to please you, whats a little lock jaw?

you feel that coil in your stomach tighten as he encourages you with little "mhm"s against your dripping pussy, your fingers laced tight in his hair pulling him in harder as he swirls his tongue back and forth over your clit.

grinding your hips against his face, legs tight and shaking, you gush down his chin as you cum, spasming against him. you cry out his name mindlessly over and over again as he drinks in the sight, the taste, the feeling of your orgasm.

placing firm kisses on your throbbing clit as you come down, he brings his hand around and gently splays your lips apart, rubbing slow messy circles over your pussy, smearing your cum around all over yourself. picking his head up, a glossy sheen of slick coating the lower half of his face and a glow of sweat beading the other, his dark low eyes watch you with a smile as your chest heaves and you twitch as he overstimulates your poor pretty pussy.

"did that feel wrong to you?" he asks lowly, his voice dripping with lust as he watches you squirm under him.

you shake your head, replying "no, it felt-ahh!-really g-good. thank you, suguru" you mewl, fucked out and delirious.

he slowly pushes his middle finger into the tight plush of your pussy saying "you deserve to feel good, pretty girl. let me please you until my body can't give you anything else." he says quietly, a secret for only your ears. he reaches the hilt of his finger, his ring a cold contrast against you as he begins pumping his finger inside you, massaging up into the knot of flesh that makes you weak.

you crane your body up off the bed, back arching as he hits exactly where you need. you instinctively grab his wrist with both hands, pushing his finger deeper into you with every thrust as he watches you carefully, licking and biting your thigh.

"please, c-can i have more-fuck, god that feels so good" you cry out, rolling your hips against his hand.

"you need another? your pussy needs more?" he purrs, pulling his finger out to add another.

as he slides his middle and ring finger inside you, your pussy swallowing them generously as you clench and throb around him, relief washes over you as you are finally filled by him. that empty ache satiated by his long slender fingers pumping deep inside you.

he presses the heel of his palm to your clit, a firm warmth for you to roll your hips against, slick coating his palm as he watches with low dark eyes, slack jawed with knitted brows, his free hand groping and squeezing your chest, your waist, your hips, your thighs.

his fingers massage up against the inner wall of your lower stomach, that coil pilling tighter and tighter as you helplessly moan and squirm against the bed, rocking your hips against his palm chasing yet another high.

your pussy clenched and squeezes around his fingers, gushing down his hand as you cum, stars behind your eyelids as you are rocked by your orgasm, waves of sharp pleasure wash over you.

"god, fuck you squirted on me" he says quietly, almost whimpering. as if it were a painful to watch you completely unravel on his fingers, prodding a weak spot he has. slowly pulling his fingers out, he licks and sucks his fingers clean down to his wrist, groaning at the taste eyes rolling back.

"you are everything i ever couldve wanted and it's torture" he laments, running his hands up your stomach as he pulls himself back over you, his face hovering over yours, his hips pressed to yours, cock resting firmly on your drooling hungry pussy.

"please, i need you to fuck me, suguru" you whisper, begging with wide eyes, digging your fingernails into his biceps.

"god, yes. anything, i'll do anything." he groans, feverishly kissing you, hips bucking against you as he loses himself in you, squeezing and groping you all over your body as if he couldn't possibly touch you enough.

he pulls back and lines himself up with you, slowly pushing his long thick cock inside you, a long low "fuucckkk, god you are so fucking wet" his eyebrows knitted together, jaw slack as he watches your eyes grow wide and your jaw hang open as you feel his girth stretch you out, your pussy swelling generously to accommodate him. he reaches the hilt of his cock decorated with jet black tufts, he looks down to drink in the sight of his cock buried deep inside you, already slick and matting down his hair as you gush out around him.

he is tense and restrained as he waits to let you adjust to him. wrapping one arm under your back, the other under your ass, he buries his head in the crook of your neck gently licking and sucking on your skin, his voice low and dark as he asks "you ready, pretty girl?"

you nod fervently, choking out a tense whisper, "please, please yes"

he slowly starts pumping in and out, hard slow thrusts hitting deep inside you, he picks his head up to hold your face, looking deeply into your eyes as he fucks you, mumbling "so pretty... look at what you did to me..."

he fucks you faster, hitting you exactly where you need watching your face twist in pleasure as you spill whimpers and moans of his name, the lewd squelch of your pussy emanating around the room as his hips ram into your over and over again, filling you so perfectly, the bulge of his cock pushing out your lower abdomen every time he hits deep against your cervix.

"m-more, please. do what you want, i need you so bad" you babble mindlessly, his hand on your face clenching tight around your jaw, his lips ghosting over yours as you beg for him.

"you need more? you need me to fuck you harder? you need me to take you and make you mine, pretty?" he purrs, punishing your poor pussy making it near impossible for you to respond. you whine and grunt like an animal, nodding fervently against his hand as he squeezes your chin, holding your gaze on him.

he pulls out, flipping you over into your stomach effortlessly. he runs one hand up your back as he pushes your knees apart with his thigh, splaying you out in front of him. the other finds your hip as he lays down on top of you lacing his fingers through your hair. with a sharp jerk his yanks your head back by your hair, his lips brushing against your ear, a low threat rumbles in his chest, "you want to eat each other like monsters? you want me to claw you apart? you wouldn't like it if anyone found out about this, pretty girl. it's terrible, a sin even, isn't it?" he teases, yanking your hair harder as he mentions the sinful sight you must be under him.

"yes, it's awful! please, i won't tell anyone what we do in the dark. please just fuck me, i need you so bad" you cry, squirming against his cock on your ass as he rolls his hips into you.

he pulls back, running the head of his cock against your lips, smearing your wet slick around. he sinks back into you with a guttural groan, "yes, that's it. take it, pretty".

grabbing onto a fistful off your hair, he holds himself up on his elbow caging around the side of your face. his head in the crook of your neck, he thrusts hard into you with a grunt. you yelp, instantly full, he slams into you g-spot as you are shoved into the bed.

he hisses as you wrap tight around his cock again, throbbing and milking him for cum. he rolls his hips a few times before quickly devolving into fast stuttering thrusts, groaning and grunting like an animal in your ear, a mess of "you need this?" and "god, fucking take it" fall around you as he slams his cock into you, your pussy sucking him back in over and over again, tight and wet for him as he uses your pussy the way you begged him to. the wet smack! of his balls against your clit, your ass jiggling under him as he rams his cock into your pussy, your head lolling back and forth against his hand as he grips your hair, shoving your face down into the mattress, it's a disgusting display- you are lucky you are hidden away together in the dark of night, if anyone saw this they would be shocked by how easy you are to work into a mess.

you stutter out broken "thank you"s over and over, his name spilling from your lips as he pumps his cock into you, punishing and hard.

his breath catches in his throat, his fist squeezing your hair tighter with the other hand on your back, forcing you into a deeper arch. "fuck, im gonna cum in that perfect little pussy" he grunts, "you need my cum? you gonna take it, pretty girl? you gonna take what i give you?" he babbles, fucking you faster, panting and groaning broken "god, fuck" and "shit, it's too good" as his cock twitches against your tight walls.

the thought of his large strong hands pinning you down and making you take his cum deep in your pussy felt godly, as if it were the honor of the arcane and powerful. fighting back tears, you claw at the sheets and push your hips back on him, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs pulling him deeper. "please, give me everything!" you choke, squeezing and clenching around him as you feel yourself fall apart around him, gushing and squirting down the length of his cock as he collapses on top of you, choking out "fuck baby you deserve it, take everything i have" as he bites your shoulder, panting as he dumps his hot cum deep against your cervix. the thick muscle on the underside of his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, his legs shaking and his nails digging into your skin.

you lay together, his weight on you as you both still, rolling your hips against each other as you both come down. he releases you hair and pets it, smoothing it down and finger-combing the tangles left behind. his cock still plugging you full of his cum, he hisses and gently bucks against you every time your pussy throbs around him. gently kissing and licking your neck, shoulder, jaw, he peppers you with praise and adoration. "you did so good, you made me feel amazing.... thank you... i loved every second of it." he whispers against your skin, his voice soft and sweet in your ear.

once you both cool off enough, he pulls his half-hard cock out of you, cum spilling all down your clit and onto the sheets.

he cleans you up, brings you water, and carries you to the bathroom.

once you are back in your bed, you lay on his chest as you play with his long silky hair, messy and tumbling down his shoulders.

his hands tipping your face up to his and stroking your cheek with his thumb, low sleepy eyes looking down at you, a content smile on his blushed face he mumbles, "next time just come get me, waiting outside your door for you to ask for me was torture, yknow."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

authors note #2: me personally? i'm fidgeting with the rings on his fingers while he fucks me :)

[rhiannonsknife]

── I JUST WANNA BE A GOOD PASSENGER

— summary: sweetpea book 2&3 spoilers!! you work aboard the cruise ship rhiannon takes to flee the uk.

— warnings: implied canon typical violence. based on the third book. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni.

the woman has been watching you for days.

you first noticed her during a busy afternoon in valencia, three days ago. the deck was packed with passengers, soaking in the sun and sipping overpriced cocktails. you were darting between tables, balancing trays and weaving through conversations in a dozen different languages when you felt it: an itch between your shoulder blades, a weight that told you someone was watching.

you glanced up and spotted her immediately: seated in the corner, a half-empty glass of something expensive in her hand, her head tilted slightly as if to study you. unable to help yourself, you held her gaze for a moment too long, long enough to see her lips curl into the faintest smile, sharp and knowing.

flustered, you ducked your head and focused on clearing plates, trying to shake the feeling that she’d seen right through you.

the next day, in mallorca, she was there again.

you were restocking the bar during the afternoon when you saw her sitting at the counter. she was sipping her drink slowly, her gaze fixed on you like she had nothing better to do. you’d felt heat creeping up your neck as she raised her glass in a silent acknowledgment.

by the time the ship reached marseille, her presence was impossible to ignore.

the stranger seemed to be everywhere: perched on a chair on the upper deck, strolling through the dining room during your shift, lingering at the bar long after most passengers had retired for the night. and always, always watching you.

at first, you chalked it up to curiosity.

passengers often watched the staff with a detached kind of interest, a casual pastime during their endless hours on deck. but this woman was different. her gaze wasn’t idle or distracted; it was sharp, focused, and unrelenting. it followed you as you moved through the room, as if she was waiting for something. something only you could give her.

now, as you work your shift in the lounge, you catch her watching you again.

she’s sitting in her usual corner, her glass held delicately between two fingers, her gaze fixed on you.

it doesn’t help that she’s beautiful. this exact woman -with hair that falls in flawless waves, a silk blouse pressed to an almost eerie sharpness, and an accent that would probably sound sexy if it wasn’t so obviously fake- has been looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing.

it’s unnerving. and, if you’re being honest, a little thrilling.

“excuse me, could you bring me another drink?” she’d asked earlier, flashing you a too-wide smile that made your heart stutter in your chest.

you’d nodded and rushed to fulfill her request, grateful for the excuse to get away from her penetrating stare.

you can’t put your finger on why she unsettles you so much. perhaps it’s because she reminds you of someone. someone from a story on the news, or maybe from a true crime podcast you half-listened to on a rare day off…

the thought doesn’t fully take hold until later, when you’re wiping down a table and catch her watching you again. this time, she doesn’t even bother to look away when your eyes meet. she raises her glass in another mock toast and winks, as if to say, i see you, too.

that’s when it clicks.

rhiannon lewis.

you’d seen her face all over the news just days before boarding the ship: a story about a woman linked to a string of gruesome murders back in the UK.

but it couldn’t be her, could it? rhiannon lewis, whose name is still dominating all english speaking news channels on the cruise, wouldn’t be sipping cocktails on a luxury ship like she’s not the most wanted woman in england, would she? not with her face plastered all over international media.

and yet.

you can’t unsee the resemblance now. the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way she carries herself, and the unsettlingly fake australian accent she’s been using all night.

you tell yourself to let it go. she’s a guest, a passenger. it’s not your job to interrogate her about her past or her identity. you’re here to serve drinks, clean rooms, and, in a best case scenario, collect tips, not solve crime cases.

still, when your shift ends and you’re on your way back to your quarters, your steps falter outside her room. it’s a line you know you shouldn’t cross. using what you’ve picked up from cleaning service schedules to linger here is against every rule, spoken or unspoken.

your shift is over and the night is supposed to end with you back in your cabin, decompressing with a book or a podcast (or, truthfully, with your hand shoved between your thighs and the imaginary voice of a certain someone in your ear…).

your feet carried you here anyway, like on autopilot. like something inside you wanted to see where this might go.

before you can knock, if you would’ve found the courage to knock at all, the door opens.

she’s standing there in a silk robe, her hair loose and shimmering under the dim corridor light. her smile, that exact same, perfect curve of her lips grows wider when she sees you.

“well, well,” she purrs, her accent still awful. “fancy seeing you here. i wasn’t expecting room service at this hour…?”

“i wasn’t-“ you falter, words stumbling under her gaze. “i didn’t mean to-“

she knows. she obviously knows.

“didn’t mean to what?” she interrupts, tilting her head like she’s genuinely curious. “stand outside my door looking like a deer in headlights? or…” she steps aside, gesturing you inside with a slow wave of her hand. “were you planning to come in all along?”

you should leave. there are at least a hundred reasons for you turn around and walk away. rules about professionalism, the nagging suspicion in the back of your mind that this woman isn’t who she claims to be…still, your feet move forward.

she shuts the door behind you, the click of the lock oddly loud in the small space.

“you’ve been staring at me,” she says, leaning against the wall casually. it’s not a question either, she’s stating facts. “not very subtle, are you?”

“i wasn’t staring!” your protest sounds weak even to your own ears, and her smirk widens.

“oh, you absolutely were,” she says, her voice dropping an octave lower smoothly. “i’ve seen that look before, you know…?“

her words send a jolt through you. her accent, on purpose or not, has slipped back into the standard british you’re used to. you step back instinctively, only to find the edge of the bed pressing against the backs of your thighs.

the woman moves closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. “what’s your name?” she asks.

you hesitate, your mind scrambling for a reason to leave. but then her hand brushes against yours, just the ghost of a touch, and every coherent thought slips away from you.

“what’s yours?” you counter.

“hilary,” she says with a sheepish smile, the name rolling off her tongue like she doesn’t even believe it herself.

“hilary,” you repeat slowly. the way she watches your mouth when you say it makes your skin prickle.

in the light of her cabin, she looks even more like the woman from the news. the resemblance is striking to a point where you genuinely wonder if it’s physically possible to look so much like rhiannon lewis without being her.

her gaze remains on your lips shamelessly. when she leans in, your breath catches in your throat.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat. you wonder if it would make a difference at all if she really was rhiannon.

“neither are you,” you reply, aiming for something. a confession, maybe, a sign that your suspicions are true. the words hang in the air between you like a challenge.

she smiles, pleased with your sudden boldness. if you’re challenging her, then she’s accepting.

her hand brushes your cheek, calloused fingers tracing a line down to your jaw, and you shiver under her touch.

“i think we’re going to get along just fine” she murmurs, the rasp in her voice even more prominent now that she’s no longer bothering to keep up the australian accent.

when her lips finally meet yours, it’s not tentative or unsure. it’s possessive, demanding, all tongue and teeth, and you’re helpless to do anything but kiss her back.

her hands fall to your waist, urging you closer by your uniform, which suddenly seems too itchy and tight. too restricting. you don’t resist until her body is flush against yours. and even then, the world outside this room ceases to exist. the ocean that’s gently swaying the ship, the rules and etiquette about staff and passengers, even the unsettling familiarity of her face: all of it fades into the background.

you gasp into the woman’s mouth, which she uses as her opportunity to deepen the kiss and lick past your lips.

when your back hits the edge of the bed, she presses you down onto the mattress. the silk robe she's wearing parts slightly, brushing against your bare skin, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine.

her weight settles over you, not crushing, but deliberate, and her hands are everywhere: tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. every touch is calculated, purposeful, and it sets your nerves alight in ways you didn't expect.

"hilary," you murmur, the name foreign and clunky on your tongue, as if it doesn’t quite suit her. you can’t put a finger to it.

she pauses, her lips hovering just above yours, and for a moment you think you've said something wrong. then she smirks. "not thinking of backing out now, are you?"

you immediately shake your head, unable to form proper sentences. she takes that as permission, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time. her lips move against yours with a practiced ease, like she's done this a hundred times before.

simultaneously, her hands slide under your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your stomach, and you shudder at the coldness of her touch. but then something makes you hesitate-something subtle but impossible to ignore:

as her hands move higher, you notice the slight swell just above her hips, the faintest curve that doesn't quite match the rest of her frame. it's soft, tender in a way that feels out of place with the sharpness of her movements, and when your fingers brush her there, she freezes.

her eyes snap up to meet yours, and for just a heartbeat, the confidence she's been exuding all night falters.

"is that-" you start, but she cuts you off with another kiss, more desperate this time, as if she could silence the question before it fully forms.

you don't push it, though your mind is racing. the swell beneath your hand feels fresh, like the aftermath of something recent, and the pieces start clicking together in your head. the halfhearted accent. the overly polished mannerisms. the way her eyes dart around the room like she's always on edge. and now this.

rhiannon lewis, so you’ve heard, left a newborn behind.

you don't pull away. instead, you soften your touch, letting your hands rest against her sides in a way that feels less curious and more grounding.

she notices the change, her body relaxing slightly, and when she pulls back to look at you, there's something vulnerable in her eyes that wasn't there before.

"don’t," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "don’t look at me like that”

"like what?"

"like you know me at all,” her gaze hardens again, the mask slipping back into place.

you hesitate for a moment, searching her face for something, anything, that might tell you what to do next. but all you see is the same hunger, the same desperation that's been driving her from the start.

so you kiss her again. not because you've forgotten the truth, but because -for some reason you can't explain- it doesn't matter.

her hands are on you again, tugging at your clothes with a kind of urgency that makes your head spin.

when she finally pulls away, her breathing ragged and her lips swollen, she looks at you expectantly. with nowhere to be and the urge to feel more of her, your fingers reach for the robe she’s wearing. it’s doing a terrible job of hiding anything at all anyway. you might not have given yourself permission to blatantly stare before, but now that she -rhiannon, hilary, whoever this stranger may be- is on top of you, there’s no stopping your wandering hands and eyes.

you don’t need to push the fabric off of her to see the outline of her full breasts, her hardened nipples or the fact that she’s only wearing a pair of panties underneath. you do it anyway, satisfied with the shiver that runs down her spine as her bare skin is revealed to you.

she is beautiful. even more so, now that there’s nothing restricting your view anymore. you can look right at her; at the swell of her chest and the marks on her belly that you can’t help but trace with the tips of your fingers. above you, she gasps breathlessly and your eyes instantly dart in her direction, just to find that she’s watching you already, lips parted, eyes hooded as your hand trails upwards.

you don’t falter, looking right at her the first time you touch her, fingers gently squeezing one nipple between them until she starts rocking her hips against you.

moving lower once you’re satisfied with how hard it’s grown to the touch, you whisper: “can i..?”

the woman, who must’ve been on the verge of getting lost in the sensation of your stimulation, looks down at you momentarily. then, her palm pushes you back into the mattress. you bounce on it with the force of her push but hilary rhiannon doesn’t give you any time to catch up. instead, she shifts her weight to her knees and brings one hand to the headboard above you.

“i’ll sit on your face” she says, stating it like it’s a fact. “can you use that pretty mouth of yours?”

mere minutes later, and your find yourself in that exact position.

your fingers are digging into the soft flesh of hilary’s rhiannon’s thighs, your tongue lapping up the arousal that’s dripping from her cunt, down her thighs, and all over your face.

even from this angle and the little you can see, she looks beautiful: her bangs are clinging to the sweat on her forehead, her brows furrowed in pleasure and her lips parted.

you don’t mind the weight resting upon your face. if anything, you enjoy the pressure of her knees on either side of your face, the way she drags her wetness across it until your nose is nestled against her clit and your tongue is buried deep inside her.

you must be covered in her, at this rate, your whole face glistening with her arousal. you can feel it in the way her skin slides against it, taste it all over your mouth.

hilary rhiannon is throbbing, against and around you, dripping more with each pulse of her cunt.

“fucking god-“ she moans from above, wrecked with the pleasure you’re providing. you wonder how long it’s been since somebody has touched her, fucked her like this.

rhiannon’s legs are trembling around your head, knees pushing deeper into the sheets.

with the little that remains of your professionalism, you're aware that she's being too loud for the thin walls of the cruise. and while you know she shouldn't be drawing any unwanted attention to herself, you can't bring yourself to hush her. you don't care when her fingers yank you closer, deeper into her. you don't care when a satisfied sigh escapes her as your tongue delves further.

“right there” she whispers and your eyes catch the way rhiannon’s head falls back, though it’s hard make out the words over the obscene slurping noises from licking broad strokes through her pussy. “oh, fuck, yeah right there!”

she feels so good on top of you, you wonder if you could cum from nothing but your desperate attempts to rock your hips up into the nothingness between them and your body aches with the need to get yourself off. you don’t even have to check for yourself to feel the slick wetness that’s smearing across your own thighs.

rhiannon’s fist tightens in your hair, cradling you by the back of your head. you let her, gladly welcoming the way she maneuvers your lips until they’re exactly where she needs them, latching onto her clit.

“you wanna make me cum?” she coos.

you do, regardless of how badly you need to feel her touch too. rhiannon braces herself against the headboard, her upper body slumping forward so she’s looking right at you.

“mhm” you manage, involuntarily grinding against her, the shift making her bounce ever so slightly.

“oh that’s it!” rhiannon exhales in response, her lashes fluttering. you reach up, one hand daring to hold her hip as she begins to pick up the pace until she’s no longer sitting, but riding on your face.

“that’s it, you’re gonna make me cum!” she cries out between some incoherent words and soft moans.

naturally, you double your efforts, making sure you apply extra pressure against her clit where she’s rutting against your nose as you bury your tongue deep inside her hole all over again. that’s where she seems to like it the most, getting the loudest whenever you enter her.

the first thing you notice as rhiannon cums is the way she tenses. her muscles flex, closing in around your head, and tremble with the sudden tension. her back straightens too and even her jaw locks as she moves. with the last strength left in her, she rocks herself against your face to completion.

then, there’s the way her walls flutter around your tongue, the way her fingers tangle themselves up in the mess she’s made of your hair, the way her lips part in a silent scream before it all comes crashing down on her.

rhiannon’s whole weight collapses on top of you, her cunt throbbing the entire time that it takes for her to catch her breath.

you don’t take her for the cuddling type until she drapes her arms underneath your back and snuggles her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply.

you wonder if she can smell herself there, now that she’s all over your face, or if it’s your scent she is inhaling. either way, you let her and slowly put your own arms around her.

it isn’t until rhiannon’s deep breaths have turned into shaky gasps and the bed gently creaks under the shift of her weight that you notice that she’s grinding against your thigh.

slowly, you lift your head from the mattress, catching a glimpse of closed eyes and parted lips.

“do you-“

“sh,” she harshly cuts you off. then, she blinks one eye open, looking the closest to apologetic you’ve eber seen her -which, truthfully, isn’t all that much.

“just…” rhiannon puts a hand down on your shoulder. “just stay there and…” whatever she was going to say morphs into a soft moan as she drags her center over the length of your thigh.

you can do that for her, you decide, but not without being just a little bit selfish in the process: rhiannon’s legs have fallen open around yours. with the slightest shift of your hips, so insignificant she doesn’t seem to notice, you’re pressed right against her thigh as well. you don’t even have to move, with rhiannon now steadily grinding, pressing herself further into you with every roll of her hips.

involuntarily, you whine and throw your head back into the pillows as she rocks against you.

you knew you were turned on before, but completely oblivious to how close you’ve gotten from her riding your face. now, with your clit rubbing against rhiannon’s skin through your underwear, you become painfully aware of it.

her lips trace your jaw, pressing against it before closing around the tender flesh and sucking.

how long would it take for her to draw blood like this? would she like to see you bleed for her? for your skin to bloom with reds and purples that her mouth left in its wake?

you don’t get a chance to find out, because rhiannon drops her forehead against your shoulder instead, grinding back and forth desperately.

“fuck,” you whine, unable to hold back. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

rhiannon hushes you again, this time with a kiss. she must taste herself in your mouth because she eagerly licks past your lips for more.

it’s all too much to take; the flexed muscle of her leg against your clit, rhiannon’s spit mixing with the remains of her arousal on your tongue, the little noises she lets out with every roll of her hips.

at a particular good motion of her hips, you can’t help yourself anymore: you feel your abdomen coiling in pleasure suddenly, a ragged “rhiannon!” coming from your mouth as your soaked cunt contracts around nothing.

your fingers reach around her back, nails digging into her skin when you release through your underwear and all over her thigh.

whether it’s the sound of her name or the feeling of your orgasm beneath herself, rhiannon follows shortly after, cumming with a soft cry.

as she recovers from the second orgasm and you struggle to catch your breath, rhiannon stays on your chest.

she doesn’t ask you about the name. in return, you don’t ask for her real identity. whoever she is, you’re sure this is a thing that should remain unspoken.

“that was…” you finally manage, trailing off. your eyes are already scanning the space for the clothes you’ve shed. if you don’t pick them up soon, your uniform will get all wrinkled for the next shift.

“you’re not staying?” she asks, catching you off guard.

“i should be working,” you remind her, trying to move.

she kisses you again, holding on tightly. the first flight of panic you feel vanishes in an instant when you ask: “what is it?” and rhiannon responds: “hug.”

“i have to go,” you chuckle. you’ve already broken the rules by sleeping with a passenger. you can’t afford to fall in love with one, especially not her.

“i know, i know,” she mutters. “just for a bit. please?”

so you do, lying with her until her hold on you releases. you’re still the first to pull away.

“see you,” you can’t help but tell her once you’re dressed again.

“will you?”

“i clean your room once a day,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “i’m bound to!”

— a/n: i‘ve been waiting since november just so i could post this on january 8th 😭😭 (also i couldn’t find a good rhiannon picture for the header, but that one is so book-3-rhiannon-coded)

context: (massive spoiler warning!): in book 2, rhiannon gets caught and is forced to flee the country for a new identity. during the book, she’s pregnant with aj’s baby but decides to leave her daughter behind so she can continue killing. on the cruise, she pretends to be an australian woman called hilary.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 14)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smut💦📍 Part 15 - Silence smut💦

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Where we left off: Alastor and Reader had a misunderstanding and a heavy talk on the back porch. He’d let it slip how deeply he felt but it was muffled by your thighs.

Part 14 Someone like her

Brady says the magic words after finally meeting his elusive radio man. But was that a good thing?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, masturbation, Ace Alastor is trying his best, little smut to start the day, Brenda exists, Reader is also trying her best but it’s less hot, mentions of abuse, thinly veiled racism, Insecure Alastor, an axe, Alastor is the deer and gator」

MDNI ☎️💚🏡

Forehead pressed against the wall of the bathroom, Alastor’s hand gripped the base of his cock and squeezed.

He’d been trying to masturbate more, hoping to prolong things when with you, but the action was just so pointless. Yes it felt good, but so did scratching his back when he had an itch. But there was no itch here. He couldn’t mentally stay in a romantic mindset when it was just fingers and running water. What intimacy existed there? What was the point? Male orgasms were for procreation and pleasure, were they not? He wasn’t going to knock up the drain or make the shower quiver so this seemed just wasteful. 

Images of your pleasured face ghosted behind his eyes. Nothing pointless about that. A twitch to the otherwise bored flesh in his grip. 

Wasteful.

Your laugh at watching Alastor march through the bedroom sopping wet and butt naked choked you when your eyes lowered to see he was also rock hard.

“Oh.” Was all you managed before his shower was soaking through your cotton top and powder blue skirt. “Oh.” Ravenous mouth at your jawline.

“I didn’t want to waste it.” His hips rutted into your side, the evidence of every place he touched were large and dark wet spots on your clothes. “Do you want to —?”

His fingers were already crawling down your thighs and gathering your skirt up. 

You always forgot his strength when looking at him. Until he was holding you up by the hips, for example, fucking you against the bedroom wall. Wet skin slapping against your thighs, panties swinging around your ankle with every thrust. A lovely way to start a Monday. 

The weekend had been spent with a very attentive and clearly apologetic Alastor. His hands had been more present on your body, always holding your hand or pulling your legs over his lap as you both read. Dinners with his feet tangled with yours. Nights with his head buried in your hair.

The words were moaned through his own mind, scared to let them go again.

I just love you so much.

Every time you sighed his name, he clenched his teeth to keep it back. He wouldn’t weaponize it. He’d struggled to keep the compelled confession buried into your lap before, but he could keep it together until the moment was happy and without the bitter taste of his disappointment still lingering on your tongue.

An enlightened gasp dripped into a breathy moan as you realized this must be the make up sex the ladies always talk about. You’d never understood the concept before then. 

He felt you tighten around him, yes, a much better use of arousal. The good thing about his years of experience before you was he had time to learn. To know when to quicken his pace and when to focus on depth. Quality over quantity, he thought.

His mind stayed there long after you finished and he went into work. Leaving you behind was difficult, a small wiggling worm of fear deep in his skull that’d you’d vanish if his body wasn’t touching yours. 

You’d taken off some time from work, partly out of sheer embarrassment and partly to keep the theater safe from Brady. Which meant when he left for work, you kissed him goodbye at the door. You both laughed into the small space between your lips immediately afterwards. 

“Hush.” You warned him, and he pretended to zip his lips shut and slip the imaginary key into your skirt pocket. 

Alastor was happy to hear Brady had been told he had a handful of nothing but he knew his clock was ticking. You’d recounted your time in the station and how angry and disappointed the other detective had seemed with Brady. Brady would be popping up as soon as possible, you warned. There was no way he was dropping the issue. He’d be knocking on Alastor’s office door in no time. 

Much sooner than Alastor had prepared for, but he was ever the performer. 

Brenda far too loudly announced two detectives were there for him. She was side eyeing them with a sneer he could almost appreciate when she popped her head in to yell it. 

“I’ll be right out.” Alastor set his work down and took a deep breath. Every piece of him wanted to rush from the room and strangle Brady on the office floor. He’d seen him many times before but the pesky detective didn’t know that. A tremble of excitement he shook away. Smile on, he left the office.

His observations came quick and loud as he saw Brady’s face in the daylight for the first time.

Bright eyes. Tired. Light hair. Pale. Clothes wrinkled. Sweat stains even though it was autumn already. 

The man beside him was new to Alastor, and Alastor couldn’t tell yet what to do with him. Taller, older, darker complexion. His expression was relaxed in comparison to Brady’s stressed one.

“Good afternoon, detectives. Alastor. It’s a pleasure.” He extended his hand but only Freeman moved to shake it.

Brady was staring with blatant scrutiny. Alastor was quite tall, and much leaner than he had anticipated. His hair was perfectly in place, with clean skin and neat glasses. Was this the right man?

“Edward Freeman. I am a big fan, sir. Your voice is made for radio.” Freeman shook Alastor’s with both of his own, not noticing his partner’s wide eyed horror. “Such a pleasure. I promise we won’t take too much of your time.”

Alastor could have cackled directly into Brady’s face but managed to keep himself in check, “A face for radio too! Ha ha ha,” his laugh was loud, genuinely amused with himself, “Well it’s always a treat to meet a listener.”

Brady thought he’d black out. He’d began his day humming with anticipation, the high of having a name and occupation making him dizzy all weekend. The shock of Freeman immediately cozying up to his prime (and sole) suspect was throwing him off balance.

He’d brought him along so he could show him he’d gotten the right man. He’d thought —- he’d been so sure Alastor would be some second rate employee with rough hands and thick arms. Not the pretty host working behind some desk. Weren’t there large spools of cable and big contraptions radio station employees lugged around? Where were those men?

A string bean of a human in thin circular glasses was charming the wits off his partner.

“Brady. We’re here to discuss an important matter regarding your girlfriend.” Brady leaned in to separate the other two men and their budding camaraderie.

“Girlfriend?!” Brenda choked on her coffee, her desk just some feet beside them. “You’re confused. I’d know if he had a girl.”

“Thank you, Brenda.” Alastor said through a forced smile, “She is right though. I am unattached. Lifelong bachelor.”

“That’s interesting. Because when we picked her up at the burlesque theater,” he was cut off by a shriek.

“Nude dancing?! Sir! My—-you! Alastor would never! He is a man of means and class! I-,” Brenda’s hands were aimlessly shuffling time cards. “The only theater he frequents is the cinema.”

“Brenda.” Alastor laughed, not taking his eyes off of Brady, “Please. Let the man finish.”

“But you’d never! This is slander!”

“No slander. We picked her up for prostitution and her,” again he was drowned out by the receptionist. 

Brenda was on her feet, a second from foaming at the mouth, “Out! You get out of this office at once!” 

“Sure, why don’t we take this to the station.” 

“You want a local celebrity,” Alastor’s eye twitched as Brenda screeched out the words, “to be marched down there like a common criminal! I’m calling the station, you’re mad.” 

“Thank you, Brenda!” Alastor hissed, words heavy, “Let’s continue this in my office, gentlemen.” His arm swung out to gesture to the open door. 

Brenda was left fiddingly with her pearls in horror. 

Alastor followed the men in and leaned back against his desk casually, offering them the two chairs. 

“So, now that we’re … free from that, what were you saying?” He tried to chuckle away the chaos, one hand gently smoothing his hair back.

“We took in a woman last week for prostitution. Charges dropped but  — her friends said you were her beau.” Freeman leaned back too, crossing his legs at the ankle as they stretched out in front of him, “Radio man named Alastor? Not too many of those so, thought we’d just come by and check.”

Brady stood near the door, refusing to sit. “So. Gonna tell me there’s some more Alastors in New Orleans? Or gonna be straight with us?”

Alastor nodded, sighing through his nose. You’d filled him in already on the story.

“Burlesquer, right? Pretty thing with the long lashes and sharp tongue?” He looked up at Brady over his glasses, looking as boyish as a man his age could. 

“So you are her fella?” Freeman’s back straightened. He hadn’t expected that.

“Wouldn’t go that far… I’m embarrassed to admit it but yes I did take out a singer some time ago. Dancer too, I was told. But, I,” his hands slid in his pockets and he shrugged his shoulders, “I had a lovely time with her.” He gave Freeman a shy smirk, “I just didn’t want anything serious. Paid for her cab last time I saw her but I didn’t give her a dime for anything else.”

Brady stared at every inch of the man before him. His white button up was loose at the arms but wasn’t appearing to hide some powerful physique that said ‘I drag bodies around town.’

“We were told you’d been going to see her for quite some time.” Brady had been prepared for every reply.

Alastor furrowed his brow and pretended to think, hand coming from his pocket to adjust his glasses, “Talking about the nice little joint near the park?”

“Yeah.” Brady smiled. “So you admit it.”

“I loved going there. I first noticed her over a few weekends. Asked her out there, too. But after a few nights out she seemed a little… not worth the trouble, I’ll say.” He grimaced, “I really sound like a rake, huh?” He looked to Freeman, asking for the man’s acceptance with his eyes.

Freeman chuckled at the suggestion, “Not at all! Good looking man such as yourself, nice job, no wife. I’d be sowing my oats so to speak too. We’re just hunting down some people for questioning regarding a missing manager.”

Brady thought his head would snap with how quickly he turned to Freeman. He was saying too much.

“He’s uh, drats what’s her name?” Freeman turned around to Brady. Brady looked up to Alastor expectantly.

“Oh! She gave me some fake name. Winter or… August. I didn’t press the matter.” Alastor walked back to his desk and sat down, trying to get eye level with Freeman who was the easier of the two to play, “Missing manager? I frequent a lot of clubs looking for talent. Maybe I knew the guy. What’s his name?”

“Tommy Dupre.” Brady said it sternly. “And I’m the one leading the investigation.”

A twitch to the corner of Alastor’s smile, “Sorry detective, I assumed this here was your superior. He just has … an aura of experienced professionalism to him. Now where was I… a manager,” he shook his head, “Was he at The Bandstand by any chance?” His fingers were flipping through his rolodex of business cards. Brady noted how clean his nails were. But not suspiciously so, not something that seemed overly tended to. He shook his head again more firmly then. “No, never formally met the man at least.”

“He was your burlesquer’s manager.”

Alastor leaned back and crossed his arms, “I never went to her work and I truly don’t visit burlesque theaters. Can't risk my reputation.” Few people out of the club scene knew his face and name so that was a load of shit, but he hoped they wouldn’t stop and consider that much. “We run a clean show here.”

“Here’s the issue, sir.” Freeman patted the tops of his thighs, “Your Ms. Doe-,” Alastor’s brow furrowed in momentary confusion.

“Oh! Ha, clever. I see what you did there.” He laughed, it was light and made Freeman nod his head in thanks.

“She got roughed up real bad by Mr. Dupre around the time ya’ll were seen together.  He disappeared soon after. So, naturally….we wanted to see if you knew anything about what happened to him.”

“Doesn’t shock me to hear that.” Alastor's voice was high pitched and airy. His nonchalance was grating to the younger of the two detectives.

Brady rolled his eyes. Alastor was definitely the man Beth mentioned; a daisy. The kind of man to fret over a stained tie or wet shoes.

“People in …those kinds of establishments can’t expect civility.” His nails were digging through the cotton of his pants. It made him sick to say it. How many days did he kiss your bruises? How long had they lasted? Longer than Tommy, that was for sure. Outlived him by quite some time. His smile spread. Brady noticed it, clearing his throat. 

“What’s the smile for?”

“Ah,” Alastor hid his mouth with the back of his hand, he couldn’t bite back the glee of remembering Tommy beg, “Sorry. I’m just feeling quite grateful I didn’t stick around to be pulled into some dame’s drama. This is exactly why I remain untethered.”

“Wish I’d had that foresight…I’m only joking. My Donna’s a blessing and a half.” Freeman quickly retracted the comment. 

A moment of quiet as they all looked at each other. A natural dead end.

Freeman turned back in his chair to look at Brady once more, this was his impromptu interview. He’d begged Freeman to take the early lunch. Brady promised him this was the guy and that if it wasn’t, he’d never bring it up again.

So he was staring at his partner waiting for the never again to start. 

Brady chewed the inside of his cheek, mind bouncing through thoughts and theories and observations.

This man in front of him was soft. He was feminine in some aspects, definitely quite lanky and seemingly devoid of real muscle. Brady hadn’t imagined his killer to be concerned about style or fashion, yet this man clearly put a lot into his appearance. He couldn’t imagine him killing anyone… perhaps a gun?

“Got any hobbies?”

“Kenny.” Freeman chided.

“Sir.” Brady added it sarcastically.

Alastor whistled, “Besides jazz and piano? I fish. Uh,” Alastor looked for threads of truth to add to the web, “I garden quite a bit, actually. Love to dance.”

Of course he did.  “Sports?”

“I don’t watch nor listen to much of that.”

“No,” an exasperated sigh, “Do you play any sports?”

“Oh!” Another casual laugh that grated Brady’s senses, “No, no. I wouldn’t pretend I’m an athletic man.” 

“Hunting is a popular pastime around here, you ever go out shooting?”

“No sir, not my scene.” Alastor leaned back and swiveled his chair side to side. 

No hunting, really? Brady’s brows rose in suspicion, “….you from New Orleans?”

Freeman crossed his legs, a simple act that somehow conveyed a rising loss of patience.

“Born and raised, detective. Native son if there ever was one.”

He slipped out his notepad and slapped it against the fleshy part of his hand. Brady’s spirit was withering. 

A mistake?

“Understood.” Pushing off of the wall.

“Sorry to cause all this fuss over … my tryst with a dancer not too long ago.” Another bashful bachelor smile. “But it was just that. Fun. I never met her employer. I never even went to her shows. As for the place by the park-,”

“Beth’s.”

Alastor grinned to hide the flinch, “My doe, as you put it sir, was a real canary. But I haven’t been back there since I stopped seeing her. I’m sure if you asked they’d tell you the same.” The phone rang and Alastor apologized, putting a finger up, “Yes, Brenda?” The incessant woman asked what was taking so long. He smiled and nodded, “Thank you, tell them I’ll just be another minute.”

“We’ll be heading out. It seems I need to— to re-examine some things. Dig a little deeper.” Before Brady could retrieve his card to offer it to the radio host, Alastor was handing him his.

“Call anytime, but word to the wise. Brenda will answer first.” Alastor let out a loud and singular ‘ha!’

He rose to walk them out and Brady extended his hand again for him to shake, his stomach curdling at the touch. When the detective squeezed and shook his hand so hard his arm was moving up to the elbow he just laughed. He kept his own grip loose.

The limp and slender hand in his was disappointing. A final nail in his coffin, soft metal bending as it was struck.

Freeman smiled and hopped up, “Been a pleasure!”

Alastor took back his hand from Brady and wiped it off against his vest as soon as the men were turned around.

“Apologies for the disturbance, ma’am.” Brady kept his gaze down as he passed Brenda. Freeman set his card on her desk as he walked past.

“That’s a bunch of applesauce.” She hissed, refusing to stand.

Alastor’s mother taught him many things. Of this world and the other. Of the spirits always roaming and waiting. Of blue ceilings and birds hitting windows.

She warned him of people with heaviness,  people who gathered bad energy like rain on a flat roof. That weight attracted likewise things. A gravity would form and pull in more and more darkness. 

You’d mentioned a storm, and now Alastor was hearing that drip drip drip of the cracking roof. 

He’d been taught to steer clear of those people with that darkness, because you don’t want to be there when the roof caved in. 

She’d likened it to the sword of Damocles, don’t be so close you get cut when the blade finally drops. Don’t become collateral damage. 

When his skin touched Brady’s, he felt that heaviness. The gravity. We’re you both slipping down the sloping pull of his swirling negativity?

He felt the urge to spit, which was uncouth and unlike him. Brenda was talking loudly to him but she was deep under the ocean and muffled perfectly well. His drunken mind had been wrong about many things, but one line of thinking had been on the money.

Something had to be done. An accident playing out in slow motion before him, threatening to take you both down with it. 

A chill, insidious and violent made him turn on his heels and shut the door with force. There it was again, that fight or flight feeling. Twice in nearly as many days. Never did Alastor feel insecure in situations of life or death, not literal life or death that was. He didn’t care about dying. 

The thought of losing you was that first trigger, but what was causing this one? What was his gut trying to warn him about now?

Distance was needed. He needed to get as far from that detective and his gravitational pull as possible. Perhaps not physically, but in every other sense. There was safety in that, he could feel it just over the disorienting whirl of fear. 

If fear was a lark in his chest it’s little spine cracked and popped as it grew and mutated into a rageful osprey, anger opening his lungs and sinuses as blood rushed with renewed vigor. This was Brady’s fault, entirely. He was ruining everything. Alastor finally had what felt like all of the thj he wanted and deserved (anger dampening his usual insecurity of what was meant for him) and Brady was going to tear it apart. 

There was a struggle to decide how to proceed. He thought perhaps telling you would bring him clarity, but if you asked him to not do anything at all he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to stop from lying to your face about his intentions. 

A flash of confidence knowing he’d never lied to you died quickly, oh, he had lied to you. He’d lied to you in the alley before leaving to prepare to kill Tommy. He’d said it was the greater good of the community. A stain on his otherwise pristine morality when it came to you. 

“How could they?”

Alastor’s head popped up, Brenda had opened his door unannounced and continued her raving. 

“How could who do what?” He asked, smile small.

“Those detectives! Accuse you of debauchery!” 

He imagined telling her how his morning started, fucking the nude dancer against his bedroom wall, arleady shacking up out of wedlock. Maybe it’d kill Brenda? That’d be convenient. 

“I wonder if they are even real cops…I promise, I won’t let that nonsense back into this office, Alastor.” She gave him a thumbs up and left, leaving the door ajar. 

Daylight was already creeping away sooner and sooner as the seasons began to change. The first day Alastor was gone and you were completely alone in his home for an extended period of time was passed in an awkward boredom. There wasn’t much to do…his house was kept tidy, food didn’t take much time, and you had no means to get into town. So you listened through his record collection, carefully turning the vinyls over with delicate fingers. You’d heard oils from your hand could ruin the grooves. No idea if that was true, but you couldn’t risk it. Alastor’s job kept relatively regular hours, so when you knew he had most likely left work you headed out front to wait. It was a foreign thing to do, and a little embarrassing. Dogs waited for their masters to come home. You stuffed the comparison down, knowing you were once again comparing apples to oranges. Worse than that, dogs to yourself. 

“Welcome home!” You waited for the car door to close before greeting him, worrying over the timing. He froze between the car and the wooden steps. You stopped your swinging on the porch swing, noticing how odd it was to see someone completely still like that. You remembered the deer along the road. “What’s wrong?”

Every thought flew out his head and into the early setting sun. An odd deja vu came over him. He hadn’t heard those words in literal years. “No one has said that to me…since my mother died.”

Oh. 

Oh. That was….sad. You grimaced. “Should I not say it then?”

“No!” He came to life, “I mean, yes. No, You should say it. If you want. It’s nice.” Staccato sentences as he took the three steps in just two. He leaned over on a novel instinct for a kiss, and you leaned up to meet him. 

Another moment as you parted and both of you realized how odd the situation was. The killer and his dancer playing house. For a brief second, maybe heaven mistook you for something normal and good. When you smiled, trying to not say the obvious as you always did, he decided to not mention Brady. His first night coming home to you shouldn’t have to compete with that news. Tomorrow, he decided. He’d just….leave out which day Brady had stopped by. Not a lie, just an excluded, superfluous detail.

As you ate your dinner and he recounted his day, you made a decision of your own. 

“Hey, Saturday, can you drop me off downtown for a bit? I need to change my shoes and do a little shopping.”

You needed the gift, to set the mood for your confession. You’d survived your first fight, you didn’t combust into a ball of fire when you kissed him goodbye for work, it made sense to do it now. 

“Oh, did you want company? I don’t mind going out.” His little smile made it hard to deny him.

“Ah well, my friend is still staying over at my place and she may get uneasy with a man around. And my shopping….is at the kind of places men shouldn’t go. Frilly lacy places.” A terrible liar. “You should do something fun for Alastor! I’ll be maybe…four hours or so.”

He chewed slowly, since the misunderstanding he was a little more nervous than usual. You didn’t want him to join you, were you worried Brady would see? He shook his head, confusing you.

“...excuse me?” You laughed, “No?”

His head popped up, he still sometimes forgot you were right there and not on a phone, “Sorry, I was thinking about what to do with myself. No problem, sweetheart. You can just call me when you’re ready and I’ll head back into town. I’ll stick around the house, get some stuff ready for winter.”

“Perfect!” Perfect. 

So it was decided. He would tell you tomorrow that Brady came by his office. And you’d tell him Saturday that you were in love with him. 

That was the short lived plan. He couldn’t manage to wait. When the silence of the night settled and you had turned over to try and fall asleep, he broke. 

“I really hate keeping secrets from you.” His fingers were pulling and pushing at the edge of the blanket. 

You have secrets? You turned around and sat up. 

“Brady and his partner came by today to my office, like you’d expected. I didn’t want to ruin our day, knowing how rarely we will live traditionally. But it’s just bothering the hell out of me.” His hands came to cover his cheeks and crawl into his hair out of stress. An overreaction, the weekend having truly discombobulated the man. 

A beat of confusion, tense for Alastor but void of anything for you, until you burst into a relaxed laughter, “You’re ridiculous. You were really eaten up huh?”

“It isn’t funny!”

“It’s a litlte funny.” you pulled his head down onto your lap, “You coulda told me. It doesn't ruin anything. I told you he was going to look for you. I didn’t think he’d do it the next business day, but still.” He shifted his body to lie on his side and let you take off his glasses and set them on your side table. “Do you think he still suspects you?”

He thought about it. A little.

Maybe.

Brady seemed dejected when he had left, but he could see the wheels turning in his head as he was still searching for a way to make this puzzle pieces fit. 

“Probably. His partner seemed to believe me. A listener, it turns out.” Alastor pouted, still upset at your laughter. 

“That’s hilarious. I bet it pissed him off to no end, right?”

“He looked shocked. It was difficult to not laugh.” He let his legs fall off the side of the bed so he could turn onto his back and look up at you. “I told him you were a fling, that I had my fun and then disappeared because you were trouble. I said nude dancers getting beat up should be expected. I don’t mean that.”

“Of course you don’t. I remember your face when you saw through my makeup. Sure didn't look expected to me.”

His legs drew up, knees pressed together. “Was it still a good day?”

“You told me what was on your mind instead of driving yourself mad about it. It was a perfect day.” The open window let in enough light to see his stress melt away from the corner of his eyes. 

He sat up and kissed your nose, “Thank you. You can sleep now.”

“Oh, I've been asleep the whole time. You’re gonna have to do this all again in the morning.”

“That’s not funny.” 

You kissed his cheek and he smiled away the frown before settling back onto his side of the bed to earnestly sleep.

Flowers, you thought. You should buy flowers on Saturday, too. 

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Alastor nerves hadn’t settled yet, even if he slept well beside you. Every day he came home and you were still there felt like he’d been holding his breath the entire drive. During lunch he’d call the house so you could talk and eat together, in a sense. The conversation eased him, a confirmation you still liked him. An embarrassing fear he couldn’t let you on to. 

He didn’t understand you spent the week calling record shops in search of something specific. Plotting exactly how you’d do it. You’d mastered the phonograph in the room beside the kitchen and found an old vase in the back of the cupboard. 

The panic didn’t settle for you either though. It just shifted to the confession from Brady. As if through osmosis, Brady was now Alastor’s main concern as soon as their hands shook. You were less scared, as he really did seem to be dismissed by his colleague from what you saw. Dejected and forlorn from what Alastor had described. 

Alastor was honest with you that he left work early to check on Brady midweek. He was practically dancing through the kitchen when he reported Brady went home on time for the first night in what could have been weeks. And he did so looking like shit.

And he felt like shit. When they left the radio station, Freeman gave him the silent treatment the entire ride back to work. He opened his mouth to offer an alternative theory, perhaps you or Alastor had a brother, but Freeman immediately shut him down.

“Stop. Enough.” He snapped from his desk. “It is over, Kenny. Let it go. Maybe some monster is out there doing all this crazy shit you think they are but it’s not this man nor this lady so just fucking drop it.”

He sat quietly the rest of the work day, thinking over everything again. It still felt right, but Alastor didn’t look right. Maybe it was a group, some new gang in town. Perhaps Alastor had some business with them. 

Staring at his neatly folded map of downtown, his fingers slid over the last known locations of the various missing people over the past year. 

Is downtown just inherently dangerous, he wondered. He supposed the map lined up with the jazz scene, and where there is dance and liquor there’s crime.

He went home to his wife and startled her with his promptness. While she was elated, he felt hollow. Purposeless. Freeman had warned him he’d invented this conspiracy to make work more interesting. Maybe that was right. Life was boring. Everything was so steady and stable. Nothing exciting anymore. It’s possible. He could have imagined a connection. 

But his wife accidentally stoked the dying flame of his suspicions. 

When he told her everything, about Alastor and the dancer he chased down and the missing Tommy, she hummed. 

“He could be like that Holmes man in Chicago.” She smiled from across the meat and potatoes she’d slow cooked over the day.

Brady asked what she meant. 

“He killed all these people at his hotel. On the outside he was a very fine looking man! Respected doctor, or something.” She took her time to chew, leaving Brady waiting for the point, “Turns out his hotel had some secret dungeon where he killed people. I’m fuzzy on the details, but, he hung for it. Maybe your guy has a secret room in his house or a cabin in the woods.”

He would have kissed her but he was too tired to move. As she continued on, changing to the topic of novels and then movies, he pushed the potatoes around his plate. 

No way work would listen to him if he suggested it. He’d lost all of his goodwill. But, as a citizen, he could maybe just….look into the public records for the radio man. Any convenient structures he owned. No one needed to know, no embarrassment if he was wrong again.

Just, one more check. To be absolutely sure. For his peace of mind. 

“So he murdered the actress for threatening to reveal he was only half white! It was a real shock. I swear talkies just get more and more intriguing.” She beamed sweetly across the table, happy to have him home, “By Hitchcock. Isn’t that a hoot?”

He nodded absentmindedly, “Sounds fun, dear.”

She let the misplaced comment go, and moved to turn on the radio. Something to fill the silence. She wondered if her favorite program was on, though it was a little late for that. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day finally came, your highly anticipated and scheduled confession. Saturday morning you slipped on your shoes, pushing back thoughts of everything they’d seen, and slid into the car. You had a game plan. Apartment, get your stash and change out your shoes. Head to the phonograph shop on Calliope and grab the record. Flower shop, something bright and fragrant. Stop by the theater for a bottle of whatever they were willing to part with. Call him from there to pick you up behind the building.

Flawless.

Honestly, the easy part.

Alastor dropped you off in front of your building and you kissed him hurriedly. You didn’t need Ephi bounding down the steps and introducing herself. 

You didn’t need Ephi, full stop.

“I’ll call you from the theater so I can wait inside. Lo-,” Your mouth opened to say it, as you’d been practicing it in your head all week, “Lucky me I’m still welcome there.” A quick save.

You waved him off and bounded up the steps. Ephi answered when you knocked, hair disheveled and still wearing the dress she must have worn out the night before.

A familiar dress.

“Who said you could wear my clothes?!” You kicked the door closed behind you.

Ephi fell back onto your bed with a creaking of the metal springs, “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

Barely a second into the room and you were already reeling with anger. What a skill she had.

Shoes off, you threw them on top of the closet out of her natural reach and searched for something flatter. Not too flat though. Alastor always looked too good for you to look like you didn’t care for what was fashionable.

Deep breaths, you grabbed the dresser with both hands and wretched it from the wall, startling Ephi back awake.

“What the fuck? Are you taking the furniture?! It’s a fucking dress.”

Relief as you saw the handkerchief still taped to the backboard of the shelf. Ripping it off, you shoved it into your bag. No need to count it, had Ephi found the cash the entire thing would be gone already. 

“Are you hiding money around your apartment…,” it wasn’t a question so much as an oddly worded accusation.

Your march to the door paused, briefly entertaining carrying your remaining clothes around with you but abandoning the idea. Let her borrow them for now, you were busy today.

You were gone without a goodbye, anger simmering away and evaporating with every block. 

As the distance between your problem and you became greater, the gap was closing in on Alastor and his.

He was in the kitchen splashing his face with water,  dusty from sweeping the porch, when he heard a car door slam shut. Not a normal sound for him to hear. Even more out of place than a ‘welcome home’. A moment of concern as he quickly dried his hands, maybe you had gotten a ride home already. It was possible he missed your call, but he’d kept the windows open to hear the phone. 

When he came to the front door, no one was there. A car was parked a ways behind his own though. Alastor stepped out and looked around the wrap around porch before turning back and going to the back door. Past the stairs and the kitchen doorway, he could see the shape of a man. He was standing in front of the greenhouse with both hands on his hips, staring at it. Bright hair reflecting the sun.

The screen door whined as Alastor opened it, announcing him much sooner than he had wanted. It was finally happening. The moment that was both inevitable and fiercely guarded against. 

“Census information is quite easy to find with a name like yours.”

Alastor tried to muster a hospitable smile, “Detective Brady. To what do I owe the sudden visit?”

Brady turned around and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “I need to go get a warrant?”

The air between them tightened. “Not at all, did you want to come inside?” 

Brady nodded, a smug smile and a wink, “Sure do.”

Alastor returned to the kitchen for the key, grabbing a small paring knife and placing it in the back pocket of his slacks. Sharp and quick. 

“Wasn’t expecting guests…,” he admitted as he came back down the clean steps. He was never expecting guests, but he had been expecting this. 

“Good.” Brady clapped his hands together, “Quite the building ya got here.” He followed Alastor in and immediately looked up to the tall ceiling. “An uncommon thing to have. Only seen them at real fancy public places.”

Alastor turned right, following the winding path of busy shelves and potted trees with a practiced ease. Brady watched him slip between two large plants and hesitated.

With a hand on his gun, be pushed through.

“Ya know what my wife and I were just talking about?” He followed close behind. He couldn’t see Alastor but he could hear the leaves rustling. “H. H. Holmes.”

“Another missing manager?” Alastor asked from the other side of some crowded shelves.

“It’s thought he killed 9 people up in Chicago.” Brady emerged from the makeshift jungle to see Alastor standing in the center. 

“Busy man!” Alastor stood with his hands behind his back, sheathed in his pockets. “This is where the magic happens!” He nodded to the stainless steel table. “My gardening space.”

Brady looked at the table, then up to the high ceilings again. He took a step toward the table and crouched down.

His heels sunk in. Standing, he pressed his shoe in the soil around the table. Backing off he then tested the ground some feet away. It was noticeably firmer. “Ground sure is soft over there.”

“Water! Turns out plants love the stuff. Who knew!” Alastor’s fingers curled around the knife’s handle, “I prune, propagate, and repot them here and rinse it off after. Due to the shade of the table, the ground tends to stay wet longer.” He wondered if Brady had told anyone where he was. Maybe Freeman? 

The whole thing could be expedited by letting him bleed out on the greenhouse floor. Just a few swipes and this could all be over. He could maybe even have him gone before you called. 

Another little secret. Just one. Brady’s life was an insignificant detail.

Plausible, the detective thought. Brady examined the floor closer, unaware of Alastor’s eyes locked on his neck. He didn’t see much of a soft spot. It’d be improbable to bury all the bodies in such a small space. He’d have to dig too deep. 

“So you actually do like to garden?” He asked.

Alastor laughed, “No, that was a lie. This is all meticulously maintained for aesthetics.” 

Brady’s own laugh was dry in reply, the joke not funny or appreciated, “Night gardening?” He pointed his chin up to the light hanging above them.

“I prefer early mornings, before work.” Alastor leaned back on his heels, he’d waited for this conversation for years. It was almost fun. Brady didn’t know how predictable his arrival had been on some vague level.

Brady nodded and motioned for Alastor to lead him out. He didn’t want the man behind him.

As they snaked their way out again, Alastor fought the sickening feeling in his stomach to just do it. 

But he’d never acted quite so impulsively. He normally had a few hours to think it out beforehand. 

He’d been thinking this out for months now in a way, though, hadn’t he?

Alastor locked the door after Brady stepped out and Brady looked around the land. He couldn’t see any fences, but saw on his way in just how spread out the other homes were. 

“How far is the property line, if you don’t mind me asking? Seems to be quite a large parcel.” He had a rough idea from the paperwork he’d found. 

“It’s about 15 acres, from what I recall.” It was exactly 14.2 acres according to the paperwork. He knew every step by heart. 

As he watched Brady eye the land with a dismissive glance, he realized he’d never killed anyone at his home. It didn’t seem to be a good idea. Like they’d taint the land. Plus, killing the cop in the backyard was about as opposite of what you’d asked of him as he could get. 

The detective slapped his notebook against his palm and whistled, “Radio pays well, huh?”

“Better than a detective, maybe. But this was all my mother’s land.” He said it with pride, one hand leaving his pocket to gesture at the house and beyond. 

“Your mother. And she… how exactly did someone like her get her hands on a plot like this?” Brady squinted at the tree line, knowing full well how he said it. “Quite a bit of land for someone of her… background.” He quickly turned his full body to Alastor, “You see that movie, ‘Murder!’, by Hitchcock? My wife was saying how interesting it was over dinner the other night. Your receptionist mentioned you like the movies.”

Alastor bristled, he’d seen the film and picked up the tone being taken,  “Did you want to see anything else, Kenneth? Or did you drive all the way here to quiz me on your wife's morbid interests?”

“Detective Brady.” He corrected. 

“Maybe in the Orleans parish.” Alastor took a step toward him. He reveled in the confused expression Brady made. “Oh you didn’t realize when you crossed the lake? This is St. Tammany. You’re out of jurisdiction.” Another step. “So I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

Brady finally noticed the dwindling space between them and the shadow of the house creeping over Alastor’s face. “Maybe I should head out and get that warrant.”

Alastor’s arms went out in a shrug, “Ah, well, good luck finding a judge to approve you harassing a law abiding land owner for…what exactly? A drugged out criminal who stopped showing up to work? Forgive me for not holding my breath. Now kindly get the fuck off my mother’s property. “  

Brady shook his head, not able to do much more. He couldn’t process the truth in what Alastor had said. “Have a good day, Alastor.”

“And you have a safe night, Kenneth.”

Brady stopped, hand curling into a fist that Alastor didn’t fail to notice. 

“Is that some kind of threat?” It was the way he dragged out the two words. The gleeful range in which he said them. 

“Not at all. A warning really, there’s been some unhinged man harassing dancers lately. Demanding their private information, accusing them of silly crimes. Has the station not heard?” Alastor’s finger came to his chin inquisitively, “Perhaps I should give them a call. Who was your boss again. Freeman, was it?”

Brady felt his stomach drop, “What did you say.” If Alastor hadn’t been with you since before the assault, how did he know that Brady had been struggling to track you down?

“As a man about town who runs in important circles, word travels fast of bothersome people. Helps us learn where to avoid.”

Brady was still holding onto hope that Alastor was your man but now, his throat ran dry. He got more than that.

A man who ran in various circles of the nightlife scene. 

A man above the fray, a position afforded to him by the respect of his job.

A man people talked to often, therefore a man people saw everywhere. So it was never odd that he was always in the places where people went missing. He was ubiquitous. Where the jazz played, Alastor was there. 

A man with no wife to complain so his nights were free. 

A large piece of land. A chip on his shoulder. 

“You son of a bitch…I didn’t tell you Tommy had been involved in drugs. I was right.” The sentence got quieter and softer as he trailed on until he could only whisper, “You killed him.”

Alastor watched the color drain from Brady’s face as the realization hit, but the ‘son’ comment blanketed his frontal cortex and dampened impulse control, “On second thought; yes.”

It was just an expression, son of a bitch, but it’d been the wrong one to use so carelessly. Alastor’s heart was pounding in his ears and behind his eyes.

The detective kept his gaze locked on Alastor as he fished out his keys. His hand shook violently as he tried to get the car door key in his fingers. “Yes what?” Glancing down for a fraction of a second to check he had the right one. 

“That was a threat.”

Alastor’s hand twitched, he fought the rage bubbling up his throat. His vision was beginning to turn red around the edges. He could hear Aubrey squeaking out the first syllable of that damn word just behind his left ear.

Perhaps he was the blade hanging over Brady’s head. 

With even paces he walked over to the stump where he chopped wood and pulled the axe out, “Ya know! Something about you makes my fucking skin crawl.” He pointed it at Brady, the detective taking note of the arm strength needed to hold the unevenly heavy tool steady and parallel to the ground. “I do hope for your sake this is our final meeting. You should leave now.” His head titled to the left, “And keep your nose clean, Kenneth. It’s a dangerous time for bad men in New Orleans.”

Brady walked backwards to his car as Alastor advanced briskly with the blade still raised. When they reached the front porch Brady turned and booked it, glancing behind to see Alastor standing beside the porch on foot worn grass.

As the car started Alastor dropped the axe until it’s flat top of the blade rested on the ground and he leaned his weight onto it akin to a cane. His free hand’s fingers waved goodbye before dropping down to his side limply. He stood there with eyes fixed and body still as a predator waiting for its opportunity. How many gators had Brady watched from the shore with just that look? He peeled out, sight unseen as he blindly backed onto the unpaved road, and made a beeline to the nearest phone. 

He had to tell someone. He was right. He had been right the whole time. Alastor killed Tommy Dupre. And there was no doubt in Brady’s swirling mind that you knew that fact. 

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 8)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

The illness persists in the weight of your skin over your bones yet the loss of actual muscle and fat that turn you skeletal. Your legs become bow-like and pain radiates just above your hairline. Your vision crackles with scattered flashes of black dots, and you drink like a man lost in the desert. 

Only foods that are red stay down, and even then you only nibble at peppers and plug your nose at the raw meat you stuff in your mouth. You feel the sunlight outside your window when you open it up and stick your hand through, as walking out of your apartment is a chore you can only handle once a week at most. 

Once a homebody, reclusive out of necessity and exhaustion from simple interactions, you now live for Lucifer’s chatter. His presence abates your fever, physically and emotionally. The dependence on him, as sweet as he appears, makes you itch inside. 

Everything is terrible, you tell yourself at least once per day, as the illness persists. 

But if Lucifer is good at anything, it’s providing you with distractions from the ever-present suffering.

—

The sounds you made put the Angelic Choir to shame. 

“Lucifer, don’t say that!”

The King of Hell’s laugh was muffled as he stayed buried in your cunt. The memory of you being so flustered was almost just as sweet. 

He eyed your tightly screwed expression just over your growing belly, and felt gratified at his idea to have you propped up by pillows from head to hips. With the boost, Lucifer could watch you enjoy yourself and remain comfortable. 

Let him feel the springs of your mattress dig into his knees and stomach. They were secondary to the pain of his own hardness straining in his slacks. 

A keen from you, and the feeling of your nails as they raked through his hair and over his scalp, had Lucifer moaning. His eyes rolled back, momentarily blinded by euphoria. 

“Ooh!” 

Eyes snapping open, Lucifer lifted himself from the bed quickly. His tongue slipped out of you, dripping onto the sheets when he was mindless to reeling it back in.

“Why’d you stop?” Your whine between quick pants made him blink.

One eye at a time. 

“I thought I hurt you.” He smiled, sheepishly, once his tongue was back in his mouth. 

His mauve-lids and golden lashes fluttered when you wiped the slick from his chin. There was no missing the color that had returned to your cheeks with all the exertion he was putting you through, and he felt a swell of pride at being able to breathe life back into you. So to speak. 

“Heaven help me.” You said, sarcastically. 

Breathlessly.

The Devil’s hips jerked when your hand rose to grip a fistful of his blond hair. You manually lowered him back between your legs, heedless to the way his entire frame shivered.

— 

‘I think I… I think I’m in love with her.’ Lucifer looked so earnest, meeting the glow of Ozzie’s stare. 

The Sin clucked a tongue in his King’s direction, shaking his head. ‘Well, don’t tell her that. You’re gonna scare her away, man.’ 

—

Lucifer watched you fall apart from just his tongue (its length and width being inhuman notwithstanding). 

You were so beautiful like this. Legs shaking, body spasming, letting go.

‘I love you.’ 

Man’s (alleged) Greatest Enemy could just barely contain himself. 

‘I love you I love you I love you’ 

—

Lucifer brings you another scroll one sunny day, and you find it riddled with names. 

“I’ve been thinking about what to call him or her, so I made a list! …Kinda, sorta during a meeting… whatever, it wasn’t that important!” 

Oh, you could see that. 

“Do you like any of them? Which are your favorites? No! Gimme your top 5!” His jubilation is so innocent, but something inside you hitches. 

“Does it actually matter what I think?” You chuckled. 

“Of course it does!” He cried. “You’re the mo— uh… you’re putting in most of the work!”

The weak save went unchallenged. You were already circling names, likening the process to navigating a minefield as you looked through a long line of names you couldn’t even pronounce or read. 

‘Ehb 

Horus

Azor 

Carlton’

“What about a girl?” Lucifer asked out of the blue. 

Your head cocked to the side as you realized your picks had been relegated to just one side of the endless list. That he’d written down names for boys and for girls struck you as odd. 

 “You think it’ll be a girl?” 

Lucifer looked at you with a curious gaze. “Could be, couldn’t it?”

After a moment, you shrugged. “I guess so…” 

The King’s confusion crinkled around his eyes and caused an uncanny few lines in his otherwise perfect forehead. You flick the pen at him teasingly to wipe the look from his face.

You write a few names down, and watch with a smirk as his frown turns upside down. 

‘Adrienne 

Charlotte

Maleficent’

You ignored the painful thought that this was a pointless endeavor. Naming a dead thing.

—

With eyebrows raised, you sat waiting dutifully, hands clasped over your stomach while he rummaged through the box. 

“Aha!” He pulled out two red objects, one in each hand, and knee’d the chest out of the way to present them to you.

“Surprise!”

Two remarkably crafted stuffed animals were set before you on the couch cushion. 

Goats. 

It took you a second to place them, staring at their intricate appearances — covered in fluffy red fur from head to cloven hoof, with large yellow eyes and tiny red smiles stitched on their stark white muzzles. 

Shiny, metallic-looking horns curled over the curvature of their little heads, tips almost touching the tiny approximations of wings protruding from their backs. You noticed that the little wings were also sticking out of the backs of their tiny tuxedo suits; solid black to further contrast their Luciferean color schemes. 

An uncharacteristically high-pitched squeal escaped you. 

Damn these hormones. You internally chastised yourself while reaching out to finger at the detailed plushies. 

“They’re so cute!” You admired the unbelievable softness of one’s fur, hand overlapping with Lucifer’s as you turned it this way and that. His grin was so wide in your peripheral vision as he soaked up your fawning.

“Aren’t they?!” Lucifer squealed along with you. “They’re twins! But see this one has lighter fur and this one has sharper eyes. I tried to give them little differences so they had some individuality.” 

“Michael and I looked so similar in the Beginning, a ton of people always got us mixed up. Sometimes it was fun, but I got tired of hearing him bitch about it after the first couple centuries.”

A more serene countenance overtook your counterpart, with his line of sight drifting off to the floor beside you. Lost in thought. Or perhaps reminiscing. 

“Michael?” You asked gently. 

“My brother.” Lucifer replied. 

“Ohh, I think I remember… is he a Prince of Hell too?” 

The formerly Divine man frowned. “… No. Not him.”

A shadow fell over you both, distant sadness suffusing the air. You reached for him instantly, only for Lucifer to switch on like a lightbulb and grin manically. 

“Oh well! Who knows, maybe he took Dad’s side just to make sure no one ever confused us for each other ever again!” 

You pulled away. “… right.” 

Lucifer shook his head after a glance in your direction. 

“Um, so, I was thinking…” He began. “Maybe we give one to the baby an-nd… one could stay here… with you…” 

There was no hiding the confusion that crossed your face. 

You ‘tsk’ed. “You wanna deny the baby half this cuteness?” 

In response, Lucifer tittered, still adamant on looking around the room instead of meeting your gaze head on. “Hah, no. I was thinking that, maybe, we could keep one of them here and… and then they could reunite every time the baby and I… or just the baby… visit…”

Slow realization made your already weak constitution roil. 

Perhaps, if you’d been yourself and not the hollow shell of a person you’d become while pregnant, you would’ve been angry. Or upset enough to shout. Maybe you would’ve gotten up and left him there on his lonesome, wordlessly demanding he not entertain that idea ever again. 

Certainly, the You from before this insane, impossible scenario wouldn’t hesitate to react melodramatically. 

You sighed, fiddling with one of the goat’s tails. “Oh Lou…” 

He cringed beneath the weight of your words, laden with a heaviness that harshened his already guilty conscience. 

“Wait, before you say no —” Lucifer felt his mouth running away from him. “Maybe you could think about it and then decide? Maybe after they’re born?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t expect anything from you.” 

“You’re expecting me to be its mother.” Your tone broke no room for argument. 

Mauve eyelids drooped as Lucifer looked down in shame. “I — ”

“I wouldn’t make a good mom.” Your statement stopped him in his tracks. 

Frustration simmered in Lucifer, slowly creeping into his expression as you continued, unrelenting. His posture went rigid, hands beginning to clench at his sides.

“It’s not that I don’t care. I probably care too much, actually.” You admitted.

It was true. Regardless of your paranoia and how justified it was or not, the sole basis for why you felt the need to argue in the first place —

(And wasn’t that just pathetic? You had feelings for the Epitome of Evil and had entertained being safe and happy with him) 

— the reality was that you’d been a broken human being before this cosmic impossibility entered your life. 

“I just don’t…” You sighed. “I wouldn’t be a good part of their life if I was in it.” 

Your head whipped up, vision spotting when Lucifer blurted:

“You are the best part of my life.” 

He looked angry. Furious. So much so that the sclera around his irises began to radiate a blood-red. 

“Do you know how hard it is? To leave you? I have to convince myself every single time that you’ll still be here when I return!” Lucifer claimed. “And soon I won’t even be able to do that!” 

“I don’t want to say goodbye forever! I… I l…” 

You shuddered, stiffening in your seat. As soon as he realized, Lucifer’s display was cowed. 

“Fuck, are you alright? I’m not — I don’t know what came over me!”

You shook your head. “No.” 

“It stopped.” You whispered. 

Lucifer’s grip trembled around your wrists. “Stopped?”

His breathless echo of your words drew your eyes up. You saw the storm brewing in his ruby eyes, as even though he waited for you to elaborate, a million thoughts pelting at his brain like hail. 

“The pain stopped.” You said. 

Your hands felt over the bump beneath your breasts, as if you might find the imaginary ‘off’ button and turn it back on.

It was ludicrous to think about, but you immediately wished for the agony that had been crippling you to return if it meant that this baby wasn’t… wasn’t… 

Tears glistened in your eyes. Lucifer drew you to his chest in spite of the fear that was pulling his shoulders taut. 

“Wh-what did you do today? Anything different?” The ex-Angel asked shakily. 

His eyes scanned you up and down, lingering on the little dolls he’d just gifted you. 

“No… n-no, nothing different.” You said. “I was in bed all morning, and th… then Cass was here and we had tea… we went out and walked a little bit outside.” 

“Did you fall?” The King hedged. 

You gasped, eyes widening. Instinctively your arms wrapped around your middle at the foreign feeling emanating from within. 

“Did…! You fell??” He panicked, grabbing onto you like a life raft. “Where? On what?!”

His words drifted away as you were enveloped in the strangest surge of feeling you’d ever experienced. 

You could only just muster up the energy to shake your head. 

Sudden warmth. 

And pressure. 

A tiny flutter, one you’d never felt before. 

You inhaled quickly yet deeply at the feeling of something pressing against your belly-button from the inside. 

It made you grin, hands coming back to grab for Lucifer’s own and to pull them to your stomach. “They’re alive!” 

The man’s jaw went slack, staring sightlessly for just as long as it took to soak up the sudden heat there. The baby took pity on its poor, trembling father and kicked again. 

It was Lucifer’s turn to gasp, looking back and forth between you and the bump with dawning awe. 

“It is!” He laughed, a tad bit hysterically. “It — they are alive!” 

“… And… glowing…”

“You’re glowing!”

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[ultrakill-confessions]

i disappear for a few days and miss an entire conversation abt gabriel molting

the resident bird lover?? missing a conversation abt birds???

*clicks pen aggressively* this is your final warning for the upcoming autism text wall

so yes, molting is indeed partially triggered by hormones with a mixture of seasonal changes. while molting birds are Very grumpy and. ya know. hormonal. as a bird owner this is a terrible time to own a bird bc theres feathers and dust Everywhere, the flying toddler is grumpy as all hell and if youre extra unlucky you'll have to try and find ways to have them Not mate with anything they can.

why are they grumpy? well besides hormones running rampant theyre also losing and regaining feathers very quickly which is not only taxing for the body but also Very Uncomfortable. pin feathers are new feathers that are growing in and are uncomfortable and itchy as hell. theyre surrounded by a protective keratin sheath so it doesnt get damaged while developing. why would it be a bad thing to get damaged? bc while feathers are growing theyre connected to a blood supply. cut a growing feather and youve got a Lot of blood (which is very bad for smaller birds bc they dont got much blood in their bodies). though once the feather is fully developed the blood will retreat and its safe to take out of the sheath. but during that time of waiting for the blood to retreat they just have a small pin sticking out of them that hurts like a bitch when moved wrong. many times i have faced the wrath of my son bc i touched a pin feather wrong.

now another thing id like to note since someone here brought up how long itd take and estimated around 6 weeks. thats how long it takes for a Small bird to molt. now lets consider gabe. hes huge. hes gonna take more than 6 weeks. cockatoos spend months molting all their feathers. developing feathers takes time and a Lot of energy so the bigger the bird the longer it needs. and even with just his wings is still a Lot of feathers to lose. so i'd say rough guess give or take gabe would be stuck molting for maybe around 6 months. at least on the bright side he'd only molt every 2-3 years. which is so very lucky for an immortal being (sarcasm)

for birds preening is a form of maintenance. we brush our hair they preen their feathers. we take showers they also take baths in their water bowls they just dunked their own food into and you watch in disappointment. not Every bird can just preen each other. they have to trust you to do something so meticulous (itd be Very easy to fuck it up or rip out feathers if one wanted to). for pet birds this is something owners can assist in (and if you have a freak like me will also beg you to do it) but ONLY around the head and neck. everywhere else is an erogenous zone (except for the feet but they hate getting their feet touched anyway) so you shouldnt touch it. ever. that is for mates only and if you touch there youre sending messages you Dont want to send and can lead to a lot of behavioral issues

so with all of the above context you can imagine how itd be complicated for a "first time" interaction ("trying to stay out of overly sexual territory" i say then fall flat on my face (im not doing this on purpose i swear </3)). wings are very much a no-no square in multiple contexts so itd be something to negotiate both the relationship and the level of trust they have with each other. me personally i wouldnt let a violent gopro touch my wings unless i knew it wouldnt try to snap them in half first. but with these kinds of situations it can be fun to incorporate the buildup of trust to allowing someone to touch gabes wings. preening is something that is done carefully. it can be to relieve an itch, check for mites, rearrange feathers, or to just simply scratch a good spot (like playing with your own hair). but in the end its a form of gentle intimacy between two beings that trust each other

now there are multiple ways you can go about this. me personally im a professional nonsexual intimacy enjoyer so i greatly enjoy it when preening is more of a bonding activity. though you can also go about it in a more sexual way which i know you fuckers will love to take advantage of

im gonna go eat and take a god damn shower now good night chat

- manic anon

-

[thoughtwriter]

multitudes - part 2

summary -> your first pub golf and you meet the one and only arthur tv who is infatuated from the moment he lays eyes on you

PART - 1, 2, 3, 4

wc -> 1.1k

masterlist | main masterlist | requests

the next morning came with a headache, two empty water bottles on your nightstand, and three missed dms. the first was from chris.

chrisMD: you’re a menace. flamingo facts live rent-free. next time: pub quidditch.

the second was a video from max fosh - shaky footage of you and arthur mid-“valerie,” yelling into a pub mic like you were auditioning for a sitcom about two people falling in love via amy winehouse.

and the third… was from arthur.

no text. just a selfie. slightly disheveled hair, duvet pulled up to his chest, sleepy grin. and a message quickly following it - still thinking about cube poop and diet-pink birds. brunch?

your heart betrayed you immediately. it did that weird little stutter - like it forgot how to beat for one full second before coming back with a crash.

you met up that afternoon at a tiny place in notting hill he insisted had “the best hash browns this side of london.” he wasn’t wrong. but if you were being honest, you barely tasted them.

because arthur in the daylight was a different kind of disarming.

gone was the pub-haze version: flushed cheeks, alcohol bravado, and silly commentary. in its place was something quieter - more deliberate. his hair still did that annoyingly perfect floppy thing, and his voice was still soft in that way that made everything he said feel just a bit more important.

he sipped his coffee. “so, still full of weird facts?”

you grinned. “always, it’s a condition. completely incurable.”

“tragic. guess i’ll have to stick around and suffer through it.”

“poor you.”

he laughed. but then he set down his fork and leaned forward, elbows on the table like he was about to confess something. the restaurant noise dulled around you, even though you knew it hadn’t actually changed.

“listen, i meant what i said last night.”

you blinked. that could mean several things.

arthur seemed to sense your uncertainty, so he clarified. “about liking you. before. and now. well, even more now.” he scratched the back of his neck like the words itched coming out. “it’s weird, right? one night and suddenly i can’t stop thinking about you.”

your stomach twisted, but not in a bad way. you just weren’t used to someone saying something like that and meaning it - especially not someone like arthur. smart, emotionally fluent, and possibly half-made of charm.

you could’ve made a joke. deflected. but you didn’t want to. not with him.

“it’s not that weird,” you said. “i’ve been thinking about you too.”

there. out. no take-backs.

arthur looked down at his coffee for a beat. then up at you. his gaze sharpened - focused in that quiet, attentive way he did when he was listening not just to what you said, but how you meant it.

“would it be crazy if i said i wanted to get to know you properly?” he asked. “off-camera. no pub golf. no chaos. just… you.”

you smiled. “only slightly. but I’m not particularly sane either.”

“brilliant,” he said, beaming.

that brunch turned into a walk, which turned into a shared playlist, which somehow turned into you guesting on one of arthur’s videos three weeks later.

it wasn’t planned. at least, not by you.

you were just in the background, originally. sitting off to the side while he filmed a lighthearted reacting to terrible tiktok advice bit. but at some point, he turned the camera toward you and asked, “as a certified facts machine, what’s your opinion on this guy’s take that drinking lemon water cures heartbreak?”

you blinked. the camera was rolling. but more importantly, he was looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

so you said something snarky about citric acid and unresolved emotional trauma. arthur laughed so hard he wheezed.

the comments the next day were brutal in the best way.

randomuser1 - sorry but WHY do they have more chemistry than every netflix couple ever?

randomuser2 - arthur’s in love and we’re all just watching it happen like a nature doc

randomuser3 - if they don’t do a podcast or start dating immediately, i will RIOT.

you tried to ignore them. you really did.

but then arthur sent you a screenshot of one with the caption - let’s give the people what they want?

and that was that.

still, not everyone knew. not yet.

you were careful - meeting late, taking back entrances, always arriving and leaving events separately. it wasn’t that you were hiding. you just… wanted to keep it yours a little longer. before the internet tried to rename it and ship it and pick it apart.

but at another ‘youtube gathering’ - this time a chilled game night at willne’s - you forgot to be subtle.

you were sitting on arthur’s lap, his arms loosely draped around your waist as you quietly roasted him for his uno strategy. willne walked by, did a double take, and yelled, “OH, IT’S HAPPENING!”

everyone looked. phones came out. chris shouted something about being best man at the wedding. niko started filming. you were done for.

arthur just smirked and pressed a kiss to your shoulde, “guess we’re public now.”

later that night, the two of you slipped onto the balcony to breathe. the london skyline sparkled beneath you, the kind of fake-romantic that only works when you’re a bit drunk and deeply infatuated.

arthur leaned against the railing beside you, his knuckles brushing yours.

“you know,” he said softly, “that flamingo fact really did it.”

“you laughed. “you’re never letting that go, are you?”

“never. it was the moment. everyone saw it. even me. i just didn’t know how to admit it yet.”

you turned to face him, your smile slow and full. “and now?”

he stepped closer, closing the distance until there was only the buzz of shared breath between you.

“now i’m all in.”

and then he kissed you - soft and sure and entirely off-camera.

something real.

part three out tmr!!

tags - @wherethezoes-at

[the-whispers-of-death]

Home Again

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Most gods would be happy that they were back in the paradise realm after previously being banished and stripped of their divinity, but Fallen God!Ghost aches for you.

His nights are spent dreaming about you, the mortal who showed him what love was. He dreamt of sleeping beside you, kissing you, even cooking with you. He dreamt of your beautiful hair, your breathtaking eyes, your jaw-dropping smile. His dreams were filled with memories of your laughter, your smooth and lyrical voice.

Paradise realm is a paradise, sure, but nothing could compare to you. Your beauty outshines the paradise realm's, your presence calms Ghost in a way the paradise realm can never. The air was always lighter when he was around you, the colors of the world always brighter. You are his light, his world, and everything is dull without you.

He spends week after week searching for how to get back to the mortal realm and back to you. His power is potent, he can just teleport himself down to the mortal realm to see you but that doesn't seem like a satisfying answer to him.

Ghost would eventually have to leave you and go back to the paradise realm, forced to be able to only visit you from time to time. He didn't want that, he can't bear the thought of leaving you. Of sleeping in his own bed, alone.

He also couldn't make you a concubine of his, bring you to the paradise realm. It didn't feel right for him to ask you to leave everything you knew behind just so you could spend hours alone in his temple while he worked. You deserve better than that.

So what else was there to do?

It takes Ghost a few days to realize what he must do. What he has to do in order to see you again.

He is standing in God!Price's temple, all of the deities summoned there for the monthly update of what the pantheon has been doing since they last convened. He can barely hear what the others are saying, it being meaningless as his mind finally reaches an answer to his burning question.

"I'm stripping myself of my godhood and powers, permanently," Ghost says, interrupting the conversation.

The entire temple is silenced at once, everyone turning their heads to stare at Ghost in disbelief.

A god deliberately turning himself mortal? That was unheard of. It was absurd to even those deities who loved the mortals so much.

Price frowns, clearly thinking Ghost has gone mad. "Now, Ghost, let's think about this," he says, his words slow and carefully curated. "You can't just abandon your godly duties, you're the God of Warfare. If there's one thing that the mortals do the most, it's engaging in war."

Ghost scoffs. "My duties can easily be done by our Goddess of War," he replies, gesturing with his hand towards said goddess. "I no longer want to be a god."

His words ignite a flurry of murmurs between the other deities, all of them shocked beyond disbelief. They don't understand why he wouldn't want to be a god, especially after centuries of hearing him look down on mortals.

"Is this because of the mortal you met during your banishment, {Name}?" Price asks, peeved now. "I hadn't thrown you down to them for you to fall in love with them, Ghost."

"No, you did it so I could learn the importance of mortals and I have," Ghost cuts in, his power flaring up as his anger spikes. This isn't up for debate. "I'm doing this no matter what any of you say, I was doing a courteous thing by giving you all a heads-up."

Price shifts in the seat of his throne, itching to get up and slap some sense into Ghost. "Enough of this, Ghost. You don't even know if they will take you if you're not a god. Perhaps that was the only reason they fell in love with you in the first place."

Ghost snarls in rage at the accusation and assassination of your character. "Even if that's the case, which I doubt it is, it is my choice. I'd rather spend the rest of my mortal life heartbroken if they turn me away than spend eternity aching for them," he says defiantly.

Immense power fills the temple, all of it Ghost's as he pools it all in his veins. Stripping himself of his godhood and powers is excruciating, the pain almost enough to stop him, but he keeps pressing on with the action.

It was worth it, for you.

"Someone stop him!" Price bellows at the other deities, but it's too late.

Just as God!Soap reaches for Ghost to try and stop him, Ghost's godhood and powers are stripped from him, his last act of being a god is to send his mortal form where it needs to be: at your doorstep.

His second fall seems euphoric, a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he falls through the clouds and lands on your front porch just like he had done months ago.

He looks to the side just as you open your front door, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of you. The weight on his chest is lifted, everything falling into place once more.

"Ghost?" You ask, surprised. You had thought you would never see him again. "Did... Did you get your godhood taken away again?"

Ghost stands with your help, his skin thrumming at the sensation of your hands on him again. "I took it away myself," he murmurs, breathless as he stares in your beautiful eyes.

Your face twists into confusion, which makes sense since he had been itching to be a god again the first time he fell. "Why?"

"For you, love. I couldn't bear to live eternity without you," Ghost says, secretly nervous that you won't take him now that he's not a god. "I love you, {Name}."

"I love you too," you reply, making him relax. You step closer, happy that this isn't a dream. "I don't care that you're not a god anymore, I only ever wanted you."

"You will always have me, for as long as you will have me."

Ghost steps closer as well, reaching up to gently cradle your face between his hands. He can't wait for you to lean in as well, though you do so as he gently presses his lips against yours.

The kiss can only be described as heavenly, all of the noises of city life fading away until there was only the sound of you two kissing. It's so gentle and slow, Ghost savoring what it's like to kiss you. He pours every ounce of love into the kiss, needing you to be filled with his love.

It feels like you are kissing for hours before you both pull away for air. Your soft pants fill the air between you two, you smiling at him.

"Come on," you say, gently grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. "Let's go inside and have dinner together."

Ghost nods and follows you inside the house that truly feels like home now. He lets you lead him into the kitchen, not even complaining about having to cook with you.

He had been a fallen god when he had first met you but now, he was neither fallen nor a god. He was just Ghost. A man you loved.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[deception-united]

Hi,

I'm rewriting an one-shot with OCs. They are both women in their late teen years, early twenties. A fancies B in a slightly obsessive way, and B is going to get married, so they don't get together at all. I thought about how should I write it being angsty, on A's pov, without ending up boring or whiny.

Have a great day/night :)

Hi, thanks for asking!

Writing Unrequited Love

This is a classic trope with a lot of emotional tension involved, but there's a fine line that falls between deeply evocative storytelling and a protagonist who comes across as melodramatic or pitiful; so, when writing from the POV of a character (A) who obsessively fancies another (B)—who is about to marry someone else—you want to capture the intensity of their emotions without exhausting the reader with endless self-pity. Here are some tips!

1. Make the obsession feel real, but not over-explained.

A’s feelings, albeit visceral, would be better woven into the narrative through sensory detail and subtext rather than outright declarations. Instead of repeating things like, "She loved B more than anything. It hurt. It wasn't fair," try showing the longing through her reactions—things like stolen glances, hesitations, or memorising B's habits as if hoarding the last pieces of her. Examples:

The way A's stomach tightens when B laughs at her fiancé’s joke.

The way A’s hand twitches, itching to reach out, when B absentmindedly brushes a lock of hair behind her ear.

The way A studies every micro-expression, searching for doubt or regret or anything that says she doesn't want to marry him, either.

2. Resist the urge to rant in internal monologue.

A bit of this is good and can add insight into A's exact thoughts and feelings, but it can be tempting to let her spiral into pages upon pages of why won't she love me back, which can get tedious. It may be more difficult to connect with excessive wallowing, but keeping internal monologues sharp, poignant, and purposeful can keep readers engaged. Include them mainly in moments of heightened emotion, rather than drowning the narrative in a flood of self-pity.

3. Let her have moments of denial and delusion.

A character in unrequited love will likely have fleeting moments where they convince themselves they still have a chance, no matter how irrational. Maybe B holds A’s hand for a second too long, or says something wistful about their past together, and A clings to it like an addict chasing a high. This emotional whiplash between hope and despair can add a lot of depth to her internal conflict throughout the story. Here's an example of how you can depict this in the narrative:

She's sitting on my side of the table. She still looks at me first when something funny happens. Maybe that means something. (hope) Then again, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I’m just a memory she keeps around for nostalgia’s sake. (reality)

4. You don't have to paint B like an unattainable angel.

It’s easy to write B as a perfect figure—someone A puts on a pedestal. And this may be how you choose to write it, which can make for an interesting story of its own! Maybe she sees B as radiant and untouchable, and every smile she gives someone else feels like a dagger. But it's also important to show B's flaws as well (though this may not work as well in a one-shot with only one POV). Maybe she’s oblivious to A’s pain, leads A on unintentionally, or is struggling with her own uncertainties. This adds more complexity: A isn’t just losing something; she’s also struggling with the fact that B chose someone else over her.

More tips and things to consider:

Suppressed emotion: let A's emotions simmer beneath the surface and show her turmoil through the little things, like a lingering glance or a hand that hesitates before letting go.

Instead of drowning the reader in raw, explicit yearning, let them feel the gaps. Make A's world feel off-kilter, distorted by B’s impending marriage. Maybe the wedding preparations invade her senses—the clink of glasses, the rustle of silk, the scent of flowers that now feel sickly sweet.

Self-delusion: give A moments of near-normalcy, where she's pretending to be fine and almost manages to be—until something tiny unravels her again.

How does A cope? Does she act out in small, destructive ways, grow distant and quiet, or lean in, helping with the wedding like it's some self-inflicted punishment?

---

Unrequited love rarely gets neat closure, which is what makes it so miserable. Maybe A finally accepts the loss, or maybe she doesn’t—but keep in mind that angst isn't just about drowning the reader in sadness, but about making them feel the weight of what's lost.

Hope this helped ❤

Previous | Next

[malk1ns]

march 11 v golden knights, 3-2 OT win

i had absolutely nothing for this one. a combination of i've been sleeping like shit and nearing the end of the season i think—i need to think about one of my other longer fic ideas for a little as a palate cleanser and hopefully that will help me through this final push so i don't struggle so hard with coming up with stuff. thank you to @beggingwolf for coming up with this idea for me.

Even for Sid, four goals in two games is pretty good. Those goals getting capped off with wins is even better, and he doesn’t bother to try and contain his smile as they troop off the ice.

He has to linger in the hall for a while to take his spin as second star, and that was apparently long enough for Geno to decide he’s done with two legs for the day.

“Babe,” Sid sighs, pausing in front of his stall and staring down at the little gray cat blinking innocently up at him from the nest he’s made out of Sid’s sweatshirt. “Again?”

Geno meows at him, flicks his tail, and turns his back on Sid and the room at large in favor of kneading at the hood.

“Awww,” Kris says, pausing at Sid’s side. “Feeling okay, G?”

Geno, focused on his task, ignores Kris entirely. When Karl crouches down and baby-talks at him, Geno permits a gentle stroke over his head before hissing in warning.

Sid glances over at the door. The media is due in at any second, and he can’t have a cat in his stall, no matter how cute Geno is like this.

Luckily, Geno leaps from the bench and makes his way over to the door leading to the dry change room, pausing to wind through Jarry’s legs with loud purrs before he slips out of sight.

“He’s so cute,” Jarry sighs, watching Geno go. “I wish we could get a cat, but Hannah’s so allergic and I think the dogs would eat a kitten.”

“He’s annoying,” Sid mutters, brushing futilely at the cat hair embedded in his hoodie. He’s going to sneeze the entire way home now.

Generally, Geno only shifts when he’s in his own home out of deference to Sid’s allergies; he can take a Claritin and hang out for a few hours without too many problems, but Sid likes to keep his own house as cat hair free as possible. There’s a lint roller in the mud room, and Sid pretty much strips down right there and throws his clothes straight into the washer when he gets back from being at Geno’s to avoid tracking it into the house.

Sid doesn’t have any meds on him, though, and it’s still too chilly for him to go outside in just his t-shirt, even if it’s just to his car.

His arms start itching halfway through his media time, and he has to clench his fists to stop from scratching at himself. It will only make it worse, and he doesn’t need anyone asking questions about why he’s suddenly attempting to tear off his own skin.

The shower helps a little, and Sid does his best to avoid touching his eyes, but he’s still sniffling when he finishes getting dressed.

“G?” he calls, opening his bag, and smiles when a little ball of fur streaks across the room from Karl’s stall and leaps in. “Hey, buddy, you ready to go home?”

Geno meows impatiently at him, and Sid carefully swings the bag strap over his shoulder.

Normally, Geno only shifts after bad games. He’s been on a roll since the tournament though, and he got the primary assist on Karl’s game-winner tonight, so Sid spends the drive home wracking his brain for what could have triggered this.

Geno curls up into a ball in the passenger seat for the ride, and it only takes a few minutes after Sid taps on the seat-heater for him to fall asleep. Sid’s a grown man, so he manages to resist cooing out loud at the tiny little snores Geno makes, but he does snap a few pictures at red lights.

Geno wakes up and yawns ferociously when Sid pulls up to the gate, standing on his hind legs to peer out the window as Sid navigates the long road back to Geno’s house. Sid doesn’t bother to try and stop him when he streaks out of the driver door as soon as it opens; Geno’s said that while he doesn’t quite have his own mind when he’s shifted he’s still enough himself to overrule any dangerous cat instincts, and that includes any desire to run away or lay waste to the local fauna.

Sid shakes some cat food into the little bowls Geno keeps in the kitchen, but he also pulls out a double portion of Geno’s meal service; he doesn’t know when Geno plans on shifting back, but he’ll have to eat either way.

He shovels his half into his mouth without tasting much of anything. The second half of this season has flown by, game after game and so much travel with the tournament added in that Sid doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going most days. He’s too tired to even feel hungry most evenings, but he knows he needs to eat or he’ll regret it in the morning.

Geno as a cat is a much messier eater than Geno as a person, but he’s also significantly cuter about it, so when he leaps into Sid’s lap after devouring his food, Sid lets him butt his crumb-covered face against Sid’s shirt without complaining.

The house is quiet. They’ve been spending more time apart than Sid would like recently, too tired from the grind of the season and the stress of leading a team that’s going nowhere fast, but Sid’s not used to being in Geno’s house for so long without Geno’s voice. Normally after a bad game it’s just a few hours until Geno’s ready to come back to himself, but the night stretches on and Geno’s still a cat.

Logically, Sid knows Geno would be fine if he left. He’s a person, after all, and if he gets hungry or thirsty all he needs to do is change back and he can take care of himself.

Geno’s so small like this, though, so light and vulnerable when Sid picks him up, and when Sid looks towards the mudroom Geno meows so loudly and so plaintively that Sid abandons his thought of going home even though Geno hasn’t changed back.

“Guess I’m sleeping over, bud,” Sid informs Geno, who blinks at him, then licks his paw. Sid frowns—he doesn’t know if cats can actually look smug, but Geno’s certainly managing. 

Sid left a toothbrush and his face lotion at Geno’s ages ago, and it doesn’t take much digging to pull out his own pajamas from the bottom drawer of the dresser. He doubled up on Benadryl right after dinner, and by the time he’s settling into bed he’s already feeling a little dizzy and floaty.

He’ll feel like crap in the morning, hungover and headachey, but it’s worth it when Geno leaps up onto the bed and settles himself against Sid’s chest, purring so hard he’s vibrating.

Sid digs his fingers into the soft fur of Geno’s neck and falls asleep.

—

Geno’s half-sprawled on top of Sid and snoring into his ear when Sid blinks awake the next morning. It’s much less cute when he’s human.

“Get off,” he groans, heaving at Geno’s body until Geno rolls off him with an angry little sound that’s still half-feline. “You okay? You don’t normally do that after wins.”

Geno stays quiet for long enough that Sid opens his eyes to see if he fell back to sleep. “Miss you,” he says finally. “Long season, like, you’re not invite me over lots, think maybe you’re…what’s PO say, try to ghost? Let me down easy. So I’m think you’re stay and spend time this way.”

Sid feels terrible. “No, baby,” he says, scooting closer until he can get his hand in Geno’s hair, thinner than his fur as a cat but just as soft. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You know how crazy the season has been, and then I had the tourney, I haven’t had a second to breathe this whole year. But I’m not trying to ghost you, I promise.”

“Stupid,” Geno mutters, pressing into Sid’s touch. “I know this, like, you’re not do. Know you’re so tired too, and hurt. I just feel bad, maybe, and then you’re like to stay when I’m Mav, so I just…do. And then it’s easy to stay when I’m small.”

Mav. Taylor Haase caught Sid looking at a picture of Geno as a cat on his phone and he had to make up a story about a kitten he adopted the year before. Maverick, he’d told her the name was, the first thing he came up with after he and Geno watched the new Top Gun the weekend before. It’s become a little joke of theirs, calling Geno’s cat-self Mav. He doesn’t like the idea that Geno thinks Sid prefers the cat.

“I like to stay when you’re you more,” Sid says, tucking his calf between Geno’s legs. “Mav is cute but you’re cuter, and I like talking to you. Next time just tell me you want me to come over, okay? Or—” Sid sneezes. His meds are wearing off. “—just come over to my place, maybe. When the hell is the last time you vacuumed in here?”

[sea-grunks-dating-sim]

I’ve fallen completely in love with this game! The art is amazing and I simply LOVE the scenario we’ve been put in.

I do have a question but (and I don’t just mean to insert oc drop- SORRY 😭) I’ve taken the liberty of makin’ my “y/n” character (one I had imagined up while playing the game).

I’m headcanoning what species “y/n” is (one I made up in my made) and the future game in my head while I eagerly await the next chapters release! I adore the work you’ve all put in! Now my question-

How did you think up the idea for the game? And what made you all want to go through with it?

if the question asked has been answered previously please just ignore me lol-,,

P/s: just as a little note and addition to my character, I plan on going down fords route first ! <3

Hi there, thank you so much !! We're so glad you enjoyed it! 🥹💙

AND OMG?? YOUR OC'S DESIGN IS SO FIRE??? Their tail is so gorgeous, and her stingers being a part of their hair is SO EPIC ARGHHH !! I also adore your last doodle so much; it's literally Ford in Chapter 1 omg 😆 I'd say it's both cute and unnerving. 😆 We really out here bleeding while he's yapping away LMFAO

And I love these questions! We wrote a lot, so I'm going to share our team's replies to your second question in a separate post tomorrow!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

🌊 Q1.) How did you think up the idea for the game?

[To preface, I'll be saying "I" a lot for this first question because the demo was a solo project! <3 - Vic]

After playing Swooning Over Stans, I was itching to create a Gravity Falls dating sim. What about exactly, I didn't know--so the idea sat on the backburner for a few weeks. Until, one day, I came across this tweet:

This is from my Instagram highlight, which I've kept on my page for archival purposes! You can see how the demo developed from its very beginnings!

I kid you not, as soon as I saw that tweet, I was sprinting to my notes. Here's uh... here's literally just a fraction of what my original notes for the demo--and what would later become the skeleton for the full game--looked like 🤯

Very briefly, I debated the idea of Player being human, but that quickly didn't work out--there wasn't really a story there for me. And then I was like, "What if we were an anomaly?" 🤯 So, in the next draft, Stan and Ford were fishing/netting at sea and caught Player on accident! But I wanted more action,,, and mystery,,, 🤭 which brings us to the events of the demo and Chapter 1!

To be honest, the idea wrote itself! But there were some flaws and plot holes that needed filling out--which is where our team comes in! Thanks to the help of Dan (@misostrio) and Sarah (Kiwicartwheels), the ideas from the demo have evolved into a story I never could have imagined. And the different ideas our artists have come up with and created have impacted the game's development in such an amazing way.

I'm so very honored and lucky to be able to work with such incredible people--and we're so excited to share what we've been creating as we continue developing the game!

(Find Part 2 here!) Thank you again for your questions, and for supporting the game! 🥹💙

[novasintheroom]

072. Doubt (part 3/5)

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash has some doubts. Luckily, Luida is there to talk through them.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

“Why haven’t you?”

Vash flinches, even though Luida’s tone is nothing but curious.

The small greenhouse room on Home is like most places within it – white, with dents and welds on the walls from repairing the Fall damage and time making its way through. Vines, though, creep out of plant troughs set up on counters throughout. They’re filled with hardy vegetables and desert-like flora. One of the many experiments Luida has put on over the years.

“Are you scared?” She prompts.

“No!” He says, petulant. He pouts when Luida laughs and rolls her eyes.

Picking up a watering can to the side, Vash sighs and heads for the sink. “I’m not scared.” He reiterates.

Even he can hear the doubt in his voice.

Luida turns back to her task. “They why can’t you even pull the box out? I’d think you’d be itching to look at it, at least.”

He is. He wants to see what’s inside The Box so badly. It’s been long enough. But… “With my luck, I’d drop it down a crevasse or someone comes by and snatches it.” He purses his lips, turning the sink on and filling the watering can. “Or it just blows up in my hands. Hell, it’d be my luck.”

She hums, digging a finger through the dirt to check on the roots of a plant. “You sure that’s all? You don’t usually mind being blown up. You have the scars for it.”

He puffs out a laugh. She’s right there. Vash picks the watering can up and starts for one of the troughs.

Luida glances over. “Remember, only a few seconds of water for that trough.” When Vash nods, she goes back to her work. “Something’s still holding you back from popping the question, Vash. Do you think she’ll leave you?”

“No,” he sighs, “she wouldn’t. She’s made that clear.”

“Then you don’t think she’s the one for you?”

“No! I mean, yes?” He shakes his head. “She is the one for me. The only one.”

She hums again. “If she isn’t going to leave, and you believe she’s your true love, then what’s holding you back?”

Vash pauses watering one of the plants. “I…” he hesitates, reaching up and scratching his undercut. “I’m not…”

Luida moves on to the next batch of seedlings, watering them in their troughs and checking their pH levels. When he doesn’t finish his sentence, she looks over at him. Her brows raise.

He spits it out. “I don’t think I’m husband material.”

Surprisingly, she lets out a laugh. “Is that all?”

“What do you mean?” He feels a bit indignant, being laughed at. “That seems like a pretty big part of marriage.”

Luida sets her own watering can to the side, the soft thunk absorbing into the walls. “You’re overthinking things again. Like you usually do.”

His cheeks go pink, but he looks down and away. Luida walks over to him, grabbing his metal hand and holding it. Her smile is kind when she asks, “What do you think makes a good husband?”

He sighs. “Someone who can actually provide a home for his wife. And pay for food instead of letting her go hungry for three days.” He shakes his head. “We barely ever have a bed to sleep in because of me being on the run so much.”

Her lips twitch up. She has a few more wrinkles around her eyes nowadays. When was her last Sleep? “Those are material things, Vash. Not everything that makes a husband.”

Vash turns and leans against the table. “But they’re important things! She should feel comfortable, and not have to worry about if she’s going to find me dead in a ditch someday.” He bites his bottom lip, gnawing as he finally lets out his thoughts. “And I’m not…it’s not easy being with me, I know. I still hide things and make stupid mistakes and put us both in danger every day!” His eyes take on a faraway look. “It might be better for me to just keep my mouth shut and throw the stupid box away. It was a dumb idea.”

“Vash…” Luida reaches up and tugs at his hair. “Looks like we need another haircut for you soon.” When he lets out a chuckle, she squeezes his hand. “You should consider what she wants, not what you think she does. How many years have you two been together now?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but he answers it anyway. “Almost forty years.”

“And has she ever once held it against you that you don’t have any of those things?”

“No, but – “

“I know, I know. You want to care for her. But maybe you do. Maybe she has different needs than most people, and you meet them. She’s a smart girl. Smarter than most, I’d say. You really think she’d stick around if she thought she was doing something stupid, being with you?”

His lips twitch up. “Sometimes I wonder…”

She shrugs. “Love makes people do dumb things, that’s true. But she’d have seen through the stupid by now.” She leans closer, trying to get her point across. “Vash, she’s sticking around because she loves you, and you love her, and you’re both doing it right. For goodness sakes, it’s strange to even see you here without her glued to your side, and she’s just on the other side of the ship.”

Vash laughs. The peanut butter to my jelly, as you like to say. There’s really only one reason you’ve stuck around this long. It’s what makes him so giddy and nervous at the same time.

“There’s that smile,” Luida nicks Vash’s chin and grins. “I know you’re still gonna take some time to get it through all that hair of yours, Vash, but really think about her, and what you both want. That’s what will make you husband material. Alright?”

She parts from him, going back to her watering can and picking it up. As she starts going down the rows again, he hears your quick footsteps coming down the hall. The peanut butter to his jelly, returning to his side.

“Oh, and Vash?” Luida says, “When you do tell her, make sure we get an invite to the wedding.”

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 31) - final chapter

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: the opportunity to help the females in the Night Court is now here, and the last chapter of the reader's plan concludes

warnings: none

word count: 7.1k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: this is the final chapter of IALTPWF (there will be an epilogue for SURE, maybe a bonus chapter or two in the future) and i'm so emotional. i've poured my heart and soul into this story for two years and it's finally over. thank you to everyone who has shown this story support, I hope that in this chapter and the epilogue to come, you are satisfied with the ending. long mushy post to come later

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 / part 24 / part 25 / part 26 / part 27 / part 28 / part 29 / part 30

read on ao3

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Nesta ran her fingers through your hair, plaiting it up in a coronet identical to her own. Her hands were steady, despite the raging sea of nerves that wracked both of you. It was a day’s ride to the Night Court on dragonback, and you could practically feel Zôrzimril itching to take flight. Without moving your head, you glanced at the window, seeing your dragon's golden scales shining in the moonlight. Athariel was behind her, the two mighty beasts laying down and resting before their long journey. 

Both of you donned your new riding leathers, with featherlight but sturdy pieces of armour attached. The shoulder pieces were scaled like dragon skin – yours, gold, and Nesta’s silver. The designs of the leather blended with the metal armour were beautifully crafted, fitting perfectly to your forms. You didn’t know if you wanted Eris to tell you how much he spent commissioning the pieces, but you were grateful for the protection nonetheless. 

As Nesta carefully pinned your hair in place, your stomach churned. The plan to help the females of the Night Court escape would finally conclude by tomorrow morning. Despite the detailed planning and the fact you had all the other High Lords helping the cause, nerves still wracked you. As much as you could guide the females down the right path, there would undoubtedly be many who were too afraid to leave.

It is their choice, you had to remind yourself constantly. Being from a different court, there is only so much you could do.

“Where are you right now?” Nesta murmured, resting her hands on her shoulders and looking at you in the mirror that sat on your dresser in front of you.

You blinked, pushing away your negative thoughts. “What do you mean?”

She scoffed. “You have that distant look in your eyes. And I can hear that brain of yours ticking away like an old watch. What exactly are you fretting about?”

“What am I not fretting about is the easier question,” you grumbled. “There are so many things that could go wrong with this plan.”

The scraping of chair legs filled the room as Nesta pulled up a second chair, placing it next to yours and taking a seat. “Like that? Let us rationalise it, ok?”

You took a deep breath. “This is the truly final piece to my plan. The last piece on the board to fall. One way or another, we’ve gotten what we wanted so far. What if this is where it all goes wrong?”

“I think you forget the countless times things already have gone wrong,” Nesta gently reminded you. “Rhys capturing you, your engagement to Malgorm, much of what you planned has gone awry in some way. Yet it has all worked out – this will, too. Remember, you’re not doing it alone this time. We have Tarquin, Thesan, Helion, Tamlin, and Kallias all helping with the full support of their courts. We will be fine.”

“But the females might not be.” You pointed out, trying to keep your brain from worrying about how the groups could be followed and hunted down on their journey to escape.

“The ones from the Hewn City have Gwyn and Azriel to protect them, and the Illyrian females know the mountain passes better than any of the males. They can handle themselves,” Nesta insisted. 

Gwyn had gone back into the Night Court a few hours after the meeting in Solaris to begin her whisper network. You had watched with a mix of pride and worry as she grabbed the shadowsinger’s hand, winnowing back into the very place she would be in the most danger. Somehow, deep down, you knew she would be okay. This was not the shy, frightened Gwyn you had first met in the Library. No, she had grown a new strength that rivalled the toughest steel in the armoury. With Azriel at her side, they would protect the females from the Court of Nightmares.

“Is Emerie still going with you to the Illyrian meetup point?” Nesta asked you, adjusting the armbands on her leathers.

You nodded.

“Good. Illyria will be the hardest path to navigate. Helion, Lucien and I will easily be able to get the Hewn City females to the cove and across the border. But you’ll have to extend your magic quite far into the Steppes, have you rested enough for that?”

“I think so,” you stood up, walking over to your table of breakfast and forcing a few orange slices into your mouth to calm your stomach. It tasted bitter on your tongue, and it took everything in you to swallow it.

Your mate snorted, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “A fat lie. You were tossing and turning so much I was tempted to smother you to sleep,”

Smirking, you turned back to Nesta. “Well, there are ways in which you could smother me that I wouldn’t mind…”

Nesta’s cheeks went red, but she swatted you with her hand towel. “Insatiable thing. Did we not satisfy you enough yesterday before Eris left?” 

Now it was your turn to blush and look away. Eris had taken his and Tamlin’s armies on ships up to the Western coast of the Night Court. His goal was to feign an offensive launch to draw out the armies, undoubtedly drawing out Rhysand as well. False negotiations would take place, centring around questioning if Rhysand had dealt with Koschei yet – and if not, all six courts were prepared to attack and eliminate him entirely to break the bargain. But before he had left in his shining High Lord armour, your husband spent hours showing both you and Nesta how much he would miss his wives.

You shook your shoulders, brushing off the heated memories before you pounced on Nesta. The mating bonds in your chest urged you to engage in the frenzy that was common for new mates, but you resisted for now, choosing to change the subject. “So Helion will shelter everyone at the Day Court until me and my ships arrive with the Illyrian females since we don’t have the magic to winnow everyone,” you said, revisiting your plan you had gone over a million times.

Despite your constant repetition, Nesta remained patient. “Yes, my love,” she said. “Tarquin, Cresseida, Kallias, and Vivianne will be with you. I will have Helion and Thesan with me, and we will be waiting for you and the Illyrians to arrive before dividing everyone up.”

At the High Lord’s meeting a few days ago, every ruler had agreed to provide a home to a certain number of refugees. Autumn and Summer were taking the most, followed by Day, Spring, Dawn, and then Winter. “I can accommodate however many you need,” Kallias had said when discussing the logistics. “However, I do not think many will want to come. It is a harsher environment than many are used to, except maybe the Illyrians.”

With every court helping, there was room for thousands of females spread across Prythian. Nesta had played a large role in coordinating with builders and stonemasons from the other courts, sharing her plans and models from Solaris as reference for the construction of more shelters. It was an effort shared by fae all across the lands, a thought which warmed your heart.

“Everything is as in place as it can be, I guess,” you said, glancing outside at the rise of the moon from behind the mountains, a signal that it was time to go. “We are prepared. I just want all of this to be over. Aside from dealing with Koschei, this is the last obstacle to climb before I can finally relax, I think.”

Nesta placed a kiss on your cheek. “Me too. Now let’s go get Emerie, so we can get those females out of there and be done with all this.”

**********************

A surprisingly alert Emerie was already waiting for you in the clearing where Athariel and Zôrzimril waited. The beasts lifted their heads and called out happily, making Emerie flinch.

You laughed, causing the winged female to snap playfully, “Don’t even. Not all of us are used to dragons. Give me a hundred years before you expect me to not jump at those noises.” She donned black leathers with black armour, and that familiar white ribbon across her forehead. Her wings were a blueish black in the moonlight, 

“Well you’re about to spend a full day on the back of one so best get used to it quickly.” You grabbed your supply sac from Saeros, nodding your thanks before hauling it over your back. Despite having food, water, and extra clothes, it was not heavy thanks to a special spell from Helion. 

Emerie slung her identical sac over her arm. “We ready?”

“This is the most awake I’ve ever seen you at this hour,” Nesta joked from a few feet away where she was greeting Athariel, stroking the silver beast’s nose.

“I’m on a mission, okay?” Emerie shrugged. “Finally being able to help with something really awakens you.”

Colourful leaves crunched underneath your boots as you lead Emerie over to where Zôrzimril was waiting. “You say that like you haven't been up from sunrise to sunset working on Solaris for over two months,” you pointed out.

Emerie’s response was cut off as Zôrzimril lowered her head upon your approach, emitting a low rumbling noise as she eyes up the winged female. Emerie’s eyes were wide, and she stopped in her tracks. 

“It’s ok,” you reassured her as you ran your hand down the dragon’s jaw. “She’s just checking you out and saying hi. She won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“If you say so.”

“Come test it yourself. Say hello back.”

After a few protests, you managed to drag Emerie forward until she was face to face with your dragon. Zôrzimril’s nostrils flared, her eyes squinting as she seized up the creature in front of her. Gently, you grabbed Emerie’s hand, placing it on the dragon’s snout. She let out a gasp as her hand made contact with the hard but smooth scales of the beast, jaw slack with wonder. 

“Holy shit,” she muttered. “She feels so…”

“Powerful?” You finished your friend’s sentence for her, and she nodded.

“I never thought I’d know what it was to fly,” her voice was faraway, as if her mind and body were disconnected in a drift between memories and dreams. “I guess I will now.”

Nesta had come up to the two of you, pulling you both in for a big hug. You held your mate and your friend, sighing into their comforting touch. “I’ll see you both soon, okay?” Nesta said.

“Stay safe,” Emerie said as she nodded, giving Nesta a squeeze on the shoulder before pulling back and heading towards Zôrzimril cautiously, securing the straps of her backpack across her chest.

Nesta turned to you, a well of emotions swimming in her blue grey eyes. “What we’re doing here is bigger than both of us,” she said. “It will be the final nail in the Night Court’s coffin. I find myself wondering if we have doomed them to a tragic fate in our pursuit for revenge.”

You frowned. “Are you having regrets?”

“No,” Nesta shook her head. “I’m not. But it makes me sad. For as much as I hated the Night Court, it was a beautiful place. Not all of them were bad.”

You took Nesta’s gloved hands in your own. “Velaris will be safe. And we are aiding as many of the females from Illyria and the Hewn City as we can. Rhys may be an arrogant prick, but he is not a complete fool. He will protect his remaining citizens from Koschei – he put himself in this position, not us. He was the one ready to sacrifice them, let him deal with the consequences of those actions. Besides, many may choose to flee regardless of if they come with us or not.”

Your mate sighed, nodding. “You’re right. I just… I keep thinking about Feyre and Elain and the baby. I don’t want anything to do with them, at least not for a long time, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to them.”

“What if we wrote a letter to them?” You offered. “Let them know that should they need it, there will be a place for them at one of the sanctuaries. It doesn’t have to be in Autumn – I am sure Tarquin or Helion would gladly take them in.”

A sad smile came over Nesta’s face. “I’d like that, thank you.”

You knew Nesta’s relationship with her sisters would never be the same after everything that had happened in the last two years. It was a loss she would grieve and carry with her for a while. As much as you didn’t care for the other two Archeron siblings, they, too, had been dragged into the faerie world against their will. Truly, you hoped that one day they’d find happiness and a good home in Prythian, just not with Nesta in the Autumn Court.

Giving Nesta’s hand one last squeeze, you turned towards Zôrzimril and walked over to where Emerie was stroking the beast’s neck. When the dragon saw you approaching, she eagerly dropped her shoulder, extending her wing towards the ground for you to grab onto. So you gently stepped up onto the dragon’s scaling spikes, holding her wing for support and climbing up onto her back. In just a few movements, you settled yourself into the gaps between the horns at the base of Zôrzimril’s neck.

You peered down at Emerie, who went white. “Come on!” You called out in encouragement.

“That’s how you get up?” The Illyrian female baulked, causing you to scoff.

“Did you think we had a ladder or a staircase to get up?”

“Yes, actually!”

“Well time to put those Valkyrie muscles to use and get your ass up here.”

Emerie sighed, muttering to herself but grabbed onto Zôrzimril’s wing shakily. Awkwardly, she managed to scale up the dragon’s shoulder, panting and plopping herself down behind you. “That’s not as easy as you made it look.” She huffed.

You shrugged. “Take’s practice, now clip in.”

Emerie did so, taking the rope that was attached to her belt and clipping it onto the holster that was fitted around Zôrzimril’s nearest horn. You did the same, watching as Athariel spread her mighty silver wings beside you. The beast ran forward and shot into the air with the agility of a cat, and you heard Nesta whoop with delight. She seemed like a speck of dust on the large creature, but you managed to catch a glimpse of her turning her head around to look at you one more time.

Zôrzimril screeched in defiance of being left behind, and you patted her scales. “Volare,” you said to her using the command Eris had taught you. Happy to oblige, the dragon lifted her head, causing Emerie to grasp onto the scales in front of her and curse as she spread her wings and catapulted into the air.

The female behind you let out a yelp, and you lifted your chin to the stars above and sighed deeply, relishing the feeling of climbing higher and higher into the sky. Zôrzimril’s powerful body soared through the clouds, her wings cutting through them like razor sharp blades. 

It was only another minute before your ascent finished and you finally broke free of the clouds, and Zôrzimril angled herself straight once more. She let out a happy screech, dipping her claw down to slice through the clouds below as she flew North. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the view. The moon was bright, illuminating everything in a blue-silver tone. The stars shone brightly even with the light of the moon, twinking as if they were greeting you.

Behind you, Emerie’s breathing had steadied. “Holy shit…” She said with awe.

You turned to face your friend. “A bit different than being carried through the skies by an Illyrian male”

“You have no idea…” Her brown eyes were wide with wonder as they drank in the view of the midnight sky. She stretched her wings as far as they could go, sighing. “I never thought I’d feel the wind on my wings like this.”

Despite the cold night air, your heart warmed at seeing your friend so happy. Carefully, she let go of her ironclad grip on Zôrzimril’s horns, letting her arms stretch out to the side. Straightening her shoulders, she tipped her head back and let out a whoop to the stars. Her voice rang out amongst the clear sky, and her smile did not fade all the way to the Night Court.

**********************

Your legs were numb from flying for so long, even a few hours later as you gathered around a small campfire with Emerie, Tarquin, Viviane, and Kallias. A small unit of guards were stationed nearby, ready to jump into action should things go south. Luckily, Kallias had put up a glamour around the beach, shielding both everyone on land and on the ships just offshore from lingering eyes. The Lord and Lady of Winter each donned their white fur coats that, combined with their pale skin and hair, made them glow under moon high. Tarquin wore a simple blue tunic with a deep V, his white hair braided back out of his chiselled face. While unmistakably powerful beings, they were dressed like they were going to a simple meeting rather than a rescue mission – perhaps as to not frighten the females. No doubt there was armour glamoured somewhere, ready to replace their casual attire at the snap of fingers. 

“They should be here soon,” Emerie muttered, pacing nervously and glancing at the rocky hills in the distance that led to the Illyrian Mountains where the females would be coming from. The steppes began half a mile away from the rocky beach where you stood, the beige and brown shrubbery rustling in the wind eerily. 

At least the mountains had shelter, places to hide from anyone who may try and follow the large groups. But the steppes were out in the open, which made you nervous.

“Give it time,” Tarquin said gently. “This is not a swift moving group of warriors. They are likely burdened with their provisions, as well as children and the sick or elderly.”

“Why can’t we just meet them at the end of the mountain pass and escort them to the beach?” Emerie asked nervously, cracking her knuckles.

“Because we are already in the Night Court’s territory,” Viviane tried to reassure the female, her white hair glowing in the moonlight. “To go farther than this would be considered an invasion.”

“Eris is launching an invasion, why can’t we?” Emerie spoke as if she had not heard half of the Lady of the Winter court’s sentence.

“A false one,” Viviane did not lose her patience as she spoke. “One that is taking place on ship, therefore not encroaching on Rhysand’s borders. Stepping on the beach is easy to overlook, but heading into the Steppes would be an act of war. We have to be cautious.”

Emerie nodded, eyes clouded as she stopped pacing and sat down on a nearby log. You knew your friend’s greatest fear – that only a small group would have made it out of Illyria, leaving hundreds left behind for dead. You prayed that her fears would not come true.

The steady pounding in your head that had started an hour ago began to increase, and you groaned, swaying slightly. The light in your palms that guided the doe you had manifested with your magic and sent deep into the Illyrian Mountains dimmed slightly, but you quickly willed it to strengthen once again. Deep down, you felt thin and stretched from having to extend your magic so far for several hours.

“Are you okay?” Kallias asked, his white brows narrowing with concern. 

You nodded. “Magic is tiring… I haven’t kept it going for this long… ever…” Your voice grew strained and weak, all of your energy focused on keeping that white trail of light going. You hated that you couldn’t even tell if there was anyone following it. All you could do was hope that everyone had made it to the designated escape starting point on time.

“She will not last much longer,” Tarquin muttered to his fellow High Lord. “It may yet be another few hours until the group arrives. I expect we will see them around sunrise at this rate.”

You barely heard Kallias’s response, closing your eyes and taking another deep breath. You could feel Nesta trying to reach you through the mating bond, but didn’t have the energy to respond. You could tell she was already in the Day Court, having succeeded in aiding the escape from the Court of Nightmares. And you wanted to reassure her that you were fine, that all was going well. But you couldn’t. You were swimming in a sea of your own powerful magic, but your body was not equipped to handle the strain.

“Hey, stay with us.” Your eyes snapped open at Viviane’s voice. She had come to stand at your side along with Emerie, an arm around your waist steadily supporting your unstable figure. Her blue eyes were laced with concern and she took in your exhausted form and turned to her husband. “She won’t be able to hold out until sunrise.”

“I can do it…” You muttered, mustering as much determination into your voice as you could. 

“No, you cannot,” Kallias said sternly. “You are not used to wielding magic for this long of a period. It requires extreme focus, especially for something as complicated as this. And you’ve been at it for several hours already, it is taking its toll and sooner or later you will pass out from exhaustion.”

Guilt wracked you, and you fought off tears. You felt like a failure as you whispered, “I’m sorry…” 

“Do not be,” Viviane assured you gently. “This is not a simple matter of setting up a ward or a glamour and leaving it be. You’re guiding a strange new type of magic none of us have seen before through miles of terrain that is unknown to you. Give yourself a break.”

“I can’t… stop…” You protested, vision going in and out. 

“So don’t,” came Tarquin’s voice. “I’ll give you a boost.”

Beside you, Emerie frowned. “A boost?”

You heard stones shift as Tarquin stepped around the fire, coming to stand in front of you. “Yes,” he said. “I can channel some of my magic into her to keep her body strong enough.”

“That’s a thing?” Your Illyrian friend asked.

“It is rarely done, as it is difficult to do, but yes.” Came Tarquin’s reply. 

“Do it…” You spoke up weakly, every syllable dragging out like a heavy stone. All you wanted to do was collapse into a soft bed and sleep for a year. Kallias was right, you couldn’t do this on your own.

“I must warn you, it will feel strange,” Tarquin’s voice sounded, and you felt Viviane and Emerie step away as the High Lord of the Summer Court took your hand that was not glowing with a trail of magic. “My magic is very different from yours, and your first instinct may be to expel it. Refrain from resisting.”

You nodded, opening your eyes and looking up at Tarquin. He nodded, and his hand moved up to your wrist, clamping down. You rotated your arm slightly to do the same, taking a deep breath. The male began to emit a soft glow, the whites of his eyes seeming to brighten and give him an otherworldly quality.

Seconds later, you felt it.

Tarquin’s magic pushed into your body, and you gasped sharply. It was like a tidal wave was being slammed into you, a raging sea coursing through your veins. It felt the complete opposite of Nesta and Eris’s comforting fire, or your own light-filled power. 

Your entire body felt like a riptide, and you could practically taste the salty air of summer on your tongue as your bones vibrated with new magic. You willed yourself to relax, to accept the foreign power being pumped into you. As you did so, your limbs felt stronger. Exhaustion was chased away, and you were finally able to open your eyes. A thin, golden band of magic circled in figure eights between your attached hands, dancing and twisting around each other.

“Thank you,” you whispered to Tarquin.

He nodded. “We must remain linked for the magic to prevail. An hour should give your body enough time to recover and reset.”

With renewed energy, you felt the white light in your free palm glow brighter, urging the Illyrian females out of the mountains.

**********************

The sun was beginning to creep up five hours later, and Tarquin’s boost of magic had vanished a while ago. Viviane was now holding you up once again, your head droopy as you fought to keep that light strong. You felt it was close, which made it easier to hang on.

“They’re approaching,” You said through gasped breaths.

Emerie shot up from where she was sitting, the jerky she was chewing on falling to the ground. “You can feel them?” She asked eagerly.

“No,” you responded as Kallias, Tarquin, and the soldiers perked up. “But my magic feels close, and we have to assume that means they are close as well.”

Tarquin turned to one of his guards. “Winnow to the ships and tell Cresseida we are almost ready to receive the refugees.” He ordered, and the guard disappeared within seconds. 

The hope in Emerie’s eyes as she gazed into the Steppes rekindled some strength within you. You gently pushed yourself off of Viviane, taking a shaky step towards where Emerie was looking.

“What’s that?” Viviane asked, pointing to one of the rocky hills in the distance near the mountains. Both the High Lords joined her where she stood a few feet away from you and Emerie.

A faint, glowing white doe stood upon the hill. Stardust seemed to swirl around its feet as it leapt over the rocks bounding through the plains towards the beach. Everyone held their breath, silence filling the air.

“Come on…” Emerie muttered nervously.

Moments later, a set of wings appeared where the doe was – a female carrying a lit torch. She was so far away, even with your fae eyesight it was hard to tell for sure who it was. But then another one appeared beside her, slightly taller, carrying a large sac.

“Lift the glamour!” Viviane barked at Kallias, who snapped his fingers. The air shimmered for a second before clearing. The doe continued to bound toward you, getting fainter and fainter as you felt the last bit of energy you had controlling your magic slipping.

More and more sets of wings appeared over the rocky hill, the torches going from one to a hundred in minutes. Like an army ready for battle, hundreds and hundreds of winged females stepped down onto the plains. Emerie let out a choked sob from beside you.

“By the Mother…” Tarquin gasped softly. “They made it!”

“There’s so many of them…” Viviane said with awe as more and more torches and winged bodies funnelled out of the mountain pass. Sure enough, through your blurry and exhausted vision, you managed to make out the sight of a swarm of bodies stepping onto the flat stretch, shuffling towards the now glamour-free beach.

As they grew closer and guards scurried about with preparations, you breathed a sigh of relief. And then the world grew dark as you collapsed into Tarquin’s arms with exhaustion. 

**********************

An otherworldly headache pounded against your skull as you blinked open your eyes, the golden sunlight shining into your face too bright to handle. Your entire body felt heavy, like a stone at the bottom of the ocean.  When you groaned, a familiar hand brushed some hair out of your face.

“Why hello there,” came the familiar silky voice of Eris. 

With as much effort as you could, you pried your eyes open and blinked a few times to adjust to the brightness. Eris was seated beside you, leaning against the frame of the bed you were laying in with a book in one hand. He donned a white shirt with a deep v-neck and loose sleeves, paired with light green trousers. His long red hair was braided back, a few strands framing his sharp face. He smiled gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” you mumbled, relaxing into his touch as he continued to stroke your face. “Where am I?”

“One of Helion’s quarters,” Eris said, bringing a cup of water to your lips and coaxing the liquid into your mouth. “You passed out right as the Illyrians arrived, and Tarquin brought you straight here.”

The Illyrians.

You sat up abruptly, ignoring the protest of your tired body. “They made it? The ships got them here safely?”

Eris smiled, nodding. “Yes, my dear. All eight thousand of them.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Eight thousand? How many came from the Hewn City?”

“Five thousand, as to be expected. Many families had already made it to Velaris safely, so there were not as many females as in Illyria left behind.”

The room spun around you with shock. The white marble bookcases across from your bed seemed to sway, and you shook your head. “Wow,” was all you could murmur.

Eris gently pulled you against his chest, kissing your head. “Wow, indeed. I am so proud of you, my dear. You’ve saved the lives of thirteen thousand females today. They know what you did for them, and Nesta has had to practically barricade your door to keep them from barging in here to thank you.”

“Where is Nesta?” You asked.

“She will be here in a few minutes,” Eris replied. “You began to stir half an hour ago, so I sent word to her. She was with the other High Lords helping crunch numbers for which courts are taking which females.”

You sighed with content, the warmth of Eris’s body relaxing you. You turned on your side, wrapping an arm around him and snuggling closer to your mate. “I can’t believe we pulled that off,” you murmured.

Eris cocked his head, setting his book aside on the table. “Why? It was a good plan, and we thought through every possible scenario to ensure its success.”

“How did negotiations with Rhys go?”

Your husband let out a sharp laugh. “Seeing Rhysie is always such a treat,” he chuckled. “He fell for the bait quite easily. We waited for half a day in our ships before the Illyrians descended from the skies and the Darkbringers appeared on the shoreline, all ready for a battle that would not happen. I demanded an audience, and Rhys complied. I talked his ear off for a few hours, and let him whine about the supposed unfairness of all this. It got painfully dull after a while, but I found out something very interesting…”

You perked up, peering up at the male who had a smug look on his face. “What?”

“Rhysand broke his bargain with Koschei. After the baby was born, he travelled to the depths of the lake in which the Death God dwells and declared his intentions to not hold up his end. There was a price to be paid, of course, one I find very symbolic.

“Rhys has relinquished almost all of his power to Koschei. His magic was ripped out of him and fed to the beasts beneath the lake floors like a bone to a dog. He was left with the bare minimum to keep Velaris safe enough, but that’s it. Furthermore, he is required to visit Koschei once a month for a week – a mirror of that very same bargain he made with dear Feyre over a year ago. By doing so, he guaranteed Koschei will not go after Nesta, not with a new plaything at his disposal.”

Your jaw went slack. “Rhys… lost his powers?” You repeated in shock.

Eris didn’t even bother trying to refrain his smile from widening. “Yes. I think it’s justice, personally. I cannot say I feel bad for him in the slightest. It also seems Feyre told him that in the process of breaking the bargain, he had to find a way to keep Nesta alive as well. For all his faults, he will do whatever Feyre asks of him at this point. That is a blessing for us.”

You exhaled shakily. Rhys was one of the most powerful High Lords, now diminished to a regular High Fae male in a small city. There would be no gaining control of Illyria and the Hewn City now with this loss of power, you realised. “I can’t believe this…” You said, still rattled with shock.

Eris rubbed your shoulder. “Anywho, once he told me that story we made some reassurances to each other. Me and Tamlin’s ships departed slowly, giving the armies more time to linger and make sure we had left before returning home to find almost half of their population gone. The distraction worked perfectly, I am sure they are in a tizzy about it as we speak.”

Before you could answer, the door to your guest chambers swung open to reveal Nesta. Her hair was in a singular braid, hanging across her shoulder. She wore a shining gold dress that was carefully draped over one shoulder, the fabric hanging loosely across her chest. Your eyes popped open, and Eris laughed beside you.

“I have never seen you wear something like this before,” he chuckled.

Rolling her eyes, Nesta closed the door behind her and came over to sit on your other side. “Oh, please,” she snapped. “Helion picked it out personally. I couldn’t not wear it, it’s his court after all.”

“I’m not complaining,” you insisted as Nesta gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“He is a relentless flirt,” Eris said, amused. “But one with good taste.”

You sighed as Nesta rubbed your back, despite her death glare she sent at Eris. The three of you sat in silence for a few minutes, happy to be back in each other’s company. With your mates by your side, the weariness you had felt began to diminish. 

“I want to see the females,” you said. “I want to make sure they’re okay.”

“Emerie is taking good care of them and the dragons are guarding the borders,” Nesta said gently. “You need to rest.”

You shook your head, sitting up and peeling the soft duvet off. You crawled over Eris’s legs, unsteadily placing your feet on the white marble ground. 

“Take it easy,” Eris chided, holding your elbow. “Your body is exhausted. You can see them tomorrow.”

“No,” you said sharply, standing up like a newborn deer and heading over to the closet in the corner. “After everything we’ve done to see this through, I need to see them with my own eyes.”

Nesta and Eris exchanged a glance, but didn’t protest. You ignored them and grabbed the white dress Helion had hung up in there for you, peeling off your nightgown. You pulled the soft fabric on, tying the gold belt around your waist. “Where are they staying right now?” You asked.

“Many are in the main hall,” Eris replied, standing up. “Others are in temporary camps set up across the fields. I believe those residing in the main hall are currently at dinner.”

“Great,” you said, holding out your hand. “Take me there, please.”

“As you wish,” Nesta said, taking your other arm while Eris grasped your extended hand. 

After ten minutes of meandering through Helion’s royal hallways, you came to the dinner room, passing through the white columns at the entrance. 

Your jaw nearly dropped. Hundreds of females sat at tables or on comfortable floor mats, hearty soups in hand as they chatted quietly amongst themselves. A group of musicians played in the corner, the gentle tune echoing in the grand chamber. Dozens of eyes turned towards you as Eris and Nesta led you through the crowd towards the table at the front, where Emerie, Tamlin, Lucien, Helion, Thesan, Tarquin, Cresseida, Kallias, and Viviane were seated. Gwyn and Azriel sat at the end, partially hidden in the shadows. When your friend saw you, she smiled brightly and waved. You breathed a sigh of relief, seeing her safe after everything she had done.

Lucien stood up, coming around the front of the table to greet you. His eye gleamed with pride as he opened his arms. “Come here, you,” he said cheerfully.

Peeling away from your mates, you lept into Lucien’s arms, hugging him tightly. Your friend chuckled, squeezing you reassuringly. “Glad you made it out okay,” he said.

“You too,” you replied, pulling away and smiling at him. “We did it. We really did it.”

“I told you, you’d make a good High Lady,” came a familiar gruff voice. Tamlin had risen as well, approaching behind Lucien and offering you a small smile. “We are all very proud.”

“Thank you, Tam.” You said gratefully. His large hand patted you on the back before returning to his place at the table. 

Nesta gently grabbed your hand. “Come, you must eat.” She guided you towards one of the three empty chairs at the centre of the long table. It was covered in various fruits, roasted vegetables with sauces, and about ten different kinds of meat. Your mouth watered as you realised how hungry you were.

On the way, you stopped beside Gwyn and Azriel, leaning down to hug your friend. “Thank goodness you’re okay,” you murmured into Gwyn’s shoulder.

“Ye of little faith,” she said sarcastically “I was fine. All I did was chat up some priestesses, they were the ones who mostly spread the word. I was safe and sound.”

You pulled away. “Come join us at our end of the table!”

The priestess shook her head. “I’m okay here, it’s too crowded over there.”

“You mean you want to just sit here and ogle Azriel,” Nesta singsonged with a gleam in her eyes.

Gwyn’s face went red, and to your surprise, Azriel flushed slightly as well. “Shut the fuck up,” she snapped at Nesta playfully, shifting in her seat.

“It’s okay, Gwyn,” Eris piped up, winking at the shadowsinger, who seemed like he wanted to bury himself alive. “He is quite pretty to look at. But should you change your mind and like to join us, let us know.”

You laughed, Gwyn’s muttering and cussing you out as you, Nesta, and Eris took your seats at the table. As you dove into the plate of food in front of you, you tuned into the lively sounds of the room while Nesta and Eris began chatting with Helion. 

Many of the females kept glancing at you, some offering smiles or nods before returning to their company. Some were huddled in the corner, eyes wary as they consistently scanned their surroundings. You wondered how many females had similar stories to Emerie, or to Morrigan. How many had suffered for years and accepted it because they believed that is how things would always be? How many had been spared future suffering because of their escape?

As you downed your goblet of wine, you reminisced on that day in the House of Wind last year when you had first started your plan to flee the Night Court and seek revenge on its leaders. Never did you think that it would go this far, that you would accomplish this much. All you had wanted was to be free and be able to make your own choices. And now it led to seeking that same outcome for thousands of others.

Rhys could never hurt you again. Those painful images of that cruel, dark mist lashing your bare skin over and over again would fade into distant memory eventually, with no fear of it ever happening again. He couldn’t lock you or Nesta up, or threaten you. No, you both had more power than him now by a long measure. You were finally free from his grasp.

A year ago you had been angry at Feyre, too. Part of you still was, and delighted in the karmic justice of destroying part of her court in retribution. But you hoped for her sake, that she would accept the help offered in the letter Nesta had planned to send. For a moment, you wondered if Feyre would still be who she was now if she hadn’t met Rhys.

“What are you thinking about?” Eris asked you, leaving Nesta to argue with Helion herself.

His amber eyes were soft and kind, the cruel mask that he had plastered on for so many centuries cracked and slipped away. The world could see Eris for who he truly was not, not just as Beron’s firstborn son. 

You smiled. “How I can’t wait for everything here to be sorted so we can go home.”

“Me too, my dear, me too.” He squeezed your hand and surveyed the room again. “You have accomplished what many in the likes of my father deemed impossible. Now even the most stubborn fae realise that things can change fast if they will it so. That is a very good thing.”

“Yes, it is.”

The road ahead would not be without challenge. Settling thirteen thousand females into six courts would be a process, and there would surely be setbacks along the way. But after a year of being tortured, beaten, sneaking around and scheming, you were ready for some normal problems.

“Eris?” You said.

He turned to face you once again. “Yes?”

“I love you. And thank you, for everything you’ve done. None of this would have been possible if you hadn’t agreed to help me last year.”

The High Lord of the Autumn Court laughed, kissing your cheek gently. “It is I who should be thanking you. Both of you. You freed me from the prison of my old life. And not just me, but thousands of others. I intend on spending eternity thanking you for it.”

So you laced one hand in Eris’s, and the other in Nesta’s as they both looked at you with so much love in their eyes you were sure you would explode. As much as you liked the Day Court, you yearned to be back in Autumn where you belonged, under the bright trees and wandering the forest paths. As if echoing your thoughts, Zôrzimril’s call echoed on the wind like an ancient song.

And so the yellow rays of sunshine morphed into orange and red, and the sun began to set. You felt a faint brush of a hand on your shoulder, and a familiar, ethereal voice sounded in your ear barely above a whisper.

Well done, my child.

As the sun finally disappeared behind the mountains, the echoing voice faded with it. 

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