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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

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Stars all aligned - Chapter 6

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

It took Zahra a few minutes to realise she wasn't dreaming.

She could smell the scent of cedar and mist...so familiar, yet so new. It was so nice, so comforting, that she wanted to wrap herself up in it.

Slowly, her aching body and tired mind came back into focus, and she felt an arm wrapped around her, holding her against a broad, scarred chest.

Azriel .

Azriel was here. Holding her. She was cuddled up against his side, tucked into him with her head resting on his chest.

She could feel the thrum of his heart beating against her ear, steady and strong.

And she could also…she could also feel the leathery skin of his wing wrapped around her.

His hand was trailing over her hair, stroking lightly, and she found herself melting into his touch. Pressing further into his chest.

His skin was so warm…safe. She could have stayed there forever.

“You're awake,” Azriel’s voice murmured lazily, and for a second, she thought she must be dreaming again. His voice was so gentle, his touch so comforting….it had to be a dream, right? That this was somehow all just wishful thinking and her mind playing tricks on her?

He deserved better than her. He deserved somebody that could be with him fully and not somebody who wanted to throw up at the thought of sex.

He deserved somebody that could give him a child.

She felt her heart clench a little at that thought.

He deserved somebody who could return this bond the way it was supposed to be returned...not someone broken and scarred and wrong like she was. He deserved someone kind and loving and everything that she wasn’t.

And yet he was there, even now. Holding her close like she was something precious, as though she mattered. Treating her as though she was something important .

She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve his kindness or his care or whatever this feeling in her chest was.

“Are you in pain?” He asked her softly. “If you are, Madja left some vials of pain potion….and if you are hungry, there is Porridge on the stove. I even found honey for it,” Azriel told her softly, brushing a kiss against her forehead.

She could feel her heart skip at the kiss against her forehead. It was...intimate. So warm and soft...

She could have cried at the thought that this felt so safe. So good. That it made warmth spread through her stomach, that it made her feel so comfortable and loved….

Which was silly. A kiss on the forehead didn’t mean any of those things.

“How can you even stand to look at me?” She choked out. How could he…How could…

“Why wouldn't I like looking at you?” Azriel asked, his voice still so soft. So gentle.

His hand continued to stroke Zahra’s hair, as the other hand rubbed small circles on her lower back. Comforting, soothing motions that she felt herself leaning into, against her will.

His hand stopped stroking her hair, but only to cup her chin, to lift her head gently so that she would be looking up at him, if she opened her eyes. But she couldn’t

Zahra couldn’t.

So instead she felt the tears bite in her eyes. “Why would I not want to look at you?” he repeated.

“Because you deserve something better than damaged goods,” Zahra choked out, unable to open her eyes and look at him. Somebody that could be with him properly. Somebody that…

“You are not damaged goods,” Azriel said sharply, and his voice was so firm that it startled her.

His hand moved from her chin to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing against her skin so gently that it sent a shiver over her. “None of what has happened to you is your fault,” he continued, and his fingers were still stroking her cheek, as though he was trying to soothe her. His voice was gentle. “You are not damaged . You are not broken. You are not ‘goods’ . You’re a person . My mate .”

And still…

“I won’t be able to give you a child,” Zahra whispered.

He sighed. She expected him to pull back but he didn’t.

“Fae children are rare anyway” he said softly. “And even if you would be able to become pregnant, what about the risk it poses to you?” Azriel said softly. “If the child inherited my wings, you would both die. We saw that with Feyre and Nyx. So even if you could…that wouldn’t be a risk I would be willing to take anyway.”

Her eyes opened and she couldn't do anything but stare at him. That...Azriel couldn't possibly mean that.

He was so casual about it, as though having a child wasn't something he really cared about. As though her ability to have his children wouldn't matter to him.

A part of her chest ached at the very idea. At the thought that he might give up something so precious for her.

“You are more important to me than some hypothetical child,” Azriel said firmly.

“And what if you want…a family down the line?” She asked him quietly. “We have eternity. And you want to tell me that you’ll never regret it?”

“Having a child isn’t the only way to have a family,” Azriel countered easily. He was still gently stroking her face, his hand moving across her cheek, over the arch of her eyebrow, across her jaw. As though he couldn't stop touching her, as though he didn’t want to stop touching. “There are plenty of other ways,” he continued, his thumb drawing soft lines across her cheek. “If that is something that we decide we want. Adopting, for a start. Or fostering. The Night Court is full of orphans...there are more ways to have a family than having a child, Sunshine.”

She found herself staring at him, her chest aching and her head swirling.

He was willing to do all of it for her. To give up having a child of his own, even if she could, just to keep her safe.

Azriel was willing to overlook every fault and flaw and broken part….willing to treat her gently, like she was something precious . He was willing to be with her, even though she wouldn’t be able to give him anything in return.

And it was too much. It broke her a little bit.

“What if I never want to have sex with you?” She whispered. What if she never could…what if…what if everytime they would try it would feel like it did then?

“That is entirely up to you,” Azriel said firmly. “And if you never want to, that is also entirely alright. I would never push you for more than you are willing to give.”

He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was the most natural thing to just…accept that she might never be able to do the absolute basics of a relationship with him. That she would never be able to even… That she might never be the type of mate he deserved. The idea made her heart ache.

“How can you say that?!” Zahra asked him.

He was still staring down at her with such softness in his eyes. “Because it’s true. You’re my mate. Nothing would make me happier than having you in my life. Even if that means never having sex again.” he said firmly. “I have two functioning hands. I can make do,” he said with a shrug. “I had enough meaningless flings to last a lifetime. They don’t really do anything for me,” Azriel admitted drily.

His words shocked her to the core.

He was so…blase about it. So casual. As though giving up sex and children just for her was no big deal. Nothing important. Nothing he’d miss.

Wasn’t sex what every male wanted?

As though he was truly just as happy to be with her without ever once touching her.

“I don’t understand..” she whispered, her voice choked. “I don’t….how are you so willing to give up so much?”

“I’m giving up nothing,” Azriel said firmly. “I’m would be gaining something. I would gain you. That alone is more than I could ever ask for.”

His hand was still stroking her cheek, and it took all her willpower not to start to cry at the words.

Because he couldn’t mean it. Just as he couldn’t want to give up having children, he couldn’t mean that he was gaining something from being with her.

She was a broken, shattered person. Nothing about this was something he had to ‘gain’. It was something he should be running from. But his eyes were so open and sincere, and she knew he believed it. Knew that it would be useless to argue against his words.

“It’s the truth,” he said, and his voice was still so gentle. “Losing meaningless flings isn’t a loss, not when I gain you. Having a child doesn’t matter when I gained my mate,” he repeated, as though he was trying to make her believe. “Even if you never want to touch me…I’d prefer just sleeping in the same bed with you, being with you than having meaningless sex,” he said softly.

His thumb was trailing over her face in soft, smooth motions. As though he was trying to soothe her. Reassure her.

“And having a child would be great. A wonderful thing. But if there’s any risk of you getting hurt, I don’t want it. A family isn’t worth risking you,” he told her firmly.

His voice was so gentle. So firm. “You’re important. More important than any hypothetical child ever could be. And I will take care of you. I will always take care of you, even if you never want to touch me.”

A lump formed in her throat at his words.

The knowledge that he meant them. The knowledge that he really didn't mind not having sex and not having a child, if that meant he could keep her .

He was willing to give those things up for her. Without hesitation.

Her heart ached at how sincere he was. At the sheer, utter adoration she could see in his face.

So with a shaky hand she reached out for him.

HIt was almost like he hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t expected her to try to initiate physical contact with him. Even though she knew how stupid that notion was.

She found herself swallowing, as she rested her fingertips against the warmth of his chest. Felt the solid expanse of his muscles. His warmth. His heart beating strongly against her touch. He didn’t move away. Didn’t even hesitate.

And she felt his warm skin, stretched over solid muscles…the dark ink that decorated his chest in swirls and patterns…the scars that littered his chest like constellations of stars.

“You’ve been the first friend I ever had,” Zahra said softly.

Azriel’s hand, that had been slowly stroking her face, stilled at her words.His eyes widened slightly, and she could see the surprise in them.

Her words had clearly caught him off guard. A part of her heart ached at that look. At all of the implications behind it. She could see the flicker of shock in his eyes. The slight furrow between his eyebrows. His utter stillness.

“And if we are mates….I am so grateful it’s you.” She whispered. “I still think you could do better than me but if you want to try…us…I am willing to.”

There was a beat of silence after her words.

She could see Azriel staring at her. Taking in her words, as disbelief and surprise swirled through his eyes.

But slowly, his eyes softened. And that strange look of shock melted away. His expression became almost…hopeful.

“You would?” He asked her softly, and he was staring at her with a look in his eyes. A mixture of relief and hope and yearning that made her heart ache.

She had to force herself to not look away.

Had to force herself to nod. To face that hope, and that yearning and that desire.

Because he was staring at her as though he was barely able to believe it. As though he was just realising that she really was consenting this.

His expression softened as she nodded.

She could see the relief in his face, in the way the tension in his shoulders disappeared.

He exhaled slowly, as though he had been holding his breath. “Really?” he whispered, as though he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes,” she found herself whispering.

It felt like her heart was in her throat. Like her chest was so tight it would burst.

She still couldn’t fully believe what she was saying.

That they were really doing this. That they were really going to… try.

But she didn’t see any reason to not try.

She didn’t see a reason to not give him a chance.

“Yes,” she repeated, and her voice was firmer this time. “If you really think you can put up with me for that long…” she said, and she tried to make a joke, even though her voice was hoarse.

He huffed out a laugh. “I could easily put up with you for eternity,” Azriel told her, and he sounded so fond that her heart gave a strange little twist.

“Even if I’m broken and scarred and messed up?” She asked him, but it wasn’t a joke. She was genuinely asking. Could he keep putting up with her?

He stared down at her, a firm, determined look in his eyes. “I like you exactly as you are,” he told her firmly. “Everything you are. All your flaws and scars and broken parts.”

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes at his words.

Her heart aching and twisting at the thought that Azriel was really, really telling the truth. That he didn’t mind the broken pieces, but wanted her. All of her.

"They are not going to like it," she whispered. Zahra didn't for one moment think that Nesta, who clearly counted Azriel as one of her friends, was going to be pleased by this.

She saw Azriel’s features tighten, as though he’d understood exactly what she’d meant.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his hand now resting against her cheek. His touch was warm and gentle against her skin. “But they don’t matter. This is between us, not them.”“This is our relationship, not theirs,” Azriel continued, and he was staring down at her with such conviction in his eyes. “They might not like it, but I don’t care what they say. It’s not about them.”

She wished it was that easy. It must have been obvious on her face.

"Who are you worried about the most?" Azriel asked her softly.

"Nesta," Zahra admitted weakly. She saw Azriel’s expression tighten.

"Let me deal with them," Azriel requested, his voice even.

She felt her heart skip a beat.

“No,” she protested immediately. “I won’t have you arguing with your family because of me.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care what arguments it takes to make them understand,” he disagreed sharply. “I won’t have them disrespecting you.”

She found herself blinking. Staring up at him, at the firmness in his voice. At the determination in his eyes. He was really willing to deal with any argument. Any fight.

He was willing to stand against his family, against their family, for her.

His thumb smoothed over her cheek. "Let me deal with them," Azriel repeated fiercely. "I am over their constant disrespect to you. I am over you being ignored. I am fucking done, Zahra." Her chest ached as she saw the fierceness in his eyes.

The determination.

She was so tired. So exhausted of it all.

Zahra didn't want to deal with her sisters. She didn't want to even think about them. Not right now.... Maybe she could just...

"Okay," Zahra agreed, weakly, curling back against his chest.

She could practically feel the way Azriel’s heart thumped at her word.

“You promise?” he asked her softly. “You’ll let me deal with your sister for you?”

“I promise,” she found herself whispering, and a small part of her heart was screaming at her that she was being weak. That she could deal with her own family.

But she simply did not want to.

Azriel exhaled softly, clearly relieved.

He pulled her closer to him, his hold on her tightening. “Good,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to worry about any of them. I’ll deal with it all.”

And she let him.

For once in her life she let somebody else shoulder all of it.

She let Azriel hold her close, let him brush a hand through her hair and press a kiss against her forehead.

She let him give her porridge to eat, let him hold her through the worst of her cramps and bleeding...let him hum her to sleep...When he needed to give her medication, he was gentle and careful. Made sure to hold her close, to soothe the pain with his touch.

A part of her insisted she was too broken. Too worthless. But Azriel treated her as though she was a treasure.

As though she was someone important. Someone worthy.

He held her through the worst of it, and his hands and his voice and his touch soothed her.

It was a few days into it, when there was a knock at the door that startled Zahra.

“It’s Violet,“ Azriel answered her unspoken question, the shadows dancing around the room.

They had been even worse than their Master at doting on her. Zahra couldn’t move an inch, without one tendril of shadows jumping to be at her beg and call, fluffing her pillows and rightening her blankets… fetching her glass from the sidetable, holding a book for her and turning the pages…it was as ridiculous as it was endearing.

They seemed nearly shy sometimes, when she reached out to touch them, twining themselves through her fingers near hesitantly.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax.

This was just Violet…Violet. The owner of the apothecary she did the accounts for.

The exact opposite of him in every way. From the tips of her purple hair to the majestic butterfly wings sprouting from her back.

Zahra found her lips cracking into a small smile despite herself. Violet was…unusual, to say the least. She was loud and boisterous and spoke her mind. But she was kind.

She had given Zahra a job without a second thought, handing over her…interesting bookkeeping system without a second thought.

She was kind, and she was loud and she never once failed to brighten anybody’s day. It was hard not to feel cheered up with Violet, and Zahra had grown strangely fond of her…but that still didn’t explain from where Azriel knew her.

“You know her?” Zahra asked a triel surprised as Azriel moved from the bed.

“She makes the salve for my hands,“ Azriel said simply.

It made more sense in hindsight. Violet was an herbalist. She specialised in salves and potions and medicines. Azriel moved to the front door and Zahra clenched her teeth as she levered herself off the bed and into her dressing gown, the shadows fluffed out for her.

She felt weak, and her back protested as she moved. Her abdomen ached from the cramps and the pain, but she forced herself to get up and shuffle through to the living room. Azriel had answered the door, and she could hear Violet chattering away at him.

Zahra caught the tail end of the conversation as she shuffled through to the living room, finding Azriel holding the door open and Violet staring around the living room with an appraising eye.

“You look horrible .” Violet greeted her drily and Zahra could just snort.

“Thanks,” she gave back drily, but then Violet had already darted into the living room, her lips cracking into a wide smile, a small bottle held out for Zahra.

“You look like you’ve been through the mill and back, sweetie. But here,” she said, holding out the bottle. “This’ll help with the pain. It should at least take the edge off. Alternatively, I made you a version so strong that it’s going to knock you out. Though I would prefer it if you would only take it when another person is in the house. It leaves you…defenseless,“ Violet said.

“Oh, that’s not-”

Zahra started to protest, but Violet’s smile had become firm. “No buts, sweetie. You have *nothing * to be ashamed about. Taking a potion isn’t going to make you weak or less than the others,” Violet protested firmly. “You do not have to hurt. Ever. And if anyone says otherwise they’ll get a kick to the balls.”

Zahra found herself cracking a smile, besides herself.

Of course Violet was saying that. After all, the woman had little regard for what people thought of her or the things they said. She was too busy doing what she thought was right to care.

“Come on, let’s get you back into bed. You look about ready to keel over,“ violet murmured softly, an arm coming around Zahra‘s shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she protested weakly, but Violet wasn’t having any of it. She was already getting shoved back towards the bedroom, and her attempts at protesting or stopping were futile.

“Just get your ass back in bed, sweetie.”

Zahra found herself getting herded back into bed, a blanket being draped over her as Violet fussed.

She wanted to protest, to complain that she wasn’t a child and she could handle herself. But Violet had no tolerance for her protests, and the woman had shoved her back into bed before she could argue.

“Madja…Madja didn’t tell me what exactly happened to you but…But i am old enough that I can read between the lines,“ Violet said softly, as she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

A lump formed in Zahra’s throat at the woman’s words. Of course, Violet had been able to read between the lines. That woman had a habit of paying too much attention, and of reading the subtext.

Zahra averted her gaze.

“I did it willingly,” she protested, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

“There is a myriad of shades between willing and wanting ,” Violet said drily. “You aren’t the only one something like that happened to, Zahra,“ she said, her voice softening. “We have…There is this group that meets a few time a months.”

A group?

She felt her eyes widen, and her mind was already reaching for every implication of those few words.

The thought that there were other people who…who had been through something like this…something similiar... Others who had gone through the same things.

Zahra found her breathing hitching, a lump forming in her throat.

“You would be welcome. If you wanted to,” Violet said softly, looking at her with wide dark eyes. “No pressure, But the door is always open.”

She could only nod at the woman’s words.

A strange mix of terror and relief swirling through her head.

That there was a…that there was a group.

That there were others. She wasn’t alone.

“Thank you.“

There was a beat of silence, and then Violet was cracking a reassuring smile.

“We take care of our own,” the woman said firmly. “And you’re one of us now, sweetie.”

“And…If you ever have a really bad day…If Azriel isn’t enough…come to me,“ Violet said fiercely. “I know how comforting a mate can be…but sometimes you’ll want an outside opinion.“

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes at the woman’s words.

The understanding in her eyes. The acknowledgement that whilst Azriel was the one she was drawn to, sometimes she would want someone else.

She was too emotional right now. Too raw from everything to actually speak, so she simply nodded mutely.

“I had a friend that told me the exact same thing when I was in your place and the only thing she ever asked of me was to pay it forward if I ever had the opportunity. So this is my opportunity. If you have a bad day…come find me.”

A weak smile found its way onto Zahra’s mouth. “I will,” she whispered. “And…thank you.”

The words felt wholly inadequate.

She had never had anyone offer something like this to her, and the fact that Violet was doing so so easily was staggering.

***

“Where’s Az?” Cassian wondered aloud as he entered the Dining Room of the River House.

He had been nowhere to be seen for days…had even let Cassian deal with the Priestesses all on his own, which had resulted in sad sighs all around.

That bastard didn’t even seem to notice the wide eyed stares and dreamy sighs that followed him every training session.

A few centuries ago it would have annoyed Cassian to no end that Azriel didn’t even seem to do anything and still have females fall at his feet.

Maybe it were the shadows…

Still…Azriel was late. Which, Cassian had to admit, was unusual for him.

And Azriel had also been oddly quiet for the last week or so. Even for the Shadowsinger, that was unusual. Azriel was never one for being social, but even he would come and spend time with the rest of them.

But in the past week? Nothing .

“He’s otherwise occupied,” Rhys said carefully.

A small frown creased Cassian’s features at his brother’s words.

“Occupied?” Cassian repeated. “That’s a vague answer, even by your standards.”

Mission? he asked Rhys mentally.

No, Rhys immediately replied, his voice quiet in Cassian’s mind. He’s not on a mission…he’s..he’s with someone.

Az got a girl? Cassian asked with a mental chortle. It wasn’t unusual exactly…though Azriel was very well known for keeping his…romantic pursuits private.

Az found his mate, Rhys corrected him.

“No way!” Cassian blurted out. “Don’t fuck with me, Rhys!”

"You know, it's horrible impolite to have a conversation like that," Mor drawled drily.

"Maybe you should share with us," Feyre agreed with a smirk.

"Azriel apparently found his mate," Cassian brought out, still staring at Rhys.

Rhys could only raise his hands, a small smirk on his lips. "I'm not pulling your leg," he replied. "Azriel has found his Mate."

“He…he what?” he heard Mor blurt out.

"I won't believe it until I see it," Amren said with a snort.

"You’re not the only one," Nesta muttered, a look of disbelief on her face.

"Who is it?" Feyre asked immediately.

"Do we know her?" Elain chimed in.

All eyes seemed to turn towards Rhys, who just shook his head.

“For once I’m in the dark just as much as you are,” he said quietly. “He’s being very…very…careful with whoever it is.”

“Why?” Cassian couldn’t help asking.

It seemed odd that Azriel would be so…secretive about all of this. But then maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Azriel was notoriously private about the females he bedded. It probably shouldn't surprise Cassian that Azriel was so private and careful about his mate.

But he couldn't help the small prick of hurt. That Azriel didn't tell him about having found his mate, that he didn't bring her to dinner…

An awkward silence filled the room at Cassian’s question.

None of them had an answer for his question…other than Rhys, and it was clear he didn’t want to answer.

There was a tense silence, and Feyre was the one to eventually break it. "...How…how long has he known?" she wondered aloud, her head tilted slightly.

"Feyre Darling, the only thing I know is that Azriel woke me up with yanking at our mental tether and then he literally told me that, I met my mate. I figured you would like to know that. I’ll take the rest of the week off. You’ll have my reports on your desk come tomorrow." Rhys said drily. "Since then, there has only been silence."

Mor let out a snort at that. "That's Azriel for you," Mor said, a wry note in her voice. "He decides to announce he's found his mate…and just goes and runs off with the girl as if it's the most normal thing in the world."

"At least that explains why he hasn't been at training," Emerie said with a sigh. "He has been greatly missed by Roslin and Ilana."

A snort of laughter left Cassian at Emerie’s words. A wide grin split his face at the memory of the Priestesses swooning all over the Shadowsinger.

"Those two are head over heels for him, aren't they?" he said, a smirk on his face.

"Head over heels doesn't even begin to cover it," Nesta said, an amused smile on her face. "He walks into the training ring and they can barely even keep themselves upright."

"Seems like his mate got some strong competition, whoever it is," Cassian said with a snort. "Who do you think she is?" he asked aloud.

What kind of female would the mother think would be a perfect match for Azriel?

"Probably someone quiet," Elain immediately interjected. "You know how Azriel is…He's all shadows and stealth."

Cassian nearly grimaced as he thought about Azriel's centuries-long crush on Mor. She was everything but quiet.

"He's never shown interest in the…shyly blushing, swooning, fainting type we all know he gets a lot from," Rhys agreed. A snort of laughter escaped Feyre at Rhys' words.

"He may have changed his mind about the type of girl he likes, now that he's found his mate,” Feyre protested.

"The mating bond is a funny sort of thing," Emerie said, a small smile on her lips. "Sometimes it's exactly the person you’d expect…sometimes it’s the exact opposite."

Cassian couldn’t help smiling at the words. He had never expected to find Nesta…but he couldn’t be happier about it.

A feeling of warmth and anticipation filled his chest at the idea of Azriel finally finding someone to call his own. He knew his brother…he knew how much Azriel longed for a mate, a family, someone to call his own…

He knew how…how difficult it had been for Azriel to watch Rhys and Feyre, and then him and Nesta, mate. How the Shadowsinger had pushed down the longing, the want, the desire, and instead had focused on helping everyone else…

"That's all of us then, isn't it?" Elain asked questioningly. "We all found our mates."

“Zahra hasn’t,” Feyre piped up.

It took an embarrassingly long time for the name to register, and when it did, Cassian couldn’t help the surprised look that dawned on his face.

Right. Zahra hadn't found her mate.

Was he an asshole for forgetting that she actually existed?

She was so…quiet. Happy in the background…never did anything that gave any of them any trouble.

"Where is she by the way?" he wondered aloud, staring around the Dining Room. Zahra was nowhere to be seen.

Normally she always showed up for family dinner. Granted, she spent most of it quietly sitting next to Azriel, occasionally making the effort to try and join in on conversation with the rest of them…but she was…she was almost always here.

A beat of silence filled the room, and Cassian couldn’t help the feeling of unease that filled his stomach.

"She's probably just busy," Feyre waved him off.

"Good Riddance," Nesta muttered under her breath.

Cassian grimaced at that. While Nesta’s relationship with Feyre and Elain had gotten better…her and Zahra were still…at odds.

"Would you stop that?" Feyre asked her with a sigh. "She hasn't done anything to you, Nesta"

"It's her existence that's enough," Nesta sniped back.

Cassian couldn't help the sharp trickle of something inside his chest.

"She didn't pick to be born," Cassian snapped at his mate. “She didn’t chose to be a bastard. You can give your father the fault for her existence."

Nesta’s silver eyes stared at him. "That's not my problem with her," Nesta said tightly.

"Then what is?" Feyre demanded.

No response came from Nesta, but a heavy silence fell over the room.

“She had an affair with that apothecary,” Elain blurted out.

The words fell like stones in the quiet dining room.

A moment of stunned silence filled the room at Elain’s words, and Cassian couldn’t help the feeling of shock that filled his chest.

"Excuse me…she WHAT?!" Feyre demanded hotly, staring at Elain.

Elain flinched back in her chair, hunching her shoulders with the sudden onslaught of everyone’s gazes on her.

But she continued on, even as a look of disdain filled her face. "She had an affair with the apothecary," Elain said, a note of irritation in her voice. "When we were at the cottage…He had a wife and children…and she had an affair with him that went on for years ."

A feeling of shock filled his chest, and judging by the looks on the others' faces…they were just as shocked as he was.

He’d always thought that Zahra had a strange air about her…but he’d never expected her to have…to have done something like that. He couldn't...He couldn't see that. For the life of him, he couldn't see it.

She was so quiet. She was so…she had never seemed interested in any male whatsoever. Rather the exact opposite. Shy…nearly skittish.

“There is no way she would have done that..” Feyre blurted. The words were almost desperate, and a look of disbelief filled her face.

“Why not?” a hard look on Nesta’s face. “There are plenty of women who have no issue being with married men.”

“Not her,” Feyre protested vehemently. “I know her. She wouldn’t… she wouldn't have taken that risk," Feyre said carefully, her face ashen. "She would have never taken the risk to...have a bastard-born child herself."

"Perhaps she thought the risks were worth the reward," Nesta said bluntly, a sneer on her face. "Maybe she liked the idea of being someone's dirty little secret."

"Or maybe, just maybe, she wasn't exactly willing," Emerie said tightly. "She wouldn't be the first female to have an affair with a well-off man for one reason or another.”

Silence met Emerie’s words.

A heavy, quiet, tense silence, that fell like stones in the dining room.

Silence, and a look of shock on the other females’ faces.

Cassian could only stare mutely.

He’d never even considered that…had never thought the idea that...that Zahra had…he couldn’t even form the words in his head, let alone say them aloud.

"I…" Feyre began, her voice faltering.

Cassian felt sick to the stomach at the idea. He knew…he knew that, objectively, it was possible. That it happened…that sometimes females had no choice but to…to do what they had to. And he knew that it wasn't…it wasn't Zahra's fault, if that was the case. If she’d been forced, coerced, manipulated into an affair…

"Or maybe she really just had an affair with a married male," Mor disagreed with her mate. "She definitely wouldn’t be the first female who did that either."

"Yeah, well, without actually talking to her, you probably won't find out," Emerie said drily.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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thenerdykneazle · 10 months ago

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Her Touch

Summary: Ominis had never been fond of being touched. Or, at least, he had few positive experiences with it. That changed with the arrival of the new fifth-year.

Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Warnings: 18+ (only very mild spice here but I do want to do a time jumped part 2 that would be explicit), mentions of Ominis's abusive family, touch-starved Ominis

Word count: 3004

The first time you touched Ominis, he hadn’t been expecting it. It was in the Scriptorium, after he had commanded the door to open in Parseltongue. You had excitedly grabbed his shoulders as you said, “Ominis! You possess a rare ability, indeed!”

He had jumped at the sudden contact. Though, fortunately, you hadn’t seemed to notice. Your attention was quickly monopolised by Sebastian. Ominis was glad for it, as he wouldn’t have wanted to offend you, especially after his outburst at you outside the Undercroft. He still marvelled at how understanding you had been – how quickly you had forgiven him. He wasn’t used to such mercy. Certainly not from his family, and even Sebastian had a tendency to hold a grudge. Ominis definitely did.

Down in the Scriptorium, it had caught him off guard when you grabbed him, as he couldn’t see it coming. Besides, he didn’t generally like being touched. He hadn’t had many positive instances of others being in his personal space.

Most often, it involved accidentally bumping into other students. Other times, it was someone grabbing him to lead him off somewhere without bothering to get his permission first. Growing up, it had included a lot of being dragged by his ear by his mother or his older brother shoving him out of his way. The consequence of all of it was that Ominis did not associate being touched with positive experiences. They were jarring, often painful encounters.

However, already by the second time you touched him, it was different. Still in the Scriptorium, you had rested your hand on his arm as you told him you had found his Aunt Noctua’s remains. You didn’t grab his forearm; you just rested your hand gently on it. Not even your whole hand – just the tips of your fingers, really. It was a whisper of a touch, but you let it linger there. It was oddly comforting – like you were trying to communicate that he wasn’t alone. It kept him grounded to reality as he reckoned with the fact that his aunt truly was gone.

The third touch was when you agreed to tell Ominis if Sebastian was going to pursue dark magic further. You’d rested a hand on his shoulder as you vowed to tell him. He could tell you were sincere in your promise from your steady hand. That was verified when he received your owl alerting him that Sebastian had gone to the catacombs in search of Slytherin’s relic.

Though he always tried to take note, Ominis couldn’t remember every time you touched him. As your friendship grew, he quickly found out that you were what Sebastian called a “touchy-feely type.” You would hug him hello and goodbye, often multiple times a day. At first, you’d just sling one arm behind his back with your sides pressed together. After several months, you would wrap both arms around him as you held him chest-to-chest. Those hugs always left his face warm and his heart beating faster.

You also started to rest your head on his shoulder when you got tired. You always asked if it was all right. Ominis was surprised with himself the first few times, because he found that he quite enjoyed the weight and warmth of your head on his shoulder. You seemed so vulnerable when you leaned against him, trusting him to support you and not let any harm befall you should you give in to sleep. He even, on rare occasions and only when he felt completely secure in his environment, rested his own head back on yours. That usually resulted in him taking a nap, as well. He found that, despite the crick in his neck that he always awoke with, those were his most satisfying naps.

More recently, the back of your hand kept brushing against his when the two of you would walk together. He had jerked his hand away the first time, not anticipating the contact. He regretted it instantly when you muttered an apology. Ominis insisted that it was quite all right, though he was keenly aware that his actions had undermined his assertion. As it kept happening, Ominis’s reaction changed over time. He started to keep his hand very still so that yours might keep brushing against it. Now when it happened, his instinct was to extend his fingers toward you – though, he never actually did what he really wanted, which was to take hold of your hand.

Your touch had become a comfort for him. You held him when he cried, rubbed soothing circles on his back when he was anxious, and sat with your side pressed into his when he was lonely. Ominis had never known the multitude of problems a simple touch could solve before he met you.

Nor, however, had Ominis known the particular torment that such a touch could inflict. Just having you near him was enough to make his palms sweaty and his breathing shallow. If you rested a hand between his shoulder blades or, even worse, against his thigh, it sent his brain into a fit. He would get sweaty everywhere, and his tie would suddenly feel too tight. Just before the summer holidays, you had reclined on one of the sofas in the Room of Requirement as you read a novel while awaiting your exam scores. You invited Ominis to join you and promptly bridged your legs over his lap when he sat down. That had vexed him most of all. You hadn’t even rested them on him, just sort of over with your feet planted on the cushion to his right and your bum against his left thigh.

Ominis hadn’t known what to do with his hands. He didn’t want to accidentally rest them somewhere inappropriate, but he didn’t want to be awkward, either. Eventually, he settled on resting his left arm on the back of the sofa and his right hand on your stocking-clad knee. His thumb began absently stroking back and forth just above it, and he had blushed furiously when he grazed the hem of your skirts. It had brought, unbidden, the idea of sliding his hand underneath the fabric, trailing it up your thigh. That had a sudden heat building in his abdomen – and spreading across his cheeks.

“How is your book?” he had asked, hoping for a distraction.

“Erm…yeah. It’s…it’s good,” you had replied.

Ominis spent entirely too long trying to analyse your odd response. Had you been uncomfortable? Or perhaps just absorbed in your book? Could you have been as affected by the proximity between you two as he had? He couldn’t be sure, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask, “Are you finding this as stimulating as I am? Because I’m feeling quite randy.”

That would’ve gone over well.

He pondered the possibilities frequently over the holidays. Two months spent apart from you were horrible. Not only did he have to deal with his family, but he missed you something dreadful. At least, he had been accompanied by Sebastian, who spent the entire time at Gaunt Manor given he had no guardian in Feldcroft to look after him.

Ominis didn’t realise how much he’d been brooding until his friend called him out for having “resting sad face” and demanded to know what was bothering him. They had been lying in their beds, and Ominis shifted to his side to face Sebastian before admitting that he missed you.

“I think I’ve grown to have quite strong feelings for her,” he confessed.

Sebastian snorted out a laugh. “Oh, you think so, do you?” he asked, sounding thoroughly amused.

“It’s not funny!” Ominis groused, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“It’s funny that you think it isn’t abundantly obvious that you fancy her, mate,” Sebastian retorted.

Ominis’s eyes widened. “What?” he asked, horrified at the thought of everyone knowing his feelings for you. He wasn’t ashamed of them, but he was quite a private person. The idea of everyone knowing such personal feelings of his was mortifying.

“Well, maybe not to her. People tend to be a bit thick about other’s feelings toward them, but I expect that anyone who knows you two can see it. You turn into a mushy little crup when she’s around,” Sebastian explained.

“I do not!” Ominis replied indignantly.

“Sure,” Sebastian said sceptically, clearly trying to avoid a fight.

They fell silent for several long moments.

“She fancies you too, you know,” Sebastian stated.

Ominin’s pulse jumped. “You can’t possibly know that,” he argued, trying to temper the hope bubbling up in his chest.

“I knew you about your cush, didn’t I?” Sebastian retorted. “Besides, she told me she does.”

“She did?” Ominis said eagerly. “Wait, you can’t tell me this, Sebastian! You’re betraying her confidence!”

Sebastian let out an exasperated sigh. “She never said I couldn’t tell you,” he replied.

“I’m sure it was implied,” Ominis said. “But…she really has feelings for me, too?”

“Without a doubt,” Sebastian said confidently.

That gave Ominis a lot more to think about before school resumed. He flipped back and forth between being elated at the idea that you reciprocated his feelings and panicking that the separation would change that.

All his fears melted away the instant you hugged him on the platform at King’s Cross station. It was the best hug he’d ever gotten. You clung to him like you never wanted to let go again, and Ominis would’ve been all right with that.

“Gods, I missed you two!” you said before giving Sebastian a hug, leaving Ominis to mourn the loss of your arms around him. “How was your holiday?”

“As good as being around my family can be,” Ominis replied. “How was yours?”

“Brilliant! Though, I wish you two could’ve visited!” you said.

The boys both agreed, though Ominis knew his parents would’ve never let him stay with a family they didn’t know. Or, rather, who were of unvetted blood status. He wasn’t about to subject her to experiencing his family in their own domain, so he hadn’t invited her to come to him.

Ominis had a lingering worry that things would be different between you two – that spending the summer apart would make things awkward between you. But when you rested your head on his shoulder and fell asleep as the train rattled down the tracks, he felt confident that you’d fall right back into how things were at the end of the last term.

Indeed, things seemed the same if not better. You often invited him to study in the Room of Requirement. His fear that he had made you uncomfortable the last time you’d been on a sofa together was eliminated when you took to putting your legs over his more often than not whilst you did your assigned readings. You only opted for one of the desks in the room if you had to write an essay.

It was a beautiful sort of torture to have you so close to him. It drastically decreased Ominis’s reading speed, but he found himself looking forward to studying now. He’d rest one hand on your knee while his other held his wand to let him read his tome. Sometimes you’d read aloud to him. Sometimes he’d hug your closer leg to his chest and rest his chin on your knee. It was like having his childhood stuffy but warmer and attached to someone who genuinely cared about him.

In the safety of your embrace, he shared his more intimate thoughts with you. Not the one about running his hand up your skirt, but about his hopes for the future, his frustrations with his family, and even his insecurities. You, in turn, opened up to him, as well. And as the weather got colder, you kept him warm in the draughty castle. Though, he was prepared to conjure a thick wool blanket over you if you ever seemed to be chilled.

After a month of being back a school, Ominis decided to admit his feelings to you. He was certain yours couldn’t have vanished over the summer given how you had only gotten more comfortable around him. However, when Ominis went to voice his feelings, he found that he didn’t know how. He knew how he felt about you, but he had spent his whole life suppressing how he felt to keep from stirring up trouble at home.

“I need to tell you something,” Ominis admitted during your daily study session.

He could hear you close your book and set it on the coffee table, giving him your full attention. “What is it?” you asked, sounding concerned.

“I…Well, I…” he tried, but his words were failing him. He usually fancied himself a rather eloquent individual, but he felt thoroughly uneducated as he stammered at you.

How was he supposed to tell you what was in his heart? Just say, “I like you”? Of course he liked you. You were friends. Close friends. “I fancy you” seemed so juvenile. “I want to court you” was too impersonal. It could be for your talent or station, but he wanted you to know how taken he was with who you were as a person.

You rested a hand lightly on his arm. “You can tell me anything, Ominis,” you said earnestly.

His heart swelled at your kindness. He wished he could say what he felt, but he didn’t have the right words. He moved to hold the hand you’d rested on him, lacing his fingers with yours. “I really like this,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze.

You squeezed his hand back. “I like it, too,” you replied.

“Good. I…I had hoped you do,” he said clumsily.

You stayed like that until dinner, your studies forgotten as you just basked in the closeness of each other. It hadn’t been exactly what Ominis had tried to accomplish, but it was definitely progress.

Ominis started taking other opportunities to hold your hand. He’d hold it during classes, giving up his dominant hand in favour of your warmth. Besides, he knew you’d share your notes with him later. He’d also search it out while you studied. He’d graze the backs of his fingers up your leg until he found your arm, which he’d follow down to the hand resting in your lap.

Sometimes, you’d take the initiative, taking hold of his hand while it still rested on your knee. Usually, you’d pull it down to rest it your lap or on your stomach, so you could relax your own arm. It always made Ominis’s heart flutter to know you wanted to hold his hand – and he found your occasional impatience quite endearing.

Then, one day in November, you pulled his hand to your lips, instead. His breath hitched as you placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Your lips were soft and warm, and Ominis had the impulse to reach out and brush his fingers over them.

“Is that okay?” you asked cautiously, your warm breath hitting the back of his hand.

“Y-yes, of course,” Ominis replied breathlessly. He could feel his face flushing with heat.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, sounding grave.

“Anything,” Ominis replied without hesitation despite the pit of worry in his stomach.

You shifted on the sofa, moving to sit up. Your knees pressed against his leg as you sat with your legs tucked under you. Ominis could hear you take in a deep breath before you spoke. “What are we?”

Ominis’s brows pulled together. “What?”

“To each other,” you clarified. “I mean, do you like me?”

“Most ardently,” Ominis admitted with conviction. It was only after the words had passed from his lips that he worried he’d been severely mistaken about your feelings.

“Oh,” you breathed out, sounding surprised. That only heightened his anxiety. “Do you not want to court me?”

“No, I do,” Ominis replied earnestly, wondering what reason you could have to think he wouldn’t.

“Then, why don’t you?” you asked. You didn’t sound upset, just curious.

“Well, I…I wasn’t sure if you’d want to, and…I didn’t know how to ask, I guess,” he said.

“I do,” you said before adding, “want to, I mean.”

Ominis felt like he’d just eaten a handful of Fizzing Whizbees. His whole body felt light, like he might float right off the sofa. “Really?” he asked eagerly, before trying to force himself to be rational. “Are you certain? I’m…not very good at this sort of thing. Clearly. I’m sure you could find someone much better suited to the task.”

“I don’t want someone else,” you said. “I like you, Ominis.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Sebastian told me you did over the summer, I just…didn’t know how to tell you that I felt the same without it sounding ridiculous,” he admitted, not wanting any secrets between you.

“Sebastian told you?” you asked.

“I scolded him for betraying what you had told him, but he said you hadn’t asked him to keep it secret,” Ominis explained.

“I never told Sebastian that I have feelings for you,” you stated.

Ominis’s jaw dropped. “That lying rat!” he said, his anger swelling.

You chuckled. “Well, he wasn’t wrong,” you pointed out.

“I suppose not,” Ominis said, still irritated with his best friend. It was hard to stay upset, though, when he realised you had all but agreed to court him. “So, to make it official, would you do me the honour of letting me court you?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

Ominis was beaming. Even knowing your answer ahead of time, he still felt overjoyed to hear it.

His singing heart began pounding hard in his chest as he felt your palm rest gently against his cheek. Your breath ghosted over his face as you leaned in, and he tilted his chin up to meet you. Your lips met his in a soft embrace. As they interlocked, it was a confession of your budding affections. A tender pledge of future bliss. You were his – your touch, your love, your loyalty. And he was yours, wholly and truly.

A/N: The line "a tender pledge of future bliss" is from the poem "To A Kiss" by Robert Burns

#ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x f!mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ominis gaunt fanfic #ominis gaunt fanfiction #physical touch #touch starved

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huffelpuff210 · 5 months ago

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Ours Soft Dark Stucky x Omega Reader

Soft Dark Alpha Stucky x Omega Reader

Warning: Stalking, kidnapping, drugging, confinement, dark themes, Non Con, man handling, threats, mentions of past abuse,

Summary: Day by Day Both Bucky and Steve feel like something is missing in their lives that is until they meet you.

You work as a RN at the nearby hospital, you were just leaving an agonizing fourteen hour shift, dead tired,

You were walking past a store, where there were TV’s you could watch from outside of the window,

The news was on,

“This is Becky reporting from Stark tower where in a few minutes Alpha Tony Stark is going to make his big announcement.” The news lady says,

You stand there with your arms crossed, a lot of people on the street were crowding around as well,

The Alpha’s in Stark tower are a big deal to everyone so when they make an announcement it’s normally a big uproar

Tony walks out to the stage,

“Good afternoon everyone, as everyone may have been aware, the decrease in Omega’s in the past decade have declined drastically.” He says

It was no secret that Omega’s appear less and less each year, in fact you read in the paper that there is 1 out of 5% that anyone would come across one, You were in fact one, but you take suppressants and wear a special perfume to mask the smell,

“So as of today, I have signed a bill passing that if you are an Omega you must register, due to the decrease in our species this law is in effect as of today.” Tony says

You eyes widen,

“We also have a stations in each clinic to ensure you can find a place to register.” He says

This made your blood boil, You didn’t like Alpha’s to begin with, Your father and brother’s made sure of that, always talking down to you like you were nothing compared to them, abusing you any chance they got, telling you, that you were nothing but a tool a mutt that your only purpose in life was to breed,

And here is another example of how much you hate and yet fear alpha’s they think they can control Omega’s,

“If any Omega’s fail to comply we will have no choice but to place you in a special program.” Tony says

“That will be all thank you.” He says walking off stage,

You shake your head and make your way to your apartment, but you couldn’t help this feeling that someone was watching you, You stop in your tracks, to look around listening, smelling, but there were too many scents, you brush it off as fatigue and paranoia.

You finally enter your apartment, it wasn’t much given the salary to make, barely scraping by, but it was the only way, the only way to avoid detection not just from Alpha’s but your family that has been on the hunt for you since you ran away when you were sixteen, you are now twenty one, but they still continue to hunt you like an animal,

All because you are an Omega,

After taking your suppressant and showering, you are laying in bed when a smell catches your attention, It smelled like pine, and cinnamon, you sit up quickly, it wasn’t your father or brother’s but you don’t notice the smell which causes you to panic,

You peek through the curtains not seeing a single person, you make sure everything is locked,

You peek out the peep hole at your door, no one,

You feel your heart rate slow down hoping you were just imagining it,

Bucky just couldn’t believe his luck, he was on his way to the tower, when a smell caught his attention, sure it was very faint but his sense of smell is stronger than most Alpha’s it smelled like vanilla with a hint of cedar

“Omega...” He whispers

He finds a small petite woman, with long dark hair and green eyes, she was beautiful, but by the smell she’s definitely on something she shouldn’t be on,

He opens his phone to call Steve as he follows her from a distance,

“Steve, Your not going to believe what I found.” He says with a smirk on his lips,

You didn’t go to work for a few days, you were getting paranoid, the smell kept getting stronger as if someone was in your apartment or on the fire escape at the window,

But your boss called you today, telling you if you didn’t come in today you were fired,

So you cautiously leave your apartment, just as you were locking the door an arm wrapped around your neck, with a hand covering your mouth,

You elbow the attacker causing him to grunt, but he didn’t loosen his grip,

“Shhh, sweetheart, we’re here now.” You hear a man’s voice whisper in your ear,

suddenly there was a jab of a needle in your upper arm, you watch as the liquid is injected in your arm,

“Everything will be alright.” Another voice says

you feel your limbs give way, and your vision blur slowly slipping into darkness,

Bucky catches you as you fall, picking you up bridal style, your head against his chest,

Steve moves your dark hair out of your face,

“She’s beautiful.” Steve says

“Told you.” Bucky says

“She’s light though.” Bucky says again,

“It’s alright she has us now.” Steve says placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder,

Bucky nods, as they both smile down at you

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golden-ebony · 30 days ago

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Man Eater (2) 𓆩♡𓆪

♡ Series Masterlist ♡ Previous part ♡

♡ Pairing: Logan Howlett/Fem!Vigilante!Reader

♡ Word Count: 3.6k

♡ Rating: Mature (but any additional parts may be explicit)

♡ Warning/Tags: suggestions of child/adult abuse (no detail), mentions of violence (little detail), mutant/vigilante reader, suggestive language, Logan being a lil flirty menace (i love it)

♡ Summary: Leaving your past behind is never easy; teasing Logan makes it tolerable...if you can call it teasing...

♡ Note: worked very hard to post this on hugh's birthday in celebration! also! if you requested a part two, I tagged you. if you'd like to be added or removed, let me know!

In the middle of the night, you tossed and turned in your sleep. The mattress was soft, the room warm, the available sweats you found in the drawers were too comfortable. It should have been perfect. Yet, the hairs surrounding your forehead began to stick. You never slept well in new environments, always feeling on edge. Each creek of the old mansion raised the hair on the back of your neck. It gave you time to think about Charles’s proposition.

You didn’t want to admit it to Charles or Logan, life in your apartment was a tad lonely, too quiet. Silence was conflicting. In the same way it brought peace, it brought dread. Waiting for the inevitable break was like torture. Breaking it yourself—losing yourself in work—at least made it predictable. Gigs, at least paid ones, were far and few in between. Not much was breaking the silence nowadays.

You looked over at the clock seeing it was 2am. You got yourself out of bed, slowly roaming the halls of the mansion. The weight of your steps on the wood floor would be more prominent if not for the storm that still roared outside. Otherwise, there wasn’t a stir in the mansion. It was different from hours prior. The laughter and conversations of children could be heard from your room until you fell asleep.

Down the end of the hallway, you could see the gleam of light around the corner. From your recollection, it had to be the kitchen. You hesitantly followed the light, hoping someone just left it on.

Rounding the corner, you were met with the glare of a shirtless Logan, elbows firmly on the counter while sitting on the stool. He was swirling a glass of whiskey, careful to not let a drop fall despite its fullness. Like a reflex, your eyes scanned his sitting form. You were sure that he noticed.

The smirk on his lips grew, seeing you adorned in sweatpants and a hoodie that were at least a size too big. You might as well have been in clothes.

"What are you doing up, princess? Can’t sleep?" From his tired voice, you could tell that he hadn’t been up for long.

You tried to recover from your brazen survey of his chest. “I don’t sleep well in new places,” you shrugged as you slowly approached the counter.

"Ah, so that’s why you’re up, huh? New place and all that…" He took a gulp of his whiskey, keeping his gaze on you as he spoke again. His tongue darted out to his bottom lip, retrieving the remaining taste of the liquor. “You like what you see, sweetheart?” The gruff yet playful tone in his voice made your core stir.

You hummed, laying your palms on the cool counter. Only the bar counter separated you two. “I do…” you whispered, leaning over the counter, only about half a foot from Logan’s face, “...I see a whiskey that looks pretty damn good. Care to share?”

Logan chuckled and looked down at the liquid in the glass, swirling it around a bit. “You want a taste?” He nodded toward the stool next to him, pulling it out, “C’mere then.”

Playing this game with Logan was a good distraction from the pending decision you had to make. It reminded you of what you missed the most from your work: the chase.

You rounded the edge of the bar. Behind it, you could see how low Logan’s sweats rode his hips. His legs remained spread. You didn’t hesitate to take the stool next to him, your body fully facing him. Your leg slightly brushed his as you crossed your legs. You felt a sense of dominance watching Logan take a deep breath due to the slighted touch of your skin.

"I have to say, sweetheart, the sight of you all sleepy and in pants that are a bit too big on you?” Logan rumbled, slightly tugging the string of your hoodie, “You look damn good.”

You playfully slapped his hand, ignoring his comment. “Just give me the damn whiskey.”

Logan was amused by your little demand. Instead, he lifted the glass to his lips, taking another gulp. The glass was half full now. “Now, don’t you know I don’t respond well to demands, princess? Gotta ask nicely.”

“Fuck you,” you spat. The smile that still formed on your face felt like a betrayal to your tone.

“Oh, don’t worry…I’m sure I’ll be getting to that at some point but first…” He held the glass up, waving it in front of you like a taunt. “Ask nicely, use your manners, sweetheart…” His tone was a bit condescending.

He was shameless, but you were relentless.

You shifted your body, uncrossing your legs. You allowed your features to soften and a small smile to form, your head titled. Slightly looking up at Logan, you placed one hand on his knee, running your hand up his thigh and back down to his knee. Feeling emboldened by Logan’s strained exhale, you ran your hand back to his mid thigh. You leaned in a bit closer. “Please…”

Logan took another quick gulp of the whiskey and leaned in closer too. Your pleading eyes, soft smile, alluring touch—it was hard to determine if this was a well trained ruse that you used time and time again. Yet, he noticed how you looked at his bare chest and how yours would heave when your eyes traveled lower down his body. He knew you were just as affected by him as he was to you.

"Please what, princess? You gotta be more specific.” You didn’t even hear the storm outside anymore—just his husky tone resonating in your head.

“I need it,” you whispered, rubbing your hand on his thigh again. With a knowing smile, your brows furrow as if you had misspoke. In the short time Logan had known you, you never misspoke. “The whiskey, I mean…”

Logan smirked as you whispered and moved your hand on his skin. It felt damn good. He let out a slight grumble in response, enjoying how you were touching him, enjoying the tone of your voice as you spoke.

“You sure it’s the whiskey that you need?” The heel pulled your stool closer to his, your cheek almost brushing up against his. Your audible gasp caught yourself off guard. You were almost straddling his knee. Placing the whiskey glass on the counter, Logan firmly placed his larger hand over yours. Feeling his warm breath near your ear, you had to close your eyes to focus—to control your breath. “Or do you just need me?"

Logan leaned back from your ear, his darkened eyes meeting yours. Nothing about you was innocent, yet the way you were looking at him now said otherwise. You bit your lip as your eyes darted down to his lips. His hand faintly gripped yours. Logan wasn’t so sure if this was a game anymore.

Before he could make another move, Logan saw his whiskey glass come into his view as you brought it to your lips. The innocence in your eyes was completely washed away and replaced with pride as you took a deserved gulp from his glass. Logan looked down and could only laugh to himself. Removing your hand from his thigh, you used your foot on his stool to push yourself back from him, taking the glass with you.

“You know,” Logan began as he stood up, turning toward the cabinet. He pulled another glass and a half empty bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. “You could’ve just asked for your own, princess.”

You cracked your neck before finishing the drink. “What’s the fun in that?” you shrugged with a playful tone.

You held up your glass requesting more. Logan obliged by pouring you both fresh glasses. He sat again and brought the bottle with him. He leaned back to examine your change in demeanor. From a minute ago to now, it was like you were a different person. You feigned innocence with an ease that was jarring.

“Is that how you lured all those men?” Logan bluntly asked, tapping his glass. You weren’t surprised by his bluntness, but you never spoke about the work you did. Who the hell would you tell? “I think you could have convinced me to get a top floor suite with room service just now, sweetheart.”

“Every man is different,” you slowly began, running your finger along the rim of your glass. “Different motivations, different ticks, different tastes…I become a fantasy that feeds on those things.”

“And you think you’d miss it, don’t you?” Logan’s question was spoken almost in a teasing manner.

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink, “I would,” you admitted. Your body turned from Logan’s to fully face the counter. You placed your arms on the counter, “You think Charles would let me still do it if I became a great X-man.” You mocked Charles’s voice and tone.

Logan gruffly laughed before matching your body language. “Nah, he definitely wouldn’t.”

You knew this would be the answer; your question was virtually a joke. Besides the aspect of living in a school, joining a team, trying to be a part of some new found family—you couldn’t imagine not living the life you built for yourself, doing what you believed was justice. You didn’t know who would do it, if you didn’t.

“Like I said earlier, I get it, sweetheart,” Logan breathed, observing your profile. You peered back, brows raised. “You didn’t do shit that those bastards didn’t deserve.”

By never speaking about what you did, you believed you were avoiding judgment from others, avoiding their contorted faces of terror. You heard what news outlets would say once a body was discovered in the hotel suite the next morning. You heard the number of FBI profiles made up about you as you bounced from coast to coast. On social media, you were revered differently; you were the hero in some peoples’ eyes. Maybe even in Logan’s eyes.

You took a larger gulp of your whiskey than you intended, your face souring before bitterly swallowing it down. “I can’t be an X-man, Logan. The way Charles talked about you guys in the past…that’s not me. I can’t imagine being the doting professor who takes the moral high ground. I’m not a role model.”

Logan listened intently. You couldn’t read him as he took two larger drinks out of his glass. He deeply exhaled, “You can do whatever you want, sweetheart, but you think everyone here is perfect? Even Charles?”

You stayed quiet. This wasn’t the lecture you’d expect from Logan.

“You know how many times I’ve fucked up here? How many times I’m going to continue to fuck up?” You couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle at Logan’s own amusement about fucking up. “And we all got pasts, things we try to bury. These kids…they fuck up, too. They’ve done things they’d rather forget…they gotta know they’re capable of outliving their past.”

The sincerity in Logan’s eyes was new. There wasn’t a hint of lust or darkness that you witnessed earlier in his face or words. Thinking your heart would begin to race as you thought about your pending decision, you were surprised to feel like slowing down with Logan’s words. Knowing where Logan came from and the number of horrors he’d also witnessed made his endorsement all the more intriguing.

“And that’s why you’re awake now?” you pressed. “Hard to outrun your past when you sleep.”

Logan could only nod; you were right. Horrors had their way of finding him in the night, whether he was looking for them or not.

“They used to be worse.” He took a slow sip from his glass. You saw his jaw clench while he sat there in thought. “I freaked out once when I was dreamin’. Impaled a student who was just trying to wake me up.”

Your body stiffened due to his disclosure. The rumble of his voice was full of shame and regret. You sat in silence for a beat, waiting for Logan’s words to cut through the tension again.

“Her abilities saved her, but if that’d been anyone else…” His voice drifted off before a quick inhale through his nostrils.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to provide comfort, you simply weren’t sure how. Logan didn’t seem like the hugging type. You were sure he played the moment over and over in his brain until it was scratched like a record; what help could words do? Silence made you feel like you were avoiding his words, possibly rejecting him because of them. Comfort was a field you weren’t used to navigating.

“I’m sure that doesn’t help the nightmares,” you responded, a bit too blankly. “I mean—”

“You make different memories, confront the ones you hate,” his words overlapped yours. “And that only happens once you stop running. You were right before. I ran. I didn’t deal with Stryker, and you paid the price.”

You went to say something, but you felt your voice caught in your throat. You lips on sat slightly parted before you realized that all you mustered was a hard swallow of your whiskey.

“I’d like to think if I confronted him then, I wouldn’t be so tormented by it now, and you…” The concern and seriousness in his voice made your heart swell, a sensation you hadn’t felt in years. “I’m sorry.”

You had to look away from him momentarily, feeling more exposed than you intended. You remembered spending days cursing Logan every time you heard how he broke free years before Stryker ever found you. Knowing that he’d been struggling with that for years—willing to apologize—made you feel at least a little bit even.

Looking back at him, you saw that his look had not wavered. Feeling more exposed, you did what you did best.

“You’re really working overtime to make sure I’m here long enough to fall for your charms, Howlett.” You flashed another soft smile, hoping to alter the mood again.

Logan almost finished his drink in two additional gulps and shook his head, “I think you’d do better here than you think. Maybe even stop running from something good for once.” His tone was soft yet serious as he evaded your playful banter. For the first time in decades, you were experiencing an unfamiliar feeling.

Hope.

You raised your glass up, nodding toward Logan’s glass for him to do the same. He did as he was instructed. “Here’s to probably fucking things up.”

Logan’s lips curved into a smile as the glasses clinked, signaling a resonating decree. You both downed the rest of the drinks before setting them down on the counter. You looked over at him again to appreciate how his jaw tightened as the harsh liquid moved down his throat. There was a comfort that existed by simply watching him, sitting in the temporary silence.

“Thank you, Logan.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you slid off the stool, placing your glass in the sink. You turned toward the way you came to end back to your room.

“And for the record,” you heard Logan start as you approached the threshold of the hallway. You turned on your heels to face him again. From the growing half-smile, you knew what kind of comment you were in for, “I don’t need the overtime. I gotcha right where I want ya, princess.”

Feeling more in your element, you tried containing the grin from your lips, “If you did, I’d be going to your room, not mine, Wolvie.”

For the second time, you wished him good night, leaving him with his thoughts of you.

When you awoke the next morning, it was a little later than you anticipated. The clock on your night stand read 9:23 AM. It was the sound of children stomping near your door that acted as an alarm.

The laughing and giggling of schoolchildren was not your usual wake up call, but you hadn’t gotten sleep like that in a while.

After quickly freshening up in the conjoining bathroom, you changed into your jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Peaking your head outside your door, you saw a few strangling kids run down the hall, presumably to their morning classes.

For some reason, you expected to see Logan out here, somewhere. Maybe it was because of your multiple conversations last night; he felt inescapable. But maybe you weren’t complaining either.

When people spoke of chemistry, you always thought it was silly. Your fake chemistry with enough men that when they thought you had a real connection, this energy, this heat, you wanted to double over in laughter. There was certain enjoyment you got with flirting with a target, feeling like you were getting one up on them with each glance, word, and touch. With Logan, it just felt…different.

“Late start?” You turned your head to the left, seeing Charles two doors down from you. The soft smile that he had was slightly smug as well. It was as if he already knew what your decision was. Perhaps he knew you were up late with Logan.

You leisurely approached Charles with a nod, “If that is your way of asking if I slept well, then the answer is yes.” He began moving, signaling you to move with him down the empty hall. “I’m assuming you came down to see if I had run off again?”

“You do seem to make a habit of it, my dear,” he remarked. In the past, you had stayed at the mansion but you decided to duck out under the cover of night. You always left a note of apology to Charles. Seeing you here during a brand new day meant something, even if you weren’t ready to admit it to yourself. Charles knew. “But you’ve stayed.”

Charles was bringing you outside to the back of the mansion. Although it was very much on the nose, the grass did seem to be greener here. Not just greener, but the garden was vibrating with color from the flora and fauna. You stood on the concrete outlook, pressing your arms against the surface in front of you.

“I stayed…and you want my answer.” It wasn’t a question.. You couldn’t see Charles as he sat slightly behind you, both of you taking in the scenery. “My life, what I do now…that would have to end, wouldn’ it? I can’t exist in both worlds. That life would end?” You knew Charles’s answer, but you’d be remiss if you didn’t at least ask.

“That life—your life isn’t ending. It’d simply be evolving.”

You fell silent for a moment, still captured in the scenery ahead of you. You didn’t just have Charles’s words echoing in your mind. You had Logan’s, too.

“I think you’d do better here than you think. Maybe even stop running from something good for once.”

Something good.

You turned back to Charles, your back leaning against the guardrail. A deep breath exhaled from your chest as you nodded, “My apartment lease is almost up, so why not? Call me an X-man, I guess.”

You could act as non-chalant as you wanted, but Charles knew this decision wasn’t made lightly by you. Your word was bond, and it had been for 20 years.

Solidified by a handshake, Charles brought you back into the mansion. You didn’t need the typical tour. You and Charles discussed the logistics of your move into the mansion as he simply showed you what was new from your last visit. The more you both talked, laughed, joked, you felt more secure in your decision. Yet, those lingering voices in your head—the ones that held you back before—they still persisted.

Making your way back to the main level, the bells in the hallways sounded off. Students quickly began flooding the halls again, their talking and chattering bounced down the hall. You saw the familiar faces of Storm and Scott in the halls as well, talking with some older students; it had been years since you’d seen them as well. They both looked over toward you and Charles, a tinge of surprise and amusement was revealed from their expressions.

You playfully matched your expressions, knowing it’d be a fun conversation to have later. As much as you rejected the idea of being an X-men in the past, the rejection wasn’t because of the people; if anything, they made the rejection a little harder.

Charles and you agreed to give you the week to begin moving your things into the mansion, giving you time to adjust. Again, he welcomed you before moving away down the hallway. You began to make your way over to Storm and Scott before you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“You coming or going now, princess?” Logan’s voice was unmistakable at this point. It had echoed in your head enough over the last day to make an impression.

Turning to meet his stare, you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face, “Princess? That’s fellow X-man to you.”

Admittedly, that was the best news you could have given Logan. After watching you leave the kitchen last night, his thoughts were consumed by you. Your charming voice, your lingering touch, your alluring presence, it was enough to keep him up longer than he intended. Logan couldn’t nail what exact fantasy you were creating for him to make him this drawn to you, but at least he’d have more time to figure it out now.

He crossed his bulky arms with a small smile as he looked down at you, “Yeah? Figured you’d miss me too damn bad?”

Remembering that you were surrounded by passing children in the hallway, you kept your comments very subtle. “Not as much as you’d miss me, Wolvie.”

note: Unsure how many parts this will be! Tell me your thoughts of if you wanna be tagged ♡

𓆩♡𓆪 Next part

��️ list: @absxntmxnded-blog @sarcazzzum @cashmerephalaenopsis @m1cky-y-y @wowitsafemale @kneelforloki @hello-lemons @devoetee @montyrokz

#logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman #x men #x men fic #logan howlett fic #britt fics #logan smut #wolverine x reader #the wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x female reader #logan howlett x mutant reader

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birdie-ghost · 3 months ago

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Alert the town

[first] [prev] [next]

[Ch.1]

My Ko-fi

Important update info under the cut!

Soooooo it's been like 2 years!! Hello.

Quick buncha stuff to answer questions: I don't know how often I'll update. Sorry :/

The style did change! Sorry if it looks weird for a little while, I lost all my brushes and found out tonight that I also no longer have ANY of my old comic files so I'm just kinda fucked there. So palletes and allat has to be redone

Where'd I go? Idk man I went into public high school and it's been a wild ride. I left an abusive household, no longer talk to my mom (FUCK yes I HATE her. This is a positive) but also adjusting schedules for that was a pain.

Story is going to be slightly more fragmented because I have to recompile it! But yeah. Feel free to ask more spoilor-y questions due to my lack of update being guaranteed!

this is what the page was originally gonna look like about a year ago, but the person I was dating made fun of me so much so I felt like shit drawing this. Good news I no longer date him!! It doesn't have this composition anymore cus I simply Hate Redrawing Things I've Already Drawn.

I'm also now an adult! Which is weird to think about cus I started this comic when I was 15!!! lovely how time works.

Thank you all for your patience :]

#it runs in the family #gregory fitz afton au #birdieghostart #my art #comic #fnaf #evan afton #charlie emily #susie fnaf #fnaf fanart #fancomic #aaaaaaaaaaaaa #colours are off but it's midnight so I don't care LOLLLLL

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vickyzangels · 1 year ago

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You do NSFW too right? If so could you do Tom going down on reader?

% “너와 천천히 오래 걷고 싶어 until the end of time.”

# synopsis ; redemption era?? resurrection era? idk🧍🏻‍♀️

# pairing ; tom kaulitz x reader

# word count ; 614

# warnings ; nsfw (mdni), recreational drug use, he’s pussywhipped, tom is a, what does ice spice call them? a munch.

a/n ; YALL….. i completely scrapped the fic i was working on like i hate to admit it but i couldn’t do it i scrapped it 😭 but at least i found out something important from it, that i am entirely incapable of having any plot, like i can do a blurb at BEST, but god forbid i put even a minor storyline in. i might go back to it one day when i’m that deep and far into the trenches but the a/n for that fic literally looks like this so…;

he can tie cherry stems with his tongue alone. no hands. gn.

kind of relates but kind of doesn’t anyway one of his favorite things to do while eating you out is fingering you (MY GODDDDD)

his calloused hands from guitar-playing are brushing up EVERY corner inside you, curling and making “come-hither” motions to reach that spot that has you squeezing your legs around his hands and yet he does NOT care, continuing up from your cunt to leave the most sweetest and innocent kisses and marks on your neck like he wasn’t hovering over you and abusing your g-spot till you squirted into his hand

on that topic, he LOVES squirters like he likes creamers too (he doesn’t discriminate), but he’s so into it like, god forbid he gets you to squirt (in which he always does) because he’ll happily come up soaked in your juices like a puppy

i’ve never mentioned this anywhere else but he’s 50/50 in bed with his attitude (that sounds so vague i’m sorry) and i mean that he is generally serious like he’ll fuck your brains out while sternly whispering in your ears about how much of a dirty slut you are HOWEVER, on the flip side of things he acts like he’s sooo damn funny 😐 like he’ll jokingly nip at you while going down on you (obviously lightly he doesn’t want to hurt you) and laugh when you look at him like 😧

he gets so weak if you sit on his face. his hands are wandering everywhere, spots on your hips where there are guaranteed to be bruises by tomorrow by how hard he’s holding you down onto him and his other hand going up to rub and hold your body while he groans into you because everytime his voice vibrates on you it makes you shiver🧎🏻‍♀️listen, tom has fuckboy experience he can keep going for ROUNDS before he decides to cum once but when you’re on top of him squeezing your thigh around his head, HE’S A GONER.

whether or not you smoke, you hypothetically do for this; tom’s such a slut for the way you taste the main reason why you ever get overstimulated when he eats you out is because you taste so good to him, so when you two smoked a blend that had flowers in it for calming effect, it doubled for an aphrodisiac and you had to pry him from your pussy.

about an hour ago, you and tom smoked blunts with a new blend you found from your dealer that only piqued your interest because she explained to you it also worked as an aphrodisiac. truth be told, that was the only thing you actually registered come out of her mouth cause you zoned out when she started talking, but knowing you and tom fucked like bunnies, you told her to take all your money and you were on your way. so now here you were, on your back with your legs over tom’s shoulders god near choking him to death (not that he was complaining), gasping moans into the air while your hand made its way to tom’s head, making weak efforts to push him away. “to- mm..! i can’t take it!” starting to writhe your hips, accidentally bucking further into tom’s mouth. he was pushing you and he knew it, pushing you towards your 4th orgasm and counting and he had no intention of stopping any time soon, especially not when whatever in that blunt was making you suddenly taste so much sweeter. not when whatever was in that blunt was making the music sensually slow down, or making your moans so honey smooth.

a/n ; last blurb’s dialogue was definitely… 😟 but all i know is that i’m leaving the longer fics to people like @arquiiva and omg i think i’m back? and i also watched astv so i’m adding that to the topic list in guidelines but yeah i’ll try not to leave out of no where again

taglist ; @cup1d-lix @imabitchh @arquiiva @verelace @iovemoonyy @everseve

#tom kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz smut #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel fanfic #tom kaulitz fanfic #tom kaulitz

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oceandolores · 3 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 6

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦,"

summary: joel finally let him make a woman out of you, as you both now in this together, just you and him.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 6

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 5

next | chapter 7

Another week had begun its slow, inevitable march toward Sunday, the day of the dance troupe’s performance, and every day felt more intense than the last. You were drowning in rehearsals, schoolwork, and the looming graduation that was just weeks away. Every minute of your day seemed spoken for, filled with the weight of responsibility and expectation. But even in the midst of all this, you and Joel found ways to be together.

Late at night, after everyone had gone to bed, you’d sneak out of your window and meet him in the truck parked a few blocks away. Or he’d call you, his voice a low, comforting murmur as you curled up in bed, the house quieter without your father’s overbearing presence. Your mother, wrapped up in her own world, turned a blind eye to your late nights, allowing you more freedom as long as you kept up appearances during the day. It was in these stolen moments, with the world asleep, that you felt the pull between you and Joel growing stronger.

Being with him was like finding refuge from a storm. His presence calmed you, his voice soothed you, and his touch—those rare, fleeting moments when your hands brushed or when he held you close—ignited something deep inside you. You were falling for him, and you knew it. It wasn’t just infatuation or some fleeting crush. It was the kind of love that snuck up on you slowly, like a vine wrapping around your heart, binding you to him with every passing day.

Joel felt it too, though he struggled to name it. He’d never intended to fall in love again, especially not with you, so young and full of life. But there it was, this fierce protectiveness that had morphed into something much deeper. It was in the way he thought about you constantly, the way his heart twisted when he saw you smile, the way he ached for you in ways that scared him. Love had a way of finding him, even when he thought he’d shut the door on it for good.

Yet, neither of you spoke of it. The word “love” hung in the air, unspoken, because saying it out loud would change everything. So you let it linger, allowing the unspoken bond to grow, rich with possibilities and fears.

At the church, rehearsals were growing more intense with each passing day. Jemima was absent, ill with the flu, and it had spread like wildfire that she and Ben were expecting their first child. The news sent waves of excitement through the troupe, but it also left Ben in charge, his presence more pronounced now that Jemima wasn’t there to temper him.

You began to notice things about Ben that made your skin crawl. He wasn’t just watching you; he was watching all of the younger girls too, his eyes lingering just a little too long. He was full of compliments and encouragements, and while the other girls seemed to lap it up, something about it felt wrong to you. It was subtle—just a hint of something dark lurking beneath his charming exterior. But you could sense it, like the distant rumble of thunder on a clear day.

After rehearsal, you decided to stay behind in the church, needing a moment to yourself. The soft strains of gospel music echoed through the empty hall, and you let it wash over you, trying to clear your mind. Emma was there too, chatting away about the upcoming performance, and to your surprise, Ellie had stayed as well, snapping pictures on her phone.

“These are for the behind-the-scenes album I’m putting together,” she said with a grin, her camera clicking away as she captured the stained glass windows, the pews, the half-empty stage. Ellie had a sharp eye, always finding beauty in the mundane.

Just as you were starting to relax, the heavy oak door creaked open, and Ben walked in, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. “Afternoon, girls,” he greeted, his voice smooth as ever.

“Afternoon, Ben,” you, Emma, and Ellie chorused in return, each in your own tone. Emma’s voice was bright and eager, yours polite but reserved, and Ellie’s—Ellie’s had a slight edge to it.

“You’re all doing great,” Ben continued, his gaze sweeping over you. “The routine is really coming together. I’m impressed. Just a few more adjustments, and you’ll be perfect for Sunday.”

Emma giggled, clearly pleased with his praise. “Thanks, Ben. We’ve been working hard.”

Ben smiled at her, and then his eyes settled on you, and you felt that uncomfortable prickle again. “And you, you’ve really found your rhythm. It’s good to see,” he said, his voice dipping into something softer, more personal.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Ben. Just trying to keep up.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Oh, you’re doing more than keeping up. You’re leading the pack. Really standing out.” His compliment was laced with something that made you want to shrink back, but you held your ground, refusing to let him see your discomfort.

Ellie, who had been quietly observing from behind her camera, stepped forward. “You know, Ben, the girls have been working really hard. Maybe you should give them a break and let them have some fun,” she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

Ben’s smile faltered just a fraction. “Fun is important too, Ellie,” he said smoothly, but there was an edge to his voice now. He turned his attention back to you. “Anyway, keep it up. I'll see you girls tomorrow for another practice," You and Emma nodded and say goodbye to him.

He lingered a moment longer, his eyes flicking between you and Ellie, before finally walking away, leaving the three of you in a heavy silence.

Ellie waited until he was out of earshot before turning to you and Emma. “Is it just me or something's off with that new Pastor?"

Emma frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Ben’s great. He’s just being supportive.”

Ellie shook her head, her expression serious. “Supportive, sure. But there’s something else. I don’t know, he just… he gives me the creeps.”

You chuckled softly as you bent down, cooling down your sore leg muscles after the intense rehearsal. “He’s just being nice, Ellie,” you said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “He’s new in town, and Jemima just got back here after years. Maybe he’s still adjusting.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, unconvinced. “Yeah, but still, something’s off. Have you noticed how he barely interacts with Jemima? It’s like they’re not even married.”

Emma, sitting nearby and stretching her arms, shrugged. “That’s not so unusual. They got married really young, and Jemima’s father pretty much arranged the whole thing. Sometimes that kind of marriage starts off with all the passion in the world, but then, over time, it fades. You get bored. What was once exciting becomes mundane, especially if you’re not with the right person. I just hope that doesn’t happen with Jim and me.”

Emma’s words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself lost in thought. You and Joel were in that heated, intoxicating phase where every touch felt electric, every glance held a thousand unspoken promises. But what if it didn’t last? What if the fire between you eventually died down, leaving only ashes of what once was? Could Joel grow tired of you, the way Ben seemed to have grown distant from Jemima?

Ellie noticed your distraction and nudged you gently. “Hey, you okay? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Emma turned her attention to you as well, her eyes curious. “Yeah, you’re awfully quiet. What about you and this new boy you’ve been spending time with? Have you tried, you know… to please him?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head quickly. “No, I haven’t. He said he doesn’t want to rush things if I’m not ready.”

Emma smiled warmly, her eyes soft with understanding. “Aw, he sounds sweet. Taking things slow is good.”

Ellie, however, wasn’t about to let the conversation end there. “Wait, who’s this boy? Jamie?” The mention of his name made your heart tighten, a pang of discomfort cutting through you.

Emma was quick to correct her. “No, not Jamie. She broke up with him. This one’s new.” Emma leaned in closer, a mischievous grin on her face. “She said she wants to please him, and you know… blow him.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose, half in disgust and half in amusement. “Gross! But seriously, who is this guy? You’re being so mysterious about him.”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a stone sinking in deep water. There was no way you could tell them the truth—not about Joel, not about the intense, forbidden love that had blossomed between you two in the shadows. Instead, you kept your tone light, trying to mask the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“So,” you began cautiously, your voice a little shaky, “what if there’s someone… someone who makes you feel everything at once? Like, when I’m with him, it’s like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and it’s terrifying, but it’s also exhilarating, like I could just… fly.”

Emma, who was a little older and more experienced in these matters, tilted her head thoughtfully. “That sounds intense. But in a good way, right? Like, you’re feeling things you’ve never felt before?”

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah, exactly. But it’s also scary, you know? Like, what if I’m the only one feeling this way? What if… what if he doesn’t feel the same, or he’s just—”

Ellie, who was the youngest but no less insightful, cut in. “Boys are confusing. I don’t understand them half the time. But if he’s making you feel like that, it sounds like he’s important to you. Have you talked to him about it? Like, really talked?”

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. “Not really. It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure if I’m even making sense to myself. It’s like… when I’m with him, everything else fades away, and it’s just us. But then I start thinking—what if I’m just dreaming? What if he’s not really into me the way I’m into him? What if… what if I’m not enough?”

Emma leaned forward, her gaze steady and warm. “Love is a gamble, always. It’s putting your heart out there, knowing it might get hurt. But from what you’re saying, it sounds like you care about him a lot. And that’s not something to take lightly. The fact that he makes you feel like you’re flying… that’s something special. Don’t be afraid of it.”

Ellie, despite her inexperience, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, maybe I don’t get boys, but I do know that if someone makes you feel that way, you’ve got to go for it. But also… protect yourself. Make sure he’s worth it.”

You took a deep breath, their words comforting but not fully easing the uncertainty gnawing at you. “It’s just… I’m falling for him, I think. Really falling. But I keep wondering—what if he doesn’t catch me? What if I just… crash?”

Emma nodded thoughtfully, her eyes soft with understanding. "If he’s showing you that he cares, even in small ways, that’s a good sign. Maybe he does have feelings for you, but sometimes guys—especially older guys—are more complicated. They’ve been through stuff, you know? Past relationships, heartbreaks, things that might make them scared to fall again.”

You froze for a moment, realizing your slip-up, but quickly tried to cover it. "Wait, how do you know he's older than me? I never said that."

Emma smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn’t have to. The way you describe him—how he’s cautious, how he’s been through stuff—it’s not hard to guess. Sounds like he’s probably some college guy you met at a party or something.”

You bit your lip, Emma’s words hitting closer to home than she knew. Joel had his scars, that much you could tell. You’d seen the way he sometimes looked at you, as if he wanted to reach out but something held him back. The fear of history repeating itself, perhaps, of loving and losing all over again.

“But if he’s giving you mixed signals,” Emma continued gently, “it might be worth talking to him about it. Slowly, of course. Just… open up the conversation. Let him know how you’re feeling. Sometimes they just need a little nudge to be honest about what’s going on in their head.”

You sighed, thinking of Joel’s careful distance, the way he always seemed to pull back just when things got too intense. “I’m just scared, you know? We were talking about Ben and Jemima earlier, how things can start off so strong, and then… fade away. What if that happens to us? What if we’re so in love now, but then he gets bored, or… or realizes he doesn’t actually want me?”

Emma reached over, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “That’s a valid fear, especially with what we see around us. But relationships are built on more than just the initial spark. It’s about growing together, working through the ups and downs. If you’re both willing to put in the effort, to communicate and be honest with each other, there’s no reason it has to fade. But you have to trust each other too.”

You nodded slowly, taking in her words. Trust. That was the foundation of everything, wasn’t it? And while you knew you trusted Joel with your life, trusting him with your heart was a different matter entirely. The idea of opening up that conversation with him, of laying your feelings bare, was terrifying—but maybe it was the only way to move forward.

“Just… take it one step at a time,” Emma added softly. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just be honest with yourself and with him, and see where it leads.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a little.

Ellie leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. "He’s older? Just tell me who it is, c’monnn!"

You felt your heart race, a mix of panic and amusement bubbling up inside you. If only they knew who you were actually talking about. You shot Ellie a look, half-joking, half-serious. “Oh, if you found out who I’m talking about, you’d… you’d probably kill me.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Now you have to tell me. Who is this mystery guy? Don’t leave me hanging!”

You shook your head, laughing nervously as you tried to steer the conversation away from the dangerous territory it was headed into. “Nope, not happening. But trust me, he’s… someone who cares a lot about me. And that’s what matters, right?”

Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, clearly amused by your evasiveness. “Alright, keep your secrets. But just know, we’re here for you, okay? If you ever need to talk… or if you just want to gush about how amazing he is.”

Ellie gave you a teasing nudge. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, if he’s treating you right, that’s all that matters. If not, we'll kick his senior ass,"

You chuckled at Ellie’s playful threat, though the thought of her actually kicking Joel’s ass was beyond ironic. If only she knew the truth—she’d be horrified, not to mention utterly confused.

As the three of you wrapped up your conversation and began gathering your things to head home, you felt a mix of relief and longing. Joel had promised to take you to the night fair in Houston tomorrow, a rare escape from your daily routine, and the idea of spending the night at his Houston house afterward made your heart race. You’d already told your mom another carefully crafted lie, saying you’d be staying at Ellie’s for the night. Your mom never doubted you, never checked. She believed in the goodness of her preacher’s daughter, convinced that you were beyond sin.

Lately, you found yourself praying more, asking for forgiveness for the web of lies you were spinning, for the thoughts and actions that felt so dirty, so far from the holy path you were supposed to walk. You quoted scriptures to yourself, verses about purity and truth, trying to cling to some semblance of the person you used to be. But each time you whispered those prayers, guilt weighed heavily on your soul like a stone sinking deeper into a dark, endless sea.

As you stepped outside the church and said your goodbyes to Emma and Ellie, you felt a sudden chill. Just as you turned to leave, Ben appeared seemingly out of nowhere, making you jump.

“Oh, Ben! Lord, you scare me,” you exclaimed, trying to steady your racing heart.

He chuckled softly, an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. Just finishing up some business with the church elders.”

You nodded, still a bit rattled. “I thought you’d gone home already.”

He shook his head, looking at you with those intense eyes that always seemed to linger a moment too long. “Not yet. I had a few things to take care of. Are you heading home now?”

You nodded again, more out of politeness than anything else. “Yeah, I’m walking this time."

"No ride from your friend today?" Ben asked again, "No," You answered, "He's busy," you smile at him politely.

Ben’s expression brightened, and he offered, “Do you need a lift? I’m heading to Burger King, and it’s on the way to your place.”

You hesitated, a little voice inside you whispering to say no. But you’d been raised to never refuse a kind offer, especially from someone who seemed to mean well. It was one of the many lessons your father had drilled into you.

“Sure, that would be nice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ben smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up, “Great. My car’s just around the corner.”

Ben’s car ride was quiet at first, an awkward silence settling between the two of you. You stared out the window, the streets passing by in a blur, trying to shake the unease that had crept into your chest. But the silence grew heavier, so you decided to break it.

“So, you lived in Mexico before coming here?” you asked, glancing over at him. “How long were you there?”

Ben’s face lit up at the question, the tension in the car easing as he spoke. “Yeah, I did. Jemima and I moved there right after we got married. I was a preacher there, too. The first year was tough—language barriers and all. But now I’m fluent in Spanish. Mexico… it’s an incredible place.”

He launched into stories about his time in Mexico, his voice warm and animated. He spoke highly of the country, describing the vibrant culture, the beautiful landscapes, and the deep faith of the people he ministered to. You found yourself listening intently, the charm in his voice almost infectious.

“You ever been to Mexico?” he asked suddenly, turning the conversation back to you.

You shook your head, a little embarrassed. “No, I’ve never really been anywhere.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “You should go someday. It’s life-changing.”

As he continued to speak, occasionally cracking jokes that were surprisingly funny, you couldn’t help but notice how likable he seemed. He had a way of making you feel comfortable, his words smooth and reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing a bit in his presence.

Before long, you arrived at Burger King. Ben pulled up to the drive-thru and asked, “What do you want? My treat.”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks,” you replied, not wanting to be a bother.

But Ben insisted, ordering something for you anyway. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he said with a grin.

As you waited in the drive-thru line, he pulled out his phone, showing you photos from his time in Mexico. The images were stunning—vibrant markets, serene beaches, and old churches with intricate architecture.

“Wow, these are beautiful,” you murmured, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, it was a special time in my life,” Ben replied, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

You couldn’t help but feel drawn in by his stories and the way he spoke of his experiences with such passion. Yet, beneath it all, there was still that small, persistent feeling in your gut—something you couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You listened to Ben’s words, nodding politely, but that uneasy feeling in your stomach only grew stronger. His tone had shifted, taking on the familiar cadence of the sermons you’d heard your father give a thousand times. He began talking about the girls in Mexico, how they were deeply religious, involved in church activities, just like you and your friends.

“It’s good, you know,” Ben continued, his voice warm with approval. “To have a group of young people who still believe in God and walk in His ways. Especially girls your age—this is the time when they’re most likely to stray, to rebel and search for themselves. Like your friend, Emma. How old is she?”

“She’s 20,” you replied, wondering why he was suddenly bringing Emma into the conversation.

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “So she’s the oldest in your dance group?”

“Yeah,” you answered, feeling a slight unease. You couldn’t help but notice that Ben didn’t seem to pay much attention to Emma, probably because she was older, and now that you thought about it, his attention had always been more focused on the younger girls.

“Girls around that age need God the most,” Ben said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “That’s when the temptations are strongest—sex before marriage, drugs, alcohol… it’s important to stay on the right path, to keep close to God.”

You nodded again, but internally, you were starting to feel a bit trapped, as if you were listening to one of your father’s lectures all over again.

Ben shifted the conversation to Ellie. “And how old is Ellie?”

“She’s 16,” you replied, wondering why he was so interested.

“Ah, Ellie… she’s a bit of a tomboy, isn’t she?” Ben remarked, a hint of disapproval in his tone. “Dresses like a boy… but, you know, girls should embrace their femininity, dress like girls. It’s how God made them, after all.”

His words made you cringe inwardly, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from saying something you might regret. His opinions were starting to feel like a lecture on how you and your friends should live your lives, and it was beginning to make you feel nauseated.

Then, suddenly, he looked over at you, his eyes lingering a little too long. “And you… how old are you?”

You tell him your age, trying to keep your voice steady. Ben’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “You look younger than your age. Act younger too. I wouldn’t have guessed,"

The comment sent a chill down your spine, and you found yourself wondering why he was so focused on everyone’s age. Before you could dwell on it too long, the drive-thru window opened, and the employee handed over the bag of food.

“Here we go,” Ben said with a smile, taking the bag. The momentary distraction was a relief, but that uncomfortable feeling still lingered in the back of your mind, making you question why Ben was so interested in all these details.

Ben handed you the bag of food with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You took it, muttering a quick “thank you” as you tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, with you staring out the window, lost in thought. The houses and trees blurred together as you tried to shake off the lingering discomfort that Ben’s questions had stirred in you.

Before you knew it, you were in front of your house. Ben pulled up to the curb and turned to you with that same smile. “Here we are,” he said. “It was nice talking to you. Remember, if you need anything, anything at all, you can reach out to me, okay? I’d be happy to help.”

You forced a smile and nodded, even though your mind was already halfway out the door. “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it.”

As you stepped out of the car and closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that the conversation was over. You waved goodbye as Ben drove off, then turned and walked up to your front door.

Inside, the familiar smell of home greeted you, comforting in its simplicity. You found your mom in the kitchen, prepping ingredients for dinner.

“Mama, I'm home,” you said, setting the food on the counter.

She glanced up from her chopping board and smiled. “Hello, sweetheart. Who dropped you off?”

“Ben,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

“Ben?” your mom echoed, her brow furrowing slightly before she nodded. “Alright, then. Go get cleaned up, and then come help me with dinner, okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” you said, grateful for the chance to escape to your room for a moment.

You hurried upstairs, your thoughts still swirling from the strange conversation with Ben. As you washed your hands and face, you tried to focus on the routine, grounding yourself in the simple actions. But Ben’s words kept echoing in your mind, especially the way he’d looked at you, his questions about your friends, and the way he’d emphasized that you could reach out to him anytime.

A shiver ran down your spine as you recalled the way his gaze had lingered on you, the way he’d seemed to be sizing you up. You pushed the thoughts aside, trying to focus on the here and now, on helping your mom with dinner and the promise of a normal evening.

But even as you headed back downstairs to the kitchen, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about Ben just wasn’t right.

***

Joel sat heavily on one of the barstools at Tommy’s place, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, reflecting the turbulence of his thoughts. It had been a rough day, and he welcomed the soothing burn of the alcohol, hoping it might dull the ache of his internal struggle. Tommy, ever the supportive brother, poured himself a drink and settled beside Joel, the two of them sinking into the comfortable chaos of their late-night ritual.

Joel took a moment to catch his breath as he dialed Ellie’s number, the familiar, comforting weight of his phone in his hand. He left a quick voicemail, letting her know not to wait up for him, and that he had a spare key if she needed it. “Just lock up when you head to bed,” he said, his voice rough but warm. As he hung up, he turned his attention back to the whiskey, its amber glow mirroring the turbulence inside him.

The amber liquid seemed to dance in the dim light, reflecting the stormy skies of his mind. He took a deep sip, savoring the burn as it traced a fiery path down his throat. The warmth was soothing, but it did little to calm the storm raging within him. The ache in his chest felt like an endless ocean, where the waves were laced with memories and fears.

As he sat there, the world around him became a blur of muted colors and distant sounds. His thoughts drifted to you, the person who had entered his life like a sudden gust of wind through a cracked window—unexpected, refreshing, and profoundly unsettling. You were like a burst of sunlight breaking through the relentless clouds of his past, casting long shadows of doubt and hope across the landscape of his heart.

Joel had always been a man of walls and distance, his heart a fortress built from the rubble of loss and pain. After the death of his wife and daughter, he had fortified himself against the world, each brick a testament to his fear and grief. But you, with your light and laughter, had begun to chip away at those walls, like the slow, persistent erosion of the sea against a stubborn cliff.

He was beginning to realize the depth of his feelings for you, but it was like trying to catch a falling star with bare hands—beautiful, elusive, and fraught with danger. You had stirred something in him that he thought was long dead, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of his heart. It was as if you had reignited a fire that he had buried deep beneath layers of sorrow and self-preservation.

Yet, with every flicker of warmth came a wave of fear. Joel’s desire to protect you was intertwined with his dread of falling too deeply, of losing himself in a love that might only lead to more pain. He was terrified of opening up, of allowing himself to be vulnerable again. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss of his own emotions, afraid to take that final step.

The night wore on, and Joel’s thoughts remained tangled in the delicate threads of his emotions. The whiskey continued to burn its way through him, a temporary balm for the deeper ache that lingered just beneath the surface. As he drank, he found himself grappling with the realization that, for the first time in a very long time, he felt truly alive—an unsettling, exhilarating sensation that both frightened and exhilarated him.

Tommy watched him, the lines of concern etched deeply on his face as he took in Joel’s introspective silence. “You alright there, brother? Something on your mind?”

Joel looked up, the weight of his feelings heavy in his gaze. “Yeah, just... thinking about things."

Tommy leaned in, his eyes steady and empathetic. The soft strains of “Helplessly Hoping” played in the background, its melancholic melody wrapping around the room like a comforting blanket. He adjusted the volume on his Bluetooth stereo, the music providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

“You can talk to me, Joel,” Tommy said, his voice steady and reassuring. “What’s got you so wrapped up in your thoughts?”

Joel took a deep breath, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he considered his response. The song’s delicate notes seemed to echo his own uncertainty. He knew he couldn’t lay everything bare—there were things he couldn’t quite put into words, and a person he wasn’t ready to reveal.

“It’s... complicated,” Joel began, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “There’s someone in my life who’s making me rethink a lot of things.”

Tommy’s interest piqued, but he remained patient. “Complicated how? If you need advice, I’m here.”

Joel hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to articulate. “I’ve been closed off for a long time. Lost my way after... well, after everything. And now... I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s like she’s pulled me out of this dark place I’ve been in.”

Tommy’s expression softened, sensing the depth of Joel’s struggle. “So this person, she’s important to you?”

Joel nodded slowly, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah. She’s... making me feel alive again. But it’s not simple. I’m afraid of what it means, and I’m scared of letting myself fall too deep.”

Tommy took a thoughtful sip of his drink, considering Joel’s words. “You know, sometimes the hardest part is letting go of the past. You’ve been through a lot, Joel. But if this person is bringing light into your life, maybe that’s something worth holding onto.”

Joel glanced at Tommy, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and apprehension. “But what if it’s just a fleeting feeling? What if I’m setting myself up for more hurt?”

Tommy shook his head, his demeanor calm and grounded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed. But you can’t keep living in fear of what might happen. Sometimes you have to take a chance, even if it’s scary. You’ve got to ask yourself if the risk is worth the potential for happiness.”

Joel considered Tommy’s words, the song’s lyrics mingling with his thoughts like a haunting reminder of his inner turmoil. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tommy replied. “Love’s not easy. It’s messy and unpredictable, but that’s part of what makes it so powerful. If you’re feeling something genuine, maybe it’s worth exploring, even if it means facing your fears.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the weight of Tommy’s advice settling over him. The whiskey had lost some of its warmth, replaced by a cold clarity that made his choices seem more imminent. “I just don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Tommy clapped Joel on the back, a gesture of camaraderie and support. “You won’t know unless you try."

The room fell silent, save for the soft strains of the song and the occasional clink of glasses. Joel’s mind raced with the possibility of what could be, the fear and excitement warring within him. He knew the path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of hope—a faint light guiding him through the darkness.

***

The night fair in Houston was alive with energy and light, a vibrant spectacle against the dark sky. As you and Joel arrived, the fairgrounds were bustling with people, the air filled with the sweet scent of cotton candy and the tantalizing aroma of various foods from the stalls.

Joel parked the car and you both walked hand in hand through the fair. The distant music of carnival rides and the laughter of children filled the air. Brightly colored lights illuminated the various attractions, casting a magical glow over the scene.

You and Joel started with the classic fare: fluffy cotton candy, crisp corn dogs, and a shared bucket of buttery popcorn. You laughed as Joel tried to guess which food would be the most calorie-laden, joking about how he was saving up for a “cheat day” in honor of the fair. The two of you wandered through the stalls, stopping occasionally to admire the trinkets and games.

At one point, you spotted the towering Ferris wheel, its lights twinkling like a cascade of stars against the night sky. You eagerly suggested riding it, and Joel, though hesitant at first, agreed with a soft chuckle. As the Ferris wheel slowly lifted you high above the fairgrounds, you marveled at the breathtaking view of the city below. The lights danced like fireflies, and for a moment, everything felt serene and perfect.

Afterward, you both ventured into the various game booths, trying your luck at the ring toss, shooting galleries, and more. Joel’s competitive spirit shone through as he focused intently on a ring toss game, and with a triumphant grin, he managed to win you a large, cuddly teddy bear.

You clutched the bear tightly, beaming up at Joel. “You did it! Thank you!”

Joel chuckled, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the festive lights around you. “I promised I’d win you something special, didn’t I?”

You hug him and then saw a photobooth, "Oh my god! They have photobooth, let's go, Joel!"

Joel followed you to the photobooth, his initial reluctance evident in the furrow of his brow. “Come on, doll. I told you, I don’t like my picture taken. I’m not exactly a fan of how I look in photos.”

You tugged on his hand, laughing as you pulled him towards the booth. “Oh, come on, Joel. It’ll be fun! And besides, we don’t have any photos of us together. I want to remember this night.”

Joel sighed, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Alright, alright. But don’t expect me to be smiling too pretty.”

Inside the photobooth, you both squeezed in, the cramped space adding to the charm of the moment. You set the timer and started with silly faces, pulling exaggerated expressions that made Joel chuckle despite himself. You blew kisses at him and cheekily tried to steal a few pecks, each one making him smile more genuinely.

Joel’s smiles grew softer, his eyes tender as he watched you. In the final frame, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, which prompted you to pull him closer. The moment turned more intimate, and you both ended up sharing a sweet, lingering kiss, captured forever in the final photo.

When the strip of photos emerged, you grinned at the sequence of images. Each picture captured a different facet of your shared joy and affection. You turned to the attendant and asked, “Do you have a pen?”

After receiving a pen, you carefully wrote on the photo strip, “Me and Joel. Houston.” You then showed Joel the photos, laughing as you did. “Look at these! They’re so cute. I’m keeping one for myself.”

Joel took the photo strip, his gaze soft as he looked at the images. “They turned out pretty good, huh?” He smiled, his tone warm and genuine.

You carefully folded one photo and tucked it into your wallet, a small keepsake of your time together. Joel slipped his into his wallet, keeping it close. “I’ll keep mine with me too,” he said, a hint of emotion in his voice. “It’s a nice reminder of tonight.”

As you both left the photobooth, the night air felt a bit cooler, but the warmth between you lingered. Joel’s gestures and the shared laughter had added a special touch to the evening. The fair had been a whirlwind of excitement, but it was these small, tender moments that made the night unforgettable.

As the night wore on, you both decided to head back to the house in Houston. The drive was filled with playful banter and comfortable silence. Joel’s excitement about showing you his latest project was palpable.

Arriving at the house, Joel led you inside. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You followed him up the stairs to the master bedroom, the anticipation evident in his step. When you entered the room, you were struck by how beautifully it had been transformed. The walls were a rich, warm brown, and the classic-modern furnishings blended seamlessly with a touch of Southern charm. The bed was made with crisp, white linens, and the room was thoughtfully decorated with subtle touches that made it feel inviting and elegant.

“Oh, Joel,” you said, your eyes wide with admiration. “This is amazing. Did you really do all this by yourself?”

Joel nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. “Yeah. I figured if we’re going to be spending a lot of time here, it should be comfortable. We’ve been making do with the sofa in the upstairs balcony, and I didn’t want you to keep feeling cramped.”

You walked around the room, touching the smooth surfaces and taking in the details. “It’s perfect. I love it. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Joel’s gaze softened as he watched you. “I wanted it to be a nice space for us. You’ve been spending a lot of time here, and I wanted you to feel at home. This is our place now.”

You looked back at him, touched by his gesture. “Thank you, Joel. It’s more than I could have imagined. It feels like a real home.”

Joel’s eyes held a mixture of affection and vulnerability. “I’m glad you like it. It’s important to me that you’re comfortable."

You placed the teddy bear on the bedside and flopped onto the bed, the plush comfort enveloping you. You patted the space beside you with a playful smile. “Come on, join me."

Joel hesitated for a moment, then slowly shrugged off his jacket, placing it carefully on the chair. He set his phone and wallet on the nightstand, his movements deliberate and unhurried. With a deep breath, he settled onto the bed beside you, the mattress giving slightly under his weight.

The bed was indeed as comfortable as it looked, and you felt a sense of contentment settle over you as you nestled closer to Joel. He positioned himself beside you, his presence warm and reassuring. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving just the two of you in this peaceful cocoon.

Joel’s hand found yours, their touch a simple yet profound connection. He glanced at you, his eyes reflecting a blend of affection and introspection. “You alright?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, just... happy. You make me really happy. Thank you, Joel.”

Joel’s lips curved into a tender smile before he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss was both passionate and soft, a dance of longing and tenderness that spoke more than words ever could. It was as if in that single moment, you both were saying everything that words might fail to express.

When you finally pulled back, you looked into his eyes, your voice steady but filled with earnest emotion. “Joel, I think I’m ready.”

Joel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Ready for what?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words. “I’m ready for you.”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “Sweetheart, it’s okay if you’re not. I don’t want to rush you into anything. We can take our time.”

You shook your head, your resolve unwavering. “No, I’m ready. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Joel’s gaze softened, but he was still cautious. “I want to make sure you’re absolutely certain. This is a big step, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The more you talked, the more you felt a growing sense of frustration. You shifted away from him, sitting up and turning to face him, your emotions bubbling to the surface. “What’s wrong with you, Joel? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Joel’s voice was gentle, trying to calm you. “It’s not that, darlin’. I just want to make sure you’re ready. It’s important to me that you feel secure.”

Your eyes filled with a mix of hurt and desperation. “Is it because I’m no longer a virgin? Because I’m not pure? Because of what Jamie did to me?”

Joel's eyes filled with a deep sorrow as he reached out to hold your hand, but you pulled away, your voice trembling with anguish. "What? Baby, it’s not that..."

Before Joel could finish, you cut him off, your words laced with desperation. "Because I'm dirty? Is that it?"

Joel's face crumpled with pain, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it at all. It’s never been about you being dirty.”

You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to convey his feelings without causing you more hurt. “Then what is it? I need to know, Joel.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “It’s about protecting you. You've been through a lot, and I’m scared of making things worse for you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me. This... this is about making sure that when we take this step, it’s because we both feel right about it, not because of anything else.”

Your heart ached with the raw honesty in his voice. “I’m not trying to prove anything, Joel. I just... I want us to be close. I thought we were ready.”

Joel’s hand reached out again, but this time you let him take it. His grip was firm but gentle. “I know you do. And I want that too. But I also want to be sure that we’re both in the right place. I don’t want to rush things and have you regret it. I care about you too much for that.”

The sincerity in his voice, combined with the tenderness of his touch, began to ease the tumult inside you. “I’m sorry if I’ve been pushing too hard,” you whispered, your voice softening.

Joel shook his head, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s natural to feel this way."

"But, Joel, I'm ready. You won't hurt me." You said, trying to let Joel know how much you trusted him.

Joel hesitated, searching your eyes for any doubt. "Are you really sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking his large hand in yours, marveling at the size difference. Slowly, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing it gently. Then, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking it slowly. Joel’s breath hitched, and you could see the desire in his eyes.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours tentatively. The kiss deepened, and you felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling of being completely and utterly connected. As the kiss grew more passionate, you both slowly began to undress, your clothes falling away like the petals of a flower, revealing the soft, delicate parts of yourselves.

Joel’s touch was gentle, his hands exploring your body with reverence. Every caress was like a whisper of devotion, his fingers tracing patterns of love on your skin. He kissed you again, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, to your collarbone, each kiss a promise of his love and care.

As Joel carefully helped you remove your dress, your scars were now fully visible to him. His eyes took them in, and you saw the mixture of sorrow and anger that flashed across his face. It broke Joel's heart to see what your father had done to you, and a deep anger simmered beneath his gentle exterior.

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell Joel how ashamed you felt, but he cut you off, his voice firm but tender. “There’s no need to be ashamed about it. You are beautiful, you are gorgeous to me.”

His words were a balm to your soul, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. Joel’s hands were steady as he continued to undress you, his touch filled with a mixture of gentleness and determination. He seemed to understand the depth of your vulnerability, treating you with the utmost care.

Joel seemed like the kind of guy who talked you through it during sex, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of your anxiety. “You’re safe with me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve got you. We’ll take this slow, okay?”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. Joel’s hands continued their exploration, his fingers tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that made your heart ache. He was so careful, so deliberate, as if he were afraid you might break beneath his touch.

He reached for a condom, his actions slow and deliberate, ensuring that everything was as safe as it could be. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his voice a low murmur. “We’ll take this at your pace.”

You nodded again, your trust in him unwavering. As Joel moved above you, his eyes locked onto yours, you felt a connection that went beyond the physical. It was a melding of souls, a deep, unspoken bond that made you feel cherished and adored.

Joel entered you slowly, his movements careful and measured. You moaned as he growls. The sensation was different. There was no pain, no fear, just a deep sense of intimacy and connection and pleasure.

Joel’s voice continued to guide you, his words a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re amazing.”

Every movement, every touch, was filled with a tenderness that took your breath away. Joel’s hands were everywhere, caressing your skin, holding you close, ensuring that you felt nothing but love and care. The rhythm of his movements was like a dance, slow and deliberate, each motion a careful expression of his devotion to you.

His hands glided over your body, memorizing the feel of you beneath his fingers. He took his time, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding you in the present moment. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

As he moved within you, the initial tension melted away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure and intimacy. Joel’s eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and reassurance. Each thrust was measured, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that built a slow, burning heat between you.

"Oh, Joel," you moan as he keep thrust inside you, your back arched, your eyes rolling deep to above. "Fuck, you're so tight," he cursed.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur. “You feel so good.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the sincerity and warmth in his tone. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him against you. The connection between you deepened, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, creating a beautiful harmony.

Joel’s breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low, steady murmur of encouragement and love. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re perfect.”

The way he spoke to you, the care in his touch, made you feel cherished and adored. The pleasure built slowly, a rising wave that grew stronger with each gentle thrust. Joel’s hands found yours, intertwining your fingers, creating a bond that felt unbreakable.

His pace quickened slightly, you felt amazing and wanting for more. As the heat between you intensified, your hands found their way to his back, clutching him closer.

"Joel..."

"Oh my god, Joel,"

Your voice filled the room, moaning his name and calling out, “Oh God, please.” Joel’s eyes darkened with a mix of passion and determination.

“God’s not here, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “God’s not here to save you this time.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you felt your body responding even more intensely. The feeling was almost overwhelming, and you begged him to go faster. Joel obliged, his movements becoming more urgent, each thrust deeper and more powerful.

The sound of the bed creaking added to the symphony of your shared pleasure, mingling with the moans and groans that filled the room. The intensity of the sensations building within you was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, every fiber of your being focused on the incredible feeling Joel was creating inside you.

Joel’s breathing grew ragged, his own moans mixing with yours as he drove deeper into you. “You feel so good,” he cursed under his breath, his voice raw with need. “So tight, so perfect.”

The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one driving you closer to the brink. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as the pressure built, a wave of ecstasy that was about to crash over you.

“Joel...I’m close,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the sensation peaked.

Joel’s grip on you tightened, his movements becoming almost frantic as he chased his own release. “Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice a desperate plea.

With a final, powerful thrust, you felt yourself shatter, your climax washing over you in a tidal wave of pleasure. Your body tensed and then released, a cry of ecstasy escaping your lips. Joel followed moments later, his own release tearing through him, a groan of pure satisfaction as he found his pleasure within you.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound the mingled breathing of you and Joel as you lay intertwined. The intensity of what you had just shared left you both breathless, your bodies still connected in the aftermath of your shared passion.

Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hands gently stroked your back, a soothing gesture that made you feel safe and cherished. “You are amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “So beautiful.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with the love and connection you felt with him. “You too,” you replied softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch tender and loving. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth of emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded, the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You have to say it, you need to say you love him.

Taking a deep breath, you cupped his face in your hands, looking deep into his eyes. “Joel, I... I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability and sincerity.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and then softened with an intensity that took your breath away. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if committing the moment to memory.

“I love you too, baby,” he replied, his voice husky with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The words wrapped around your heart, filling you with a warmth and security you had never felt before. Joel’s lips found yours again, this time with a deeper, more fervent kiss, a promise of his unwavering love and devotion.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sense of completeness, as if everything in your life had led to this very moment. The love you shared was a balm to your soul, healing wounds you had long thought would never mend.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but the connection between you was stronger than ever. Joel rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, savoring the closeness.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. “No matter what.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice filled with quiet certainty. “And I’ll always be here for you, too.”

With that, you both drifted off to sleep, your hearts and souls entwined, ready to face whatever the future held together.

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fastlikealambo · 3 months ago

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The third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.|| rhaenyra targaryen x black!fem reader

In the five years since Queen Rhaenyra The Conqueror, Bringer of New Valyria, triumphed over the usurper without losing a single dragon, the realm is at peace. Having no need of husbands and taking two other wives, Queen Alicent and Queen Mysaria, the dragon queen is in need of a third and final wife to rule the seven kingdoms at her side.

You were just a girl from nowhere, watching the sky fill with dragons at peace, destined to be a scullery maid in a vicious household and the future wife of a ratcatcher until fate and blood decide your future for you.

History will remember Rhaenyra Targaryen as the great unifier, the second coming of Visenya Targaryen who brought another golden age of dragons out of war. But they will sing songs of you, the smallfolk who ascended to fire and blood as the queen’s favorite, the one they tried to kill so many times, the third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.

Some notes: Aegon, Aemond, and Daemon are dead but their dragons were saved, and Otto Hightower and Criston Cole spontaneously combusted, I don’t know what to tell yall. Luke lived, Jace lived, Helaena lived, Jaehaerys lived, Baela and Rhaena are happy goddammit. During the short war, Rhaenyra married Mysaria and one year after the dance of dragons ended, she also married Alicent.

Some other notes: This is dark and I drew some inspiration from Cinderella and Hurrem Sultan (the fictional representation of her from the show's magnificent century but nobody I know watches that show). Rhaenyra is in her thirties and reader is in her twenties.

Trigger warnings for violence, murder, abuse. MINORS DNI

Chapter One.

Chapter Two: All that you are is transformed.

“I wish to be anointed.”

“Anointed?”

The question did not come from Princess Rhaenys but from Queen Rhaenyra herself, who sat forward on the throne. You dared to allow your eyes to meet hers and her gaze, though formidable, was not cold, simply curious.

“I’m smallfolk, Your Grace. I do not carry the rank or protection of a house, everything you see before you is all that I am. To be by your side would be a blessing, not only to me, but to those who serve you, to all smallfolk. Anoint me, Your Grace, and you anoint yourself.”

Where in all the gods did that come from?

Didn’t matter.

“Shall we continue on, Your Grace?” Rhaenys asked but Queen Rhaenyra lifted her hand and beckoned you closer.

You forced one foot in front of the other until you were in front of the dragon queen, your face reflecting in the famed sword Dark Sister, the queen rested one hand on its hilt, the other was outstretched to you.

No, you would not go back to mending dresses and waiting for good bread. You would not die today, not tomorrow, nor the next day.

You bowed before Rhaenyra and her hand found your cheek, a calloused thumb brushed away your tears.

“You believe yourself capable to rule next to me? To forsake all that you have known, all that you are, to be mine and only mine, my lady?”

No one had called you their lady before, much less a lady.

For your mother, for yourself, you took Rhaenyra’s hand that held your face and put it over your heart.

“All I ask is for my mother to be safe and never know hunger again. With that I’m yours, Your Grace.”

You released the queen, only then remembering there were other people in the throne room.

Perhaps you had overestimated yourself, you should have been more demure,curtsied better. Perhaps if you told the truth, confessed that you were wearing a dress stolen from the back of a noble lady you murdered, the queen would show you mercy.

There was no going back now.

Queen Rhaenyra stood and you curtsied again, a sudden storm of fear sweeping over you that calmed when Rhaenyra bent forward and put her lips on your forehead, each cheek,and lastly your lips.

To know the mouth of the dragon queen was to know The Gods themselves.

“Send the rest away, I have chosen. “ Rhaeyra ordered and took your hand in hers.

“I believe the gods have brought you to me for a reason and you will be safe here. Come, we will get you settled in and then I will introduce you to my wives.” Queen Rhaenyra said and suddenly you felt dizzy.

Was this really happening?

Had your fate truly been transformed?

As you two took your leave, a crowd entered the throne room, the not chosen ladies clambering to see who was chosen.

You spotted your former employer’s daughters and watched their eyes widen at the sight of you on the queen’s arm. They pushed and shoved their way to the front, shrieking.

“Do you know them?” Princess Rhaenys asked, studying you for a moment.

You made complete and total eye contact with both girls before letting the Queen lead you on.

“No, I do not believe I do.”

Just a little something to tide you over! Hope you liked it!

@asvterias

@nxcxllxsevens

@newcaptainofsquad9

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x you #rhaenyra targaryen x black!reader #rhaenyra targaryen fic

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cambion-companion · 2 years ago

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could you do smutty wedding night (aemond and reader marry for love 😊) and it's of course her first time and he's super sweet and worried

I may have outdone myself with this one.

Man, you guys just flood me with amazing ideas! I decided to finally write my take on a first night with Aemond after getting married. And added some tickle and playfighting in there because he would absolutely initiate that to make his new wife feel more at ease.

Aemond x fem!reader | virginity loss | playfighting | SMUT | 18+ only

Smoke and leather.

That's what your lover smelled like, his long silken hair tangled around your searching fingers as you buried your nose in the crook of his neck.

You could hardly remember the events of the wedding; it was all a blur of laughter and color...and anticipation.

Anticipation of this moment. Escaping to your newly designated rooms, kicking the door open, fumbling to undress, too busy wrapped up in each other to care about a ripped dress or knotted hair.

You were now the wife of Aemond Targaryen. The man you had fallen for as quick as a stone drops to the bottom of a pond. He was yours, and you were his. He seemed intent on proving how much you belonged to him, especially now as he nipped at your bottom lip, pushing his tongue rather aggressively into your mouth the better to taste you.

You groaned into him, fisting your hands in his hair, pulling his harder against you as he unlaced the last fastenings that held your dress to your body. It fell in pool of white velvet around your legs, you stumbled over it, Aemond catching you and bringing you upright once more, pressed flush against him, the thin fabric of your undergarments the only barrier between your flesh and his.

Your pebbled nipples brushed Aemond's chest, he palmed a breast in his large hand, his other hand caressing the bare skin of your waist, dipping underneath the waistband of your smallclothes.

You broke the kiss, pulling away slightly, suddenly shy. Aemond tipped your downcast chin up with a long finger, his lilac eye dilated as he studied your expression. "Do you wish to wait?" He was always so in tune with your emotions, and you knew he was terrified of scaring you away.

"No, Aemond, I just...need a moment to breathe."

He nodded, standing still, allowing you to take in his half-naked form. He was a specimen; tall and straight, his lilac eye glittering from the firelight, shimmering silver hair fell down his back and over his shoulders, the eyepatch hiding the sapphire you knew to be underneath. The planes of his chest and torso were lightly muscled, defined, accentuating his lithe figure.

Aemond's eye was also roving your body. He licked his lips, the straining in his trousers evidence he liked what he saw. Aemond took a few steps toward you, closing the distance. He reached out slowly. "May I?" You nodded, and his fingers found the dip of your waist once more, tickling your sensitive skin.

You flinched away from his touch, giggling at the sensation. His eye widened momentarily, before a mischievous smile tugged his curved lips. "My wife is ticklish, is she? What a fascinating discovery."

"Don't abuse your newfound knowledge!"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Even now you could see the intent on his face, his muscles tensing like a cat about to pounce on his prey. You squealed, trying to escape toward the bed but Aemond was too quick. He caught you, spinning you around and began to tickle you mercilessly upon your ribs and under your arms.

"Aemond!" You cried, laughing helplessly as you wriggled to free yourself from his clutches. "Aemond please!"

"Not quite how I imagined you would say those words, but I'm not complaining." Aemond chuckled, guiding you to the carpeted floor as your legs gave out.

The fur of the rug brushed against your back as you continued writhing, now pinned by Aemond's body pressed atop your own, making escape impossible, his hair brushing against your throat and chest adding to the overwhelming sensations.

All at once Aemond stilled, the torturous tickling stopped, and in its absence, you became keenly aware of his breath mingling with your own, the proximity of his lips, the way his hands gripped your hips.

"Aemond." Your voice was quiet now, barely a whisper.

But he heard.

Aemond tilted his head, his hair brushing your throat as you swallowed.

Your mouth was dry.

Your reached up, tracing Aemond's angular jaw with light fingers. Brushing the pads of your digits along the vertical scar, hooking them under his eyepatch and slowly pulling it off. The sapphire sparkled down at you, contrasting in loveliness with his purple eye. You continued touching him, trying to convey even an ounce of the adoration you felt for your betrothed...no, your husband.

"Y/N." Your name on his tongue sounded like the most ardent of prayers. "Tell me what you want."

Every inch of his body was pleading for you to acquiesce; to let him take you, claim you as his.

He waited, breathless.

"I want you, Aemond."

That was all he needed to hear. Aemond's lips were on yours once more, the heady feeling of him surrounding you, drinking you down as though you were ichor of the gods.

"Spread your legs for me."

He didn't have to ask twice, you immediately obeyed, feeling deliciously vulnerable as you opened to him.

Aemond made quick work of removing the last of your clothing, the cool air brushing over your intimate areas. You watched as Aemond sat up just enough to shed his trousers, freeing his hard member with a relieved groan.

You hooked your legs around his trim waist, wiggling slightly to position yourself for him to enter.

"You're not ready for me yet, my darling." Aemond moved off you, disentangling himself from your limbs.

He grinned in self-satisfaction as you made a mewl of discontent, quickly overcome by a moan of pleasure when his fingers found your aching cunt.

"Oh." You breathed, arching your back against the furs below, utterly disarmed by the bliss his fingers brought as they stroked your silken folds, circling your swollen bud.

"Look at me, my ember." Aemond coaxed, his voice as soft as the crackling fire. "I want to watch as you come undone on my hand."

You moaned his name, straining to touch any part of him as he sat above you, just out of reach. Aemond noticed, interlocking the fingers of his free hand with your own.

"How many fingers can you take, I wonder?" His eye flicked from your face to where his hand was working you.

You gasped as he pushed his middle finger slowly into you, unable to keep your hips from rocking against him.

"Gods. You are so tight." Aemond whispered, almost to himself. "You're going to feel so good around my cock."

Your brow furrowed as Aemond carefully pushed in another finger, pumping them into your heat, lewd wet sounds filling the room. Your cunt spasmed, the beginnings of climax already coursing through you.

"I want to feel you surrounding me when you cum." His gaze found your face once more as he removed his fingers from you. "I think you're ready."

"Please." You whimpered. "I need you inside me."

Aemond groaned, the tip of his cock already leaking precum as he knelt between your legs, pushing them open wider as he lined himself to your entrance.

"Relax, my love." Aemond watched your face for any signs of discomfort as he began pressing into your soft flesh. "Tell me if it's too much."

He was big.

You had never before experienced penetration apart from your own experimental fingers.

You raised your head to watch him enter you, his cock slowly disappearing as he pushed deeper. As aroused and ready as you were, there was still discomfort as your walls stretched to accommodate Aemond's girth.

Aemond's lips parted, his hooded eye never leaving your own. The look of bliss on his handsome face was enough to send another wave of arousal pooling in your core as he fully sheathed his cock within your soaking warmth.

He leaned over you, his chest brushing yours. Your hands came to rest atop his hips, holding him still. "Give me a moment, please."

Aemond bit his lower lip, nodding, his hair collecting in a silver pool on your skin as he kissed you. "Whenever you're ready."

It took only a few moments for you to adjust, you moved your hips underneath him to signal your desire for him to begin.

Aemond kissed you again, his breath filling your lungs as he pulled out almost all the way before pressing back into you in a fluid movement. You moaned loudly, thankful for the heavy stone walls muffling your cries of pleasure.

"Y/N." Aemond groaned, continuing to stroke languidly into you, his eye fluttering closed for a moment. "You're impossibly tight. I'm not-" Another little gasp escaped his lips. "I'm not going to last long."

His hips stuttered as your walls clenched, your legs wrapping around his trim waist, pressing the heels of your feet against his ass, trying to guide him deeper. "Aemond, please, a little faster."

Aemond took your mouth in his again, drinking down your moans as he rocked into you, setting a quicker pace, the sound of his flesh slapping against your own filled your ears, the musky scent of sex permeating the warm air as the two of you neared your climax.

"Do you feel any pain?" Aemond asked, his lips still brushing your mouth.

"No." You murmured, nipping his bottom lip. "I just feel you."

Aemond pressed his forehead against yours, rutting even harder into your heat, the wet sounds of your lovemaking growing louder as your orgasm began to take hold. You felt as though you were climbing into the very stars, your vision going white as your eyes rolled back. Aemond's teeth grazed your throat as you arched your neck, pressing your head back against the soft fur rug.

"Y/N!" You heard, as though from a great distance, Aemond saying your name over and again, his voice mingling with your own as you called for him to release himself deep within your quivering quim.

The force of your climax dragged Aemond over the edge and he slammed into you, spilling his hot seed, biting down upon your shoulder as your cunt milked him.

"Take all of me." He whispered, guiding your legs up until they pressed against your shaking chest.

Your vision refocused enough to watch as Aemond pumped into you several more times, remaining buried hilt deep until he felt satisfied his release would not spill as he pulled slowly out.

You felt bereft as Aemond's member left you, slick from your juices, his gaze upon your sex as he continued holding your legs aloft. You felt a drop of his cum begin to leak from your folds but before Aemond could react you reached down, scooping up the escaping seed and pressing it back into your warmth.

"Such a good girl." Aemond's voice was husky, his manhood already becoming hard once more. "Can you take any more?"

You brought your wet finger to your mouth, holding Aemond's gaze as you sucked the digit. "Yes."

The night had long turned to the early hours of the morning by the time he was finished with you. The both of you tangled in each other's arms, thoroughly spent. You had found your way to the bed eventually, only after Aemond had taken you upon the sofa and the dresser.

He had shown you an entirely different meaning to the term "dragon riding" and it was not without soreness you awoke the next day.

The sun shone brightly through the windows, Aemond's strong arms still wrapped around your waist, his head now pillowed by your bosom, the silver of his hair shining from where it fanned out over your bare skin.

He stirred as you stretched, opening his lilac eye and propping himself up on his arm, gazing down at you with tender adoration.

"Good morning." Aemond traced the shape of your lips with a finger before kissing you. "Or...good afternoon by the looks of it." He pulled back to measure your expression. "How do you feel?"

You had to take a moment to come up with the right word for what you were feeling. "Complete." You said at last, earning a smile from your husband.

"Allow me to indulge myself for a moment." He moved closer to you, knocking your knees apart as he pulled you flush to him by your waist.

You didn't resist, hooking your leg over his waist as you felt his ready cock now so familiar prodding at the junction of your thighs.

"Have you not been indulging yourself all night, my dragon?" You teased, your smirk disappearing as he slid inside you once again.

"I will never have my fill." Aemond kissed you sloppily, sleep still weighing upon both your minds even as he seated himself entirely within your cunt.

The stretching sensation that bordered on unpleasant last night now felt familiar and right, as though Aemond had been molded specifically for you. You moved slightly, getting more comfortable, expecting Aemond to begin fucking you into the mattress but he remained still, savoring your warmth.

You wrapped your arms around him as he nuzzled against your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking gently. You groaned, trying to move your hips but Aemond stopped you. "Let us just be still in this moment, Y/N."

Understanding dawned and with it a new emotion altogether different from the passion of the previous night. You carded your fingers through Aemond's argent hair, savoring the feeling of his mouth and tongue on your breast, his cock warm within your walls.

Your heart swelled; this intimate show of unconditional trust was a gift from your silver prince. He was the moon of your life, the man in whom you had found home.

Your one-eyed dragon.

Your ultimate protector and advocate.

His heart belonged to you, and you would guard it with your life.

Aemond's breathing slowed.

Your own eyes, though wet from the sudden stirring of emotion, grew heavy once more. The exhaustion from the night before still weighing on your tired muscles.

Sleep took you in a dreamless embrace. You felt the warmth of Aemond surrounding you, filling you. His familiar scent and his head resting atop your chest guided you into a slumber more peaceful than any you could remember experiencing.

You were home.

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world-of-aus · 1 year ago

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Safe With Me

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x MobDaughter!Reader

Warnings: hints of previous domestic abuse (very small hints), angsty, protective bucky (he's a warning folks).

Author's Note: I've been wanting bodyguard!bucky for a hot minute and here is part one of a two part installment. He's my grumpy turned sunshine I never new I needed till now! I also want to thank @winterwitch-trash for constantly sending me into the afterlife with her inspirations for this piece. Happy Readings Buns <3

Boisterous laughter fills your ears as you step a heeled foot into the extravagant hall. The room is filled with business suits and dazzling dresses.

His hand tap yours where it’s wrapped tightly around his bicep, your gaze meets his, a warm reassuring smile on his lips. A tilt to your head and he’s leading you further into the room, pulling you into the pool of suits and dresses, the laughter all consuming as he pulls you further in to the masses.

You slip into your role as he guides you, a warm pleasant smile on your lips, a tilt to your head as you greet the bigheaded business suit and his dazzling dress. He leads the two of you till your face to face with your father and his company. The men of the group can barely spare you a glance much less a proper greeting as they take to the man who holds you on his arm. You find the women are kinder acknowledging your presence with a nod of their head, it was the most you had found they were allowed to do at these events.

Caught up in a conversation your father takes the time to acknowledge you, his voice low as he leans in. “You are to stay with him at all times tonight, where you go, he goes, is that understood?” You want to ask if he’s here, there’s no other reason your dad would abide you caution if there wasn’t a threat involved. He leans back, eyes trained on yours, “do as I say.” A finality to his somewhat cryptic statement. You offer a tight-lipped nod, watching as he throws himself into the conversation.

Unlike the other women of the group, you don’t grow bored, your nerves on edge as you glance 9around the hall. Eyes scanning the business suits for him, you knew he was here. He had been set to take over the business when you hung off his arm, you had no doubt with the time that passed that he had already claimed the title.

So intent on finding his eyes you don’t feel Bucky lean in till he’s whispering into your ear, “let’s go dance.” He breaks your trance, head tilting to look at him but he’s turned to your fathers group dismissing the two of you with a promise to the men to grab a drink later. Your father catches him before he can whisk the two of you off, whispering something into his ear, it’s when the two separate eye to eye that you catch your fathers look, it was enough for you.

With a pat to Bucky’s arm, he sends the two of you off, your grip on his bicep tightening as you part through the group. His hand lays over yours squeezing, thumb brushing over your skin soothing. Bucky had grown so attune to you over the months, learning to read you better than most in your life could. There was nothing you could hide from the broad-shouldered brunette, not anymore.

You break onto the dance floor, his body turning into yours as he molds you to him, your hand clasped tightly in his. It’s quiet for a moment between you two as you let him take the lead, body pressing further into his as he takes you around the floor. He leans into you, “you’re safe with me, he’ll never lay another hand on you as long as I’m around.”

You want to ask him how long that looks like, want to ask him about the contract your father drew up and had him sign that fateful morning in his office months ago. You had no part in it despite it being drawn up for you and your safety. “What troubles you,” he breathes into your hair.

You lean into the motion, “you won’t be able to keep me safe forever,” your murmur into the black velvet of his suit. “What will happen when the contract you signed with my father is up? Surely there will be other jobs needing you, once your time here is done.” Your feet slow, the hand that rests on your back squeezes, “you need not worry about that, to worry about what your future holds, stay here in the present with me.”

You can’t help but to think of the future; a future without Bucky Barnes in it. He wraps you closer, your head finding his shoulder as he sways the two of you amongst the mass. The question of how long you had left with him sitting on your tongue. You don’t ask, not wanting to break the moment you share with ‘what ifs’. You wondered if you had held your walls as high as Bucky had when you were first introduced to him all those months ago if you might have saved your heart from the pain that would come when his time was up.

The hand that held yours finds your cheek, beckoning you from your spot on his shoulder. Your eyes find his, the question wants to fall of your tongue but a voice that has your blood running cold stops it altogether. Bucky’s form goes rigid when you freeze in his arms, fear clouding your features at the man that has appeared from the masses behind you.

“For claiming to be so devoted you move on rather quick, petal,” he spits.

Your eyes slip shut, breathing in deep as you steel yourself, you would not let yourself live in fear over this man. It’s what he wanted, wanting to keep you down when you were already in the dirt. You had lived it enough when you were with him, no more would you allow him to have you cowering before him. Enough was enough. There would be a time where the man that held you, the man who made you feel safe wouldn’t be there, and you needed to be ready to face things alone. Steeling yourself, you compose your features, throwing on a smile as you turn on your heel Bucky’s hand still on you offering you a sense of comfort as you turn to face them.

Your stomach drops at the sight, but your smile remains, “what a pleasant surprise Rumlow,” you greet, your eyes flicking over to his mistress, the one he had in your bed far too many times to count. “Elizabeth, you look radiant, you’re glowing,” you add as you allow your eyes to drift down to her swollen belly. It would have only been a matter of time before she fell pregnant with his child, you’re just glad it hadn’t happened with you there.

“Not sure we can say the same for you,” Rumlow throws in smugly. He wants a fight, wants you to bark back so he can find a way to put you in your place, like he did when you were under him. Bucky can sense his intentions as he presses into you, the hand that laid at your back now curled into a fist.

“Well surely you can’t say the same, because we’re not the same.”

Despite the lack of venom in your tone, Rumlow bites, “He’ll grow tired of you as well,” he murmurs eyes flickering to Bucky, “don’t lock yourself down with this one pal,” he finds your eyes again, “she isn’t worth it.” Bucky should have stepped in sooner but the feel of you shaking form in his arms draws the line. “Rumlow is it?” he questions as he steps forward, his form shadowing yours as he puts himself between you and the man you once called your fiancé “listen pal I don’t appreciate the way you’ve been talking down to my girl, now I’ve tried to respect her wishes of being on my best behavior tonight but I think it’d be best if you and your partner here walked away now, were trying to enjoy ourselves, surely there are others around that you can get your ego stroked with that isn’t mine.”

Rumlow looks visibly ticked by Bucky, his hand clenched at his side, but he knew better than to start anything tonight, no one ever dared to start a fight on a night like this. The dark haired brunette clears his throat as he steps forward towards you. No regard for Bucky he gets as close as he can voice low and menacing as he speaks directly at you, “your daddy’s little guard dog can’t protect you forever,” he steps back smirk on his lips as he takes the two of you in, “pleasure seeing the two of you, and y/n ill see you soon.” he says over his shoulder as he walks past the two of you.

Bucky’s eyes follow the man as he goes but your frozen on his words, heart pounding in your chest, a ringing in your ears that screams its all too much. You suck in a shaky breath, the need to run all but suffocating, you’re slipping from Buckys hold as you move forward, smile pressed on your lips despite the dread consuming you whole. You squeeze through the business suit and dazzling dress, slipping your way through the crowd the exit at the forefront of your mind.

His voice is a light buzz in your ear but you can hear him call for you, telling you to wait, slow down, but your feet won’t allow it, your racing heart making it harder to breathe the longer you’re in here. You make it out past the grand doors, feet barely just meeting the edge of the first stair before you’re being pulled back into a broad chest. His hands are on you, turning you in his hold muffling the first cry that tears from your lips. “It’s okay,” he breathes into your hair, “I’ve got you, you’re safe with me.”

Your fingers clutch at the lapels of his suit, “he’s never going to stop, and you won’t be here forever, I – I can’t do this anymore, I'm not strong enough to do this."

Bucky prays you don’t feel the way he tenses up at your words, the way his heart skips a beat, he pulls you into his arms tighter, lips finding your head, “you're stronger than anyone I've ever had the privilege of working under y/n, we're going to figure this out, I've got you, I promise you I've got you." You want to scream into the night air but settle on the choked sob that makes it past your lips instead.

"It's just so unfair," you whisper into his jacket. You weren't sure what you found more unfair though.

The situation with Rumlow, or your newfound situation with Bucky.

#bodyguard!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au

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da-rulah · 5 months ago

Text

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 7]

Summary: Mary is in danger, walking into the lion's den with nothing but a pocket knife. Forrest is on his way, but will it be too late…?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, themes of abandonment, difficult childhood, threat, violence, blood

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Ladies, gents and enby darlings, I need to draw your attention to this stunning artwork I commissioned of Mary from the unbelievably talented @ghuleh-draws... I cannot believe how gorgeous he is and I could talk about it for hours. Please, go and show her and the art some love. Hopefully it might heal some of the trauma I've caused with both last chapter and this one... And once again, a big thank you to @angellayercake & @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading this!

Mary’s arms ached, and yet, he continued with his work. Mr. Rogers had started to lose some of his dexterity, his arthritic hands no longer able to do as much as they used to and so, Mary’s workload had as good as doubled. Furniture in need of a new lease of life had begun to pile up in the workshop, and school prevented him from making the dent in the work he needed to. Late evenings were becoming later and later, and yes, Mary’s grades had started to suffer.

But it was becoming impossible to ignore the financial situation he found himself in, and – even at sixteen years old – the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. There was no choice here. If he wanted to move himself and his mother into a real home and out of the scummy little motel on the outskirts of town, they had found themselves in, he had to do what he had to do; with very little time to be the kid he still was...

He’d stopped glancing at the clock on the wall of the workshop long ago, well aware midnight had come and gone. It wasn’t the ideal place to be on a Friday night, when all his friends were out enjoying their freedom. Still, he continued to sand down the wood of the dresser he was working on tonight despite the aching. If he could just get the sanding and the first layer of staining done tonight, it would be dry by the time he came back into the workshop on Sunday and he could spend at least Saturday evening with his friends like he’d planned. If one night a week was all the free time Mary would get, he’d just have to be grateful for that.

Mary turned off the sander and swiped his hand across the top of the dresser, feeling how smooth it now was to the touch – no ridges, no scratches and totally even. Mr Rogers himself couldn’t do a better job, he was sure of it. And so, he pulled his dust mask from his face, letting it hang beneath his chin as he put the sander away and reached for the brushes and varnish.

As he did, his phone began to vibrate on the tool bench, violently rattling against the metal. He stared at it for a moment, part of him wanting to ignore it and continue his work. Another 45 minutes or so, and he could head back to the motel and get some rest. But it vibrated incessantly, until he had no choice but to put down the brush and tin in his hand with a loud thud and answer the damn thing.

“Yeah?” he spoke into the receiver, his tone dejected. He knew who was calling at this hour. He always knew.

“Yeah, hey kid. Me again. Look, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to come and get her. I’ve cut her off but she won’t go.” That voice belonged to Manny, the bartender at Ace’s Taproom. He sounded as exhausted as Mary did.

Mary sighed into the phone, rubbing at his brow as if it would relieve the pressure that had built there.

“Can you just... I don’t know, can it wait an hour?” Just enough time to get this layer of varnish done... Then he could still head out tomorrow night, his plans intact.

“She’s already causing a bit of a scene, kid. The sooner you can get here, the better.” His tone was apologetic – even Manny knew this burden was too much for a kid to take. But who else was there?

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. Thanks, Manny,” he relented, already untying the tool belt from around his hips with his free hand.

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll see ya soon,” Manny consoled just before he hung up. Mary dropped his phone back onto the bench with a loud slam, running his dusty fingers over his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was happening too often, almost every damn night. It had to stop, but what else could he do? He’d just have to keep saving her.

When Mary pulled into the parking lot in Mr Rogers’ old van that he had kindly gifted him – for the sole purpose of collecting and delivering the pieces of furniture they worked on at the shop, since he could no longer lift them in his old age – he took a second to himself, collecting his thoughts and preparing himself for a confrontation he knew was bound to happen.

He got out, heading towards the sign that flickered in neon red in the shape of an ace of spades. At this hour, there were very few people on the streets, much less left in the old taproom but still, he could feel the shame creeping in.

Inside, he spotted her immediately, slouched over the bar on her usual stool nursing an empty glass with an incredibly pale drop of amber liquid in, as if the ice that had inhabited the last dregs of her scotch had melted and watered it down. Manny stood at the other end of the bar, talking to one of the other regulars but he shot Mary a sad yet appreciative smile across the room. Mary just lifted his hand in an almost-wave, and headed over to the bar.

“Ma?” he called out gently. She barely stirred, her head laying on her arm like she was asleep. He shook her gently, pushing her hair from her face. “Ma, come on. Let’s go.” He pulled her shoulders into an upright position, her head lolling as she came to.

“N-no, I’m not done yet, baby,” she slurred, her tongue as drunk as her mind.

“Yeah you are, they’re shutting up soon. We gotta get home,” he encouraged, trying to help her down from the bar stool. Her head gained its bearings, and she caught sight of Manny at the other end of the bar, as well as the other patron, watching the saddest scene unfold in front of them both.

“Th-this prick... Said he wouldn’t serve me no more,” she rambled, pointing at Manny with an arm too weak to stay elevated. “What you starin’ at, huh?”

“Ma, come on... Let’s just go, yeah?” Mary’s cheeks were heating up with embarrassment.

“Don’t need your pity, dickhead!” she shouted, still slurring as if her tongue were too big for her mouth.

“Go home,” he told her firmly, trying not to rise to her insults. She flipped him off, while Mary wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hoisted her to her feet, slowly taking her outside.

As soon as the door shut behind them, his mum pushed Mary from under her and tried to stand on her own two feet, stumbling a little in the process. But she found her footing, while Mary stayed close enough to catch her if she did fall.

“Idiot boy, ruining my fun,” she mumbled. That was like a knife to the chest...

“Either me or the cops, Ma,” he sighed. “Let’s just get home.”

“Home? HA!” she hollered, “Where’s that then?” Mary just rolled his eyes, taking her arm gently and guiding her back in the direction of the van. Her walking reminded him of a newborn foal, so unsteady as she took one step at a time and yet she tried to get him off her the whole way, unwilling to admit she needed help.

“Ma, this has gotta stop. This ain’t healthy...” he began, starting a losing battle. She stopped and slapped her hands down by her sides.

“Don’t start with me, Mary,” she warned, but he was determined.

“You’re drinking our savings, Ma! How are we ever gonna get outta that motel when you’re spending it faster than I can make it?” He raised his voice, his frustration evident.

“You said you were working overtime!” she argued, as if that were any real argument at all. Mary was a 16 year old boy; his only job should be a few hours a week at most, if at all. Not every hour he could squeeze in, and certainly not to pay for her alcoholism.

“Yeah, to get us a new place! But I can’t make enough if you’re just gonna spend it. Do I have to stop giving you money for you to stop? That’s for groceries, Ma. For shit you need!”

“Don’t you curse at your mother, boy...” she practically growled.

“Maybe if you acted like my mother-” It was a low blow, but not entirely unwarranted. His mother interrupted him with a sharp slap to his cheek, the suddenness stunning Mary into silence. His cheek stung, but his heart even more so. She’d never raised a hand to him before.

“M-Mary...” she stuttered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears as the realisation sank in that she’d just slapped her son. Her little boy... Mary took a step back as she reached for him, letting her stumble and regain her balance again. “I’m sorry...” She tried to grab at him, to hold him and stroke his hair and desperately apologise but he shoved her off, and she stumbled to the ground in a heap.

“I’m done. Get yourself home, Ma.” He turned quickly back to his van, his hands shaking with emotion he tried to hold back. His keys jangled in his hands as he unlocked the door with the press of a button, and he climbed into the seat with a slam of the door.

His cheek still stung with the force of her slap, his eyes welling up as he clenched his jaw so tight his teeth could have splintered. He squeezed his eyes shut and hit his head back against the plush cushion of the headrest several times as he slapped at the edge of the steering wheel, releasing all of his hurt, his anger in an outburst he contained to the cabin of the van now that he was alone.

Taking some deep breaths, he calmed himself to a point where he could wipe the fresh tears on his cheeks and shoved his keys into the ignition. But he paused before he turned them, the engine staying dormant, and glanced down into his wing mirror only to see his mother still in a heap on the floor. Her shoulders shook violently, her sobs audible even from here in the cab. His eyes lingered there, unable to tear them away as his chest ached. She looked so helpless, so utterly destroyed by what she’d done but more so, what had been done to her...

“God fucking damnit,” Mary muttered, climbing back out of the van and walking back over to her with caution. Of course he did... How could he leave her? His own mother, lying on the cold tarmac of a parking lot, in this state? Mary was all she had now, their shitty little apartment snatched from them, abandoned once again by anyone and everyone. For years it had always been Mary and her, against the world – that couldn’t change now, when he was all she had left.

Without a word, he lifted her again, her sobs quietening when she felt his hands under her arms and realised he’d come back for her. Her expression changed from anguish to surprise with an essence of gratitude and apology, allowing her broken son to pick up the pieces as he helped her back into the van. He took great care with every move, gently letting her get comfortable as he leaned over to strap the seatbelt across her, laying her head against the seat while she sobbed silently and hiccupped from time to time.

As he drove her home, she reached for the radio to flick it on, getting comfortable in the seat and using the sound to try and distract from the situation the pair of them found themselves in. Mary stayed quiet the whole time, keeping a watchful eye on his mother as she seemed to drift between sleep and reality now she was bundled into a warm and comfy seat.

“You used to tell me... I would hear you on there someday,” she slurred as they got closer to the edge of town, pointing weakly at the radio with a fond but weary smile. “My boy, ‘the rock star’,” she giggled. Mary looked ahead at the road, trying not to entertain the drunk rambles nor the dreams he’d squashed for himself with the weight of his responsibility. His one and only goal right now was to get them back on their feet – and even that felt unattainable.

Back at the motel, he watched his mother struggle with her dexterity to fit the key into their room door. Eventually, he gently took the keys from her and let them both inside, guiding her as had become their routine. He let her sit on the bed – the one they now had to share under the circumstances – and crouched at her feet to take her shoes off for her, placing them one by one on the floor.

He helped her take off her jacket, laying her down gently on the pillow while she curled in on herself in a foetal position. Mary headed into the bathroom with an empty glass, filling it with tap water and bringing it back out to his mother’s side of the bed. He crouched down next to her, urging her to drink. She did, small sips at a time.

“Ma, please... you gotta get better. We need to get outta here,” he said softly.

“I was getting better...” she sniffled.

“I know, Ma. You can get better again,” he encouraged, but there was a small part of him that worried she never would. “You just gotta move on from-”

“Stop,” she begged. “I don’t wanna hear it...” But Mary persisted. She had to hear him.

“You can’t let this shit stop you. You’re stronger than that. We’ve been through worse,” he insisted. Her head shot up from the pillow, her gaze stoney and angry.

“You have no idea, Mary... What it’s like to have the world promised to you and then ripped out from under you.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“You’re worth a lot more than that fuckin-”

“Enough!” she yelled, rolling over onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We could have had everything, if you had just...”

“Me?” Mary interrupted, instantly offended at her accusation. “What the fuck did I do?”

“Your attitude, Mary,” she shot her glare back at him. “Always fucking attitude.”

There was no chance she was blaming him for all this... This was neither his, nor his mother’s fault. There was someone to blame, but in their absence the only person close enough to his mother was Mary, and the only person she could lash out at was him. She couldn’t possibly mean what she was saying, and yet, it still stung all the same.

“Go to sleep,” he told her, his voice hardened and stern as if he were the adult, and she the child. “You’re just talking pure shit now. It ain’t my fault he lied to you.”

“He didn’t lie-”

“He did, Ma. He lied to you, and everyone else. He’s a piece of shit like everyone else in this washed up town!” Mary raised his voice, his anger at every injustice he faced from everyone around him mounting higher and higher. “I’m fucking sick of it, here! I wanna get us out, but you’re too busy drinking every dime I fucking make to notice that I’m fucking drowning!”

Mary stood up suddenly, smacking at the shitty motel phone on the dresser beside the bed. His mother sat up, steadying herself from the headrush and the room spinning around her.

“I’m doing my best, Mary!” she yelled.

“Are you? Cause your best was getting clean eight months ago. Your best was no alcohol, getting yourself a job, being a normal fucking Mom! But now you’re back here, and it’s me who’s gotta look after you!”

“I-I... I have an addiction, it’s not that easy-”

“You’re not even trying! You’ve fucking given up, and why? Just ‘cause some fuckhead promised you the world with a cherry on top and it turns out, he was lying like every other dickhead?” Mary was going too far, but with a lack of a proper outlet, being forced to grow up quickly and fend for the both of them, every bottled up thought and emotion was spilling from him without restriction.

His mother sat on the bed, watching her son thread his fingers through his hair in frustration and take some deep breaths to try and steady him – but they weren’t working.

“Y’know what? Fuck this. You call me when you decide to be a mother again.”

And with that, Mary grabbed his keys and stormed out of the motel room, slamming the door with so much force that the cheap painting on the wall fell and shattered behind him.

Despite picking up his keys, he bypassed the van and kept walking, his legs taking him further into town without a destination in mind. He’d roam aimlessly if he needed to, but he needed to let off some damn steam, to expel some of this fucking rage that he’d imprisoned for too long.

As he went, he found himself kicking over trashcans, the metal rattling along the sidewalk. He used his keys to scratch the sides of cars he stomped past – the expensive ones, mostly. The ones owned by people in this town with too much money, greedy fat cats with more of it than sense. On his keys, he had a swiss army knife keychain, and one particular car – a very expensive black SUV – he shoved the blade attachment into the tyre deep enough that it deflated, high pitched whistle getting quieter and quieter as he walked further into town.

By the time he was in the town centre, he was starting to see a few people out and about, shoving shoulder to shoulder into them with a look of pure thunder on his face. Most people simply yelled out at him to watch where he was going, or called him a punk or other variations of ‘delinquent’.

‘Yeah’, Mary thought, ‘that’s what you all fucking think of me’. A town full of people who only knew him for his namesake – a deadbeat father and a drunken mother. Why wouldn’t Mary follow suit? If people thought that of him already, maybe he should just live up to the expectations; become the stereotype and stop giving a shit about anyone and everyone around him.

Why should he try anymore?

But he shoved at the wrong shoulder outside a pool hall, two kids Mary knew as seniors from his high school stood outside with cigarettes in one hand and beer bottles gained with fake IDs in another.

Corbin and Asher.

“Hey! Hey, fuckface!” Mary heard from behind him. He kept walking, too angry to give a fuck. But they followed. “Mary fuckin’ Goore, huh? You piece of shit, think you can slam into me and walk the fuck away?”

Mary didn’t even look back, but they caught up...

Corbin grabbed the back of his jacket and slammed him face first up against the shutters of a closed store, the metal rattling under the force. In an instant, he spun Mary around, slamming him again and holding him there.

“You got a problem, kid?” he asked, cocky and ready for a fight. Mary struggled against his hold, trying to shove at his arms and kick at his shins.

“Get the fuck off me, man,” he yelled. “You were in the way.” Corbin laughed condescendingly, looking back at Asher who stood there with both of their beers in his hands smirking the whole time.

“This kid thinks he owns the sidewalk, Ash. From what I’ve heard, he belongs in the fucking gutter...” Corbin landed a fist to Mary’s gut, Mary folding up like a ball of paper as he coughed. “Maybe we’ll put him there.”

He dragged Mary by his jacket and threw him to the ground, watching him roll around in pain until he tried to get up. Corbin raised his foot as if he were about to stomp on him, but Mary rolled to the side just in time to avoid it and instead reached out and pulled on his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a loud thud too.

Corbin was older, heavier, but Mary was younger and nimble – quickly he straddled Corbin and started throwing punches, every ounce of anger inside him forcing his fists into Corbin’s face who was yelling at Asher to do something, to stop standing around like a fucking moron and get this ‘little shit’ off him before he ‘beat the crap outta him’.

Before Asher could get close, Mary was being dragged off Corbin by someone else – someone in blue. Before he knew it he was being shoved against the hood of a car, his wrists clamped together in cold metal rings as the cop who’d stumbled on the scene slapped the handcuffs on him. His partner restrained Corbin just the same, slamming him on the other side of the hood.

One of them called for another car, unwilling to shove both Mary and Corbin into the back of the same cop car lest they kill each other on their way to the station, but Mary was thrown in first, and taken in for processing.

“Mary Goore, huh?” was the welcome he got when escorted inside by the Chief, sat behind the processing desk on a late shift. “Was only a matter of time,” he scoffed. Mary’s blood boiled at that. A few minutes later, as Mary was getting processed, another cop rolled in with Corbin in handcuffs. Immediately, Mary tried to lunge towards him, both of them hurling insults at each other while restrained.

“Pembrook, get this kid in a fuckin’ cell to cool off!” the Chief yelled at the officer restraining Mary, who did as instructed and hauled him off to a solitary cell.

“No, no wait! I get a phone call!” Mary said, running back up to the locked door as the officer shut it behind him.

“You’ll get your phone call when you calm down, kid,” the officer shouted back through the door. It was at least another hour before Mary got his phone call...

Not that it did him any good. He tried both his mother’s cell, and their motel phone – no answer. Perhaps he’d fucked up the phone when he smacked it off the side table, but still, his mother wasn’t answering her cell, probably passed out for the night.

Mary was left alone, sat in a solitary cell with fresh bruises and cuts, until the sun had long since risen. He curled up on the bench at the back of the cell, cold and metal and uncomfortable, and barely got a wink of sleep.

“Goore, let’s go,” he heard through the hatch in the door at God knows what time. He rolled over and sat upright, wiping the exhaustion from his face as the officer – a new one, only having just started his shift – opened the cell door. Behind him, was perhaps the only person Mary could really depend on at all.

Forrest.

“You can collect your things from the registration desk. Don’t find yourself back here again, kid. You got lucky, this time...”

Mary just nodded meekly as the officer turned and walked off, the door wide open and Forrest stood there looking at him with an expression of nothing but worry.

“Corbin got out last night, heard you were still in here. Got my parents to pull some strings,” he explained with a shrug. “Shit, Mare, you alright?”

Forrest stepped into the cell and placed his hands on Mary’s shoulders, inspecting him. Mary just nodded again, both too exhausted and too somber to form actual words.

“I’m gonna kick Corbin’s fuckin’ ass for this,” he grumbled. “I’ll set his eyebrows on fire in chem. He’s the worst fuckin’ lab partner anyway.” Mary huffed out a barely-there laugh at that, his shoulders shaking in Forrest’s hands.

Forrest was a senior, like Corbin and Asher. He knew they had a reputation, always getting into shit like this but he never thought he’d see Mary heading down the same path. He was the only one who saw what Mary went through, the work he put in at the workshop, the nights he spent nursing his alcoholic mother. He’d taken him under his wing a little, made him one of the gang and tried to offer him some respite from the slurry of shit he found himself in.

Getting the money from his parents to bail Mary out wasn’t difficult; they threw money at him like it was bird seed on the steps of a cathedral, but it was for that reason he knew loneliness just as much as Mary. On opposite ends of the spectrum financially but somehow, they shared a common ground in just how shitty their relationships with their parents were.

It shouldn’t have been him who got Mary out of here. It didn’t matter to him who started the damn fight or why; Mary had been through enough as it was, and an outburst like this was simply a ticking time bomb. What bothered Forrest more than anything, was knowing it had to be him walking him out of that police station and not the one person Mary loved most in this world, the one who was supposed to love, protect and care for him.

This wasn’t the last time he would collect Mary from a cell; there were more outbursts to come, more frustrations and stupid mistakes but if he had to, Forrest would be there for them all. He’d never abandon this kid who cared so deeply about people and the injustices they would face. Mary could have his rebellious phase, get it out of his system – hell, Forrest certainly did, and he wasn’t sure he was even out of it yet. But he needed someone to lean on, someone to reign him in when he started to go too far.

That night was Mary’s rock bottom, but Forrest jumped down into the pit with him, armed with ropes and twigs, ready to build a ladder to get them both out.

You were pacing outside the convenience store, desperately calling Forrest with your groceries in one hand, cell phone pressed tightly to your ear in the other. He didn’t pick up the first time, probably ignoring a number he didn’t know but you were getting more and more desperate. The second time you dialled, he picked up after a few rings.

“Yello?” he answered, chipper and riding off the high of a show well played.

“Forrest?! Oh my god, thank fuck for that. Listen, it’s me... Mary gave me your number,” you rushed out, barely intelligible at the speed you spoke.

“Duchess?” he questioned, using the nickname the boys had seemed to settle on when they realised you weren’t going to castrate Jed for creating it. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Mary’s... I don’t know, he said to call you! I’m at the store, he told me not to come back. Something’s wrong, Forrest... He said it wasn’t safe?” you panicked.

“Shit...” he muttered. You heard scrambling on the end of the line, like he was getting up and grabbing a few things around him and stuffing them into a backpack. “Listen to me, you don’t go back to that apartment, okay? I’ll be there soon, one of us will call you when it’s safe. Just stay there.”

“Forrest what’s going on?” Your voice had raised an octave in pitch, your cheeks burning from holding back tears.

“Those guys at the bar... They know him, they’ve hated him for years and they threatened him. He just needs some back up, it’ll be alright. Just stay, okay? Promise me.”

You wanted to promise that, but how could you stay there and not try to help Mary? If those guys had turned up at his apartment, he was outnumbered and if nothing else you could act as a distraction. You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and Forrest stopped rustling about his apartment needing to hear confirmation. He couldn’t be worrying about you too when his best friend was in danger.

“Duchess?” he yelled into the phone.

“Y-yeah, yeah... Sorry. I’ll stay,” you told him, still unsure if you were telling the truth.

“Good, just wait for the call. He’ll be fine,” he assured, but the panic in his voice betrayed him too. He hung up without another word, leaving you stood in the street in the early hours of the morning, absolutely petrified for your boyfriend...

Could you really stay put when he was just a few blocks away? When there was potentially something you could do to help him? You supposed you’d just have to...

The door creaked as it slowly swung open, betraying Mary right from the start. If someone was in his apartment still, they’d have heard that... No doubt about it. And so, his grip on the swiss army knife tightened, and the steps he took became slower, steadier so he’d be able to plant his feet should he be ambushed.

Stepping into his apartment, it was still dark. No lights had been turned on, just the orange glow from the street lamps outside streaming in through the windows. He listened out for any sign of movement, but nothing. To his left, nobody in the kitchen... But things were out of place, to put it lightly. Drawers hung open, cupboard doors almost ripped from their hinges. Cutlery, food and crockery lay strewn about the floor and countertops, like it had been ransacked.

Mary proceeded with caution, noticing that the floor of his apartment was covered in his things... Records, clothes, blankets and pillows; even his tatty little guitar was on the ground in the middle of the floor, the neck broken and strings snapped. He wasn’t sure whether to feel rage or despair, but both hit him like a freight train.

Slowly, he stepped a little further to peer around the corner that led to the bedroom and bathroom to his right, and then to his left, around the partition between the kitchen and living space. That’s when he noticed.

A figure, sat on his couch with their back to him. He knew who it was immediately.

Mary planted his feet, readjusting his grip on the blade in his hand. He was preparing himself for any sudden movement, every single one of his senses heightened. Should he be ambushed from another direction, he was ready.

“Where is she?” The shadow asked, their voice low and eerily calm. Mary stood his ground; he was in no mood for games.

“What are you doing in my apartment?” he asked, ignoring their question. The figure straightened up where they sat, no longer hunching forwards as they studied something on the coffee table. They took a deep breath, before answering with another question.

“Where... is my daughter?” The shadow turned their head towards where Mary stood, between the outer wall of his bathroom and the entryway to his kitchen. The street lighting gave just enough of itself to illuminate the stark features of the man in front of him, the hardened glare pointed his way.

The Mayor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mary lied, without much conviction at all but he already knew there was no point. But he wasn’t giving him any information. He could go fuck himself.

The Mayor cracked a grin; a sadistic little grin, as if he were some kind of comic book villain spoiling for a fight. “Now I know that ain’t true, so you’re gonna tell me where she is, I’m gonna go get her, and I’m gonna deal with you later.”

“I don't know where she is,” Mary spat, his resentment and hatred for this snake barely contained.

The Mayor sighed dramatically, slapping his hands to his knees and standing up. He turned towards Mary then, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, top button undone now he was technically off the clock. But he still wore his expensive suit, save for tie and blazer, as if it would intimidate Mary somehow.

“Should have expected this from you, Mary,” he chuckled, “Defiance. Attitude. Even coming in here with a damn weapon.” He nodded towards the swiss army knife in Mary’s ever tightening grip.

“Someone broke into my apartment. Gotta defend myself,” he stated plainly.

“Nah,” the Mayor scoffed, “it was only a matter of time before you got yourself in trouble again. Cops of this town were always too good to you, lettin’ you off too easy.”

As if Mary had ever done anything to hurt anybody... Sure he’d been picked up a handful of times for graffiti, or destruction of public property, that one fight with Corbin and Asher – which technically, he didn’t start... But Mary stayed quiet, staring at the threat in front of him just waiting for him to try something.

“You know,” he started, turning back to the coffee table, “maybe I’m forgetting my manners, huh? Maybe we should catch up first?” He bent down, picking something up from the table and turning back. In his hands, was the photo frame Mary kept on his windowsill...

The Mayor looked down at it, studying it with a smirk. “She always was a looker, huh? How’s she doing these days?”

Mary saw red, desperately fighting every instinct in his body that wanted nothing more than to tear into this vile man, rip him limb from limb and cast him to the wolves. His already injured knuckles turned white, the wounds splitting back open as his fists balled up tighter, the handle of the blade in his right hand digging painfully into his palm. But he stayed grounded. He would not make the first move.

“Get the fuck outta my apartment,” Mary warned. The Mayor was testing his patience, and it had already snapped once tonight.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where my daughter is.” His smirk dropped, along with the frame in his hands. He disregarded it without a care in the world, letting the glass crack as it hit the ground with a thud. Mary winced at the sound.

“Wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” he lied. He was adamant he would never tell him where you were, never give you up if he beat him into a pile of broken bones. You’d been free of him for less than a week, but already you’d come out of your shell so much, found yourself. How could he ever put you back in the box they’d kept you in all those years?

“Do you think you’re good for my daughter, hm?” the Mayor took a step closer, “You think she’d want someone like you?”

Mary ignored him. He had to. This was just a manipulation tactic, something to throw him off and degrade him like everybody always had.

“You’re the scum of this town, Goore. Everybody knows it.” He stepped closer again, circling Mary with slow and calculated steps like a panther on the hunt. “You, and your drunken whore of a mother, your deadbeat father... You were fucking destined for the gutter.”

Mary watched him as he came to stand in front of him again, just a little taller than Mary but puffing his chest out as if to intimidate him. Mary stayed painfully still, grinding his teeth in rage. One wrong move, he was poised and ready to defend himself.

“You think you know me... You don’t know shit,” he taunted, “But I know you...”

“Oh-ho-ho," the Mayor laughed, “You do, do you? This should be good.”

“Yeah... I know you’re a filthy letch who takes everything from good, honest people and lines his pockets with it.” Mary was getting cocky now, arching his eyebrow and tilting his chin up in defiance as a sadistic little smile crossed his split lip. “I know you used to be a good guy, once upon a time. Beautiful family, on top of the world...”

The Mayor barely reacted, pushing his tongue into his cheek and looking down at Mary with the same arrogance he always exuded.

“I know you trapped your perfect little wife up in your ivory fuckin’ tower while you flashed your shit about town like a damn Kennedy brother...”

The Mayor’s eyes darkened. Now Mary was getting to him.

“I know you trained your precious little girl like a damn puppy her whole life, only to have her grow up to resent every little fuckin’ thing about you...”

Mary was about to cross a line. He was about to say something just to get a rise out of him, just to make him snap. He’d never talk about you like this and mean it, but for all the pain and misery this man had caused people through the years, he deserved something that cut him to the bone.

“You repelled her so much that she crawled out of her pink, frilly cage... and spread her fuckin’ legs to the town scum...” Mary laughed, smug and satisfied when he saw the way the Mayor’s hands tightened around his biceps, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

Mary took a step closer to him – a stupid move, but he was oozing cockiness, no longer thinking clearly and only wanting to cause as much fucking damage to this prick’s ego as he damn well could. He knew it would turn his stomach to know his daughter was friends with Mary, let alone willingly fucking him.

Mary looked the Mayor up and down, smirking with barely contained glee as he leaned into him to deliver the final blow.

“She calls me daddy now...” he whispered, staring directly into his eyes with an impish sparkle in his own.

The Mayor’s eyes raked over Mary, sizing him up, looking him up and down while he chewed on his cheek, the disgust on his face twisting and morphing into a vile expression of hatred. Before Mary knew what was happening, the blade in his fist was knocked clear across the room, his balance thrown off as two large hands wrapped around his throat. He was spun around and pushed backwards into the small kitchen space, tripping over the mess left there as he tried desperately to fight the power of the much older, much bigger man attacking him.

Soon enough his lower back was being slammed into the edge of a counter, the thumbs of the hands around his throat pressing down on his airways while Mary did what he could to fight back, clawing and scratching at the Mayor.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, spots starting to flicker across his vision as that murderous glare stared back at him. The thought briefly crossed Mary’s mind that he might not stop... Once he was rendered unconscious, there was nothing to stop him from taking the life he’d worked so hard to rebuild over and over again away from him. Just as he’d found a semblance of happiness, too... The Mayor was going to take it all away from him. Again.

The Mayor’s grip adjusted to just one hand tightening around his throat, the other pulling back and coming crashing down on Mary’s cheek with a blow that reopened old wounds of the evening. Mary was going to lose this fight, there was no contest. Blow after blow landed to his face as the Mayor squeezed the life out of him...

“Daddy!”

The Mayor snapped out of his trance, his head whipping behind him with his fist pulled back in preparation for another strike, the other still choking Mary. You looked on in pure horror at what you’d walked into... You had expected to come back to a dangerous situation, but not one that included the attempted murder of your boyfriend at the hands of your own father.

With the Mayor’s attention on you, however brief, Mary took advantage and lifted his foot to push at the Mayor’s hip quickly, twisting him just enough that he lost his grip on him, and Mary fell to the floor in a heap, coughing and spluttering as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs. It was all too much all at once, the sudden rush of blood back to his head and the pain of the punches hitting him at the same time and he rolled and writhed on the floor as he tried to regain control of his body. But the spasms continued, and he could barely see nor hear anything while he squirmed at the Mayor’s feet.

You rushed into the kitchen, attempting to bypass your father and to immediately help Mary but you were stopped, a hand wrapped tightly around your bicep and attempting to drag you away. Of course, you fought back, smacking at your father’s chest and kicking at him as if it would help.

“Let go! Get the fuck off of me! GET OFF!” you screamed over and over, hoping someone might hear from another apartment and come to your aid.

“You forget your place, girl,” your father snarled, barely affected by you beating at him. You managed to wrench your arm free of his grip and take a step back, your father’s attention on you and you alone while Mary still coughed on the floor, almost vomiting with the way his chest heaved.

“If you think it’s with you, you’re sorely fucking mistaken,” you growled. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Teaching this little fucker a lesson in manners,” he spat, pointing down at Mary who spat a glob of red tinted spit to the floor – a biproduct of the hits to the face he had taken. He’d regained enough composure to sit himself upright against the cupboard, letting his head hit the wood as he glared up at your father, chest still heaving.

Only now did your father take a good look at you, seeing how different you looked in a short denim skirt, a fishnet top, the make-up you’d chosen to wear over what you had always been told to. Once again, his expression clouded into disgust.

“What has he done to you?” he asked, looking you up and down.

“Him? You think I’d jump from a life where I’m controlled by a man into another one?” you shrieked. Your father pretended not to hear you, instead leaning down to quickly grab Mary by his shirt and heave him to his feet, holding him against the cabinets again. Mary didn’t fight back; he couldn’t. He was still in too much pain, his body not responding to his commands.

“You take my daughter from me, and dress her up like one of your scummy little whores?” he screamed into Mary’s face while all he could do was wince and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to steady the swimming sensation in his head.

You rushed towards them, pushing at your father until you could weave yourself between the two of them. Mary barely kept himself upright against the counter, but you reached a hand behind you anyway, securing it in his and holding it tightly against your back.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” you warned.

“You wanna protect this little shit? Why? You think you love him?” your father mocked, scoffing at the mere thought of it. “I couldn’t quite believe it when I finally got it out of your mother... As soon as she told me she saw you get into a shitty black van, I fucking knew... I thought ‘no, no way my little girl is that fucking stupid’. Of all the decent guys in this town, you choose this?”

The anger you felt as he berated you, insulting not only Mary but you and your intelligence too... You had no time to be angry at your mother, knowing what your father was like and how he could manipulate anybody to get what he wanted out of them. All of your energy was directed into protecting Mary, standing between him and your father and proving to them both you weren’t backing down. Gone were the days of obeying and staying in your lane. If Mary had taught you anything in your short time together, it was that you could be yourself and stand up for what you believe in unapologetically. And you believed in Mary...

“He’s a better man than you give him credit for,” you seethed, squeezing his hand behind your back. Your father laughed maniacally at you, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Really? This little shit? If you think he’s any good for you, you’re dumber than I ever imagined. You come from a good, respectable family. This whole fucking town knows me, loves me, and all I ever did was give you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter... But you throw it back in my face?” he argued, throwing his hands around as he yelled. But you stood your ground. “You know where he comes from, right? Deadbeat fucking dad who drank and gambled his money away. A whore of a mother who also drank herself into a permanent hospital bed?”

“You’d... know all about that, w-wouldn't you?” Mary struggled to speak through laboured breaths from behind you, hunched over but pushing up on the counter to stand upright.

Your father’s head snapped back to glare at Mary. “Excuse me?”

You felt a change in the air, notably in your father’s demeanour. His eyes had widened, and he seemed to freeze in place, waiting for Mary to speak again while he caught his breath and used his strength to stand properly behind you. He kept hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly but once he stood up, he used his free hand to steady himself on your waist; both protectively and for stability.

“You... you think you have a right to judge... my mother? After what you did?” he asked rhetorically, which only confused you. Your brow creased and you turned your head to look back at Mary.

“What are you talking about?” you asked softly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He tore his eyes from your father to glance at you, offering you a look of apology laced with fear as if he were apologising for what you were about to hear... When he looked back at your father, your eyes followed to see that same wide-eyed expression. “What did you do?”

“You gonna tell her, or should I?” Mary’s voice was a warning, but still, your father remained silent. If he wasn’t going to tell you what the hell was going on, you’d just let Mary. Someone needed to say something, and quickly, before you lost your cool again.

“Tell me,” you ordered them both, but still you directed your glare at your father.

“Yeah why don’t we tell her, hm?” Mary’s voice had grown a little stronger, recovered from the hands that had squeezed his neck for almost too long. Adrenaline was kicking in, numbing the pain in his head from the beatings and giving him the strength to get angry, to challenge the Grand High Mayor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defied. Mary just scoffed.

“You tricked my mother, and took everything from her...” he spat. You looked back at Mary, confused and shocked. Your father just stood in silence, glaring.

“How?” you asked, “Tell me everything. Now.”

“You won’t like this...” he warned, never breaking eye contact to look at you.

“I don’t fucking care, Mary. Tell me.”

He took a moment, forcing a steadying breath to calm the rising nerves. He’d never wanted you to hear this, fearing it might just devastate you to know who exactly your father was, the kind of man he could be, and what he was capable of. You hadn’t needed to find this out, but this had all gone too far. He wanted nothing more than to pull the rug from under the Mayor’s feet, to make sure he knew that Mary knew everything, that he needed to be very fucking careful this secret never got out. Mary had him in checkmate, holding the secret in until someone came along who would hear him and believe him – someone with a higher standing in the town than himself and his friends.

“My mom got clean when I was 15,” he began, “She’d stopped drinking, got herself a job that could keep us going while I was in school, and still working for Mr. Rogers on the weekends. We were living out in the Oak Ridge apartment complexes, and we were doing alright.”

“Then in came a man in a dapper suit with a briefcase and a fuckin’ God complex, who convinced the landlords to sell up so he could flatten the building and build office blocks instead. He fucked over all the residents, all hard-working people, by flashing compensation to the landlords who just handed out eviction notices. But my mom owned our shitty little apartment outright. She’d just managed to club together the money for the deposit, to get herself a mortgage and have a place that was just ours. She wanted stability, and she didn’t want to sell up. She was the last one who refused...”

Your father’s eye twitched as he readjusted his stance, like suddenly he was incredibly uncomfortable. “You don’t actually believe this fucking scumbag, do you?” he asked you, interrupting Mary.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped, and miraculously, he did just that.

“So he... He charmed her. He bought her pretty things, took her to fancy places out of town, told her everything she’d ever wanted to hear... He told her he loved her,” Mary’s voice cracked at that, at the hurt of somebody lying to his mother when that had been all she’d ever wanted, “He seduced her, and told her he’d run away with her and give her the life she’d always wanted with him... if she’d just... sign on the dotted line...”

You felt sick to your stomach. Not only had he taken advantage of Mary’s mom, their situation, all for his own gain, but he’d cheated on your mother, gone behind his own family’s back to manipulate a damaged but healing woman and ruin her life. Your head span with overwhelm, purely disgusted by what you were hearing. You knew your father wasn’t a good man, but you had no idea he was such a monster...

“When she signed the deed over, he dropped her and left us both on the streets. He left us with nothing; no money, no home. We had to move into the Quartz motel, and she was heartbroken. She started drinking again, more and more because of what YOU did,” Mary snarled at him, pointing his finger as he raised his voice. “She was too depressed to get back up again, and I had to pick up the pieces. I had to quit school, work full time and give everything up when I was fucking 16 years old just to keep us afloat. She never recovered, and it didn’t matter when I got us this shitty little apartment and finally moved us outta the Quartz, her body gave up.”

Mary pushed you to one side in his rage and stepped up to your father. You stumbled and caught yourself on the counter, too stunned to do or say anything about it as the truth sunk in. Mary got in his face again, pointing his finger directly at him and screamed, “It’s because of YOU she almost fuckin’ DIED. You piece of SHIT! YOU AS GOOD AS KILLED HER!” Mary slapped his hand against your father’s chest, who just stood there and took it, glaring at Mary as if he were still that same kid.

You shook yourself from your own little trance and pulled Mary back to you by his arm, turning your back on your father and holding Mary’s cheeks to soothe him, to calm him down as he broke down at the truth. Mary stood there and sobbed, letting you wipe the tears as you shushed him, whispering apologies to him as if any of this had been your fault. But your heart broke for him...

How could your father have ever been that callous? You thought you’d known him, that he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it seemed he was. You were aware he leaned more towards right wing politics, and no, you didn’t agree with him. And you’d known some of his associates were bent and unethical in their ways, but you’d never known he was as corrupt as Mary was telling you. All those whiffs of under the table deals you’d gotten over the years were true. He was a crook... A liar, a cheat, and abusive fucking monster.

“You don’t seriously believe this shit, Pumpkin?” he asked, using a damn pet name of all things to try and get you back on side. You span around to glower at him, rage bubbling up inside you.

“Don’t you fucking ‘Pumpkin’ me, you arrogant letch!” you screamed. “That explains why you kept disappearing all the damn time, spending your evenings and weekends anywhere but at home. I guess now I fucking know where you went... You missed half of my sweet sixteen, for fuck’s sake! Sped off right after the cake and didn’t come home for two days. Is that where you went? Is that where you always went? To take advantage of a decent woman who only wanted to be loved? To give her kid the BEST FUCKING LIFE POSSIBLE!?”

“I never went anywhere near his slut of a mother!” he yelled back.

“Oh, please!” Mary interjected, “You fucked her, and then you fucked her over.”

“You LIAR!” Your father lunged at Mary again but you stopped him, forcing him back with a push that took all of your strength, all of your anger. He didn’t try it again, instead focussing his anger on you now.

“You gonna let him manipulate you like this? Lie to you? He’s just trying to come between us, Pumpkin, to keep you away from me. He'll fucking use you and dump you for the next girl who shows him any attention. You’re just some petty fucking revenge he’s taking out on me... He’s USING YOU!”

“Sounds more like something you’d do...” you growled at him. You had made your choice already, long before tonight. Your place was at Mary’s side, now more so than ever. Fucking revenge. As if Mary would have lied to you all this time... There was no way?

Your father straightened himself up, dusting his shirt off as if there were something on it, but it gave him a moment to collect himself, to make himself seem the prim and proper one.

“If you choose to believe his lies and stay with him, then that’s your stupid choice,” he told you as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, not even affording you the decency of eye contact. “But know this; you choose him, and that’s it. You will have nothing. No money, no home, no future. I’ll make sure neither of you work in this town. I will cut you off completely.”

He thought he had the upper hand, that his words would scare you into submission and force you to come home with him. He seemed to forget the heated words you’d exchanged the night of the dinner at the Town Hall...

“I thought I’d made myself pretty clear last time we spoke... I don’t want to live under your fucking thumb anymore. You told me to leave once before, and what, now you’ve changed your mind? You want to play happy families, and drag me back into the life you forced me to live? I want my own life, and now? I want it as far away from you as I can possibly get.”

Your father stared at you, his jaw grinding in anger. He’d lost control of you, and he hated it. You were unravelling his perfect ‘family man’ façade that had won him all those elections, tearing down the perception the town had of him as this kind, caring man with a beautiful family.

As you glared at each other, challenging the other to speak first, heavy footsteps got closer as if someone were running down the hallway outside the apartment and soon, Forrest ran into the apartment clutching a baseball bat and ready to swing. He stopped short at the scene in front of him, not having expected this at all... Mary, beaten and bloodied behind you, squaring up to your father, the Mayor...

Forrest knew everything and quickly connected the dots, keeping the bat raised and ready in case your father tried anything at all. But now he was outnumbered, and his pride wounded.

“You’re making a big fucking mistake, madam,” he warned. “You’ll end up a low life like these idiots, and laying in a hospital bed just like his mother.”

“You need to leave,” Forrest told him firmly. “You got another witness now, sir,” he warned, sarcasm dripping from the honorific.

Your father straightened up and turned, taking a few steps to stand at the edge of the kitchen where Forrest backed up to give him the room to leave, bat still raised. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to see you reach for Mary’s hand, holding his cheek gently in yours as you took a good look at the bruises and blood that covered his face.

“You should get out of town before morning,” he began. “I will pull every string at my disposal to make sure you will never find peace here. This is my town, and this?” he waved his finger around, “is a dangerous neighbourhood. Especially without a deadbolt.” He nodded towards the front door that he’d bust open.

“Get out,” Forrest reiterated with a look that could have burst him into flames if he had the ability.

Without another word, your father turned and left, slamming the front door that only bounced back open with nothing left to catch.

Forrest lowered the bat with a sigh, rubbing at his forehead from the stress. You focussed all of your attention on Mary, checking he was okay. He certainly wasn’t... He’d taken two beatings in one night and was covered in a litany of injuries that needed attention.

Without saying a word, Forrest dropped the bat on the floor with a clatter and rushed into the bathroom, pulling out an old first aid kid from under Mary’s sink and rushing back with it while you gently guided an exhausted Mary to his couch, forcing him to sit back.

As you patched him up with band aids and gauze and fed him a glass of water, no one dared to speak another word. After everything that had happened tonight, the silence – however brief – was welcome. But eventually, one of you had to break it.

“We should get you to a hospital, Mare. You might have a concussion, or a bust nose or something’,” Forrest reasoned. Mary shook his head.

“I’ll be good, don’t think anything’s broken.” Neither you nor Forrest argued with him. “Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?” he asked, sinking further down into the couch beside where you knelt on the cushion, hovering over him.

“He’s just trying to scare you both, right? He’s pissed, just wants you both out but what the fuck can he really do?” Forrest asked from the floor, where he’d picked up the broken picture of Mary and his mom and set it on the coffee table. Mary stared at it, biting back the sting of tears.

“Anything... he can do anything. He’ll make good on his threat, his security don’t ask questions.” You chewed on your thumbnail anxiously, trying to think of your next move.

“I’m sorry...” Mary mumbled, looking down at the picture on the table with shame in his eyes.

“For what?” you asked, shuffling closer to him and gently turning his chin towards you, “What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“He’s cut you off because of me,” he sniffled, keeping the tears in his eyes at bay. “I’ve fucked your life up for you already...”

“Don’t you dare,” you told him firmly, “you listen to me. I chose this, I needed to get away from him and I did. This is a blessing, we’ll be okay-”

“How the hell are we gonna be okay? We can’t stay here anymore, we got nowhere to go and the money I make at the shop isn’t gonna keep us both afloat for long...” he panicked, but you hushed him with a finger to his lips.

“We’ll figure it out. Money’s not a problem...” Mary looked confused, as did Forrest, the pair of them staring at you. “I’ve... I’ve been saving. Funnelling money away for a while. I knew someday I’d wanna get out and well... I opened a bank account as soon as I was old enough and just kept throwing my allowance into it. I got a trust fund when I was 18, he thinks I spent it. I didn’t, it’s been stashed away for years. We can get a place Mary, we just need somewhere for now.”

Mary blinked at you dumbly, “You... You want that?”

“What, to run away with you? Are you kidding?” You ran your fingers through his hair, avoiding the long strands that were clumped together with dried blood. “Haven’t I already done that?” you asked with a soft smile.

Mary gawked at you, smiling a little himself before he leaned closer to you and planted his bust lips onto yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. Forrest coughed from the floor, bringing the two of you back to reality.

“That’s great and all, but... where the hell are you gonna go for now?” he asked. Mary processed his question for a second, thinking it over.

“Well, it’s not exactly a ‘best case scenario’, but... I have an air mattress back at the shop? It’s just a storage unit but it’s outta town. Sometimes I’d work late and be too tired to drive home so I’d crash there. No one really knows where it is, I never have clients come to the unit.”

“It’ll do, while we look for a place in the city,” you told him. You didn’t care where you stayed or what you slept on, as long as it was safe – as long as Mary was safe.

Forrest nodded, getting up from the floor and starting to gather some of the mess from your father’s rage. “Better get a move on then... Grab what you need, I’ll help you move it in my van too.”

Before either of you stood up, Mary sat upright and turned to face you. “You sure about this, doll? Like... really? I can’t expect you to use that money to set us both up.”

“Oh, shut up...” you smirked, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You really having second thoughts about taking my dear daddy’s money and running off into the night?”

Mary’s eyes glinted with a mischievous sparkle, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Well, when you put it like that...” He leaned in as you giggled, welcoming another slow, tender kiss that felt like a triumphant win given the events of the night.

From across the room, Forrest rolled his eyes, picking up a small pillow and throwing it at the both of you to break you up. When you both yelped and looked up at him, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head, tapping at an imaginary watch on his wrist as if to say ‘hello? Get moving!”. You stood from the couch, reaching your hands out to Mary who used your strength as leverage to sit upright, his whole body aching and protesting after all the damn fighting tonight. Forrest was, of course, right. You needed to pack up what you could quickly, and get the hell out of town.

So much had happened tonight, and so much had been said that couldn’t remain just a fleeting exchange in the heat of the moment. Revelations of the kind of man your father truly was had to be put to the back of your mind for now, to be dealt with and talked properly about in the coming days. For now, you couldn’t focus on it - the wound too painful to acknowledge until you were out of harm’s way. You couldn’t think about the truth, or what that meant in terms of your relationship with Mary. The thought that perhaps you were just Mary’s retribution couldn’t take root in your mind, lest it grow into genuine suspicion. There was no time to let doubts creep in. Instead, you dove into packing with Forrest, shoving clothes and essentials in whatever bags or boxes you could find to busy your mind.

But Mary; he stayed put, fiddling anxiously with his rings. Neither you nor Forrest questioned him, figuring after two pretty rough beatings tonight he could sit this one out. But it wasn’t that that held him back...

His own doubts were seeping in, an anxiety burning in his chest. He’d unveiled a huge part of himself tonight, something he’d never intended for you to know. He’d never wanted to hurt you with this and now that he had, he had to force down the guilt that came when he’d seen the look on your face as the truth spilled. His disdain for the Mayor hadn’t ever been as simple as hating the face of the town that hated him. There was so much more to it than that, but he’d never wanted to make that your burden.

Part of him now was terrified. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps – maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but someday – you might think he chose you for this, like some sick revenge on the Mayor. Even he had accused Mary of it, claiming he was using you... Taking his only daughter and defiling her, corrupting her just to get his own back. That night back in the dive bar had started as a bet, yes. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that it was ironic he’d got to fuck you after your father had fucked over his family. But you were so much more than that...

He was in too deep now. He loved you. Now more than ever, he was afraid he might lose you over this. He prayed that you didn’t think that, that your father’s own accusation had fallen on deaf ears.

But for now, he just needed to get you both out of town. As long as you were safe, he’d take whatever consequences came his way.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

#mary goore fanfiction #mary goore fanfic #mary goore x reader #mary goore #repugnant fan fiction #repugnant fanfiction #repugnant #repugnant band #ghost bc #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #ghost the band #mary goore smut

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neesieiumz · 1 year ago

Text

brontide || ──────── r. braun.

day three - SPITTING / HUMILIATION / EXHIBITIONISM

『 synopsis 』 ⸻ a night with your friends gets you into way more trouble that you're looking for.

『 warnings 』 ⸻ mafia!au. mafia-boss!reiner. the mafia part is implied but not explicitly mentioned. he also owns a sex club. sm*t. minors do not interact. humiliation. exhibitionism. spitting. emotionally-abusive ex-boyfriend. who happens to be floch. and who also happens to be in prison for five years. he calls you sweetie/sweetness. he's been obsessed with you the moment he saw you and sent your ex to jail so he can have you. one of reader's friends are also a part of the mafia and basically escort her to go to the club so she can get snatched up.

『 writers notes 』 ⸻ first day of kinktober! been planning this since august and I'm gonna finish it! By god's grace, of course!

『 word count 』 ⸻ 6.4k words

masterlist. next part in kinktober.

Laughter echoed into the night, and the entire group huddled together ambled alongside the wet sidewalk. Your arms were hooked around the arms of your friends, walking in sync with them as the rest of your friends followed behind you all. The air smelled fresh, of wet petricor and tar, evidence of the recent rain that fell over the city. You felt light as if your head could fall off your shoulders, the slight buzz from the round of margaritas you all had during your dinner together. The original plan was to continue the party at your favorite club, but you found the line to be too long and it was slowly ruining your buzz. So now you were walking through the town, hoping to find something to continue the fun you’ve had tonight.

Before, you’d never thought you’d be out like this, with friends, wearing short dresses and a huge smile on your face. Seven months ago, you were a whole different person, quiet, frightened, and controlled by your ex-boyfriend. However, miracles could come in the newest forms as he suddenly found himself thrown into prison, which inadvertently caused your freedom. Ever since then, you found yourself living more and more free, living more and more for yourself. You packed up most of your things, sold what you could of his things, and moved cities and jobs, finding a career or even higher pay. With your ex-boyfriend out of the way, as well as removing him from everything you could, it helped that he was in prison, and it made everything in your life in order.

“You know,” you felt one of your friends whisper into your ear, “I’m glad you could come out with us tonight.”

You had met her not too long ago, the two of you running into each other while you were in the middle of running errands. Since then, you’ve assimilated yourself into her friend group and all of you are becoming really close, really soon. However, swamped with work, at your new job, you hadn't had a chance to step out and have a fun night off with your new friends, who were all pushing for the time with you, especially since you told them about your ex-boyfriend. Learning about how before he went to prison for robbery, and how he kept you isolated from your friends, family and controlled your money

You smiled at her, lifting your hand up to brush a few of your braids that were blowing in your face, “I’m glad I finally found the time to come out.”

She smiled at you, glancing down at your dress, “and I see the choice of dress you wore. Isn’t this the one I had to convince you to buy on one of our shopping trips.”

The dress was black and short, with a long slit going up the side, with thin straps holding it. On the slit, connecting the two pieces of fabric were multiple bedazzled thin pieces of fabric. It was different from what you would usually wear, but as you glanced down at it, from the fabric to the low-plunging neckline, it held a certain freedom that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The two of you gave each other a smile, as the entire group approached the newest location, a club that had opened up recently. It was brought up by Michael, who was your friend’s boyfriend, and mostly everyone agreed to finish the night out there after dinner. The name of the club was plaster at the top, glowering in a pure white. The rest of it was covering dark red LED tassels, it was opulent in nature, and the towering building had your heart clenching for a moment. You lowered your head, now gazing at the very long line peeking out the door.

“That line seems… long,” you mumbled, as you all got closer and closer.

Your friend glanced over to you, squeezing your arm, “no worries, Michael knows people, he’ll get us in.”

“Tessa!”

The two of you turned to see Michael waving at her, gesturing for her to come to the front. You were about to let go of her arm, but instead, she held onto it tighter, taking you along with her. The rest of the group made way for the two of you as you all reached the doorway. You could hear the jeers of the rest of the line, seeing your entire group waiting at the entrance skipping the rest of the line. You stood right before the bouncers guarding the door. They were huge, wearing tight, black shirts and heavy cargo pants. They held tablets in their hands as they glowered down at you all.

“We’re ummm…” Michael started, “we’re friends of the owner. He should already be expecting us.”

The bouncer glanced between the group before his eyes landed right on you. His hard stare caused you to slightly flinch, but Tessa’s grip on you only held tighter, keeping you in place. Your heart pounding away in your chest, you saw the bouncer glance down at the tablet before looking right back at you, before turning towards his coworker. The two of them whispered for a moment, and then the coworker picked up his small radio before entering into the dark nightclub.

“Come in.” is all the bouncer said, before moving out of the way.

You glanced around at the group but you had no time as you were pulled into the building and into the dark space. Inside, it was dark, you almost couldn’t see ahead of you if it wasn't for the white strobe lights constantly moving and flashing around the room. The music was dark, with a huge bass boom, you couldn't feel your own heart beating. You pressed your hand against your chest, hoping for a reminder that you were still alive. Before you knew it, the group broke up all going in different directions, you could barely see where the rest of them went. You could feel Tessa’s arm pulling you away, past all the ladies standing and moving about it.

Before you could even think, you were standing against the bar table, your mind barely getting used to the loud music, and the constant movement all around you. The bar table was the only thing with consistent lighting, with low back wall lights, lighting up the different stacks of liquor, as well as low-hanging black lights as well, causing you to see the working bartenders making different orders. You glanced over to your left, hoping to see Tessa or some form of her standing right beside you but you couldn't. If you held your hand out in front of you, you probably wouldn't be able to see any of your fingers. You let out a shaky breath, soon realizing you couldn't hear yourself breathing. You glanced around you once more, not able to find any semblance of your friends anywhere around you. You felt weird, out of place even, you didn't know where to go. You turned your head around once more, taking note of everything around you. At the same time, an empty stool opened up, allowing you to sit down and rest your feet. You were still looking around, but still, all you could see was the strobing light, now a mixture of blue and gray, and the crowd of bodies.

Suddenly a hand tapped on the one hand you had placed on the counter, causing your already jittery body to jump, your body flying right back around, facing the bar counter. In front of you stood the bartender, with short, blonde hair, and a white towel laid across his left shoulder. He wore the same uniform as the bouncer, with a black shirt and you could see the hems of the heavy cargo pants.

He stepped back a moment, his hands in the air as he took note of your jumpy attitude, “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head, “sorry, I’m just a little jumpy, it’s my first time in a place like this.” You yelled over the loud music, leaning over the counter.

He smirked at you, “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a good time.” That's all he said before sliding you over a tall martini glass.

It was filled to the brim with brown liquor, with a little bit of foam brimming at the top of it. You tilted your head at you, a questioning look on your face.

“I don’t… I don’t remember ordering anything.”

The man shrugged, “it’s on the house, for you know… your first night here.”

That was the last thing he said to you before walking away, before tending to others sitting at the bar. You looked at him as he walked away before facing the glass one more. Slowly, you reached over to the counter, picking up the glass by the stem before bringing it over to you. You brought it up to your nose, taking a whiff of the cocktail. You could smell the slow-churned liquor, strong and expensive in smell. You glanced at it one last time, before taking a sip, the smooth mixture sliding down your throat easily. A slow, warm tingle rose up within you as you took another sip. Stepping away from the bar, slowly immersing yourself in the crowd. The crowd was moving all around, dancing in waves and into each other. You stood around, looking into the crowd of dancing people, seeing if you could find your friends anywhere, mixed in with the crowd.

With nothing, you decided to move on, sipping on your glass as you slowly stepped around the perimeter of the club. You could feel eyes on you, prickly-like needles poking and prodding at your spine. Turning around with swiftness, you found yourself glancing up at what seemed to be the second floor, seeing people standing about up there. There was some level of privacy, with only semi-opaque windows showing off what seemed to be a private party. Your eyes glanced over from the railing of the second floor, your eyes guided to what seems to be a stairwell, located not too far from you. You could see two bouncers standing there, with a velvet rope keeping the general populous away from what seemed to be a more private crowd.

“Hey!”

You gasped, feeling something cold prodding at you as you turned around, seeing the friend you walked into standing right behind you, her boyfriend not too far from her.

“Hey, I was looking for you!” you yelled over the music, taking another sip of your drink.

She smiled at you, giggling and crashing into you, most likely unstable from however much she drank, “sorry, me and Michael got lost in the crowd and we ended up joining someone’s randoms section! You should join us!”

The moment she said that Michael, the boyfriend, came up to her, pulling her away, whispering something in her ear. Your friend’s joyful expression soon faded, the two of them delving into whispered arguments, furrowed expressions on both of them now. Not wanting to get in between them, your eyes soon wandered towards the stairwell again. Two people, a couple, soon stepped up to the bouncers standing there, exchanging words between them. The bouncer glanced down at his tablet, much like the ones in front of the club, and scrolled through it, before nodding at his partner, who unlocked the velvet rope, allowing the man and woman to enter and soon walk up the stairwell to the more private party.

“You curious?”

You jumped for the third time that night, your head whisking to the right, before seeing a tall figure standing over you. The first thing you notice about him is his olive green eyes, it was like they shined within the strobe lights. He had long dark hair, which you could tell was pulled back in some kind of bun. You couldn’t help but glance down further, seeing him wear a suit, his hands tucked into his pockets. He tilted his head, before the two of you turned your heads at the same time, staring at the stairwell.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I guess I am, why? What’s up there?”

He mused, “can’t tell you that, but I can get you in, if you’d like?”

You narrowed your eyes on him, “why should I trust you? I don’t even know your name, and why would you do this for me?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “feel like being nice for a very pretty lady, think of it as my act of kindness of the day.”

He pressed his hands around your waist, before guiding you towards the stairs. At this point the thought of your friend and her boyfriend flying out of your mind as you headed closer and closer to the flight of stairs. Your mind racing with a never-ending stream of thoughts, and your heart pounding away at your chest, you honestly had no idea what you were doing. You took a final sip of your martini, just as you stood with the man in front of the bouncers.

The two workers took one look at the man, not even bothering to look at the tablet before the one handling the velvet rope unhooked it immediately, allowing the two of you to pass.

“Enjoy your time, Mr. Jaeger, Mr. Braun is sure to be expecting you.”

Braun…?

That name was familiar to you, you had no idea how, but you heard it before. However, before you could dwell on it, your escort, denoted as “Mr. Jaeger”, pressed his hands into you, guiding you up the stairs. You took one last moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of your friend, but you could no longer see her standing where she was last left, and neither could you see her boyfriend either. You shrugged the thought off, remembering the short conversation with her about joining someone else within the club. The sounds of the club became more muffled the more and more you climbed above them. Mr. Jaeger took his time to take you towards the more privatized area. You saw an empty table, glancing down at your glass before placing it on there, hoping someone would pick it up.

The door to the area wasn’t covered by bouncers, but it was hidden from where the general population could see the few viewings of whatever was going on within the room. Jaeger is what you’ll call him until you can learn his real name, open the door, gesturing for you to walk inside first.

It was much like the crowd downstairs, but smaller, and with fewer strobe lights. It looked to be a private party taking place. You could tell by the banner that hung up in which you could vaguely make out the words “Happy Birthday.” Everyone was up in a ball in the middle of the floor having the times of their lives, with people scattered about as well. You ignored the white powder on some people’s tables as you maneuvered yourself through the standing people.

Before you knew it, you had made it out of the crowd, stepping into a cleared-out area.

You took a moment to glance behind you, seeing the heavy crowd, and all the bodies moving about. Turning around, you suddenly found yourself face to face with a door. It was watched over by two heavily tattooed bodyguards. The men guarding the door looked different than the bouncers, each of their arms heavily tattooed, wearing heavy utility belts around their waists. Your curiosity was slowly taking hold of you, as you tilted your head at the men.

Suddenly, the two men in the center took a few steps to either side, parting like the Red Sea, as the door behind them suddenly opened. Your eyes caught onto the first boot that walked out of the darkness, your eyes trailed up slowly as the rest of him appeared from the pitch-black, darkness into the low, gleaming light. The first thing you noticed was his hazel eyes, they gleamed through the light, capturing your pure attention. His blonde hair contrasted against his dark suit, his hands tucked into his pockets as he stepped down the rest of the way. He stopped, just right in front of you, and the two of you locked eyes. You took in his entire form. Your head tilted just a little, as you looked upon his face, the clean-shaven look, the broad form, realizing that he looks so familiar, that you’ve seen this man before.

Memories flash before you, tan walls, bright lights, sliding chairs, and tables, black suits, and a mean smirk staring down at you. You glance up, jumping as you realized the man has gotten closer to you, no longer standing on the steps in front of the door.

“It’s been a while, sweetie?”

Braun…

It was like lightning had struck you, as your mind flashed back to almost a year ago.

“Babe, what is this place?” You couldn’t help but ask as you looked around the fancy lobby area.

However, he didn’t answer you as he walked up to the hostess behind the table, talking to her before guiding the two of you somewhere. You tried to speak up again, asking him about this restaurant he took you to, but he only hissed at you, before focusing on the table before you. It was a long table, filled almost to the brim with prim and proper-looking people, all talking amongst themselves.

“Mr. Braun, I’ve brought more of your guests.”

The scattered chatter spoon became hushed whispers as almost everyone looked up at the two of you. At the head of the table, hardened hazel eyes looked up at the two of you standing there, the intense stare causing your back to straighten up as he glanced between the two of you. He had his folding in front of him, resting on his elbows and he produced a glare so menacing towards your boyfriend, the only thing you could skin them to was the hard and nasty stares your grandmother used to stare down at you whenever you broke her stuff.

“Mr. Forster, I should have you arrested for stalking,” the man started, waving away the hostess.

Your boyfriend, despite the obvious and sudden sweat that dripped down his face, as well as his shaky hands, spoke, “yes, Mr. Braun, I understand, but I just really need some of your time to talk about this new business venture.”

Business venture… so this wasn’t a romantic dinner like you thought it would be. YOU could feel yourself deflating as your boyfriend suddenly let go of you. He reached down, pulling out the seat closest to him, immediately, sitting down, leaving you to be the only one standing. Flustered, you began to reach for the seat next to him, hoping to pull it out and sit next to him quietly.

“Stop.”

Everyone froze, as the words echoed through the nearly empty backroom of the restaurant. You looked up only to find his eyes on you, which only caused everyone else’s eyes in the room to look at you.

“You crash my event and make yourself known, the least you can do is pull out your own girlfriend’s seat, huh Forester?”

Floch, already flustered and embarrassed, only turned red as he stuttered against his words, “Oh, oh right, sorry, Mr. Braun.” Your boyfriend began to move to get, to pull your seat out for you.

“I’m not the one to say sorry to, and don’t bother moving,” is all Braun said, before snapping his fingers.

All of a sudden, a man wearing an all-black suit appeared right behind, causing you to jump a little. He pulled your seat out for you, making a quick gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a seat sweetness.”

Quietly, you thanked him before sitting, squeaking as he pushed into your chair for you. Glancing up, seeing Mr. Braun’s eyes on you as you settled down into your seat.

— — —

Seeing those same hazel eyes sent you in a whirl spin. Almost a year passed and you could still remember them staring into your eyes just like that day.

“Mr. Braun… the dinner party…” your words tasted acrid as you spoke them, inadvertently bringing up the memories of your ex-boyfriend.

His chuckle sent electricity down your spine, seeing him step a bit closer towards you, “just call me Reiner… glad to see you remember me, huh?”

“Yeah… I’m surprised you remember me?” You winced at your words, internally yelling at yourself for the awkward choice. If he noticed it, he didn’t say anything about it, only moving towards you even more.

“Can’t forget a pretty face, now can I?”

Your mind was yelling at you to move, but you could barely bend a knee as he towered over you, his hands no longer tucked in his pockets, instead, he reached up, his hand slightly pushing past your long braids that frame your face, before caressing your cheek. You couldn't help the shaky breath, the clench between your legs as you got a whiff of his string cologne.

“Come with me.”

It was a demand, not a question.

He took you by the arms before leading you up the platform he had once descended from. You couldn't help but glance back at the retreating party behind you, seeing the crowd get smaller and smaller as your vision soon became surrounded in black. The two of you moved through the darkness, the music changing from the EDM-focused club music to something a lot slower, and a lot more sensual, combined with a lot of bass.

It was as if you stepped into a new dimension.

The atmosphere was different from the one downstairs. That one was exhilarating, heart–throbbing.

This one was heart-stopping.

Your heart felt strained, trying to pump blood throughout this entire experience. Your inner ears constantly vibrated and fuzzed as you took a step into the crowd. Every movement felt like it slowed down, you could barely see two feet in front of you, much like downstairs, but somehow, it felt… different. It felt as if the bodies were closing in on you with every step you take. You rubbed your cold hands against your skin, hoping to warm it up a little and gain a sense of grounding within you. You let out a shuddering breath, feeling the temperature around drop with every step you take. The music was loud, almost deafening even, you could barely hear yourself think. All you can do is take one step at a time, trying to warm yourself through the cold environment. You couldn't help the way you held onto the man taking you deeper and deeper into this new-founded area, digging your nails deep into his arms to steady yourself into this anchor of a man.

The two of you soon pull up to this table, surrounded by other people as he guides you to a velvet-cushioned seat, before sitting right beside you. All the men sitting around were huge, wearing suits of all different fabrics and cuts. in their hands either held expensive cigars or lit up, causing the area around them to smell like smoke. This caused your face to grimace, moving your hand up to your nose to block the smell.

“Smoke’s getting to you, sweetie?” A low voice came up to your voice.

An arm wrapped around your shoulder, a hand grabbing at your face before turning it to the right.

“I always hated the smell, Floch used to smoke cigarettes, and would stink up the apartment too.”

“Heh, you’ll get used to it,” is all he said, reaching out as someone handed over a perfectly wrapped and sealed cigar.

That same person lit it for him, before bowing and taking their leave. You watched them just as he inhaled the first smoke. The smell hit you, your nose slightly wrinkling at the tobacco. Reiner’s arms kept you close, putting you up against the smoke as he looked down at you.

Before you lost your nerve, as you turned to him, your hands rubbing down your arms to calm the chills that ran up your spine, “Why did you bring me here?”

Reiner glanced down at you, blowing smoke out from the corner of his mouth. He then leaned down towards you, his heated breath from the cigar ghosting over your ear.

“Look around Sweetness, what do you think this place is?” He whispered into your ear.

Your eyes glance around the room, landing on the different people moving about. Some people were standing around smaller stages, watching strippers easily glide themselves up and down the pole. However most of the people were standing around couches, you could barely see what they were looking at. Looking closer at one of the couches, seeing one of the bodies move, your eyes widen at the scene. You saw a man—no, two men, one towering over a woman and the other one having her on his lap. You couldn’t see everything, but you knew what was happening, what the other people were watching. Reiner must have heard your gasp when you spotted one of, what looks to be many events, happening on the couches.

Your legs crossed, a dull sensation washed over you. Suddenly, your hyper-awareness activated, feeling Reiner’s hand on your thigh. His hand continued to trace circles in your thigh, his actions causing your head to feel slightly fuzzy, combined with the smoke in the air, from the cigars and the heavy smoke machines. You could only sway with the beat of the music, your body grazing against Reiner’s body. His arm that was once weighing on your shoulder slid off, before trailing up your face, pushing past your braids, caressing the left side of your face. The roughness of his hands grounded you just a bit, your dropping eyes fluttering open a little to look at the man with you.

“Did you like what you saw, sweetie?” He whispered to you, his lips grazing the outer shell of your ear.

You nodded your head, vigorous in nature, gasping as he didn’t move his head from your ear. Rather, he leaned even closer, dipping down a bit before pressing slow and soft kisses against your neck. It had been a long time since you’d had anyone touch you. Seven months since you broke up with Floch and even longer even since he had gotten arrested. A shaky breath left your mouth, your hands reaching up to his suit, gripping onto it for balance. The hand was touching your thigh slide up, slipping in between your legs, his fingers grazing up against the slightly damp fabric of your thong. The size of his hands, as well as his strength, made your legs begin to spread apart. You couldn’t help but glance around the room, feeling all eyes were on the two of you. Suddenly the hand that pressed against your face, its grip tightened, a gasp leaving your mouth as you suddenly faced him again. The sudden hard stare caused you to squirm, your eyes darting about.

“Look at me, don’t look at anyone else… just focus on me,” he commanded, before releasing his grip on your face.

Before you could even think, his hand flew down to your hips, lifting you up and placing you right onto his lap. The first thing you felt was his erection, pressing against your barely covered pussy. His legs spread wide as well, easily taking up the space upon the seats you were sitting on. The people around you all easily made space, but you could tell that they were all watching, their eyes felt like lasers burning holes into your psyche. Yet, all you could do was focus on Reiner before. Your heart was racing, and you felt heat flushing throughout your entire body, from his actions to the people staring down at you.

“Reiner–” you stared before you were cut off by him suddenly pushing you forward, your lips landing on his.

He tasted like scotch, with an aftertaste of smoky cigars. Despite your known aversion to anything tobacco, you found yourself deepening the kiss. Your hips began to grind against him, hoping to find that perfect rhythm. Underneath your dress, your clit throbbed again the thin fabric of your thong, your pussy throbbing with every movement you made. Reiner’s hands slide down your back, before cupping themselves underneath your butt, underneath that the fabric begins to rise up and crumble up around your hips. You could feel the air hitting in between your legs and the deep feeling that your thong was on display for those around you to see.

Spit began to drip down from your lips, evidence of your intense makeout. Slowly, you pulled your lips back, your lungs immediately inflating with air. Reiner’s hands began to massage, almost kneading the flesh he clung onto. By this, your thong was soaked, and the area around his erection was slightly damp with your juices. His finger thumbed at the thin strap of fabric, pulling it as far back as he could before letting it go. The loud snap stung against your skin, your back arching into the pain, eliciting a slightly painful yelp as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Reiner!” you shrieked, your hands and nails gripping his back and shoulders, digging into his clothing.

You could feel him smirk against your skin before his fingers lifted up your thong strap before popping against your skin once more. Every throb of pain had you clenching around nothing, soaking your thong and his pants even more. By now, your dress had ridden up to your waist, so everyone was able to see just what he was doing to you. No one said anything, they only watched as he grabbed at your thong, beginning to pull the thin fabric down your legs. Your nerves wreaked havoc on your hands, seeing how they trembled as you began to slide them down from behind his neck to his chest. You lifted your legs a little bit, helping him get your thong off.

He held them in front of you, shaking them like a cat toy with a sneer on his face, and an evil grin. You tried to reach out and grab for them but he pulled them back, a chuckle leaving his mouth as he laughed at the way you lunged at him. Reiner pocketed them, before putting his hands right back on your butt, like they belong there. You gasped as his fingers teased along the opening of your cunt. He leaned over, his heavy voice echoing in your ear as he spoke to you once more.

“Second thoughts, sweetness?” he asked you.

Despite your sudden fear, you shook your head, your hands suddenly gripping the fabric of his suit.

“Good,” he smirked, “because I’d hate to not be able to give all these people a nice show.”

That was the last thing he said before suddenly lifting you up, letting go of his cock. You squealed as he suddenly turned you around, fully facing the audience you had amassed. Your heart almost dropped, you could barely even see the back parts of the room, with the way the crowd had amassed itself. You hadn’t relaxed just how many people were watching you. Their eyes never left you, you could see their hungry eyes taking in the scene before them. Your dripping pussy, Reiner’s cock, the way you whined and grinding into him, everything. You couldn’t help the way tears welled into your eyes, but at the same time, a forceful tingling heat wracked through you. The humiliation you felt rocked you, yet all it could do was make your pussy even wetter. Their eyes were magnets, sticking to your every reaction.

He stretched your legs wide, the sticky sound of your pussy easily bringing in more of the crowd. Hips fingers, continuing to tease you, dipping down into your hole, smearing some of your juices at your clit. He spread your lips even further, having no problem to let all these people watching you get fucked. You let out a sharp gasp as you felt his thick finger beginning to prod at your hole, your juices dripping down onto him. Melting as he further plunged his finger into you, hissing at how tight you were. Your eyes glued to his hands, only able to watch the way he slowly began to ravish you, bit by bit. You bit your lip, restraining your budding moans as his finger slid deeper into you.

“Reiner—“ you choked, your head thrown back as his thumb pressed up against your wet clit.

Your hips ground against his hands, clenching around his fingers. Rocking against him, succumbing to the way he pulled different reactions from your body and your lips. Your moans echoed through the room, and you could hear the muffled grunting of some of the men watching you. You could hear their whispers, wondering who you were. You could hear the jealousy on some of the women’s lips, complaining about how someone as unknown as you could gain Reiner’s attention. Writhing underneath his hold, you couldn’t help the way their animosity elated you. You cried out as you felt his fingers brush up against your g-spot, your back arching away from his front side.

“Fuck— I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum—“ your words were high pitched, feeling the sudden building ache rushing through you.

Suddenly, you were left out cold as you felt his fingers abruptly pull out of your cunt. You had no time to whine or complain as a gasp left your mouth and your body jerked suddenly, feeling Reiner beginning to stand up behind you. His hands slide down to underneath your knees, further spreading your pussy open. You crossed your arms, heart racing as you felt his angry red tip prodding at your entrance. For a moment, you glanced up, and standing behind a couple people, you could see familiar olive green eyes, with his tan hand tucked in his pocket, holding a glass of liquor.

Before you could fully register the sight, your body convulsed as you felt the tip of his cock easing into your sopping wet cunt. There was no need for foreplay, with the way you had been dripping all over Reiner from the moment he placed you on his lap.

“Oh my– oh my god,” you whined out, your head thrown back as he pressed his dick into your further, hearing him grunt as you felt yourself slowly stretch around him.

“Big—“ you cried out, “its too big, fuck, I can’t—!”

“Aww," he suddenly interjected, “can’t what? Can’t handle it?” His voice was deep and laced with condescension.

Your body trembled at his words, and despite the humiliation, hearing the slight chuckle in the crowd, your pussy clenched around, sucking him in even further. Toes curled, you could do nothing while stuck in his hold but take it, desperate moans fleeing your mouth. You could feel his hot breath against your neck,, his own deep-seated, needful groans echoing in your ears. Although your eyes were shut you could still hear the makings of the crowd around, still watching you take every inch of him.

Suddenly, one of his hands left your leg, before sliding across your neck and face. It wrapped itself around the front of your neck, before pulling it and your head back. His face towered over your own, and your eyes were almost jerked open. His thumb was able to reach your wet, plump lips, pulling the bottom one down slightly.

“Open.”

It was a single command, one you fulfilled lustily, your lips parting and your tongue falling out. With nothing else, he inhaled sharply before a decently-sized globble of saliva dripped down from his mouth onto your own. Most would find the action distasteful, but not you. Your body completely wrecked with lust, could do nothing, squeeze your eyes shut, a large moan leaving your lips as his spit slid down your tongue in your throat. You melted in his hold, your juices soaking your dress, thighs, Reiner’s pants, and even a little bit of his shirt.

Reiner ravished you, and the feeling of his cock pummeling you continued to push you more and more over the edge. Your entire body jerks, the feeling of your climax building up within you once more. His heavy pants and the heated smell of sex permeated off of both of your bodies, but it was the quieted, hissed sound of a few people watching, trying their best to stay quiet as they reached their own climax.

“Coming!” Your words were loud but slurred from succumbing to your incoming orgasm.

With your toes curling, your body thrashed within his hold as your cunt squeezed around his dick. Your body melted further into him as your juices poured out of you, your pussy throbbing. Your hands reached out, clutching onto the air as shaky gasps escaped from your mouth. Underneath you, you could feel Reiner’s actions becoming more erratic, his groans following along with him. With no other warning but a groan, you gasped as he came all inside of you, his cum painting your walls white. Tears streaks stained your face as you heaved in and out. Slowly, you felt Reiner slowly putting your legs down, still keeping you close to his body. You winced at the way your legs felt, seeing how they were stretched beyond their means. The crowd slowly began to dissipate as they realized you and Reiner’s bout with lust was basically over. Some still stayed, keeping their eyes on the two of you as you tried your best to clean yourself up.

You gasped as you felt him slowly pull his cock out of you, a cool emptiness filling you. With whatever strength you could pull, you grabbed the hem of your dress, covering the mess the two of you made. You could feel both his and your cum dripping down your thighs, ignoring the way it trailed down your smooth legs. As you sat beside Reiner, waiting for him to get situated, you felt a wave of tiredness rush over you. You stretched, letting out a yawn. With no other warning, Reiner suddenly stood up, taking you into his arms. You could not fight him off as he held you tight. Through your teary and droopy eyes, you could see the crowd parted for the two of you. He walked deeper and deeper until the smoke and darkness fully covered the two of you. Your body had no strength as your body went limp, falling into a deep slumber.

taglist: @collectionofdolls @sanxuus @ryutosukai0824 (if you wisheed to be tagged, comment on my masterlist!)

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kaylopolis · 4 months ago

Text

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Thirteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

Lots of historical stuff happening, but don't worry, I have little endnotes explaining each with links to more information at the end of the chapter!

Spoiler Warning: Be careful if you flip between the end to read the notes as you read the chapter. There is a major spoiler at the end of the chapter you might accidentally read!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Thirteen - The Truth

Content Warning: Spoilers after the end of the chapter; mentions of physical and psychological abuse, panic attack (let me know if I missed any!) MINORS DNI!!!!!

(107 years ago, Heaven)

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Enter,” the Seraphim’s voice called from behind the wood.

Your head held high, your shoulders squared, you entered your father’s office. The sword strapped to your side knocked against your hip as you walked. Although you wore your casual blue robes and not your metal armor, the sword never left your side. You tucked your golden wings in, your blonde hair cut short to frame your face, the wisps of your bangs barely brushing your collarbones.

Stopping before Father’s desk, you nodded to the others in the room in greeting: Adam, the Seraphim, and a few of Father’s personal guards who filed out of the room after you entered.

“Father,” you stated, waiting for him to begin.

From a worldwide flood to raining frogs in Egypt, a meeting in this office always meant serious business. After all, out of all your siblings, you were the most trustworthy. “Father’s Golden Girl,” they all called you - and not just because of your looks. You were his warrior, his right-hand man, his perpetrator of action. You carried out God’s will.

“You are aware of the current events of Earth,” a statement, not a question.

It was January 1917. The mortals were in the middle of a war to end all wars. Who didn’t know?

“Just yesterday, our Ishim delegates intercepted a telegram from Arthur Zimmerman to the Mexican Government proposing an alliance between Germany and Mexico to invade the United States.*” Sera slid a piece of paper across the desk. You glanced at it but didn’t give it much thought.

The Ishim were low-level Angels, more human than divinity, really. They carried out more menial endeavors. Father dispatched a hundred to Earth a year before the war broke out. Why? You weren’t sure, but you were about to find out.

“This war is the mortal’s problem, is it not?” You asked.

Adam caught your eye from the corner of the room he stood in, his usual cockiness replaced with… you sniffed. Guilt?

“Not anymore.”

That caught your attention.

“We believe this telegram was sent by Eve.”

You took a step back, clenching your jaw shut to prevent it from falling open. Instinctively, your hand found the hilt of your sword. “She escaped?” You looked at Adam, but he didn’t look back, his gaze downcast as a wave of emotions weighed down his shoulders.

“Some years ago, yes,” Sera answered.

But why didn’t they… Oh, they couldn’t have sent you right away. No one knew she had escaped, and they weren’t about to let it get out that the evil Evelyn of Eden had bested Heaven’s topmost security prison. Technically, it was the only one Heaven had, and it only had one prisoner, but still. Especially after the whole Lucifer and Lilith incident. Rumor had it they were in love.

You eye the telegram on the desk. “What do you need from me?”

Wouldn’t be the first time you hunted down a human. Cain went into hiding after he murdered Abel. You found him not long after - even with the magic he used to conceal himself from you.

“Find Evelyn and bring her back.”

You nodded, taking the telegram. It smelled of roses, how fitting for the Second Lady of Eden.

“Mikaela,” Father called after you. You paused. “Do not disappoint me.”

You nodded before shutting the door behind you.

Time to go to work.

____________________________________________

(1917, Russia)

This tux was killing you. It was itchy, it was hot, and more importantly, it was suffocating. You didn't have much time to find a suit that fitted, so you grabbed whatever the tailor had. Unfortunately for you, the collar was way too tight, and it constantly rubbed against the injury on your neck.

The music echoed off the ridiculously decorated walls of the Palace. Gosh, you did not enjoy the pianoforte. It was like the instrument was screaming every time one of the strings was plucked.

Just find her and get out. You've been chasing her nearly a year and this was as close as you had gotten to capturing her. Eve was slippery...

You pushed through the crowd, making your way around the dancefloor.

"Шампанское, сэр. Champagne, sir?" A servant thrusted a tray in front of your face. You turned up your nose and pushed onwards.

Ugh, alcohol, you've never touched the stuff.

Sniffing, you could smell the roses. The room was filled with the scent of them, the aroma so pungent you could reach out and touch it. So, she was here, but where exactly?

Making your way to the front of the room, you stopped when you finally spotted her. "What is she doing?" You asked yourself.

Evelyn, her brown hair done up in a mass of stacked curls atop her head, was whispering in the ear of the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich. The feather sticking out of her hair wiggled as she laughed.

What is the Second Woman doing playing fairytale at a royal Russian Ball? She even had the dress to go along with it all.

Whatever, all you had to do was grab her and get out.

You pulled your sword from the Void and took a step forward - wait, no. You couldn't work like this. Ripping off the bowtie, you undo the top two buttons, freeing your neck. You rubbed at the black and blue bruises, the action soothing but also painful.

Okay, let's do this.

"У него есть меч! Он собирается попытаться убить царя! He's got a sword! He's going to try and kill the Tsar!" A woman screamed.

Oh, crap. Last time you were down here, everyone carried a sword. Now, nearly two thousand years later, they don't seem to like it so much... Oops.

The room plunged into chaos.

Briefly, you made eye contact with Evelyn. Her brown eyes flashed with confusion before they changed to recognition and then acknowledgment - she recognized you and knew why you were there. Evelyn smiled, mouthing the words, "Hello, Mikaela," before she disappeared into the crowd.

You tried to follow, but you were tackled by a guard. The sword went flying out of your hand as you hit the ground, a bear of a man sitting on top of you.

Great... You were hoping this was going to be an easy in-and-out type of mission...

Pushing the man easily off of you and collecting your sword. Shoving it back into the Void, you huffed, blowing the hair out of your face. You had cut it so short that the seamstress laughed when you walked into the boutique shopping for a dress. She thought you were a man. You’d be mad but, it wasn’t the first time humanity has made that mistake.

Jesus' Disciples named you "Michael" instead of "Mikaela." Ever since then, humanity thought you were a man. It was kind of insulting when you read the first draft and a little sexist...

Alright, let's get out of here and see if we can track her down.

A wall of guards stepped into your path before you could make much progress.

You groaned. It was going to be a long night...

____________________________________________

(1923, Chicago)

“Another?” The bartender asked. You nodded and watched as she poured you a glass of soda water and lemon. Taking a long sip, letting the bubbles dance across your tongue, you went back to twirling your glass.

“You sure you don’t want anything else to drink? Any alcohol?” She asked.

You shook your head. “Not one for the taste, I’m afraid.”

She finally let you be, busying herself with dirty glasses.

You were growing restless on the barstool, the smoke from the cigarettes giving you a headache. Drinking in public for women was scandalous in this day and age - even though you technically weren’t drinking, you were a woman alone at a bar - and you had caught your fair share of male attention. You broke the last bloke’s finger, and the men finally got the message. The bar girl let it slide - she most likely has her own history with the opposite sex that paled in comparison to yours.

But this wasn’t just any old bar, and you were hoping that, eventually, word of your presence here would attract a different kind of attention.

The aroma of roses hit you before her voice did.

“This seat taken?”

Right on schedule.

“Not at all, Evelyn,” you motioned to the stool. “Please.”

The brunette settled in next to you, her iconic brunette hair chopped and curled around her face. Other than that, she looked exactly the same as you left her, save for the wardrobe change - a string of pearls and a grey silk dress that left her ankles exposed. She was always a fashion rebel, pushing the iconic clothing of the decades to the point of scandal. Speaking of, you tried hard not to look at her cleavage - it would take another few decades before that became appropriate in public.

“Please, call me Eve. To what do I owe the honor?” She sang as the bar girl poured her a gin and tonic.

“Come back,” you ordered.

She huffed, “Oh, come on. This is the first proper conversation you and I have ever had, don’t bore me with the self-righteous bullshit propaganda your father feeds you.”

You've been chasing her for six years now. Every time you met, it was all action before she slipped away. How she managed to disappear every time, you didn't know.

She stirred the ice around in her glass before gulping down the entire drink. “You and I both know I am not going back willingly.”

You had to give her the option.

“You’re going back either way.”

“I want you to meet someone,” she smiled, changing the subject. “Al!” Eve waived to a rather portly man at the back of the establishment. The mortal was dressed to the nines in a blue pinstriped suit and accompanying fedora.

“Hey, dollface,” the gentleman kissed Eve on the cheek before taking his hat off and tipping it in greeting. “Pleased'ta meet’ya miss, Al Capone at your service."

Ugh.

You stood, grabbing Eve’s upper arm as you attempted to lug her towards the main entrance. The motion sent a sharp pain through your bruised shoulder. “Let’s go,” you winced.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Eve giggled. The sclera of her eyes flashed black before she turned back to the bar and screamed. “Al! She’s with the fuzz!”

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! The echoes of guns loading rang out across the bar.

Fucking Mafia.

You didn’t drop Eve’s arm.

“We can do this the easy way, toots, or the hard way,” Al said, holding a pistol to your face. Despite being no taller than you, he did his best to look threatening.

“Between you and me,” Eve leaned in and whispered. “I’m pretty sure the fat one’s got syphilis.” She motioned to Capone.

Why, Eve? Why was that important right now?

She giggled before pulling out an extremely small pistol from her cleavage. The Angel pointed it at your head. You held your hands up as if feigning surrender. “That won’t kill me, Eve.”

“I know,” she laughed, smiling wildly.

Was this fun for her?

“But it'll kill them,” she motioned to a random man before turning and shooting him straight in the face.

The bar plunged into chaos as you ducked for cover. Rolling your eyes, you mumbled beneath your breath, “The hard way it is.”

____________________________________________

(1937 Lae, New Guinea)

You rolled open the hangar doors. It was late, well past midnight. An oil lantern hung from a mobile post, illuminating the opened engine of a two-seater plane.

Ensuring your sword was strapped to your side, you trudged inside, cautiously approaching the single soul inside. As per usual, the room smelled of roses.

You were but one step in the door when Eve called out, “Mikaela!” Her head popped out from behind the engine. “Good to see you! Been a while, hasn’t it? Chicago, good times.” She dove back inside the engine, half her body sticking out of the contraption. A blue tarp had been laid at her feet, to capture oil as she worked, you assumed.

“You shot up a bar, nearly set it on fire, and almost burned the city to the ground - again… I wouldn’t exactly call that fun.” Keeping your distance, you circled around to the front of the plane. You had better chances of catching the plague than predicting her next move. Eve was wildly unpredictable.

“Oh, my friend,” her sclera flashed black as she smiled over her shoulder. “Chaos is always fun.”

“Why are you doing this, Eve?” And more importantly, what was she doing?

“Can’t a girl love power and chaos with absolutely no motive?” She played dumb, her voice echoing from within the metal compartment.

You crossed your arms, your silence communicating that she had asked a dumb question.

“I’m sick and tired of Heaven, of them always telling me who I am and what to do.” She shrugged, ripping out a piece of the engine. “I’m taking it back.”

“Stop messing around with the airplane, Eve.” You felt like you were scolding a child.

She paused, a metal component in her hand, oil coating her fingers, as she backed out of the engine. Eve waived the metal part around as she spoke. “Aren’t you sick of being their puppet? Of… Of being a part of their machine? Of being told to jump and asking how high?” Grabbing a brown saddle bag, she stuffed the components inside, the tarp crunching beneath her feet.

Oh good, she was sabotaging the plane. Great. You didn’t know why she did half the things she did, but sabotaging Amelia Earhart’s plane? Just... Why? What did that accomplish?

“I’m an Archangel - a soldier - and soldiers follow orders,” you responded, watching Eve clean the oil off her hands.

“And if they don’t?” She raised an eyebrow, motioning to your wrist.

As if on instinct, you tugged on your sleeves to hide the bruises.

“Adam was a dick,” she continued, “but he never touched me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you felt the blood drain from your face.

She sighed as she got to her feet. You watched the conflict play out on her face. Did she push the topic? Did she change it completely?

"Do you know how they caught me the first time?” she smiled.

“Adam.” You answered, your eyes following her every move. She was planning to bolt. You could feel it. She wouldn't get away this time.

“They used him as bait,” she grabbed her satchel and threw the loop over her head. “And trapped me in a Pentagram.” Eve kicked the edge of the blue tarp beneath your feet to reveal the edge of a chalk line.

She was smart; she kept you distracted and annoyed just enough to keep your eyes off the floor to the lightly drawn star and circle hidden beneath your feet.

Here's the thing about being a General. You knew how to organize armies, how to train soldiers to fight, how to strategize on a battlefield. You were not a covert spy trained to track down rogue Angels. Sure, you went after Cain, but he was sloppy. Despite going to the Goetia and bargaining his soul for a bit of magic to hide him from you, he left a trail for you to follow. All you had to do was hunt down the Goetia he talked to, and, presto, you had a lead.

Eve wasn't really trying to hide. If she was, she'd have found a way to hide the potency of her power: roses, her magic smelled like roses. You could scent it miles away. The downside to chasing Eve was that she was unpredictable. Her moves didn't make any sense or have any logic to them. She was scattered with her actions. Map it out on a battlefield, and it would seem like random nonsense. There was logic to war but not to Eve. Which made it hard to capture her.

Like trying to trap lightning in a bottle.

“Tootle-loo, Mikaela,” Eve sang. The Angel skipped to the hangar doorway, stopping before she closed it. Something flashed in her eyes. Sadness? Pity? Worry? “Don’t be a stranger,” she smiled softly, and then she slammed the door shut.

____________________________________________

(1945, Germany)

The sirens were deafening as you rounded corner after corner, your fire illuminating the tunnels as you ran.

“Come on, come on,” you huffed, out of breath. You’ve been sprinting through battlefields all night long to make it here before the Russian army, but you were cutting it dangerously close.

BANG! The echoes of a gunshot had your ears ringing as you emerged into a well-lit bunker. A dead body lay at Eve’s feet, scarlet pooling beneath it. Another - a woman - sat slumped at a table in a pile of vomit.

Gross.

“Oh, hey!” She lit up, her brunette curls bobbing.

You sidestepped the blood, trying to catch your breath, “Eve, this is getting old.” You were quickly finding out the Angel had a proclivity for violence - specifically guns. What was with her and modern weaponry?

She did a double take, not of the man moaning on the ground, but of your face. You ignored her questioning look, choosing to bend over and suck down gulps of air. It wasn’t that the running took a lot out of you. By golly, you could run days before getting tired, go weeks without food, go months without water, but broken ribs always made it hard to breathe.

Her happy demeanor turned down a few notches as she holstered the gun. “Hey,” she put a hand on your back in comfort.

You shoved her off.

You did not need her pity.

Eve blinked. “Why don’t we head up top and get some fresh air?”

The Russians were expecting to arrive at any minute, they’d most likely bomb the crap out of this place and bury the two of you alive. You nodded, wincing as you stood.

Eve led you out of a secret tunnel hidden behind boxes of supplies. You followed behind her, summoning your sword as support as you limped to the surface. Ugh, your ankle was so swollen.

Eve pushed open a wooden door, leading you into the morning sunlight. The two of you emerged at the edge of a small lake. The sun was rising over the water, the ruins of Berlin surrounding the park.

Eve sat at the edge of the water, watching the sun rise as armies marched and chanted toward the Capitol behind you. The dichotomy was iconic.

You looked between her and the sword and made a silent decision.

Slipping your sword back into the Void, you joined Eve in the grass - wincing as you sat.

“Germany wasn’t my doing. I just wanted to make that very clear,” she laughed awkwardly. “I’m only here because I wanted to end the bastard myself…” Her voice trailed off, the tension becoming… weird.

You could feel her staring at your split lip and black eye.

“Why?” You asked.

She huffed, turning towards the sun, bathing in its morning warmth, “Because fuck heaven and fuck their design.”

“People are dying because of you, Eve.” You gritted.

“So?” She scoffed. “People are always going to die, more will be made. Either they go to Heaven, or they go to Hell. There’s life after this, so not like I’m robbing them of anything. Besides, they’re nothing but puppets fulfilling some predetermined mapped-out plan Daddy designed. Regardless of their free will, they're powerless to fate. They're just machine parts, Mikaela. Just like you and I were designed to be.”

She huffed. “I mean, look at me. I was literally created from Adam’s rib - designed to be the perfect little wife. That’s all I am. That’s all Dad made me to be. I’m changing that!”

“By messing with Father’s design?”

She nods.

“And you do this how?” You raised an eyebrow in confusion, choosing to humor her behavior.

“The Book of Knowledge.”

You laughed, “The book Lucifer stole and then gave you?”

She nodded.

“Why not use it to do good?”

“Because who the fuck cares if I do good? I mean, if I save a few hundred lives or help further a society what does that really accomplish? I’m only further giving in to God’s will. He wants them to succeed, to become better. It’s all a game, Mikaela, don’t you see that? I mean look at this!” She gestured to all of Berlin. “What kind of fucked up, power-hungry arsehole allows this to happen!? Just so humans can rise from the darkest moments of history, to learn and become better than they were before. All this to teach them a lesson!? I mean… Wow.”

You shut your mouth. She had a point. This was messed up.

The two of you sat for a long while, the orchestra of war playing in the background.

Eve’s demeanor changes. “I saw the bruises in Russia.” Her words were sharp.

Your blood ran cold.

“At first, I thought they were just from training, but then why would a soldier have bruises around their throat from training?”

Please don’t go there, Eve. Her rants about Father you could handle, not this. You didn’t deal with personal emotions, you bottled them up and shoved them deep down and quietly forgot about them - like a good soldier.

“They talk, the guards in the prison. I’ve heard the rumors of Dad’s Golden Girl and her mysterious injuries, of the screams behind closed doors. So, in Chicago, I looked again. You had bruises on your shoulder.”

You shot her a questioning glance.

“When you grabbed me part of your dress slipped just a bit… Mikaela, they looked like hand prints.”

You turned away from her, pulling in your knees and hugging yourself.

“So in New Guinea, I tested my theory. Your reaction told me everything.”

Were you that easy to read?

Eve turned to you then, clearly eyeing the bruises on your face. “He beats you, doesn’t he?”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t know how you do it. To obey his every command for thousands of years… You, out of all of us, have a right to be pissed.”

“It’s my job,” you gritted, your hands were shaking, all emotion absent from your voice. “Besides, my failures are my own fault.”

“What?” Eve jumped to her feet. “How could you say that!? You don’t ask to be beaten. You don’t ask to have your bones broken and your face bloodied!?”

“My failures are my own fault,” Your entire body was shaking now, your voice cracking.

“Mikaela…” Eve planted herself on the grass next to you. Bombs exploded off in the distance, cheering echoing off the buildings. The Russians have arrived.

“My fault.” You whispered, the words imprinted on your brain like ink on paper. “My fault. My fault. My…”

Eve brought you into a bear hug, holding you as tight as she could as the panic attack overcame you. “It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

You sobbed.

"Listen to me - no one ever deserves to be abused, and it is never your fault. Abuse is a deliberate, cruel choice made by the abuser, and it is entirely on them. You are a strong, beautiful woman deserving of respect and love. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise."

Eve turned you to face her. “Say it, Mikaela. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” Her words were sharp and to the point, trying to jam the message into your mind. To cut out the toxic and replace it with the new.

“It is…” You choked. “It is not my fault.” You cried.

“Louder!” She demanded.

“It is not my fault,” you repeated, your voice shaky.

“Louder!”

“It is not my fault!” You screamed.

“It is not your fault!” She echoed.

And you hugged her back.

____________________________________________

(Present Day, The Nothing, Pride Ring, Hell)

“You turned against Heaven and joined, Eve?” Alastor asked. He’s been eerily silent the entire time.

You smiled, your yellow irises glinting mischievously. “I joined, Eve.”

The demon summoned his own chair and settled in next to you. Together, you stared off at the silhouette of Pentagram City, its lights shining like beacons into the red sky.

“We spent the next thirty-something years traveling. London, Korea, Russia - we went everywhere, sowing seeds of chaos in our wake. She started me on the little stuff, and I worked my way up from there. From swearing and alcohol to stealing and, eventually, murder. Eve was like a gateway drug; just once wasn’t enough to satisfy you, but it was enough to get you hooked. And, somewhere in that time, Eve became my friend.”

You sighed, your eyes swimming in memories. “But, like any drug, at some point in time, it isn’t enough anymore. You need more to keep going, to stay satisfied…”

____________________________________________

(1974, London)

DING!

“Order up!” The chef behind the counter yelled.

SLURP! You found the bottom of your milkshake. “Fuck,” you cried. “I’m out.”

The two of you, after an extremely long plane ride from America, stopped at a lunch counter for a quick snack.

The time in between master plans was always your favorite but also your most hated. It meant a time of scheming, of plotting something new and exciting, but it was also a time when Eve tended to channel her energy into other matters. Most notably sex, drugs, and music. It's like she needed an outlet for her restless energy.

You put your newspaper down, the title reading "Nixon Resigns!" and turned to Eve. The brunette wasn’t paying attention, her mind on the cute human boy sitting at the end of the counter.

You analyzed her as she daydreamed. The itch was there again, the temptation to bring up what you’ve been keeping silent on for so long.

Eve was fine with toying about on Earth. You didn’t blame her; she’d been locked up for so long, and all she wanted to do was live and do as she pleased, but frankly, you were growing bored. Sure fucking around with the humans was entertaining, but the fact of the matter was you accomplished nothing from it.

Eve believed she was messing with Dad’s grand creation, but if you paid attention, Heaven found a way to fix everything she undid. After all of her meddling, things always returned to normal: war ended, economies stabilized, rulers were replaced, and laws were rewritten. Anything Eve ever did was fixed. And that was starting to bother you.

You wanted bigger. You wanted more. You wanted permanent. And you had an idea to make it happen.

“Eve,” you lightly tapped her hand. Dreamily, she turned to you.

“Oh, you’re done already?” She pouted.

“Yeah… Listen,” you cleared your throat, preparing your speech. “I want to propose a field trip. Maybe a change in scenery?”

Eve blinked. “A change in scenery? What’s wrong with the scenery here?” She motioned to the cute British boy, her voice a little too loud for comfort.

“Nothing! Nothing! I just…” You hesitated. You needed a hook, a reason to get Eve interested.

The truth was, you tried broaching this topic before, but she always blew it off. Eve was content. You were not. She didn’t want a change in the status quo - you were growing bored of the status quo.

So, this time, you were going to baby-step her into your plan - turn her opinion around. Perhaps, help her see the fun she could have by finally doing something your way for once.

“There’s this festival I’ve always wanted to go to,” you suggest. “Lot’s of cute boys. There will be music, dancing, drinking… It’ll be a good time!”

“A festival,” she lit up. “Sounds fun!”

“Cool. Cool… It’s in Wrath.”

She choked, “What!?”

“I know, it’s in Hell, but can we just check it out? If you hate it, we can leave right away. I just… I’ve never been. I thought maybe it would be a new adventure for us?” You shrug.

Eve thinks a moment.

“Plus, we’d be breaking so many rules. Angels aren’t allowed in Hell, after all…”

“Done.” She stands. “Let’s go!” Eve grabs your arm and pulls you out of the restaurant.

In a side alley, you summon a portal and are whisked away into what you would look back on and consider to be the beginning of the end.

____________________________________________

(7 years ago, Pride Ring, Hell)

"I'll be there momentarily, Al," Lilith hung up the phone as you entered the room. "Mikaela, Eve," she greeted.

You step into the office and close the door behind you. “Lilith,” you nod to her in greeting.

Your plan worked. Eve and you spent the better part of nearly fifty years partying your way through the Rings of Hell. It started in Wrath with the Harvest Moon Festival - Eve enjoyed the Pain Games far more than you expected - and resulted in a series of debauchery moving up from there.

You hadn't really spent time in Pride - you've had enough of mortals and their petty problems for a good while. However, your next plan - the ultimate plan - required you to be here.

Nearly 50 fucking years... It took you that long to convince Eve of your plan... and to make it seem like it was her idea. You had discovered that, yes, Eve was a schemer, but her plans were always limited in their size. You were thinking bigger.

This was your third meeting with Lilith and if everything went to plan, it would be your last.

The Queen of Hell stood next to the window, the view overlooking Pentagram City. She didn't want to meet at her home - understandable - which was tucked away in a pocket dimension. So, you met here, at her... office? I guess if you want to call it that, sure. It was an office in the City.

Even took a seat on the desk, her fingers rummaging through everything and anything set before her. "Awww," she grabbed a photo. "The three of you are so cute!"

You tried not to groan. "Eve..."

"Sorry," she dropped the frame, pulling her hands into her lap like a scolded child. The Second Woman turned on her charm before addressing existence's First. "Are we ready?"

Lilith continued to stare out the window, her eyes swimming with unspoken thoughts. Her horns looked rather shiny today, her purple dress perfectly pressed - she dressed for the occasion. The woman smoothed her dress, a nervous habit of hers. The Queen turned to you, her plum eyeshadow sparkling in the light. "Yes."

In a flash, you had Eve pinned to the floor, your hands wrapped around her throat.

Confusion swam in her eyes as you squeezed. "Mikaela?" She choked out.

Lilith leaned over. Making eye contact, the First Woman commanded, "Do not move. Do not fight back."

And Eve froze.

The power of Lilith's voice... It's what makes her singing abilities so powerful; it's how she convinces the masses and rules over Hell so easily.

"I'm sorry, Eve, but I can't have you holding me back any longer."

Confusion turned to fear as you channeled your fire into your hands and began to burn - Holy Fire. You've killed members of the Angelic kind before - mostly lower-level Angels prone to corruption, like the Ishim. It was easy to erase lesser beings, and surprisingly, it was easier to take down Eve than you originally thought. Especially considering she never thought you turning against her was a possibility.

Eve screamed as she died, and when her body was nearly ash, you were left with not a soul before you but the physical embodiment of power: a book. not just any book, but the book. It was ethereal and partially incorporeal as you collected it in your hands.

"Having second thoughts?" Lilith asked.

"No," you immediately responded. "No, just... I've been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than when I originally approached you and proposed the idea. Now it's finally here... It doesn't feel real."

(In hindsight, this wasn't just one of the hardest decisions you had ever made but a defining moment that had left a mark on your very being. If you were willing to kill one of the most important people in your life, what else wouldn't you do?

So, no, dear reader, you did not tell Alastor how much this killed you. You did not tell Alastor how much you cried. You did not tell him the real reason why you needed music to sleep at night was not because the screaming disturbed you but because when you fell asleep, those screams morphed into that of Eve's.

There would be a day, however, when you told the Radio Demon how much this hurt, and he would see you cry and completely fall apart. A day when you would broach this topic and eventually heal this ugly part of you.

But - as we all learned from the Full Moon episode - years of trauma does not get resolved in one conversation.

Alastor, however, could see it in your eyes. You didn't need to tell him. He may not have ever killed Vox, but there was something there, something that happened with which he could relate to what you were feeling right now as you told him your story.

And you were thankful for it, because he gave you a look which said you did not have to go there right now - he understood.)

Hesitantly, you brought the golden, glowing book to your chest and felt the power fuse with your being.

Printed text exploded across your skin as the magic accepted its new host. The energy flooding your veins, the high unlike anything ever before.

Fuck, is this how Eve felt all the time? No wonder she was always so restless with energy.

"Okay," you turned your back on Lilith and unbuttoned your shirt. You would NOT let yourself revel in how good this felt. You would NOT let yourself drown in the ecstasy of power.

Pulling ink and a quill from the void, you stood there as Lilith etched a rune across your back. When she had finished, the text across your skin was pulled towards the rune and locked beneath the seal.

You breathed deeply, feeling the weight of the power lift from your shoulders, "It worked."

It had to be contained until the time was right. You couldn't have anyone sensing what you carried. The potency of power is how you managed to track Eve down on Earth - it made her a target. Plus, you didn't know what that kind of power would do to your head - it made Eve scatterbrained and impulsive. Constantly chasing the high. You needed clarity to accomplish what you and Lilith had planned.

Power is a dangerous thing. You saw what it did to God, and no part of you ever wanted to have any similarities with that man. So, long ago, when you made the ultimate decision to take the power from Eve, you decided it needed to be locked away as well.

"This is written in Leviathan," Lilith observed. "Didn't Dad -?"

"Yes," you cut her off.

It was before the dawn of man, during Dad's experimental age. The monsters were violent and could not be controlled. He ordered you to corral them into a pocket dimension: Purgatory. You raised and led an army against them, and still, it had taken you years to subdue and capture them all. Your reward? Father pushed you in behind them and locked the door.

"Find a way out," he ordered - punishment for disappointing him. How had you disappointed him, you ask? You took too long.

"I have some... baggage to take care of before I leave." She began, noting the pile of ash on her carpet. "Your contact in Pride is no longer an option."

Fuck. You'd put considerable effort into vetting the Overlord Lilith had pointed you towards - Husk. Now, you were going to have to start over with someone else.

You'd later learn Husk fell from power, losing it in a game of cards to Alastor, of all people. The demon had become a thorn in your side long before you ran into him at the Hotel.

"Whom do you suggest?" You rebuttoned your shirt.

"Rosie, she's a wonderful woman. She'll be good to you, and I trust her."

You had no choice but to take her word for it. Question her now, on the eve of the beginning, especially when you sensed hesitation within her, might just tip her over the edge. She was leaving her husband and child behind, after all.

You held out your hand. "Shall we?"

Lilith considered your offer for a moment. Although she agreed to help you double-cross Eve, you never finalized the contract. You agreed not to, pending how killing the brunette played out, but Lilith came to play.

Your heart held no sympathy for the Queen. She was about to lose everything, but it was temporary. Lilith would be returning home to a husband and a child - to a family. You? You had no home, no family anymore. Lilith could handle a few years away.

Eventually, the demon shook your hand. The room exploded in blues and purples, marking the contract you two just made.

You smirked, "I guess it's time for my grand entrance." You made for the door. "You'll be fine?"

Lilith sighed, "If anyone knows how to handle Adam, it's me."

Right...

"Goodbye, Lilith."

She stopped you, her fingers wrapped around your arm rather tightly. "No harm comes to her." The purple in Lilith's eyes flashed.

She was talking about Charlie. Her daughter was part of the deal: no harm comes to her or her family.

"Of course..."

She let you go. "To power and chaos."

"To power and chaos," you responded as the door shut behind you.

You nearly landed on Rosie a few hours later...

____________________________________________

(Present Day, The Nothing, Pride Ring, Hell)

Alastor leaned forward in his chair, his elbow on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands. His eyes bore into you with every word of your story. The demon listened intently, paying attention to every detail, every flicker of emotion on your face.

Was he expecting you to lie? Was he expecting deceit? You had offered up nothing but the truth - for once. You told Alastor the entire story.

“You killed Eve.”

“I did.”

“For power?”

“Yes.”

Alastor’s eyes finally leave yours, his gaze wandering to the City before you.

“I know why you’re at the Hotel, Alastor.”

That caught his attention. Surprise fills his face as he raises an eyebrow at you, ears perked at attention.

“Oh?” He purrs.

“I know about the deal with Lillith, but it’s more than that. You’re looking for Roo.*” You cross your arms in front of your chest, a sly smile worming its way into your crooked grin. Finally, you could let the demonic side of you shine - the curse of Knowledge slipping through.

“Is that so?” He intertwines his fingers, his hands coming to rest in his lap. The Radio Demon is clearly amused with your statement - yet his radio static is nowhere to be found.

Interesting.

“Power and chaos. Isn’t that always the story?” You stand and take a step towards him, cautious yet curious to see how he will react.

“And what would you know of Roo?” His lips curl.

There it was. There’s the Radio Demon. The power-hungry murderer. God, that look gave you chills.

“I know that’s not her real name,” another step.

Alastor sits up straighter.

You can’t believe he hasn’t put it together - or he has, and he’s toying with you.

“Oh?”

“Rule number one of Hell, don’t go by your God-given name.”

He waits for you to elaborate.

“Roo’s real name…” You take another step, his eyes flicker over your form, noting the proximity. Was he anxious? You leaned forward, your hands on the armrests of his chair as you towered over him.

You stopped close enough to feel Alastor’s breath on your face, his eyes automatically dropping to your red lips. You smirked, “...was Eve.”

You feel the tattoo on your back shift as you break the rune which was sealing the magic within.

Words fly across your skin, roaming the unclothed flesh. Your sclera turned black, your hair coming undone by the power surging through every fiber of your being. Horns grew atop your head, your spiked tail unfolding from your backside. Your wings popped out, their black feathers shining in the light. The Radio Demon watched as you let the power of the Book of Knowledge, hidden deep within you, flow freely for the first time in nearly a decade.

He could feel it, he could smell it - the power so potent he could taste it on his tongue: roses, the Book forever carrying a remnant of its original owner, Eve.

You were the epitome of power - the Root of All Evil.

Roo.

After Lucifer ran off with Lilith, he returned to the Garden of Eden with a gift: the Book of Knowledge. He granted it to Eve before he left. Eve never said why he did it, but she was grateful. She would do anything to get away from Eden. Eve took the book and attempted to flee, but Father lured her back, using Adam as bait. Despite what the Second Woman claimed, part of you always believed she had feelings for the First Man...

But, before Eve was taken, she merged herself with the power from the Book so it could never be separated from her. They’d have to kill her for it.

Instead, Father had her locked up and contained. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, and he didn’t want to risk that power passing on to a different hand only to breed a more powerful enemy.

Eve stewed in isolation for thousands of years before finding a way out, before she made her way back to Earth to brew chaos and destruction.

That’s when you were sent to find her. That’s when you befriended her. That’s when you killed her and took the power from the Book for yourself.

Alastor’s smile widens far past what you thought was possible for the demon. His eyes meet yours, his gaze exploding with fire.

“Interesting.” From the Void, Alastor pulls a blade - Velvette's blade. He palms the handle, gripping it in greedy temptation as you, the object of all his desires, stand before him.

You couldn’t recall when the Angelic blade had ended up in his possession, but you weren’t surprised. You knew he was going to try and kill you when he found out - he’d need Angelic steel to do that.

The demon cups your face, his thumb running across your cheek. You could see the hunger for power in his eyes, the constraint with which he fought to maintain composure. Briefly, his pupils flashed into radio dials.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Alastor breathed, his voice absent of static. His lips found yours as he kissed you long and gently. You let yourself melt into him, memorizing his smell, his warmth, the way his lips felt against yours for one final time...

(Keep scrolling)

... and then Alastor plunged the blade deep into your belly.

Could you imagine if I just ended the series right there? That would be HILARIOUS, right? …right? Ha, ha, don’t worry, the story goes on.

-> Chapter Fourteen

History Guide (if you read any of this, read the red at the bottom; it's super important to understanding the fanfic):

1917, Russia - A month after Eve and Thestral's meeting in Russia, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich and the rest of the Romanov family were taken prisoner during the February Revolution in 1917, which ended Russia's involvement in WW1 and the Imperial reign of the Tsar. They were executed in July 1918. Yes, I am implying Eve had something to do with this. Link to Wiki

1923, Chicago - Al Capone (also known as "Scarface") was Chicago’s infamous Prohibition Era gangster. He was famous for bootlegging, illegal gambling, and violent crime. He ran one of Chicago's largest and most infamous gangs: Link to Wiki

1937 Lae, New Guinea - Amelia Earhart's - the famous American Aviation pioneer who attempted to become the first female pilot to fly around the world - last known location, before they found her plane in the sea, was Lae, New Guinea: Link to Wiki

1945, Germany - Did I just imply that Eve killed Hitler? Yes, yes, I did. Fun fact, Russia beat the USA to the Capitol of Berlin by only a few hours: Link to Wiki

1974, London - Although our protagonists (arguably antagonists at this point, am I right?) are in London and not Washington D.C., the major event of this segment is Nixon's resignation. I am implying that they had something to do with Watergate without directly stating it: Link to Wiki

*The Book of Knowledge: Okay, go back and watch Episode One, "Overture." In the beginning, when Charlie is reading the story of Heaven and Hell, there's a point where she says: "Together [Lilith and Lucifer], they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the Fruit of Knowledge to Adam's new bride, Eve, who gladly accepted." The scene shows Lucifer handing Eve a book. The idea here is that knowledge = power, and Lucifer handed over the most powerful well of magic to Eve unknowingly. Knowledge = power = literal physical power = power corrupts = Roo is born.

BOOM. The entirety of my fanfic was birthed from one scene in Hazbin Hotel! But, in actuality, I do think Eve is Roo in canon. Link to Transcript

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto

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