#i have severe anxiety i wonder if that’s enough to get out of it

[bluephantasia]

i was summoned for jury duty this week and the new semester starts next week. i can’t ever catch a break all i want is to watch movies before my free time is stripped from me for the next 16 weeks

[hiodoshi-ao]

.

[pellucid-constellations]

Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell... reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word count: ~950

Warnings: Nothing yet, maybe just a little angst

a/n: Okay I know this is a drabble but this is definitely getting more parts like I am attached to this storyline now and LOVE that you requested it 🤗

Read part two here

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You leaned against a pillar just outside the school, a twitch creeping up your hands until your fingers spasmed. You shoved them under the bend of your elbows, crossing your arms and biting into your lip. 

She was fine. 

She was more than fine—Velaris was safe. 

Anything would have been safer than facing your father’s wrath back in Autumn, but you had gotten extremely lucky with the timing of your escape. Falling pregnant with your daughter had not been in the cards, especially not after a single night of rebellion, but with Velaris’s doors opening up just days after your healer broke the news, something seemed to be written in the stars. 

But every day was still a gamble; your father could find you at any time. 

The past five years had been a miracle, if you were being honest. 

School was supposed to end two minutes ago. 

Your foot began to shake, popping your knee up and down and making your body vibrate with the anxiety that consumed you. 

You shouldn’t have let her go to school. 

Melanie only had a few friends—neighbor kids whose parents you had vetted extensively—but that had been enough for her to get the idea into her head. You had planned on homeschooling her, or at least waiting until she was a few years older before letting her out into the world. Unfortunately, that had not been Melanie’s plan, and Melanie had so many wonderful plans. As most five-year-olds did. 

Gods, what if—

“First day?” a rumbling voice made you pause your nervous fidgeting. The man spoke again. “If you’re worried, don’t be. The teacher is great. Just forgetful when it comes to time. They are typically a few minutes late every day.” 

You swallowed and turned around despite every voice in your head telling you not to. But those voices in your head were completely and utterly wrong about a multitude of things. Behind you, you found a man—an Illyrian—with wings an ungodly size and shadows swirling down his legs and onto a uniform pool along the ground. And he was gorgeous—unabashedly gorgeous in the most devastating way. 

You looked up from your blatant investigation of him, meeting his eye and stuttering out, “Oh. That’s… that’s good to know. Thank you.” 

If he noticed your stutter, he didn’t make any sign of it. Instead, the man with the wings and the shadows blinked several times, furrowed his brows, and took a step back as if to steady himself. Perhaps, if you weren’t a bundle of unreasonable nervous energy, you would have found his actions strange, but you were. So you simply offered him a superficial, airy laugh and uncrossed your arms. 

“I—” the man began, but he seemed to lose his train of thought, a heat traveling up his cheeks in a way that looked foreign. “I’m Azriel.” 

Oh, wonderful. Introductions. 

You tried your hardest to stay very far away from very many people. It was the best way to keep yourself hidden. You couldn’t avoid the neighbors, and you supposed you couldn’t avoid fae like Melanie’s teacher, but this was different. 

Shit. 

You offered your name, anyway, afraid of appearing too outlandish in an otherwise casual setting. 

It would be fine. 

This was fine. 

Azriel repeated it in a breathless way, but then the school bell rang and something seemed to click in his brain. The small smile that had curled up the corner of his mouth became hard and he shot his eyes quickly one way and then the other, inspecting your surroundings. 

Maybe this wasn’t fine. 

“Are you a new mom in the area?” Azriel asked. 

All of your nerves shifted to guarded unease. “I am,” you offered, not caring if it was almost a lie. 

“The moms here don’t usually do the pick ups alone.” 

“You’re doing a pick up alone, it seems.” 

“I’m picking up my nephew,” Azriel explained, relaxing his posture, making himself smaller, seemingly gauging the building tension. “I didn’t mean to come across—I just asked because the mothers here typically have help. From their mates or partners. From the father.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, your next words tumbling out before you could catch them. “Well, I’m alone.” 

Double shit. 

Azriel seemed to let out a breath, his shadows whipping around along the ground. 

You braced yourself for further questioning, for the judgments that would surely follow, but then you were attacked from behind by a pair of arms wrapping around your knees. You turned quickly, scooping your daughter into a hug and promptly dismissing any further conversation with the stranger. 

“Hi, Mel,” you smiled, tucking her hair back as you subtly looked her over. “How was school? Did you like it?” 

“I loved it!” she excitedly replied. She rambled on a bit more after that, retelling her day by the minute. 

You felt eyes on you the entire time. A small boy had run and jumped into Azriel’s arms in your peripheral, but even as the boy talked and talked just as Melanie did, you felt the occasional glance your way. And some of Azriel’s shadows had to be reigned in multiple times, the small wisps licking at your ankles. 

The teacher suddenly spoke up and you were eavesdropping, straining your ears to listen in on her greeting towards the Illyrian.

“Oh, Azriel, lovely to see you. We were hoping the High Lady would be picking Nyx up, but this is even better. There is a showcase in a few weeks that—” 

You felt your world freeze. 

High Lady. 

You had been speaking to someone in close relation to the Night Court. You let someone know your name, told them you were alone with a child, and they had direct access to the High Lord and Lady. 

You whisked Melanie into your arms despite her protests and beelined it home. 

Shit. 

part two

[dewwinchester]

stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe. 

[vivwritesfics]

Sweat, Baby, Sweat - MV1

Singapore is hot, incredibly hot. So, what do you do when you sweat through your shirt? You borrow your simp of a teammates shirt.

Max Verstappen x RB Driver!Reader

1.6K

Masterlist

Singapore was Y/Ns favourite track. It was taxing, but it was her favourite. High adrenaline and incredible heat. Anything could happen out there on the track.

If anywhere was going to end Red Bulls reign of dominance, it was Singapore. Y/N L/N and Max Verstappen had worked together, teammates in harmony, to keep the winning streak going.

On the rare instance Max wasn't on the podium, Y/N was in his place. More often than not they shared the podium, spraying the champagne with the biggest grins on their faces.

Only twice that year Y/N had gone out in Q2, not making it to Q3. When that happened, she couldn't face Christian, couldn't look at Max. Nobody was a bigger critic of Y/N than Y/N herself.

Singapore was hot, hot, hot.

As Max and Y/N did those little press videos (for the life of me I can't remember what they're called SOMEONE HELP PLS) Y/N was sweating. Several times while they filmed, she was pulling her shirt away from her neck, trying to get at least a little bit of air.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. She had long since taken off her Red Bull hat, too hot for that extra fabric on her head.

The press video was hard to get through. Y/N had gotten through at least three bottles of water before they finally finished. While they filmed, Max kept looking at her, frown on his face. Clearly, he was concerned.

Actually, all of the Red Bull team was concerned, but none more than him.

As soon as they'd finished filming, Y/N ran off to the bathroom. She did her business, splashed some water on her face and smelt the inside of her shirt.

It wasn't pleasant. The Red Bull shirt was such dark colours, no wonder Y/N was having trouble. She'd have to change before she and Max got on with the next round of press.

Y/N rushed off away from the press and the cameras. She ran by a concerned Max, who tried to grab her by the arm, and past the Red Bull team. "I'll be back in ten minutes," she said to Christian as she ran past.

Y/N made her way back to her hotel room. It wasn't too far away from the track, and she had almost all of her friends (aka, the other drivers) on the same floor as her.

When Y/N first started in F1, driving for Toro Rosso, there was a mixed response from fans. At that point, the fans were mostly older men and their sons. Their reactions were a mix of sexualising her and slut shaming her. Most had fears that she'd distract the rest of the grid by sleeping with them all before every race.

But the F1 Fans had grown used to her. And they loved her. They loved her as much as they loved Carlos and Pierre and Magnussen. They loved her as much as they loved every other driver on the grid.

Once in her hotel room, Y/N got changed into another Red Bull shirt. She didn't have many left, certainly not enough for the next three days of the grand prix (if things were keeping up the way they were).

After getting changed Y/N quickly checked her phone. Messages from Max and Christian, her manager reminding her of the next bit of press she had to do and her parents wishing her luck on the qualifying.

By the time Y/N got down to complete the press interview, she was already sweating. Anxiety bubbled up in side of her. What if she smelt bad? What if the cameras picked up on her pit stains?

Before the interview started, Max nudged her with his elbow. "Is everything okay?" He asked her, keeping his eyes trained forward.

Max had always been considerate when it came to Y/N. He knew what she had been through at the start of her career, the things she had to deal with from the fans. He was more aware than anybody that it was still going on. If Y/N was caught having fun with any of the drivers, they'd ridicule her online.

"Yeah, Max, I'm fine."

Y/N made it through the day in that shirt. She went to bed that night in only her underwear to try and keep cool.

By breakfast that morning she had already begun to sweat. Not through her shirt, not yet. She made it to lunch before she had to get changed.

Before the qualifying, Max pulled her to one side. Out of the prying eyes of any camera, Max grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. Once again, she wasn't wearing her hat, making it easier for him.

"Something is going on with you. You keep disappearing," he said to her, not loosening his grip. And he wouldn't until she told him what was going on.

Y/N shook her head. "I'm okay, Max, really."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Just tell me!"

Letting out a sigh, Y/N looked up at him and pulled his hat from his head. She placed it on her own and smiled. "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

"It's just you."

Max's flirting had been really subtle since Y/N became his teammate. He hadn't wanted to toe the line, didn't want to receive the repercussions of trying to date his teammate.

Qualifying was horrible. Y/N swore in all the years before it had never been this bad. The heat was distracting and she was out in Q2, taken out by Lance fucking Stroll.

Y/N was fuming. There was only one person who could comfort her. And he was currently driving around the circuit with the fastest lap.

Y/N's post qualifying interview was short. She answered every question with one word answers, her face like a slapped ass. As soon as the interview was over she was off to her drivers room to sulk.

She was only granted two minutes to herself before there was a knock on the door. Christian didn't wait for an answer before he walked in. "How are you doing?" He asked her, leaning against the door.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. It was far too hot to think.

"Well, whatever it is, have it sorted by tomorrow," he continued. "And, come and celebrate with your teammate."

The next day went much the same. Y/N sweated through breakfast and, by the time she got to lunch, she was having to change her shirt.

But there was one problem. She didn't have any shirts she hadn't already sweated through.

With nothing else to do, Y/N tucked her hands into her armpits and walked towards her boss. "Christian," she muttered almost timidly. It wasn't like Y/N to be timid. There wasn't room for it, with her being a woman in the sport.

She took him into her drivers room and made an embarrassing confession. She couldn't look Christian in the face as she told him how much she had been struggling in the heat and that she had no more shirts left.

Christian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Well, I know for a fact Max has another shirt. I'll go and grab it for you," he said, sparing her the embarrassment of telling somebody else.

When Christian returned with a shirt for Y/N she was quick to change. She put on some more deodorant and pulled Max's shirt over her head. Lifting the collar to her nose she breathed in. Max. It smelled of Max. It smelled amazing.

When she walked out of her drivers room, there were stares. She wasn't much aware of the stares she was getting, her eyes searching for one person and one person only.

Max didn't know what to do when he saw her. The shirt was slightly too big, hanging down to her thighs. It was oversized on her, the short sleeves almost at her elbows. Wow. That was all Max could think. Just wow.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. He watched as she lifted the collar of the shirt to her nose and smelt it yet again. His heart fluttered. Wow. Just wow.

Y/N turned around and spotted Max hidden behind a team of engineers. She wove her way around the engineers, approaching him. "Thanks for the shirt," she said with a smile.

Max didn't know how to respond. He kept staring at herm unable to take his eyes off of her. It was struggle before she was wearing his clothes, but now Max didn't stand a chance.

When Y/N took his hat from her head, he finally looked at her face. "It suits you," he managed to say. She was irresistible. It was almost too much for him.

No, it was too much for him.

"Fuck it," Max whispered under his breath. He placed his hands on her hip, catching Y/N off guard. Max wasted in time in leaning in. He pressed is lips to hers in a somewhat awkward kiss.

But it didn't take Y/N long to get with the programme. She pulled the hat from her head and wrapped her arms around his neck. Closing her eyes she deepened things, leaning into him.

When she finally pulled away, Max couldn't stop staring at her.

"I've wanted to do that since we became teammates," he whispered, taking the hat from Y/N and placing it on his head.

"What stopped you?"

[filmtv2022]

Our Time is Limited (18+)

Part II

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader

-- Platonic/former lover relationship with Emperor Caracalla x Reader

Synopsis: Reader has belonged to Caracalla for as long as she can remember, her job has been to love and serve him in the quiet moments when even the attention of a concubine cannot suffice. She has served the emperor in whatever capacity he desired. Through the years her love for him grew beyond what many would have deemed proper for one in her position of employment, but it was not a romantic love. The presence of disease had stolen the man she'd once given everything to. Left to care for Caracalla in the midst of his break from reality, Emperor Geta and the reader are forced to admit the feelings they've long harbored for one another.

Warnings: SMUT/sexual acts + "cheating" (but not really, Caracalla and reader no longer have that kind of relationship) + alcohol consumption + language (?)

A/N: Well... when I said the crazy emperors had my brain... I wasn't lying. I have not abandoned my Marcus Acacius story... I just needed to get this off my mind. That said, there may be one more part of this depending on how I feel and how this does. I apologize for any mistakes. I wrote this in a couple of hours.

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

Hovering in the background, you squeezed between the spectators, inching closer to the emperors. The copper-headed pair sat surrounded by their entourage of concubines and common whores whose sole purpose was to entertain, to give in to the whims of the men they served. Your role was not entirely different, and yet, you were to be set apart from the others. Your presence at these events was required, but the emperors would sooner murder than allow the public to view you in the same light as those whose hands roamed their bodies in public. You served a much more intimate purpose. Therefore, you kept your distance, leaving just enough space between yourself and them so that no eyes would wonder and question. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Emperor Geta caught your approach. His eyes locked onto you, searching for any sign of anxiety or nerves. He knew without question that you desired to be anywhere but here, and still, he didn't doubt that your loyalty remained strong. Your features were stoney and severe with your attention falling to his brother whose eyes were on the scantly clad man sat before him. The burnt orange of your stola matched the hue his brother famously loved and complimented the bare expanse of skin along the shapely curve of your arms and shoulders. You were positively stunning, every bit the measure of the well-to-do women who adorned their husbands' arms. 

Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Geta hesitated for a moment, seeing the weariness behind your eyes. Something troubled you, but given the state of his brother's mental well-being, it was likely as anything that was the cause of your worry. With nothing to be done at the time, he reached for the concubine he’d carted along for the day's festivities. Hauling her close, he let the weight of her hand against his chest, settle the crashing energy that sang through his body, but nothing was a match for the intensity of the fight that erupted amongst the gladiators. 

The fight was brutal and quick. The larger man crumpled into a bloody heap, soaking the marble floor in a sea of sickly scarlet. The pool smeared beneath the weight of his body as the guards dragged him out of the room. The grunts and moans of pain were soon replaced by the questioning trill of Emperor Geta. The fight had clearly impressed him. The eloquent sound of poetry rolling off the tongue of the victor caught you as strange, but now was not the time to linger. With the crowd in awe and Geta keyed up, it felt like the appropriate moment to slink back into oblivion. 

You maneuvered down a darkened hall, the only light poured in amber waves along the stone from the torches that lined the walls. The walk passed without note, the distant sound of chatter gave way to the echo of your sandaled feet. Each step brought you further from the chaos of the arena and for that you were grateful. No matter how many games you saw, the violence never grew more appealing. You couldn’t blame the emperors for enjoying the joys they were afforded in life, but that did nothing to change your opinion. They could eat, drink, fuck, and enjoy whatever and whomever they desired. Your job was simply to be there when called. No questions or judgment, and that was more than enough for you to handle. 

The sudden clomp of footfalls barreling down the corridor sent electricity singing down your spine. Snapping back in their direction, you reached for the blade which sat flush along your thigh. The metal was warm to the touch, the heat of your body having warmed it palpably. No sooner had you freed it of its holster, than a familiar face rounded the corner. Emperor Geta’s pale face glowed oddly in the flickering light, the shadows casting his features in mystery. Sliding your weapon back into place, you stayed rooted to the spot and waited the mere seconds it took for him to close the space between you. 

“Where are you going?” His voice was soft as he crowded into your space. His hands flexed at his sides, itching to touch you, to hold you close, but that was a line he couldn’t bring himself to cross, if only for the sake of his brother’s well-being. “My brother… he calls for you.”

Your face dropped to the floor, unable to stand the burn of his molten stare. “I am unwell… my-my head.” The lie was partially rooted in truth. The violence of the fight brought back memories of a long past day that led you to the gates of the palace, in need of a kindness that only those in power could grant you. The simple memory of which brought you real physical pain.

“Have you eaten today? Perhaps some wine and bread could cure what ails you. I have selected the best for our celebration.” A thin smile flashed upon the emperor’s face, pulling the corner of his lips up in a beautiful tilt though the grin didn’t meet his eyes.

“As much as I adore your taste in wine, I do not believe any amount of drink will ease the pain I am feeling. Now if you’ll excuse me, Emperor.”  The swish of your stola brushing against your skin sounded as you turned away. 

Panic flashed hot forcing Geta to move… to speak. “Wait!” His outstretched hand sat in the space between you for only a moment before dropping back to his side. “He needs you… he’s- he’s struggling. Today is not a good day.” 

“I am aware, but he has you.” 

“But I am not the one he desires.” Once again, Geta stepped closer, pleading with you to listen. “I fear what he will do, how he will act before the public today without you by his side. Please, for his sake… and for my own. Care for him as only you are able.” 

The sheen that pooled in Geta’s eyes was enough to flip your stomach. This cruel and vicious man held his heart wide for those he loved. It was a select few, but those he cared for in that way were not only adored beyond measure but treated with a life only he could provide. There was a true sincerity to it. He held his brother dear despite the many rumors that circulated about the pair. Caracalla had long since been the subject of jokes and cruel speculation. It was true, the illness that plagued his loins had spread to his brain, eating away at the once vibrant and loving man he’d once been. And yet, no matter how much he’d lost to the disease, there was always a thread of his former self there to reel him in and back to reality.  

But as of late, that thin connection between reality and fantasy had grown more fragile. It took a delicate hand to keep Caracalla balanced, especially in front of important company and prying eyes. You and Emperor Geta were the cherished few who had the ability to return Caracalla to this world, and increasingly, your loving touch seemed to be the only thing that worked. 

“I understand. I will do what is necessary.” You nodded shallowly, acknowledging the favor the emperor had asked of you. “Let us not linger, it is unwise for him to be alone with those vultures you surround yourselves with.” 

A flicker of shock at your boldness shot across his features, but he decided against pursuing the thoughts and questions that flooded his mind. Instead, he settled with a simple statement of thanks before guiding you back to his brother. 

The murmur of people grew louder with each passing step until it reached a tipping point. Back inside the space you’d fled so quickly, you searched the crowd for Caracalla. It took only seconds to find him, standing beside the table overflowing with treats and wine. Your approach was lost on him, his entire focus settled on selecting the next delicacy. With his stability in question, you knew it would be wise to make your presence known before stepping into the space beside him. 

“Emperor Caracalla!” The youthful man turned to find the person who’d spoken, and at the sight of you, an enormous grin erupted from ear to ear across his pockmarked face. “What delicious finds have you discovered for us today?!” The shirtless man who’d accompanied the emperor from before took one look at you and decided he was no longer needed. Relieved of his duty, he retreated to stand with the group of concubines that had formed near the entrance, greeting the guests as they moved to and fro. 

“My dear!” Crumbs adorned the corners of his mouth as he held the remnants of a pastry in his hand. “Come! You must try this! It is simply delightful!” 

The emperor met you halfway, holding out the last bite for you to take. You could feel the stares that descended upon the pair of you as he held the last bite to your lips. You opened for him, luxuriating in the sweetness that coated your tongue. Caracalla’s eyes gleamed with delight at the sound of your satisfied hum of appreciation unaware of how this interaction would appear to others. 

“It was delicious. Thank you for sharing.” You reached for his face and brushed away the flecks of baked dough that clung to his makeuped countenance. Avoiding the open marks that even rouge could not cover, you pushed through the pain to give him the smile he so clearly wanted to see. The boyish wonder in his eyes was catching.

The emperor’s fragile hands settled on your waist. His touch was not that of a lover, but that of a young man desperate for the attention and love he deserved. Holding you close as he spoke. “Where did you go? I’d thought you’d left me.” Caracalla paused for a moment intending to let you speak, but the furrow of your brows kept the words flowing. “Are you all right? Your brow is pinched. You only get that look when you are in pain.” 

Tenderly, you swept a stray hair away from his temple. “I am as well as can be expected, and please, forgive me for my momentary absence. The swell of noise during the fight was too much for me to handle. But I am here now. I would never leave you.” 

“But you are not well… I can see it here. It is one of your head pains.” The pad of his finger ran between your brows and down the bridge of your nose. “You need not be brave for me. You must rest, there will be many more games for you to enjoy.” 

Sensing a pair of knowing eyes upon you, your attention flicked in the direction of Emperor Geta and found him watching just as you’d suspected. Even without words, you knew exactly what he asked. The nearly imperceptible nod of your head assured him that you were going to uphold your promise. 

“I appreciate your kindness, Emperor, but my place is here… with you. There will be time for rest later. Besides, I’m sure a steady flow of wine and pastries would do me good.” You forced yourself to smile once more before heading toward the table. “Join me. Tell me what I must try!” 

A gleeful laugh bubbled from Caracalla as he followed quickly behind. The pair of you stayed like this, tasting and drinking until it was time to retreat to the Emperors’ box for the games. Focused only on the task at hand, your eyes never ventured into the arena. Rather, you studied the way Caracalla moved, the cadence of his speech, admiring the way his eyes lit up at the clash of swords.  Through all this, unbeknownst to you, Geta’s attention split between the violence unfolding before him and yourself. He clung to the sound of your laughter and marked the hazy film that unfocused your gaze the longer the day drug on. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the pain you’d claimed to be ailed by earlier had grown nearly unbearable, and yet your attention never wavered. The dedication you showed his brother filled him with something he couldn’t label. The warmth low in his belly belied just how fully he’d come to care for you. 

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

Night had settled upon the emperors' residence. The halls fluttered with torchlight, but the depths of Geta’s chambers were a murky gray, illuminated only by the moon filtering through curtains that swayed in the breeze. The concubines he’d selected to entertain his needs lay spread out over his bed, their bare skin damp with sweat from the night’s activities. The only sound besides that of their gentle breathing was the rustle of the soldiers posted outside his door. One could never be too careful. 

The blissful silence had him drifting into sleep when the sudden thunder of banging upon his door ripped him from the edge of slumber. Sitting bolt upright in bed, he reached for the knife that sat beneath his pillow, ready to defend himself should the need arise. Geta’d barely managed to extricate himself from the pile of limbs he’d been entangled with and don his robes when the frantic call of your voice pleading with his praetorian sent dread running through his limbs. Heavy with worry and lack of sleep, he pushed across the large room and ripped open the door. 

The movement was followed by your lithe frame pushing inside his chambers, and what he saw only heightened his fear. Crimson stained your cheek, running down the smooth expanse of your neck before soaking into the luscious fabric of the robe you had wrapped around yourself. He recognized it at once as belonging to Caracalla. The fact that you’d been attending to his brother was not unexpected, but the wound that marred your face was terrifying. 

“You’re hurt! Tell me at once who did this to you!?” Geta’s voice shook with the effort it took to maintain his control. Behind him, the stirring of his “guests” went unnoticed. His calloused fingers wiped gently at the oozing cut along the top of your cheek. You’d flinched from the pain, reaching for his wrist to still his ministrations. Frozen in place at the feeling of your touch, he waited barely breathing for your response. 

“It’s your brother! He woke in a fit, he… he didn’t recognize me. He tried to- he thou- he thought I was there to kill him. He-” 

“He did this to you?!” It wasn’t so much a question to you, but to himself for this was the thing he’d always feared. The day in which even your presence wouldn’t be enough to return him to this world. 

“Yes.” You whispered, afraid of what this could mean for the beautiful men you’d come to adore after all this time. The pain in Geta’s eyes at your confusion was crushing. “I am so sorry, Geta.”

“Do not apologize. I will take care of this.” Forced to let go of you, he spoke quickly with his guards before dismissing his guests. The women scrambled for any scrap of clothing they could find and made their hasty exit. 

Moving on his command, the soldiers hastened toward Caracalla’s chamber, leaving you behind with Geta. Alone, he grabbed for a chiton that lay draped over the chair beside him. Reaching for you, he pressed the cloth to your cheek applying pressure as he spoke, “Stay here, and keep this on the wound until I return. When I leave, lock the door behind me and open for no one other than myself. Understand?” 

“Yes.” A slight nod from him was all he managed before turning to follow his praetorian. 

Doing as you were told, you soon moved further into the room. You admired the lived-in feel it maintained despite the solid marble that made up every surface. The bed sat disheveled, clearly the night's adventures had been rather boisterous. Staring at the tangle of sheets, you felt the bile rise in your stomach. You laid no claim upon Geta and yet you couldn’t stop the bubble of envy that stirred in your soul. 

The breeze fluttered through the curtains allowing you to peer beyond the protective walls of the palace to the streets of Rome. Even at this late hour, people moved about. Some lit their path with flame while others remained shrouded in darkness, praying they could slither about unnoticed. It took only a few more steps to reach the balcony. Fresh air filled your lungs as you leaned against the entryway, your nerves still buzzing with anxiety. Time slipped by unreliably. Each minute an hour, fraying the last of your resolve into shreds. 

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

Eventually, a soft knock accompanied by Geta’s worn voice pulled you across the room. Petrified to know what had become of the situation, you hesitated before opening the door. The wood groaned under your touch, but it was the tear-streaked face that lay on the other side that nearly stopped your heart. 

“What happened?” You inquired, giving Geta space to slip inside his room. The loud thunk of the lock being placed filled the silence before he gathered the strength to speak. 

Reaching for the cloth you pressed to your cheek, his voice trembled, the gravel in it even more present. “It is taken care of.” The soft thump of the chiton hitting the floor punctuated his confession. The pit in your stomach was anything but relieved by his answer.

“What does that mean?” You searched for signs of gore along the cuffs of his robes, terrified of what you might find.

“He’s sedated. May the gods right his mind during this sleep.” You watched Geta as he scanned over the now-clotted wound along your cheek. Though you couldn’t see, there was no doubt that deep shades of blue and purple had already begun to bloom alongside where the knife had sliced your skin. 

“Come here. We must clean this or risk infection.” He moved toward the nearby table.

“It is alright. I can take care of it myself. There is acetum and honey in Caracalla’s chamber. There is no need to waste your supply or your time. You must be exhausted.” Tired only of pretending, Geta’s sturdy frame crowded your space, backing you gently into the cool expanse of stone next to the doorframe. With nowhere to go, you forced yourself to look him in the eye for the first time since he’d returned from tending to his brother.

Words clawed at the back of your throat, trapped beneath the swell of emotions that burned the bridge of your nose. As if moving on their own accorded, Geta’s sure hands found the curve of your waist and the stained column of your neck. Resting his brow against yours, the warmth of his breath drifted over your face as he spoke. “Stay here... with me. I do not care for the idea of you alone with him. Not after this.” 

Geta’s chapped lips brushed over yours, never quite embracing the plush expanse of your mouth, but it was more than enough to send a flush rushing over your skin. Your lungs hitched at the feeling of his mouth falling to the hollow of your neck. He hovered over your body, only catching skin for fractions of a second at a time. Your hands found him, running the length of his chest before dipping inside his robes to trace light lines over the ripple of muscle that lay beneath the surface. Geta’s own lungs caught at the press of your hand low upon his abdomen.  

Your whisper at the shell of his ear locked him in place. “I cannot stay, you know this. My place is with him.” 

“That is only half the truth and you know it. You feel it the same as I… you belong here… with me. You always have.” 

“My contract would say otherwise.” The raw ache in your voice pulled Geta back to look at your face. Silver pools threatened to fall as you continued, “Until your brother passes or frees me from his service, I belong to him and no other. It matters not what I feel for you.” 

“You cannot believe that.” 

“Then what am I to believe?” Defiantly, you pressed the flat of your palms to his chest and pushed him back further. “He is the emperor of Rome, the same as you. To defy him would mean my death, even you could not overrule that.” 

“He would he would never have to know.” 

“Secrets move like lightning in this palace. There would be no keeping this from him.” You moved to make your exit, but the firm grip of Geta’s hand on your wrist kept you from fleeing. You whipped to face him, striking with your words like a snake, “My death would be on your hands and I do not want that weighing on your conscience. Not now, too much rests on your shoulders. If you feel for me as you say you do… then you know what we must be to each other. We can have nothing more.” 

“I’m tired of waiting, of pretending that I want anyone but you warming my bed. You are what I desire, what I have always desired. Must I continue to lie to appease my brother?” 

“Your brother’s time grows short. I will not squander it and neither should you!” 

“There are enemies around every corner, there is no promise of tomorrow. Why should I deny myself what I want most?” Swiftly, Geta hauled you close, his lips crashed against yours, devouring the taste of you. With your back against the wall once more, he slotted his thigh between your own, pressing you down upon himself and earning the most glorious moan from your lips. Caution was thrown to the gods as you threaded your fingers through his hair, holding firm to the roots as he palmed your breasts over your robes. The swipe of his thumb over your nipple sent shivers down your spine and sparked a newfound energy in the emperor. 

He wanted more, needed more. The sounds of your altered breathing, paired with the dampness pooling along his thigh gave him the permission to keep going. With practiced ease, he untied the knot at your waist, and pushed the oversized robe from your shoulders, exposing you to him. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He smiled against your skin as he spoke. His lips worked a line of fire from the hollow of your neck to your chest. The talented flick of his tongue over your nipple had you gasping for air. It was too much and not enough at the same time. Tiny whimpers from you accompanied his continued journey south. Dropping to his knees, he found himself mesmerized by the feeling of your skin beneath his lips. Calloused hands roamed the broad expanse of your stomach before dropping to explore your thighs. 

Geta nipped and sucked at the skin there, leaving marks only he’d know existed. Nearly to where you needed to feel him the most, the emperor pulled back, leaving your skin on fire and your need unfulfilled. A whine ripped from your lungs as your eyes dropped to look at him, and what you found was intoxicating. Geta’s eyes were blown, the rich brown was hidden behind his pupils. Lust had replaced all other emotions. 

Your fingers ran through his soft strands in a feeble attempt at guiding him back to you. When you felt him resist, you finally spoke. “Why have you stopped?” 

Geta’s strong hands gripped the back of your legs, keeping you steady as he spoke. “Believe me when I say this, I love you. Nothing will stand between us. I vow to protect you until my dying day”

The emperor didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, his mouth returned to you, this time right where you’d wanted him before. The steady pressure of his lips around your sensitive bud would have been enough to bring you over the edge, but the insistent curl of his fingers in your core had you keening. Geta hummed against you adding to the pleasure. It had been far too long since you’d felt the loving touch of another. What existed between you and Caracalla had never made it to this point. For certain, there had been romantic moments, sensual touches, and lust-fueled encounters, but those had long since ceased. Even prior to the onset of his illness things had begun to shift. But the real change had come upon him falling ill. This had brought about a necessary departure from that kind of bond. The disease that stole him from reality also stole him from the urges that all humans felt, leaving you to take care of yourself in those moments for far too long. 

But in this room, surrounded by only moonlight, and the man at your feet, you found yourself again. It took only a few more well-placed strokes of his fingers for Geta to bring you over the edge. Sparks tore through your body, causing your muscles to spam and your core to clench in rhythmic waves around his fingers. Carefully, Geta worked you through your release stopping only once he felt your body relax. Unsure of your ability to stay standing on your own, he stood to full height, capturing your lips at once. 

You could taste yourself upon his lips, earning him a heady groan. Wanting to hear more of you, he brought his slick-covered fingers to your mouth, running his calloused fingers lips along them before dipping past your lips. The plush heat of your tongue swirling around him, sent his head spinning as he purred in your ear. “Good girl.” 

You could feel him hard against your stomach, his own robes were now damp with arousal. The desire to return the favor was overwhelming, and had it not been for his next request, you’d have dropped to your knees just then. Geta smoothly whispered. “Let me take you to bed, even if it’s just for tonight. Let me love you the way you deserve.” 

Geta’s wide palms slid over your backside before lifting you gracefully into his arms. Stumbling back to his bed, he lowered you into the expanse of soft sheets that covered the mattress. With you safe and settled, he stepped back and removed his robe. Dropping the burgundy and gold material to the ground, his fist ran the length of his cock, tearing a hiss from between his teeth as he rolled over the throbbing tip. 

Geta’s self-control crumbled at the sight of you sprawled out before him. Your hands roamed your own body fluttering over your core and massaging your breasts. With each pass of your fingers, his need to feel you wrapped around him grew too much to bear. Done with waiting, done with watching, the emperor lowered himself on top of you, collecting your slick with his member before easing himself inside. Geta’s strong arms caged you in, blocking out everything but the feeling of you and him together. He searched for your lips, needing to kiss you, but the embrace soon turned into nothing more than swallowing each other's moans. Each roll of his hips brought you closer to the edge once more, even as he clung to the final shred of himself. 

“Geta, please…” The pitiful sound of his name tumbling from your lips, accompanied the drag of your nails along his back. Your actions were sure to have left a mark, but it mattered not. With one final pull at the base of his hair, Geta let himself go. You were soon to follow. Your ragged breaths matched with his as he lowered himself further onto you. His weight was heavy against your chest, and yet you knew without it you’d feel exposed. It was exactly what you both needed as you came down from your high. 

As your breathing slowed down, the emperor rolled to his side, leaving you empty. You whined at the loss of him, but as if sensing your need, he reached for you, hauling you close. Your face pressed into his chest as your legs tangled. Alone, in his bed, Geta pressed a kiss to your forehead and held you close. For the first time in ages, the world seemed right, as if nothing terrible could happen. He knew that come break of day things would return to normal, but for now, he’d live in this temporary reality. 

(Part II)

[whateversawesome]

Spy x Family Chapter 103: Peace and Family

How nice it was to see the Forgers go on an outing again!

A few things to notice...

I'll start with Twiyor hehehe:

This is easily my favorite panel in the chapter. They're getting closer and closer!! Loid sits first, Yor follows. She's not shy about siting next to him. Good for you, Yor! 👏

See how comfortable they are with each other? She has a soft smile and he's not pretending anything; he's just there, existing. By the way, observe their body language: Both of Yor's knees are pointing at her husband, she's also leaning slightly towards him. Twilight, on the other hand, sits at a more neutral position, still it's an open position. Notice how one of his knees is pointing at her too. And their hands are mirroring each other.

It's worth mentioning that Yor is such a good influence on Twilight. This man suffers from anxiety and it's hard for him to turn his brain off and just relax. Yor reminds him of this. She is his peace 😌

And look at Twilight being honest with his wife and admitting something very true about himself (that it's hard for him to stay still). I believe that every time Twilight is honest with Yor, they get closer. In this chapter there wasn't even a fake twiyor moment for this to happen. We're making progress!

Also, did you notice Yor teased Loid?

It is the sacred duty of a wife to tease her husband and call him old every once in a while 🤣 I'm glad Yor is finally fulfilling this fun wifely obligation 😆

All joking aside, it's pretty obvious Yor feels much more comfortable with Loid now. When they are with other people, she still gets nervous, probably because she thinks she could mess up and blow their cover. However, when they are alone, she seems much more relaxed and able to make comments like this that show that she trusts Loid enough to joke with him, to tell him in between lines that she notices things about him (just as he notices everything about her) and that she worries about him too.

Endo is a master of "show, don't tell" and he's been showing us how Twilight and Yor are getting closer little by little. It's in every detail: their body language, the way they talk to each other, the words they use, how they see each other.

Another example in this chapter? Twilight is incapable of saying "no" to his wife hehehe.

Yup, he still has that shoujo filter attached to his eyes when it comes to Yor.

Now that we have overanalyzed Twiyor, it's time for some crazy theories.

This could be important!

Don't you find it funny that each gave a different answer according to their experience?

Yor feels lonely, because she doesn't feel like she's normal enough to belong to society and it's hard for her to make friends.

Twilight got separated from his his herd. His family and friends died and he had to go to a different country, where he is scared and feels in constant danger just like Belle.

AND ANYA?! I'm wondering if this is a clue. I'm wondering if Anya is a missing person, meaning someone is looking for her, whether it's Project Apple or her biological family.

Talking about Project Apple, we seem to get crumbs every once in a while. I believe it's still too early to get an arc that will actually involve Anya and Project Apple together, but we'll know more as the story moves forward. It's a good sign that Project Apple is in Twilight's mind; he has good instincts for this. We may see him or Yor get involved with it in one of their missions before we learn Anya's past. OR either of her parents may discover what Project Apple is really about without knowing one of the test subjects is their own daughter.

Something that Anya has said several times is that her parents are dangerous people. It's easy to forget about this, but it's true. Twilight and Yor are very dangerous, but not for Anya. The day they find out someone hurt their little girl, it'll be a very bad day for all the people who participated in Project Apple.

[halemerry]

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

[divinesangel]

— 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞?

pm me for an affordable, in-depth personal or soulmate reading! ko-fi.com/solreads

— 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

it's very likely for you to meet this person in a place where people are very outgoing, have a lot of passion, and they are always on the go. it could be a bustling city with a touch of a mystique energy, or a place where maybe religion or sacred places are prominent. i'm getting vibes of a vibrant café in a corner where you're able to feel and smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee along with people's conversations and day-to-day life. everyone's on their own reality and each lost in their own world. however, amidst the crowd and these people, you catch a glimpse of someone who stands out, a figure exuding confidence and charm, also with a hint of determination and confidence. this is someone that from the very beginning you will notice that it embodies the energy of someone adventurous, daring, or someone with a fiery passion or energy that ignites curiosity within you. there is going to be an exchange of glances, almost as if it is an instant recognition, like an instant acknowledgement of a connection that transcends words. their vibe or energy is going to be quite enigmatic and there's a level of depth in them that will draw you in. you both will feel this magnetic pull and as you approach each other or by the moment one of you decides to do something, you will soon find yourself engaged in a conversation that flows effortlessly and where you both will feel the gentle butterflies. one of the things that you'll be noticing is how kind and compassionate this person is and how romantic they can be sometimes. it's the type of behaviour that will speak to your soul and make you feel a certain way, a way you haven't felt before. there is a sense of innocence and sincerity in this person that adds a spark of curiosity from them when it comes to you. together, you'll find yourselves immersed in a very lively exchange, sharing stories, dreams, and aspirations. it will be at this moment that you will realize that you've stumbled upon something truly unique and magical.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

you'll meet your soulmate in a place where the sun shines brightly and the sunlight pours in through wide windows, filling several rooms of the street with a warm, inviting glow. it's going to be a place where people go out to enjoy themselves, and during this day, a lot of people are going to be outside enjoying the weather and the warmth that it brings. everyone is going to be soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the simple pleasures of life. when it comes to you, i feel like that as you go about your day, you'll find yourself at a crossroads. this could be a part of your life where you could be facing a decision that weighs heavily on your mind. it could be a choice about your career, your relationships, or your personal goals. it's like you will feel torn between different options, unsure of which path to take, and anxious about the consequences of your decision and wondering if you're on the right path. this turmoil may make you experience sleepless nights, tossing and turning as worries and fears swirl in your mind. the nights seem to amplify your concerns, leaving you feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. and i feel like during this day that you will meet your soulmate, you will make the decision to go out and try to enjoy yourself more, instead of always being at home overthinking things. because despite the uncertainty and anxiety, you'll have the resilience and you'll be brave enough to throw yourself into your work and yourself with a lot of focus on determination. these uncertainties and anxieties might also have to do with past heartaches or disappointments. there's like a lingering fear of getting hurt again or a fear of opening up and being vulnerable. all stemming from the past. you'll be devoting yourself to your pursuits and trying to be more productive, with the aim of not thinking too much about the future. then, when you least expect it, this person will walk into your life. i feel like it's very likely for you to meet this person while they're working somewhere or they're helping someone with something. there's a sense of working on something that i'm picking up, and it's something that you will admire about this person. i feel like at first, you will admire them from afar, and i don't see you taking any steps towards this person, but i feel like there is going to be maybe a friend of yours that will introduce you to them, or perhaps there could be someone around you that knows this person that could introduce you to them.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

you will meet your soulmate in a place where there's a lot of people. it could be a very bustling urban setting where people seek to thrive and they are always busy. it's a very busy environment and i feel like when it comes to the place where you will meet them, it could be at a working event, a conference, or even a lively co-working space. there is a lot of energy filled with people hustling to achieve their goals and a lot of conversations on future plans. there is a legal sense to this, so it could be that this person might be someone in a higher position than you, or someone with a respectable job. in this connection, i feel like there could be a lot of ups and downs because at first the connection might not flow that very well and you could feel like there could be some tension and it's very likely that you won't really know whether this person likes you or not because of their cold behavior or an expressive self. at first, you could feel that there's not really much to do with this person or like maybe nothing else is going to be happening, but that's something that changes quite soon. it sort of feels like an enemies to lovers type of thing. as you get to know each other, you'll discover that they share your values and aspirations, they're very driven, ambitious, and determined to succeed, and you will find yourself in them. i feel like at the time you may not notice this part of you, but once you get to know them more, you'll figure out and discover that you're actually quite ambitious and determined as well. besides that, i feel like you'll find yourself discussing big ideas, making plans for the future, and supporting each other's dreams. you'll be able to navigate the ups and downs of life as a team, finding strength in each other's company, and of course you'll also share laughter, challenges, and moments of quiet understanding as your relationship deepens and evolves. eventually, you'll realize that this person is the one you've been searching for, and it's going to be quite funny for the both of you to look back and analyze how everything went down. from feeling tense around each other and not really knowing what to talk about or do around each other, to being together in a very loving and healthy connection.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 !

hi! it's daphne here.

i'm currently offering personal readings for €5 and soulmate readings for €10 so don't hesitate to send me a private message if you're interested!

thank you for being here!

[lila-lou]

✨Houston - Pt. 1/2✨

Summary: While Jensen was away filming, a hurricane hit and you had to face it alone, burdened by a secret. When Jensen finally returned, relief and fear collided as you shared the news.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST

Word Count: 6986

A/N: No hate towards anybody. It's just fiction.

English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 🩷

Jensen had been gone for his new show in Los Angeles, filming for what felt like an eternity — over ten weeks now, with no real break in sight. The production schedule was tighter than ever due to unexpected delays when one of the main actors fell sick, which caused the entire shoot to be pushed back. You hadn’t seen him for over two months, and the distance was starting to weigh on you. There was no chance for quick weekend visits or even mid-week surprises. Everything had changed with this new project.

In those long ten weeks, Jensen had managed to get only three days off, and he used them to fly back to see his kids. You couldn’t fault him for that and you understood how much he missed them. Still, the loneliness lingered like an unwelcome shadow. Tomorrow, though, was supposed to be different. He was finally coming home, even if just for a week, and you had been counting down the days like a lifeline.

But now, as you stood by the large window overlooking the ocean, something inside you twisted with unease. The darkening skies in the distance mirrored the storm brewing in your mind. The TV in the background blared with warnings of severe weather rolling in from the Gulf, interrupting your thoughts with each alert. The meteorologist spoke of high winds and heavy rain, not quite enough to warrant an evacuation, but enough to make you feel a creeping sense of dread.

It had been two years since you and Jensen made the decision to move to Houston, settling into this beautiful, sprawling house right on the coastline. At the time, it seemed perfect. The ocean view, the sunsets over the water, the space and serenity. But now, as the storm warnings flashed across the screen, you wondered if you’d made the right decision. You had never been good with storms. The sound of the wind howling, the sharp crack of thunder — they had always sent shivers down your spine, leaving you feeling vulnerable and anxious.

The move to the Gulf of Mexico seemed impulsive now, in hindsight. Sure, Jensen loved it here, and the house was gorgeous, but you had always known this fear lurked deep inside you. Storms unsettled you, and the thought of facing one alone, without him by your side, only made it worse.

Your stomach twisted in knots as you pressed your forehead against the cool glass, watching the gray clouds gather on the horizon.

You groaned, feeling the frustration bubble up inside you. The anxiety gnawed at you, and the tension in your shoulders made it hard to relax. “Of all days”, you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself away from the window.

With a sigh, you grabbed your phone and dialed your best friend’s number, knowing she’d be awake even though she lived halfway across the world. Spain. Never having to deal with the heavy weather nonsense like hurricanes or tornadoes. You often teased her about how lucky she was to live in a country where the worst thing she had to worry about was a hot summer day or maybe some rain in the winter.

As you walked toward the kitchen, waiting for her to pick up, the soft ring of the phone seemed to be swallowed by the growing rumble of thunder outside. Your eyes drifted to the oven as you remembered the batch of chocolate cookies you’d put in earlier. Well, they were more Jensen’s favorite than yours.

The phone finally clicked, and your friend’s cheerful voice came through the speaker. “Hola, chica! What’s up?”.

You let out a heavy sigh as you reached for the kettle, flicking it on to make yourself some tea. “Hey… just trying to calm my nerves. We’ve got a storm rolling in, and you know how much I hate this stuff”.

“Storm? Ugh, I don’t envy you”, she replied with a sympathetic tone. “It’s like a whole other world over there, isn’t it? Here I am, in sunny Spain, sipping wine and you’re getting hit with storms again. Why did you agree to move to the Gulf in the first place?”.

You chuckled, a bit of bitterness in your voice as you pulled out a mug from the cabinet. “I have no idea. Jensen wanted the ocean, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. You know me—anything to make him happy. But every time a storm rolls in, I swear I regret it”.

As the kettle clicked off, you poured the hot water over the tea bag, the steam curling up into the air. You leaned against the counter, glancing at the oven timer. Just a few more minutes on the cookies. “I mean, I get it”, you continued, twirling the tea bag absentmindedly in the water. “He loves it here, and the house is beautiful, but I just can’t shake this fear. Every time the weather turns bad, I get this pit in my stomach. And it doesn’t help that he’s been away for so long. It’s hard to deal with all this on my own”.

She sighed on the other end of the line, her voice softening. “How long has he been gone this time?”.

You swallowed, staring down at the swirling tea in your mug. “Ten weeks”, you murmured, feeling the weight of that number pressing down on you. “Ten long weeks, and in all that time, he’s only had three days off. I get it, he used those to see his kids, which is exactly what he should do. But it’s just been… hard”.

Your friend stayed quiet for a moment, as if letting the words sink in. She knew how much you hated when Jensen was away for extended periods, especially when life got difficult. “Ten weeks… damn”, she finally said, her tone laced with sympathy. “That’s rough, chica. I know you’re strong, but that’s a lot, especially with this storm hitting now”.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, feeling the tension rise again as you heard another distant rumble of thunder. “It’s just been one thing after another lately”, you admitted, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “And now this storm… it’s not supposed to be anything major, but you know me. I hate this stuff. The wind, the rain, it freaks me out. Always has”.

Your friend’s voice softened even more. “I remember. Back when we used to talk late at night during storms, you’d be on edge, counting down the minutes until it passed. I can’t imagine being by the ocean during one”.

You sighed, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, and I’m here, in this huge house, by myself. Well, I’ve got Jensen’s cookies”, you added with a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but the fear still lingered beneath the surface.

“Wish I could teleport myself over there and keep you company”, she said warmly. “Though I’m not sure how much help I’d be. Maybe I could distract you with all my boring Spain stories. Sun, siestas, and sangria… You know, the usual”.

You smiled, even though it didn’t fully reach your eyes. “That sounds a hell of a lot better than storm prep and waiting for the power to go out”.

Another sigh escaped your friend. “You need a break from all this. Having him around will help, I’m sure”.

“Yeah, I hope so too”, you whispered, the longing for Jensen’s presence making your chest tighten. The thought of him walking through the door tomorrow, even for just a week, was the only thing keeping you grounded right now.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the kind that stretched just a little too long, and you knew your friend was working up to something. When she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet, hesitant. “Have you… told him yet?”.

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of her words settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. The unspoken truth between you, the one you had been avoiding for weeks. You took a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the counter for support as the familiar wave of anxiety washed over you again.

“No”, you whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear, your voice breaking slightly. “Not yet”.

Your friend didn’t rush to respond, giving you the space to gather your thoughts. You could almost hear the sympathy through the phone, her understanding of how complicated things had become. She knew you too well—knew the fear that had been gnawing at you since you first saw the two pink lines on the test, and how you had been holding onto that secret ever since, waiting for the right moment to break the news.

If there even was a “right moment”.

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the cool kitchen counter, the weight of your unspoken truth pressing down on your chest. “It’s not exactly something I can drop over the phone”, you added softly, more to yourself than to her.

“I know”, she said gently, her voice filled with understanding. “It’s definitely face-to-face news”.

You let out a heavy sigh, your eyes drifting toward the window where the dark clouds were still gathering. The irony wasn’t lost on you — the brewing storm outside wasn’t nearly as frightening as the one in your heart. Jensen had been so clear from the beginning, right from the very start of your relationship. He loved his kids, adored being their father, but he was done. He didn’t want more. He had been through the sleepless nights, the diapers, the chaos of raising young children, and he had made it crystal clear that he had no desire to go back to that. No more babies. No more starting over.

And now here you were, facing the very thing he never wanted. The very thing that might push him away, might change everything between you.

“I just…”. Your voice wavered as you struggled to find the right words. “He was so sure, you know? About not wanting more kids. He told me from the beginning that he was done, and I accepted that. I was okay with it because I love him. But now…”. You trailed off, biting your lip to stop your emotions from spilling over.

“Now, things are different”, she finished softly, filling in the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t even know how he’s going to react. What if he’s angry? What if this is the one thing that changes everything? I don’t want to lose him, but I can’t hide this forever. And the longer I wait, the harder it’s going to get”.

Your friend was quiet for a moment, letting the weight of your words settle. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with warmth and understanding. “You’re going to have to tell him, eventually. And yes, it’s probably going to be hard. But you know Jensen. He loves you. Whatever his initial reaction, that won’t change. He might need time to process it, but he’s not the type to just walk away”.

You sniffed, wiping at your eyes as a tear finally slipped free. “I know… I know that. But it’s just—he’s been gone for so long, and everything’s already so strained. What if this is the thing that breaks us?”.

There was a long silence on the other end, and for a moment you wondered if the call had dropped. But then your friend spoke, her voice quiet but firm. “This won’t break you. Not if you’re honest with him. It’s going to be tough, but you can’t carry this alone. You deserve to have someone beside you through all of it. And… he deserves to know”.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words. “I just… I’m scared”, you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of how he’ll react, and I’m scared of what this will mean for us”.

“I know”, she said softly. “But you’re strong, and you can do this. And no matter what, I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone”.

You nodded again, grateful for her support even across the ocean. The sound of the timer beeping in the background startled you, pulling you from the heaviness of the moment. The cookies were done. You forced a small smile, trying to hold onto the sliver of normalcy that baking had given you.

“I’ll tell him when he comes home”, you said quietly, more to yourself than to her. “Face to face. It’s the only way”.

“You’re doing the right thing”, your friend assured you. “He loves you, and he’s going to be there for you, no matter what. Just give him time”.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that”.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied warmly. “Now, go enjoy those cookies, okay? And try not to worry too much about tomorrow. One storm at a time”.

You laughed softly, a bittersweet sound. “Yeah… one storm at a time”.

As you hung up the phone and pulled the warm cookies from the oven, the weight of what lay ahead still hung in the air. Tomorrow, Jensen would come home, and with him, the conversation that would change everything. You could only hope that, like the storm outside, it would pass without too much damage.

You placed the tray of cookies on the counter, their rich chocolate scent filled the kitchen, momentarily grounding you in something warm and familiar. You stared down at them, freshly baked and perfectly round, thinking about how Jensen always joked that your cookies were better than any fancy dessert. It was such a small thing, but right now, it felt like a lifeline—a fleeting reminder of the simplicity that used to define your relationship before things became so complicated.

You couldn’t help but think back to when everything was easier, when his laugh could chase away any worry you had, and when you both felt invincible. But now, that invincibility felt fragile.

The soft rumble of thunder echoed through the house, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling smaller in the vastness of the empty space.

You leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the cookies, your mind already racing ahead to tomorrow. You could picture his face, the familiar crinkle of his eyes as he walked through the door, probably exhausted but happy to see you. And you knew that the moment would come when you'd have to break the news. You’d have to see his reaction, whatever it would be—whether it was surprise, disbelief, or the worst thing you could imagine… disappointment.

You closed your eyes, fighting back the sting of tears. Disappointment. That was what scared you the most.

No more kids.

He loved his children fiercely, but he had drawn that line firmly in the sand from the start. The thought of him looking at you with anything less than love in his eyes, anything less than the warmth and affection you had grown so used to, made your stomach churn.

The truth was, you hadn’t planned this. Neither of you had. And the timing couldn’t have been worse. He was in the middle of filming a new project, already stretched thin from the demands of his career. You had been doing your best to hold things together, to be patient, to give him the space he needed while you dealt with this on your own. But now the secret was too big to keep any longer.

And still, you hadn’t even allowed yourself to fully process the reality of it. The tiny life growing inside of you felt surreal, like a secret you were keeping even from yourself. There were moments when you could push it to the back of your mind, pretend it wasn’t real, but those moments were becoming fewer and further between. You couldn’t escape the truth any longer.

Tomorrow, he would be home. Tomorrow, you would have to tell him.

You placed your hands on your stomach, your fingers resting lightly, almost protectively, over the slight curve that had begun to form. It was still small, easy enough to hide under loose clothing, but you couldn’t hide it forever. And you didn’t want to. Not really. You wanted to share this with him, to let him in on the secret you had been carrying for weeks. But the fear… the fear of how he would react made it feel like an impossible task.

You took a deep, shaky breath and whispered into the quiet kitchen, as if saying it aloud would somehow prepare you for what was coming. “I’m pregnant”.

The words felt foreign on your tongue, and saying them aloud didn’t make the reality any easier to bear. But they were real. There was no taking them back now.

As you stood there, staring out the window into the growing storm, you couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.

Would he be angry? Shocked? Maybe he wouldn’t even know what to say at first. You played out a hundred scenarios in your mind, none of them feeling quite right. You couldn’t predict how he would react, but you knew that this was a conversation that would change everything. There was no going back once the truth was out.

The thunder rumbled again, closer this time, and you shivered despite the warmth of the kitchen. You reached for your tea and held the mug in your hands, seeking comfort from the warmth.

Just then, the phone rang, its sudden chime cutting through the quiet tension in the room. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name flash across the screen. Jensen.

For a moment, you just stared at it, your stomach flipping nervously. The sound of his name on the screen, so familiar, so comforting, felt like a jolt to your already raw nerves. He wasn’t supposed to call until later, closer to his flight time. Your fingers trembled slightly as you swiped to answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hey”, you greeted softly, trying to steady your voice, but you couldn’t help the slight quiver in it.

“Hey, sweetheart”, Jensen’s warm, familiar voice filled the line, and for just a second, you felt a rush of relief. “You okay? You sound a little off”.

You bit your lip, glancing out the window again, watching the heavy clouds roll in. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Just, you know, storm’s coming in, and I’m alone in the house. I’m probably overreacting, as usual”.

He chuckled softly, that deep, rich sound that used to make you feel safe. “You and storms, huh? You’ve always hated them. It’s just a little rain though, right? Nothing to worry about”.

“Yeah, just rain”, you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper as the truth of what you were really afraid of sat heavy in your chest. But you couldn’t tell him now, not like this, over the phone. Not when he was hours away. Not when he was expecting you to be waiting at home, smiling, with cookies on the counter.

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you could almost hear the tension in Jensen’s voice, like he wanted to say more but was holding back. Then he spoke, and his tone was apologetic, laced with that familiar warmth that you loved so much.

“Hey, I’ve got to get back to filming in a minute”, he said gently, “but I just wanted to check in on you. Make sure you’re okay”.

Your heart sank a little at his words. Even though you hadn’t expected this call, the idea of him hanging up so soon, when you were craving any sense of normalcy, left you feeling hollow. But you forced a small smile into your voice, pushing aside the anxiety for his sake.

“Okay”, you replied softly, clutching the phone a little tighter. “I’ll be fine. The house is safe, and I’ve got enough cookies to last a week, even if the power goes out”.

He laughed again, that low, comforting sound that almost made you forget about the storm inside you. “You’re always prepared, huh?”.

“Trying to be”, you said, though the weight of the secret you were carrying made you feel anything but.

There was another pause, and you heard some shuffling in the background—probably crew members calling for him. He sighed. “Listen, I’ve got to run, but I’ll call you as soon as I’m at the airport later, okay?”.

“Thanks, Jensen”, you whispered, the sound of his name bringing a soft warmth to your heart despite everything. “I’ll be okay. Be safe, alright?”.

“I will. You hang in there, alright? I’ll talk to you in a few hours”. His voice softened, and you could picture him standing there, probably with that concerned look he got when he knew you weren’t telling him everything.

“I will”, you promised, though inside, you knew it was going to be a long few hours.

“Love you”, he added quickly, and those words, like always, wrapped around you like a blanket.

“Love you too”, you whispered, knowing how much you meant it, but feeling the weight of the untold truth settling even heavier on your chest.

Then the call ended, and the silence rushed back into the room, the steady beat of the rain against the windows the only sound left.

You stood there for a moment, gripping the phone like it was an anchor. The storm outside was getting louder, the wind picking up, rattling the windows just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

As evening fell, you found yourself standing in front of the large living room windows again, staring out at the angry ocean. The waves were crashing violently against the shore, each one louder than the last, and the dark sky was lit up intermittently by flashes of lightning far in the distance. For the past hour, heavy rain had been pounding against the house, making any thoughts of sleep seem impossible. You hadn’t even bothered trying to settle down—there was no way you could rest with the storm growing more intense by the minute.

The wind had picked up, howling through the trees that lined the edge of your property, bending them until they looked as though they would snap. The way the branches thrashed made your chest tighten with anxiety. This was more than just a little rain. The storm outside was quickly turning into something far more dangerous.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to fight the creeping sense of fear that had been building inside you all day. It was hard to focus on anything else—the looming conversation with Jensen, the storm that seemed intent on tearing apart everything outside your door. You tried to drown out the worry by turning on the TV for the latest updates, hoping for some reassurance, but just as you were about to settle on the couch, the power flickered.

And then, everything went dark.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stood frozen in place, listening to the sudden silence that filled the room. Even the hum of the refrigerator had gone quiet. No lights, no TV, no comforting glow from the oven clock. You fumbled for your phone, but a quick glance at the screen showed what you had feared: no signal. The storm had knocked out the power, and with it, your connection to the outside world.

You were alone.

A cold knot of fear twisted in your stomach. The walls around you felt suffocating, and the sound of the storm outside—the rain pounding against the windows, the wind howling like a creature trying to claw its way inside—made the house feel smaller than it had ever felt before. The darkness seemed endless, swallowing up the comforting familiarity of your home, and all you could do was stand there, staring at your reflection in the glass as the storm raged beyond.

And then, your thoughts went to Jensen.

Somewhere far away, sitting in an airport, blissfully unaware of how much the storm had escalated. The last time you had spoken, he had laughed, reassured you that it was just a little rain. But this… this was something else. You wondered if he had seen the news, if he knew how bad it was getting here. You couldn’t even warn him now, couldn’t tell him to stay safe, to stay put.

Meanwhile, in LA, Jensen sat in the crowded terminal, his phone in hand as he absentmindedly scrolled through old texts from you, his mind somewhere between exhaustion and the anticipation of finally coming home. He’d been waiting for what felt like hours, his flight delayed over and over again. The storm back home had been on his mind, but nothing in the forecast had seemed serious when he last checked. Just some heavy rain, maybe a little wind, but nothing out of the ordinary for Houston this time of year.

That was until an announcement echoed over the loudspeakers, the sound snapping him back to the present. The terminal buzzed with confusion as people around him started looking at their phones, murmurs rising into a collective hum of concern.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that all flights to Houston have been canceled due to an unexpected hurricane forming off the Gulf. Please make your way to the customer service desks for further instructions”.

Jensen’s heart sank as the words hit him. Hurricane? He immediately stood, his fingers instinctively dialing your number, but there was no response. Nothing. He tried again, and again, but each call went straight to voicemail.

His stomach churned with worry, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He had told you it was just a little rain, that everything would be fine. And now, a hurricane was bearing down on you, and he couldn’t reach you. He couldn’t even warn you.

The flight staff were swamped, passengers crowding around them, demanding answers, but Jensen didn’t care about the chaos around him. All he could think about was you—sitting in that house by the ocean, alone, probably terrified, with no way to reach him. He could see it in his mind, how you would be pacing around the house, trying to stay calm while the storm raged on outside. You hated storms. You always had.

And now, this.

He looked at the flight board, the bright red letters spelling out “CANCELED”, and felt utterly helpless. There was no way out tonight, no way to get to you. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried calling one more time, but once again, it went straight to voicemail.

Jensen clenched his phone tightly, his mind racing through all the possible options. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sit here, waiting, while the storm got worse. He needed to get to you, somehow, but there was no plan, no idea of how bad it really was back in Houston.

Meanwhile, back in the house, you stared out into the blackness beyond the window, the storm surging with more force than you could have imagined. The trees bent and cracked, the waves crashing against the shore with an almost terrifying strength. You had never felt so vulnerable. You had never felt so alone.

And Jensen, the one person you needed most, was miles away, waiting in an airport for a flight that wasn’t coming.

You pressed your hand against the cold glass, feeling the world outside crumble under the force of nature, and inside, you crumbled a little too.

The wind had reached a deafening pitch, and every gust felt like it was trying to tear the house apart. You could barely think over the sound of it—like a train barreling through, unstoppable and unforgiving. The trees outside the windows were bent almost horizontal, their branches flailing wildly in the storm’s fury. You could hear debris slamming against the house, the sharp cracks of branches breaking, and the deep, menacing roar of the ocean as the waves crashed closer and closer.

You glanced out the window and felt your blood run cold. The waves were rising—towering, dark, and violent—crashing up the shore with a terrifying force, each one creeping closer and closer to your porch. The stilts that your house rested on were supposed to protect you, but right now, even those massive beams felt fragile against the raw power of the storm.

A sudden surge of panic washed over you, stronger than any wave outside. You couldn't stay here, not with the ocean threatening to swallow everything. Your breath came faster, chest tightening as the reality of the hurricane fully hit you. This was no ordinary storm; this was the nightmare you’d always feared would come to life when you moved here. You needed to get away from the windows, away from the view of the violent ocean that made your heart pound with terror.

Without thinking, you spun on your heel and practically ran through the house, your footsteps quick and uneven as the wind rattled the walls. You headed straight for the guest room—one of the few rooms that didn’t face the ocean. It was smaller, tucked away in the corner of the house, but right now it felt like the only place that could give you even the slightest illusion of safety.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you reached the door and pushed it open, the beam of your phone trembling slightly from your shaking hands. You slammed the door behind you and leaned against it, breathing hard, trying to steady yourself. The room was dark, save for the dim glow of the phone, but at least here, you couldn’t see the ocean rising, threatening, looming.

Still, the storm raged around you, the wind howling and shaking the house. The walls creaked under the force of the gusts, and you swore you could feel the entire structure sway. The sound of the ocean never left your mind, though, the memory of those waves reaching higher and higher still vivid in your thoughts. You sank onto the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you could ward off the fear creeping through your veins.

You needed Jensen. His presence would have grounded you, would have been the anchor you needed right now to feel even remotely safe. But he wasn’t here. You were alone. Alone in a house you weren’t sure could withstand the storm.

And then, the overwhelming sense of dread came crashing in again, accompanied by the helplessness of being completely cut off. No phone signal, no lights, no contact. The only thing louder than the storm outside was the storm inside you—the fear, the uncertainty, the crushing feeling of isolation.

Meanwhile, Jensen sat in the crowded airport terminal, his phone in his hands, staring at the same unchanging screen. The calls weren’t going through. He tried again, his heart thudding in his chest, each failed attempt making the knot of worry tighten further. Every time the call went straight to voicemail, it felt like a blow to his gut.

“Come on… pick up, baby”, he muttered to himself, running a frustrated hand through his hair. But still, nothing. Only that dead silence on the other end.

He felt sick. He couldn’t stop replaying the conversation from earlier in the day. He’d brushed off your fears, reassured you that it was just rain. You’d been nervous, but he had laughed it off, told you it was no big deal. “Just a little rain”, he’d said. Now, with a hurricane bearing down on Houston, those words felt like a cruel joke.

Jensen’s leg bounced anxiously as he stared at his phone, willing it to connect. He knew you were scared—he knew how much you hated storms, how even a thunderstorm would have you on edge. But this wasn’t just a thunderstorm. This was a hurricane, and you were alone, sitting in that house by the ocean, probably terrified out of your mind.

He had never felt so helpless. All the money in the world, all his connections, none of it mattered now. He was grounded, unable to fly home, stuck in a terminal while the storm raged on miles away, separating him from you. The worst part was not knowing what was happening. Were you okay? Was the house holding up? Had you found a safe place? Or were you sitting there, terrified, with no one to comfort you?

Jensen pressed the call button again, even though he knew what would happen. He didn’t care. He had to keep trying, had to do something.

When the call went to voicemail again, he groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. This was his worst nightmare. He had promised to keep you safe, to be there when you needed him, and now, in the middle of the worst storm either of you had ever faced, he was stuck a thousand miles away, powerless to help.

All he could think about was your voice, that soft quiver in it when you’d mentioned the storm earlier. He should have heard the fear in your words. He should have known. But he’d been so focused on work, so focused on getting through the day, that he hadn’t really listened.

Jensen felt the weight of his guilt pressing down on him, heavier with each failed attempt to reach you. He needed to hear your voice, needed to know you were okay. But every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and the storm was only getting worse.

He glanced up at the airport monitors, the word CANCELED in bright red letters next to his flight number. His chest tightened. He wasn’t getting out of here tonight. He wasn’t getting to you.

For the first time in a long time, Jensen felt completely powerless.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. The wind outside had grown impossibly louder, the relentless howl of the storm wrapping itself around the house. You sat on the edge of the bed, your knees pulled up to your chest, listening to the chaos unfold outside. Then, you heard something—a deep, ominous rumbling that shook the walls, so loud and unfamiliar that it made your heart leap into your throat.

Your breath caught. What was that? You couldn’t even begin to imagine what had caused the sound, but it sent a wave of terror rushing through you. For a moment, you stayed frozen in place, every nerve in your body telling you to stay put, to not move. But curiosity, or maybe survival instinct, finally won over, and you shakily stood up, the beam of your phone barely steady in your trembling hand.

You tried to think logically—the cars. Bu both, yours and Jensen’s cars, were parked in the massive garage, safe when you had checked earlier. But now, with the storm surging stronger by the minute, you couldn’t be sure. What if the garage was already flooded? What if the rumbling had come from something hitting the house? The thought of the water rising higher, creeping into your home, made your stomach turn with dread. The waves had already reached your porch by the time you ran into the guest room, and there was no telling how much worse it had gotten since then.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly climbed toward the small window at the far end of the guest room. The wind was howling so fiercely outside that it felt like the house was swaying beneath your feet, but you had to know what was happening out there.

As you approached the window, you felt a new wave of fear wash over you. The sky was black, save for the occasional, blinding crack of lightning that tore through the clouds, illuminating the storm for a brief, horrifying second at a time. You pressed your face against the glass, trying to peer through the rain, your breath fogging up the window. But it was too dark—way too dark.

You couldn’t see anything.

Your hands were trembling as you wiped at the fog on the glass, your tears only making it harder to focus. Everything outside was a blur—dark shapes, shadows, the sound of the storm so loud. You blinked hard, trying to clear your vision, but the tears kept coming, clouding your sight. It was no use. The storm had swallowed everything.

All you wanted was to see if the other houses were still standing, to know if someone else out there was going through the same terror you were, but the storm had cut you off from everything. You were truly alone.

Your sobs came in short, ragged gasps as you turned away from the window, sliding down the wall until you were sitting on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. The fear, the loneliness—it was suffocating. You tried to breathe, tried to calm yourself, but every time you closed your eyes, you saw those waves, rising higher and higher, threatening to consume everything.

Jensen’s face flashed in your mind—his voice on the phone earlier, laughing it off, telling you it was just a little rain. How you wished he was here now, his arms around you, telling you it would all be okay. But he wasn’t. He was miles away, probably sitting at the airport, just as helpless as you were, waiting for a flight that wasn’t coming. And you hated that he couldn’t reach you, hated that you couldn’t even tell him how scared you were, how much you needed him.

Back at the airport, Jensen stood from his seat, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the departure board. He tried your number again, pressing the phone to his ear as he paced back and forth near the gate. He couldn’t stay still—couldn’t stop the gnawing panic that had taken hold of him ever since the storm had escalated.

Voicemail again.

“Damn it”, he muttered under his breath, his frustration boiling over as he ended the call and tried again. The same result. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, threatening to spill over into full-blown fear. You hadn’t answered in hours, and now there was no way to reach you.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…”, he muttered to himself, his fingers tightening around the phone. He couldn’t stand this—being so far away from you when you needed him the most. All he could think about was how he’d dismissed your fear earlier, how he’d brushed off the storm as no big deal. And now? Now he’d give anything to take those words back, to tell you that he should have been more worried.

The airport was buzzing with frustrated passengers, but Jensen couldn’t focus on any of them. The only thing on his mind was you, alone in that house by the ocean, and the guilt that weighed heavily on his chest.

He tried your number one more time, holding his breath as it rang, hoping against hope that this time, you’d answer. But when the call went to voicemail again, he felt his heart sink.

You stayed awake the entire night, your body too tense, your mind too restless to even think about sleep. The sound of the storm had been relentless, the howling wind and crashing waves making it impossible to focus on anything but the raw terror building inside you. For hours, you sat on the bed, curled up in a huge blanket, staring at the window as if waiting for the next strike.

You couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a book or distract your mind with anything else. It was like your brain refused to let go of the constant anxiety, clinging to the fear of what might happen next. The storm’s roar had felt endless, and with no way to check on the outside world, you could only imagine the worst. Every thud, every creak of the house made your heart jump, and your mind raced with thoughts of what might have been happening beyond the walls.

By the time the storm began to fade, just before dawn, you were so exhausted that you didn’t even notice when your eyelids finally began to droop. The wind had quieted, the rain now a soft patter compared to the chaos from hours before. Somewhere in that stillness, you drifted off without realizing it, your body giving in to the exhaustion and fear that had kept you alert all night.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 2

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[queers-gambit]

Lost and Found

prompt: ( requested ) you're just friends, but on your first night at Saltburn, you get lost in the vast halls and accidentally walk in on lover boy after a bath. he wants you to stay.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 3.6k+

note: this SHOULD'VE gotten slutty, but it DIDN'T because i'm back in the hospital and the LAST thing i need is a nurse walking in on me writing fucking smut - oh, my God, can you imagine? new fear unlocked!

warnings: RIP Queen Lizzie, cursing, sexual tension, emotions are hard, Lord's name in vain, depiction of mental illness (anxiety), author throws in a little personal detail cause writing is therapy.

"Honestly, who lives in a place like this? The bloody Queen, that's who. Her and all her fucking rooms! Jesus!" You grumbled, dipping down another winding hallway. "All right, this looks familiar, that's... Encouraging, right?" You frowned, glass of water in hand after venturing to the kitchen to fetch it - but now, you couldn't navigate your way back to your room. "Of course," you growled quietly, opening a door and finding a linen closet.

How silly, in a place like this! A fucking linen closet!

You huffed and shut the door, feeling incredibly awkward and terribly misplaced. You mind screamed that didn't belong here, you never should've set foot in a place like this! How fucking foolish you felt, like a silly little girl who was just excited her crush spoke to her, let alone invited you home with him for the summer holiday.

But it was Felix fucking Catton - certified enigma. He was all man with a boyish charm who smiled at you on move-in day at Oxford and sealed your fate. He was ridiculously nice, so very sweet, borderline annoying with his giving nature and kindness. He was loyal to a fault, intuitive, observant, admirably carefree, and so very happy to give his love to anyone who needed it. For a few weeks, you felt almost offended by his attention, wondering what kind of broken soul he thought you were; knowing he had an affinity for "damaged" or "broken" things.

At least, that's what his cousin, Oxford's registered and certified catty bitch, Farleigh Start, teased you about relentlessly when he noted the way Felix hung around you. Felix invited you out with friends, offered to study together, walked you to and from classes - even if his were in the literal opposite direction. You had no honest idea how the two were related, given Farleigh's constant attitude and Felix's overwhelming kindness, but that wasn't for you to understand. You just relished the attention Felix bestowed in-between your skepticism.

And here you are, your first night in his home, Saltburn, completely lost and totally turned-around! You didn't need water all that bad, did you? Granted, you had a several tablets to take that evening to maintain your health, but you could've used the fucking sink in the adjoining bathroom! You grew frustrated the more doors you opened, finding empty rooms or closets or another fucking library or studies or whatever! As if this home wasn't big enough, there were multiple levels and all you knew was that you and Felix were both located on the same floor with his parents above you and his sister and Farleigh beneath.

So, that helped.

But you still felt so fucking silly.

Seriously, who got LOST in someone else's home!? Fools, that's who!

Okay, okay, okay, you didn't need to be so hard on yourself, but you grew nervous and fearful for a reason you didn't understand. Your anxiety was planted in your stomach, festering, growing, taking over you to the point that you had tears in your eyes when you found yet ANOTHER fucking study!

"Oh, even the bloody fucking Queen doesn't have this many useless rooms, and she's a much bigger family, Jesus fucking Christ," you sneered to yourself - ready to give up and just sleep in one of the empty rooms. But you didn't want Duncan finding you in the morning, asking questions, forcing you to admit you were lost - you felt humiliated enough as it was! And that was without anyone witnessing this absolute mess you had made!

Well, not technically a mess - but you felt like a mess the more you crept around. And now, you felt fucking creepy - like some stalker, sneaking around the halls, trying to spy on this very nice family. You knew you weren't, but the feeling was still there - fucking anxiety would honestly be the death of you.

However, you came upon a familiar (enough) door that had a gentle light emitting from under it. With a sigh of relief, you suddenly remembered leaving a light on for yourself to return to; reaching for the doorknob, twisting it, and darting into the room while swiftly swinging the door close - but halting it to shut quietly as to not disturb anyone in the empty halls.

Yeah, anxiety was a bitch.

"Ohh-ho, evenin', love," a voice greeted, making you gasp, jump, and twist around. "Miss me that much? Heard the drain on the tub, didn't yah, had to come sneak a peek?"

Felix fucking Catton stood at the end of a messy bed in all his glory, running a towel through his wet curls. Nothing obscuring your sight, nothing hiding his manhood, nothing - literally nothing on his body except a shit-eating grin.

"Jesus, Fi! Fuck, I-I-I'm so - um," you gulped, trying not to ogle him, but failing (miserably) when beads of water rolled between the contours of his impossibly impressively sculpted muscles. "I just - you know, this place is so bloody big - um, I'm sorry - I just... Yeah..."

He smirked, nodding sarcastically, "Uh-huh. And you just happened to stumble into my room? Pretty good timing, too, wasn't it?"

You squeaked, "I didn't mean to! I swear - Felix, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to, um, yeah, you know - uh..."

"Like what you see, sweetheart? Why don't you come in closer, get a better look?"

You adverted your eyes out of respect and fumbled messily for the door handle. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Bloody house is just too bloody big, I got all turned around - just needed some water and I just - fuck, I'm sorry - "

"Hey, hey," Felix chuckled, wrapping his towel loosely around his hips so his V-line was still on raunchy display, "I'm only teasin', love. I know this place can get confusin' t'newcomers. I actually meant to grab you some water, know you gotta take your tablets."

You swallowed your embarrassment, sighing, "I'll just - yeah - no - I'll, um, just go - I'm so sorry, again."

"You know where you're goin' all of a sudden?"

You faced the door, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, shaking your head gently, "Well, no, but I'll figure it out - I left a, um, I left a light on, you know, to help - I don't know - uh, guide me?"

"You've not stuttered this much since we first met," he laughed, tugging a pair of boxers on for your sanity (and to your dismay). "I'm dressed, doll, you can look at me now. C'mon, bit weird talkin' to your back."

"We're not talking, Felix, I'm going to bed."

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

You blinked at the intricately carved door, realizing your hand was still on the knob, but it hadn't turned. "I didn't want to be so rude as to just walk out, mid-sentence!"

"Hey, hey, you're all right, darlin', I'm only teasin'," he grinned, hearing his bare feet pad over the ground before his warm hand wrapped around your elbow. "C'mon, love, hang with me a bit - 's not that late, is it?"

"Oh, so, Duncan can walk in? Make his assumptions?" You whispered, slowly facing him and leaning back on the door with a pout. His big, brown, doe-eyes stared directly into yours, making you feel under his spotlight - something akin to a privilege, since Felix Catton didn't bestow his attention on everyone. "I just needed water, I didn't mean t'get, you know, lost like this. Seriously, this place looks totally different at night."

"Surprised you even got this far, huh?"

"I looked in any room with an open door," you admitted with a small wince. "I felt so creepy, but I was all turned around - and you know, you shouldn't leave other lights on in rooms not being used. Terrible waste of energy."

"Awh, my sweet, environmentally-conscious girl," he cooed, hand raising to gently pinch your jaw. There was a serene moment, the pair of you just staring at one another, becoming acutely aware that he was still practically naked. "C'mon, don't leave yet, we can play cards if you like?"

"I've medicine t'take - "

"Right, right, right," he nodded, letting his hand drift to hold your neck in a gentle grasp. "Tell you what, you stay here, I'll grab your meds, and bring them back? You keep 'em in that li'l pink bag, yeah?"

"I don't know how to feel that you know which is my med bag," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

"Just shows I pay attention, don't it?"

"Maybe shows we spend too much time together?"

He kissed his teeth, grinning at you, "There's no such thing - in fact! I reckon we could double our time together and it still wouldn't feel like enough."

"Well, how's that help me later? I still don't know where my room is - oh, don't laugh!" You groaned, Felix snickering louder. "Fi, c'mon, it's not funny - this place is huge! Like, illegally huge!"

He cooed, "Oh, doll, 'M not laughing at you, promise. Just... You're not the first person t'get lost here, yeah?"

You scoffed with severe discomfort, "I really don't want t'hear 'bout all the other girls you've brought home - "

"Hey, now," he cut you off swiftly, "don't do that." He shrugged meekly, "There's been no others, just friends. Mine, Farleigh's, Venetia's... They've all gotten lost once or twice... Or that time we had to actually draw Reggie a map, poor lad got lost around every bend."

You rolled your eyes, "Truly expect me to believe that, do you?" Then you let your eyes widen a fraction, teasing, "Oh, wow, you really believe it! You really believe you haven't brought home other girls who you're interested in or who are into you?"

He crowded you into the door, shifting the room's energy to something sultry, making you hold your breath as his hand slid into your hair. "You know you're the only one, right?"

"You know that's absolute bullshite, right? Like, what a fucking line!"

He tisked, "C'mon, doll."

"Be honest, Felix."

His head cocked, "Want the truth?"

"That'd be a nice change of pace."

He scoffed lightly, "I don't give a single fuck if any of our previous guests cared for me - only you. Hear me?" He took the last step so he was stood with his feet slotted between yours. "I didn't bring them here for any other reason than friendly entertainment. You've seen the place, as big as it is, can get a bit lonely without anyone to hang with. But I asked you here... For different reasons..." He whispered, eyes jutting down to your lips as he kept a firm hold on you.

"And what reasons are those, Fi?"

He smirked, "Obviously... To kick your arse at cards."

You were flooded with pure disappointment. Raw, unfiltered disappointment that deflated your shoulders. "Yeah, right, like that would ever happen," you covered, nudging him a single step away from you. "Wanna be a gentleman and direct me to my room now?"

"Nope," he grinned, snatching your hand and yanking you away from the door. "You're gonna sit your pretty self right here," he nudged you to the edge of his bed, turning for his desk, then turning back to you to slap a deck of cards to your hand, "you're gonna shuffle these, and mentally prepare to get your arse handed to you at your own game."

You chuckled slightly, "Thought you hated 51 Rummy?"

"Only when sober," he smirked, leaning down to peck your forehead sweetly. "Sit tight, doll, I'll be a moment, yeah?"

You sighed and watched him exit the room, reaching to set your glass of water down and observe the room. In a moment of weakness, you pet over his sheets as if tempted to snuggle into them - and you were! You were cold from the lack of robe you meant to shrug on, and wondering the halls of Saltburn took much longer than you anticipated - now wanting to dive into the warmth you knew was left, the same warmth that Felix left on everything.

You jumped when the door opened again, Felix slipping inside with your little pink bag. His brows pinched, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah - "

"Your feet are nearly blue," he shook his head, handing you your bag before turning for his wardrobe. "Socks or sweats?"

"Huh?"

He turned, holding up a pair of sweatpants and socks, repeating, "Socks or sweats? Figured you're a bit cold in that." The left side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk, eyeing you in your sleep shorts and loose teeshirt that had the collar ripped out, showing a hint of cleavage.

"Oh, uh, socks, please."

He tossed you the socks, dropped the sweats, and joined you on the bed as you pulled the oversized garment onto your feet. "C'mere, get close, get comfortable," he chuckled, pushing his blankets down to sit in the sheets, waiting until you turned in the bed to yank the blankets up over both your legs. "Didn't shuffle? My naughty girl," he joked, reaching for the deck of cards and opening it. He offered a much softer smile, eyes darting to your medicine bag, and then focusing on the cards - as if to give you privacy to take your meds.

You did so quickly, insecure about the rattling bottles and the amount of tablets in your cupped hand, but never once had Felix made you feel bad about your needs. After swallowing them, you cleared your throat and turned to face Felix as he divided the cards for the game, nodding to his side table, "Paper's over there, doll, for the score."

"Sure you want me to keep score?" You asked softly, reaching for the pad of paper and spare pen. "Last time we played, you lost so very miserably, I was embarrassed for you. We can save your pride a li'l, not keep score."

"It's only polite to let the pretty lady win."

"Oh, tryin' to butter me up, are you?"

"Is it working?"

"I'll let you know."

Felix chuckled, leaning back to the headboard. Then, he asked softly, "You feelin' all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, all good."

"Sure?"

"Why?"

"Hands are shakin' a bit."

You eyed him for a moment, changing the subject by asking, "How're you not freezing? Seriously, 's like the floors are air conditioned."

"Nah, just not cold."

"Your nipples say otherwise."

"Lookin' at my nipples, are you?" He grinned. "Now you're a very naughty girl, knew you didn't stumble into my room on accident!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" You pushed his shoulder, but he leaned closer. "Felix - "

"You could just stay here," he offered softly.

"You got me for a game - "

"No, I mean, uh..." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head and readjusting so he was supported on one elbow, facing you. "Nah, nevermind, all right, so, back to the game - "

"No, wait, say what you're thinking," you encouraged softly. "Know I hate you doin' that."

"Yeah, you get all anxious," he nodded. "I don't want t'be too forward, all right? But... You know, we sleep together at Oxford. I-In the dorms, you know?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Just thought, maybe you'd wanna stay here? With me? If you want, won't make yah, sweetheart, just thought... You know, in a house this big, you wouldn't get so lost stayin' here... Maybe?"

"Oh, aren't you my hero?"

"I know, I know, I'm just tryna look out for you, my li'l lost love. And, you know, prevent you from finding our secret dungeon," he gasped comically.

"That's not even a joke 'cause I'd believe it in a place like this. Is it a dungeon for torture or sex?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Maybe I'd like to see it. Hm," you considered, "maybe I should stay here, you know - so you can show me around and go get me water when I need it. Save my toes from freezing off, wonderin' 'round here."

He grinned, "Yeah?"

"If it's not too scandalous?"

"'S not like anyone would care... Except me, you know? I'd... I'd like you to stay here. Like havin' you close, sweetheart."

"Well, maybe you could put some clothes on? You're terribly fucking distracting! I'm here to win a card game, and I'll be damned if you win 'cause your abs are... You know, staring right at me, you cheater," you grinned, turning to face him fully with your legs crossed, the space in the sheets open for your cards.

"I think you like me naked," he grinned. "I mean, you stared long enough."

"I was just caught off guard!"

"Oh, I'm sure," his grin turned wicked. "You're still staring, doll."

"Well, it's not as if you're quick to cover yourself!"

"You're not too quick t'look away, either!"

"I was - "

"Caught off guard, yeah, you've said," he chuckled, staring at you with those moony brown eyes that made you feel as if you were the only girl he's ever seen. "Maybe I liked you lookin'."

"Is that so?"

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, not such a bad thing. You're kinda the only one I want lookin' at me like that, anyway."

"You absolute cheesehead!" Your laughter was quiet, trying not to tip Duncan off to your antics.

"You know, they're not just for lookin'," he perked his pierced brow at you. "Feel free to touch whenever you want, too."

"Hm, always knew you were a slut."

He gasped dramatically. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Especially after giving you refuge from the big, scary, confusing halls?" Your eyes rolled and reached out to pushed his forehead, making him rock back into the pillows and headboard - but he was quick to snatch your wrist as he fell. You were yanked across the slim space, pulled so you were directly resting onto his chest; forearms bracing against his pectorals. He grinned, caressing the back of your head, teasing, "'Ello, love."

"You're a fucking fiend."

"And you're so fucking beautiful."

"I'm already stayin' here, Fi, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

He hummed, "You know... If you were mine, you'd get this treatment all the time. I can't stop - you're just so easy to compliment."

Feeling bold, perhaps from being so close and him being nearly naked, you whispered, "Then maybe you should stop shuffling your feet, grow a pair, and ask me already."

He paused, the moment turning soft as you relax against his body; stretched out the length of him, but still remaining propped on his chest to look down at his sweet face.

"Was a bit afraid to, actually, love."

"Why?"

"Haven't felt like this with anyone," he admitted, "'s just so fuckin' easy with you. Organic, authentic, safe... I was afraid to ruin that, destroy the rapport and friendship we've established. I care about you so much, I just wanted you in my life - no matter what variation that was. Being just my friend, being my girl, just want you with me. Didn't want to jeopardize anything."

"Hm," you considered, nodding slowly, "I get that. Think I felt something similar..."

"So, what do we do?"

"I think we be adults about this," you offered. "If you just want to be friends, we'll stay friends, Fi, but we don't blur lines like we have been. And if you want to give this - us - a try, I think we could. 'Cause you're you, and I'm me, and if things don't work out, we can just go back. Right? Adults do that sorta thing, don't they?"

"Not entirely sure, don't feel like an adult most days," he breathed, petting his fingertips down your cheek. "But I know I want this, with you. I swear, since you came into my life, I've felt - " He paused, shaking his head with a growing smile, "Free? Elated? Light as air?"

"Mhm, I know the feeling," you repeated.

"We doin' this?"

"That's up to you."

"I think it's up to us, actually - "

"I mean, you've gotta ask, Fi, not just assume."

"If you reject me in my own house, in my own bed, doll, I'm gonna be fucking crushed!"

"Oh, my God, just ask me! You fucking knobhead!" You laughed, leaning your head on his chest. His other arm moved behind his head to keep it propped up, looking at you with so much adoration, it knotted your stomach. The hand that had been in your hair drifted down to keep a secure hold on your waist; fingers scratching in soothing motions.

"Wanna be my girl?"

"Hmm, I think you could phrase it better."

He grinned brightly, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

"Oh, that's a little too formal. Maybe try - "

"Oh, c'mere, you," he growled, swiftly using both arms to seize under your arms and literally drag you up his body. "C'mon, baby," he whispered, lips ghosting yours, "be my baby."

"Fuck, no, that's way too cheesy!"

"I thought you liked me cheesy?" He gaped, your hand petting his cheek now; shoulders straining to keep you upright, over him.

"Correction, I love you cheesy," you whispered, lowering your head to press a quick kiss to his lips. He hummed in relief, but you pulled back to promise, "I'd love to be your girl, Fi. Only took you the whole bloody school year, didn't it?"

"Hey, good things to those who wait, right?"

"Don't quote Professor Mercy at me when we're in bed with barely anything on, Jesus fucking Christ," you grumbled, unable to restrain your grin when he pulled you in for another kiss - but this time, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

Maybe getting lost in Saltburn was more beneficial than you originally thought, and maybe Professor Mercy and ages of philosophy was right because this felt like the absolute best thing, and you'd wait a hundred lifetimes if it meant having Felix in your arms - like he was now, kissing you like it was his lifeline.

How extraordinarily warm, you felt, to be lost in this world, in this extraordinary home, and found, by Felix fucking Catton.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

[mochatsin]

What if MC doesn’t take pain medicine and tries to tough it out? The demon bros would probably panic a bit

Some painkillers do the opposite and add pain for me. Very not good.

I will do everything in my power to not get injured or fall on the ground. This gets thrown out the window at times. An Example of this: I got multiple fire ant bites/stings cause I was in flip flops and brushing the ants off of someone else that was in shoes. They didn’t get a single bite/sting and I triple checked. (I have a personal vendetta against fire ants)

Sorry if this is too long

Have a wonderful day/night :)

omg i pray you never have to experience another fire ant bite… that sounds so painful. Thank you for sharing this though!! I hope you don’t mind me taking inspo from those fire ants for this brain rot “=3=) 

Given that a lot of things in Devildom that’s normal for demons yet lethal for humans exist almost everywhere, it’s only natural how the brothers could be so protective of you. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to protect you from every single thing that could hurt you. 

Maybe it’s a poor judgment of your pain tolerance, or you’re tired of being this weak feeble human that those demons make you turn out to be that led you here. There was a time you were taking pictures of the lake with Luke and got bitten by an insect hidden in the grass you were standing on. You had to reassure Luke it was fine since it’s not the first time you’ve got insect bites before, but you completely forgot that this was an insect from Devildom. 

It started as a dull ache as you dropped Luke off from Purgatory hall, but it gradually became worse when you were almost back home. However, the pain was already bad enough that you needed to sit down by the front porch to check on your leg. There’s a bit of swelling and redness around the bite which didn’t look too good, though you just covered it up with your pants because you thought maybe if you wash it off with some soap it would take away the discomfort. The struggle was getting to the bathroom without anyone noticing, but you made it with much difficulty and tried to disinfect it as best as you can. 

Unfortunately, the pain did not disappear as you hoped. You groaned when Lucifer called you to go for dinner and immediately hissed from the pain as soon as you moved your leg. It’s been an hour since you washed that bite and the swelling didn’t get better at all. This will be fine, you thought as you tried to take little steps to make it to the dining table.

One, two, three… six… and you tripped by your tenth step. Barely halfway out of the room.

The loud thud was enough to alert the brothers as you heard several hurried footsteps before they barged into your room with worried looks. You’re on the floor looking like you’re in so much pain, of course they’d start acting all frantic. When you tried to stand, you wobbled and Beel was the one that grabbed onto you before you could fall again. “Hold on,” He said before effortlessly carrying you in his arms.

Beel placed you back on the bed carefully, and Satan is the one that rolled up your pants to inspect your leg when he noticed your struggle to stand. Wide eyes and dropped jaws can be seen on each of their faces when they see the red rashes on your skin. 

“D-darling, were you bitten?” Asmo said while taking a step back, repulsed by how your skin looked like now. He acted like you’re contagious.

Belphie stared at your leg before hissing just at the mere sight of it. “Yeesh… I had that before when I slept in the forest. Stupid bugs… they got you too, huh?”

Lucifer just sighed as soon as you nodded your head yes. “Levi, go get the first aid kit. We have to disinfect this.” The purple haired demon immediately obeyed and left the room in haste, mumbling his anxieties under his breath about an anime he watched that was similar to what’s happening now. 

The eldest stared at you in the eye and you couldn’t tell if he’s looking at you from disappointment or pity. “Later, we’re going to have a discussion about why you didn’t come to us sooner about this.” Some brothers agreed with him since this is quite the serious wound, and if your bad habit was toughing out the pain then they’re gonna have to fix that after they patch you up. “You’re in a lot of pain, I can tell. For now, let's get you some pain killers. We have some from the human realm by Solomon’s recommendations, it should be safe for you–” Lucifer gets cut off mid sentence when you grabbed his sleeve before he could stand. 

You explained to them that you normally try to tough out injuries since painkillers don’t work for you. There are times they even make the pain worse when you try to block it out, so you’re quite used to dealing with it whenever you’re injured. It’s not a rare condition, it just happens to some humans where painkillers bring out an opposite effect and you don’t want to imagine the pain you’re feeling now to be even worse than this.  

Of course the news is distressing to the brothers. Mammon couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what you’ve just explained, and it seems to even irritate him more. “W-whaddya mean it ‘makes it worse’?! That’s just stupid!” He growled as he ran a hand through his white hair out of frustration. “It ain’t doin’ its job. It’s literally in the name!” 

Even Satan had this bitter expression on his face. “I’ve read so many books on pain relief medicine… only for them to not. work. at. ALL?!” You knew well enough that he was more upset about the situation than at you. Satan took many precautions for cases like these, but it didn’t occur to him that pain relievers do the opposite effect. He was angry at himself with how he wasn’t prepared enough. Satan means well, though that didn’t stop Asmo from taking Satan out of the room so he could calm down rather than make things worse.

This opened a new predicament for the brothers who realize you can’t exactly take regular pain killers, good thing they didn’t stock up on those as originally planned or it all would’ve gone to waste. Luckily there was a disinfectant from the first aid kit that could get rid of that awful bite. 

You wanted to say you were relieved, but you spent the next hour answering every question they have about your ‘condition’, specifically if there’s anything else you’re allergic to that they should know. They settled with having Solomon over to cast a spell to heal you or numb the pain since that wouldn’t trigger any allergies. Though the sorcerer had to deal with the constant texts from Asmo or Satan who worry about you. 

Solomon was happy to offer you a free alchemy lesson on crafting your own magical painkiller. Anything to get a good night’s sleep.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #56: Else

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery and lots of it, angst, sickfic, accidental emotional whump, fear of starvation, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), reunions

Whumpmas in July Day 18: "Or else"

i'm sorry for being so slow with k&j chapters! i'm going to try to be quicker with them in the future. here's one people have been waiting for for a very long time!

-

“You’re sick.”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“You’re sick,” Kane repeated, taking another sip from the bowl. One of his last bowls before he was to start finding his own elsewhere. “I can taste it.”

“What? What kind of sick? Is it serious?” Jim asked with increasing urgency. Kane could see it in his eyes: he knew fear, and he hated to see it in Jim.

He wanted more than anything to reassure him, but he couldn’t lie. “I-I don’t know?” he admitted. “I don’t know much of human illnesses. You seem… fine?”

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Jim grabbed his coat. “I’ll be back soon. I gotta… go to the doctor, or something. Door,” he warned.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be okay! You can’t even feel it! You’re a healthy young man!” Kane assured him, ducking into the kitchen.

“Thanks for warning me!” Jim’s voice was laden with nerves. A flash of sunlight made Kane shiver, and he only returned to the living room when it was gone.

Kane knew what this meant: Jim would likely not finish out the week. This was his last meal given. He would have to go to vampire territory tonight, or else he would have nothing to eat come tomorrow. He had to find blood tonight, or else he’d starve. He’d go back to that horrible, empty state, always wanting, always in pain.

He knew Jim wouldn’t really let that happen, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him for blood forever, either. Kane had taken enough, with and without permission. It was Jim’s turn to rest.

Still, the fear of hunger never left him. It was a part of him now, permanently, no matter how much he fed.

And this meant one thing. The thing he’d been putting off and dreading since Jim set him free.

He would have to go to vampire territory and talk to his parents. He knew already that it would not go over well. Father would be either furious or crushingly disappointed that he’d allowed himself to be humiliated by humans, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. Mother would undoubtedly be the latter. He wondered, not for the first time, if they preferred him ‘dead’.

It shouldn’t matter. He knew now that they weren’t… good people. He could see that. He had a new family of sorts, now that Jim had taken him in.

But Jim wasn’t his legal next of kin, and Jim wasn’t the one he had to ask if he wanted his money returned so he could buy blood.

He could always get a job. But it seemed ridiculous to do when he had money sitting right there, and he would likely be found by his parents at some point anyway. There was no avoiding it forever.

Kane drank the bowl down quickly.

-

It was a flu, apparently. Nothing life-threatening, but it set Jim’s anxieties alight. His parents had died of illness, he explained.

While Kane had managed to catch it early, Jim started to devolve within a few hours of arriving home.

Kane knocked on his bedroom door. “Jim? Can I come in?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” he agreed.

Carefully balancing the tray, he entered. He found Jim curled up in bed, looking miserable.

“I’ve brought you lunch.” He’d been practicing his human food skills. He was still quite afraid of the stove, so though he used it when feeling especially brave, he mainly stuck to things that didn’t require cooking. He’d written down several combinations of foods that humans found appetizing, which could often be served in between slices of bread as a ‘sandwich’.

But he needed a tray instead of a plate, because despite his strength, he simply didn’t have enough hands to carry the six cups of water circled around it.

“Lotta water,” Jim noted weakly, grabbing a glass and taking a sip when Kane brought it close. His hand shook, the liquid threatening to spill. Kane watched it close, ready to steady it in a heartbeat if Jim needed him to.

He spoke gently, like he was worried speaking too loud would break Jim in his fragile state. “...Like I’d mentioned, I don’t know much about human illness. Most of what I know comes from you. I just remember… you wanted a lot of water, last time.”

He thought about that time a lot. How he was so close to losing Jim, because he was too proud to listen.

“Ah. Yeah.” Jim wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I remember.”

Kane set the tray down. “I should have taken better care of you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I mean–I shouldn’t have had you in the first place, but I did, and you were my responsibility, and I didn’t care for you like I should have.” A hint of tears in his eyes, he took Jim’s unusually-sweaty hand. “I’ll do better this time. Anything you need, I’ll be there.”

That earned a small smile from Jim. “Guess it isn’t so bad being waited on. ‘Specially because you can’t get sick, right?” The smile faded. “…Right?”

“I can’t,” Kane assured him. “You don’t need to worry. Just rest, and I’ll take care of anything you need.”

Jim huffed an almost-laugh. “You really changed, man.”

-

Liz did come over to visit come nightfall, which was good, since despite his promises, Kane had to leave. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Jim alone at night. He knew it made him scared, and Jim deserved to never feel afraid ever again. She brought a container of soup, a yellow liquid with colorful plants and large white orbs floating in it.

He waited, patient, until Liz emerged from Jim’s room. “Liz?”

“Hey. Thanks for looking after him,” Liz said.

“Of course!” The praise spread warmly through him. “There’s, um, something I wanted to talk to you about, if you have the time? Advice, I suppose.”

“Shoot,” she encouraged, flopping over on the couch.

Kane took a deep breath. “So, um, I assume now is a good time to start getting my own blood.”

“Yyyyeah.” Liz shot a glance to the stairs leading to Jim’s room. “I’d say that’s about right.”

“Blood… isn’t free. I have the money–had the money, but I’ve likely been assumed dead for many years. I’ll need to go to my parents to get it back,” he explained. “My parents are not kind people, I’ve come to realize.”

Liz raised an eyebrow, but politely refrained from making any comments about his former obliviousness. “You think they won’t give it back? Isn’t there, like, laws? This can’t be the first time this has happened with vampires, you guys are too good at not dying.”

“No! No, that’s not it, they’d give it back. It’s just, um, they’ll be… quite upset with me, I think. Especially my father.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to talk about it with Jim. I was worried he would feel pressured into giving me more blood than he’s comfortable with. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be as big a deal as it is. I’ve been through so much worse, I don’t understand why this is so terrifying. I suppose I’ve just never failed this badly before.”

“Hey, you made it out of five years with those monsters, alive. Bet there’s not a lot of vampires who could say that,” Liz pointed out.

“Ah, that’s just… not how Father would see it,” Kane said vaguely. Humans were supposed to be the weak ones. The fact that it took him five years to be freed, and he couldn’t even do it himself, would make him an utter embarrassment in their eyes.

And it was all because he couldn’t use persuasion. Everything they’d always believed about him, proven true.

Liz pursed her lips, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t remember my parents that well,” she admitted. “I know yours suck pretty bad. I don’t think you have to admit more than you need to, right? Like, do they even need to know where you’ve really been? You could just make something up, for the sake of keeping the peace.”

“Make something up…” Kane murmured. He shook his head. “I’m not a very good liar. They’d see right through me. It’s fine, actually, the more I talk about it, the more I realize I’m being a bit ridiculous.” He forced a laugh. “It’s one uncomfortable conversation and then I can come back home.”

“You’ve got this.” Liz patted him lightly on the back, a modification from her usual clap she’d learned tended to scare him. “You’re tough.”

Kane certainly didn’t feel ‘tough’.

“Thank you. It was nice to at least… get it out of my system. Oh, and congratulations. Jim told me about you and Laken.”

Liz smiled. “After what happened, I just knew I had to say something, you know? If they could just be taken from me at any moment. Stuff happens. People die. I didn’t want something to happen to one of us before I could tell them how I feel.”

She stood. “I can give you one more night’s worth, maybe two. If you need some time to think about it and all.”

Kane startled. He and Liz had grown far more amicable over the past months, but he hadn’t expected this from her.

Maybe he should have. It wasn’t the first time. He thought of Jim, on that first night, vehemently denying Liz’s offer to provide blood, vowing to do it himself.

“...Thank you. That means so, so much to me. It’s alright, though. I’ll go tonight,” he decided.

“Good luck. We’ll be here when you get back,” she promised.

And that was all he really needed, in the end.

Kane got up, heading to the door with a quick glance back to make sure it was alright. For the freedom he’d earned, he hadn’t gone more than ten feet from the house since he’d returned with Laken. But of course, Liz made no move to stop him. “I’ll see you soon.”

-

The night was as beautiful as ever, even in the cool autumn air. He liked it better this way, in fact. It made it more comfortable to wear more clothing, the long pants and long sleeves and jacket he liked, especially when he ran. When he went this fast, he hardly felt the cold, and his mind was occupied elsewhere.

What if his parents made demands of him in exchange for their help? What if they expected him to return to vampire territory, to isolate himself out of the way in a socially-acceptable manner? Now that he’d tasted true companionship, he almost couldn’t bear to give it up. And what about Jim? Ever since Laken’s abduction, he’d been more scared at night. The very least Kane owed him was his protection.

His petty worries disappeared the instant he realized he could hear a vehicle coming closer.

Kane ran faster, opposite the sound. He’d likely been pushing fifty miles an hour before, and could make sixty if he tried–but he was out of practice, and the vehicle was faster.

A glance behind him showed moonlight glinting off a silver crossbow.

“I have permission!” he wailed as the off-roader gained, heart threatening to burst from his chest. This couldn’t happen, not again, no. Jim and Liz wouldn’t even think to look for him until a day had passed, a day that could easily be spent baking in the hot sun. “Liz Lieberman granted me permission to cross! Please, I didn’t do anything! Mercy!”

“Kane?” an unfamiliar voice called. The vehicle caught up to him, but there was no attack. “Oh shit, it’s you!” the driver said. “It’s so dark, I almost didn’t recognize you from the picture Laken showed us. Thanks for bringing ‘em back.”

Kane slowed, just a bit. “What?” he squeaked, tears streaming down his face.

The hunter in the passenger seat elbowed his partner, making quick movements with his hands that Kane could not understand. A signed language of some sort, he assumed. Though he didn’t know much about such things, other than that spoken orders under persuasion often didn’t work on humans who utilized it.

“Uh, my partner wants to know if you’re good? Like, you’re alright?” The driver asked. “Did we scare you? Sorry. Just, uh, you know, gotta be quick with the other guys. One second wasted and you miss ‘em, and that’s someone’s whole life, y’know.”

“Oh. Um, yes, you’d–you’d frightened me. I’m sorry.” Kane wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for. “Am I… free to go, sirs?”

“Yeah! Yeah, you can go… sir? Shoot, don’t let us keep you,” the hunter assured.

The one in the passenger seat made more hand-signs, waving him goodbye after. “Nice to meet you!” the other translated, finally driving away.

Kane picked up speed again and didn’t stop until he was sure he’d left the border far behind. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

He was so close to going back to the pain. If they hadn’t recognized him, he would have been skewered with silver–likely soon killed, not tortured, given they were from Liz’s guild, but still, he would have died in pain. No matter how hard he breathed, he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, and he wasn’t sure if it was that he’d been sprinting for too long or the sheer horror.

He wanted Jim. He wanted Jim to hold him and tell him everything was alright, that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him. But Jim was miles and miles away, and could not help him here.

And he couldn’t cry on the ground forever. He was burning moonlight, and he needed blood.

Kane forced himself to his feet and wrapped his arms around him. If he squeezed his eyes tight, he could pretend he wasn’t alone, for just a moment.

After a minute like that, he started running once more.

-

By the time Kane reached his parents’ estate, he’d mostly calmed down. It was hard to feel as though hunters would ambush him out of nowhere when he went deep enough into vampire territory to see buildings and people. Any hunter here would be apprehended in seconds.

He touched the gate, brass-coated, though he knew there was silver underneath. There seemed to be some sort of electronic device attached to it, a new addition since his last visit, but he wasn’t sure how to use it. He could climb it, or simply shout, and one of the staff would likely hear him. If he wanted to be extra polite, which he did, he could simply stand here until someone came or went and ask to be let in.

And then that would be it. Kane would be standing face-to-face with his parents. He would accept Father’s ire without complaint. He’d had worse, he reminded himself, even when it came to the comparable. The hunters had spit on him while calling him worthless, ground his face into the floor while forcing him to decry himself as beneath them. It had been so much worse.

His hand shook against the gate.

You’ve really changed, man.

Had he? If he was still back here, ready to take whatever judgments his parents threw at him, debase himself and eagerly beg for their forgiveness, had he really changed? There were humans in there. Captive, hurt humans who he could never in a thousand years be able to free if he tried, locked away in their quarters. What happened to all his regrets? His vows that he would never associate with anything of the sort again?

What would he have done differently here before, if he’d realized back then everything he knew now?

Kane left.

-

It took him a bit to find it, he hadn’t been to this town before, but it wasn’t far, and he knew the address.

There was a different kind of dread this time. If he was rejected here, it might be even worse than his parents. But as he rang the doorbell, he knew this was what he had to do.

The man who answered looked almost exactly the same as the last time he’d seen him, thirteen years ago. The same dark skin, perfect hair, typically garishly-colorful shirt.

Bellamy’s eyes went impossibly wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Kane?”

taglist in reblogs, chapter 57 coming july 30th :)

edit: sorry i was wrong about july 30th. it's coming thoooo i promise

@whumpmasinjuly

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part I) | frater imperator x reader

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | when the newly-appointed head of the clergy decides (or, has it decided for him) that it is time to marry, he neither has time for nor has to worry about the stress of dating... he can just take his pick.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 5.2k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | for the series overall: smut (18+ only!!), arranged marriage, extreme religious themes, shy!reader, and lots of pining/slow-ish burn. for this chapter: mention of death and mostly just reader having anxiety... and a hint of my glove kink coming through but that's neither here nor there

this is probably not worth saying when it's already in the title but uh, rite here rite now spoilers. so sorry but it's literally what the fic is based on so I couldn't help it.

Frater Imperator… Frater Imperator…

He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the title, still.  It was a shock already when he first read the letter from his mother— on top of the shock of losing her, which was more than enough— but it still hadn’t quite sunk in.

He was so shocked by the promotion, in fact, that he’d been entirely unable to process the paragraph afterwards:

And please, do as I’ve been asking for quite some time and finally take a wife.  Or husband!  I’m not picky.  But you need someone beside you to keep things in order and keep you in line.

Yes, Copia’s mother had been encouraging him towards marriage for quite some time, even before he knew she was his mother; in some ways, it made more sense once that element came to light, though it did change the tone of her request quite a lot.  It also made him take it much more seriously.

And now, it could be argued that this was basically her dying wish.  He really had no other choice: he couldn’t put off a marriage any longer.

See, he’d never had a problem with the idea of it— he’d always imagined getting married some day, like most people seem to— but he wasn’t the luckiest in love.  A broken heart or two (or five) had convinced him to focus more on his work with the church, and to be fair, no one could deny that the work had paid off.  But, as they say, it gets lonely at the top: and now, he was the leader of the whole church, and he had no prospects or even romantic interests to speak of.

Fortunately, he had realized that because he was the leader, he didn’t need all that: all he had to do was say the word.

~

The announcement spread through the congregation like wildfire: the newly-minted Frater Imperator was going to get married.  The part they neglected to mention— and the part everyone wanted to know the most— was to whom.

There were already plenty of rumors, which you avoided because you felt they were all baseless.  Even within one day you’d heard three different stories about this mysterious future spouse, each more preposterous than the last: that he had a secret lover in the ministry he would wed, that he met a fan at a ritual and swept her off her feet, and that he had some previously unmentioned long-term girlfriend who wasn’t even in the church.

The wedding was less than a week away and all anyone knew was that everyone would be there.

Unfortunately, it was hard to ignore the gossip, even if you weren’t participating in it.  The night when it all began, you were trying to read while several of the other Sisters were giggling amongst themselves over their various theories.  “I wasn’t sure he’d ever marry,” someone admitted, “even though he could probably have anyone he wanted.”

“Not me,” one Sister announced smugly, “I never thought he was all that good-looking.”

“Oh please,” another scoffed incredulously, “you’d be on your knees in a second if you saw him at a ritual.”

“Besides, his looks aren’t the most important thing: this is the head of the clergy.  Whoever he marries is probably going to be spoiled rotten!”

They laughed excitedly, and though you’d been trying to tune it out, you couldn’t help but wonder about it as well.  The announcement had left so much unanswered, but the timing of it seemed too important to ignore.  Perhaps the clergy had forbidden the Papa to marry— you weren’t aware of any rule against it, since to your knowledge none of them had ever tried— and so he’d had to wait until his time was complete to be with the person he loved.  Perhaps it was the death of his mother that triggered it: at best, a renewed desire to find happiness and family when faced with a reminder of mortality; at worst, his mother hadn’t approved of his lover and only now was his final obstacle removed.

Ironically, after all those times you failed to ignore them before, it took the other Sisters several attempts to tear you out of your train of thought now: you blinked quickly and looked up from your book as you realized they were saying your name to get your attention.

“Hm?” you mumbled hazily when you looked at them.

“A message for you,” Sister Agnes informed you, leaning over to hand you a rolled parchment.  You weren’t sure if it was private or not, but everyone was staring at you in anticipation— in fact, you noticed then that their entire conversation had died down to silence— and so you awkwardly unrolled it and read the writing inside.

MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY:

Frater Imperator and the clergy request your presence in the upper sanctum imminently.

~

As soon as you descended the stairway back to the mail halls of the abbey, a gaggle of Sisters descended on you, wide-eyed and desperate for gossip.  “So?!” Sister Lilith asked expectantly, like the rest of her question should be obvious. “What was it about?”

“Was the whole clergy there?”

“U-uhm, all but Frater,” you replied shyly.

“What did they say?”

“Don’t be silly, ladies,” Sister Agnes scoffed, “it was obviously about the wedding.  What else would there be meetings about today?  They must want her to help in some way: communion, maybe?”

“Ooh!  A bridesmaid!” another in the group suggested excitedly.  “Do you know who he’s marrying?”

“Of course she knows!” someone answered for you.  “Who is it?  I was right, wasn’t I— it’s someone in the church!”

“Well… yes, I know who it is,” you mumbled, “but I… I’m not sure I’m permitted to speak on it.”

That was a lie, but you were too busy trying to process it all yourself to share it with anyone.

“Just tell us,” they begged.  “You won’t get in trouble!”

“The wedding’s only a few days away,” Sister Lilith pointed out, “so there’s no point in it being a secret now— and if I’m right about who it is, Sister Magdalena owes me a fifty.”

“I’m sure you didn’t guess it,” you promised her.

But the questions just kept coming: “It is a woman, though, right?” “Is it someone you know?  Wait, is it someone we know?” “

You realized that if you didn’t tell them now, they would either figure it out soon or be entirely blindsided at the ceremony.  Not to mention that if you refused to answer their questions, they’d just keep grilling you until they got something.  Your voice was actually quite feeble in that moment, not loud or strong enough to cut through all that chatter— but your words were enough to stop every question being thrown at you in its tracks.

“It’s me.”

You waited for them to react, but for a moment, they didn’t.

“I was asked to— to take the position,” you specified, putting it as vaguely as possible.  I’m going to marry Frater Imperator was just as true but was just as hard to say as it was to wrap your head around.

They erupted into a variety of reactions, all of which at least had some element of shock involved.  “I had no idea you were so close!” Sister Agnes exclaimed.

“We’ve… never even spoken…” you shyly replied, and the excitement quickly died down.  You weren't offended by their quizzical stares; if anything, it was a relief to see some of them looking as confused as you felt.

Why did he choose her? you caught a few whispers in the back of the group.  They're strangers? What makes her so special, then?

You wish you knew the answers to those questions.

That night as you laid in bed, you couldn’t do anything but replay the clergy meeting in your mind.  You’d felt so small across the table from all of them; you had no idea air could feel so heavy and stiff, matching the tense energy as you waited for them to explain why you’d been summoned.  As it all happened, you thought you would never forget every detail— but already you were losing your memory of what was said in what order, when exactly you realized you weren’t in trouble, how long it took you to believe what you were hearing.

Should we not court first?  Or have a meeting, maybe? You had suggested.  Frater does not feel it is necessary, a clergyman firmly replied.

And he’s not here now, because… you trailed off.

We all feel you should make this decision privately— in case his presence would sway you one way or another, a high Sister answered.

You could see the logic in that, and appreciated the concern for your uncoerced consent… except, of course, that this was an offer already impossible to say no to.  They’d successfully convinced you that you wouldn't be punished for turning down the proposal, but the marriage itself had already been announced: if you rejected the offer, someone else would surely take your place.  And for some reason, though the idea of going through with this terrified you, passing it up sounded even worse.  Even just imagining another woman taking her place at his side… why did it bother you so much? 

Because you will take your husband's title, but will not have decision-making power over the clergy, your title from henceforth shall be Sister Imperator Consortia.

It had a ring to it, but it didn’t feel like you— at least not yet.  It felt too… formal, too important.  Generally, people don’t join a convent and put on a habit because they’re intent on standing out, Satanic or not.

You told yourself that you needed to rest while you could, you had a busy week ahead starting with a dress fitting first thing tomorrow.  But still, you hardly got a moment of sleep that first night; part of you thought if you shut your eyes long enough, you would wake up to learn this had all been some bizarre dream.

You couldn’t decide, though, if you’d be relieved or heartbroken if you awoke.

~

In some ways, the wedding mass was quite similar to how you’d always pictured yours would be… except for the attendance.  You were sure you’d never met this many people in your life!  Even tonight, you wouldn’t be able to meet them all!

But, of course, this was the social event of the year, if not decade, for any church member or Satanist: it only made sense that there were throngs of people not only in the church but outside, waiting to see the new couple.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, face obscured by the black veil, your eyes widened with the thought that you might be basically the Kate Middleton of Satanism in this moment…

Trading your opaque veil for one of lace, your loose and simple dress for a form-fitting and extravagant one made of dark red silk and sporting an over-the-top train, you wondered if you were going to be swallowed up by all this overwhelming intricacy, all this… pomp.

Taking a shaky breath, you tried not to imagine that everyone else watching you walk down the aisle would agree with you that you were horribly out of place.  You wished you’d had a chance to understand why you were chosen— to even just meet the high Frater, but the clergy had insisted several times that he was too busy with his new duties and planning the wedding.  Yes, your fiance was too busy planning your wedding to speak to you.  It was all horrifically ironic, and irritating.  So, as you turned and stepped out of the bridal suite, taking your bouquet of Dahlias from one of the Sisters assisting you, you thought to yourself if nothing else, at least I’ll get to finally try to understand all this by the end of the night.

The doors to the main hall opened for you, and there was no turning back.

It was a massive room, with easily a thousand people between you and the altar, but the very first thing your eyes fell on was Copia all the way at the other end of the aisle: the all black suit was no surprise, yet even from so far his white eye stood out prominently, and it was fixed on you.

Walking down the aisle took quite some time— you’d been reminded to take slow steps, as if you were just going to break into a sprint or something.  You tried to keep your eyes ahead, and ignore all the eyes on you: people seated on the furthest ends of the pews leaned and stood on their tiptoes to try to get a glimpse, but between all the encouraging smiles you caught an occasional glare of disapproval… it seemed plenty of your siblings were jealous of or disappointed by you one way or another.

Adjusting your clammy hands slightly, you realized you were unintentionally holding a concerningly tight grip on the Dahlia stems and the ribbon they were wrapped with; that said, you were very thankful for something you do with your hands.

Your heart was pounding by the time you reached the front of the hall, where the priest, the clergy, and your betrothed waited for you at the altar.  A Sister took your bouquet away to free your hands just as you passed the front row, and when you looked forward again there were only a few carpeted steps between you and… everything.

Copia surprised you by reaching forward— at first you weren’t sure what he meant by it, until you realized and quickly took his hand, letting him guide you up the stairs.  He was wearing those leather gloves you hardly ever saw him without, but even still, it was the first time you’d ever touched him; was his hand shaking?  You couldn’t tell, yet it almost felt like it.  Not to say that his grip wasn’t a strange sort of comfort in that moment; as he helped you up the stairs, you felt yourself relaxing slightly, despite being far from over with the hardest parts of this.

The first few minutes were just a matter of standing and waiting while the priest spoke: you wish you could say you remembered a damn word of it, he must’ve said something about love or marriages or… you know, all that.  Whatever it was, you were relieved when it was over and you could move on to the communion and prayer— the more familiar parts, and the parts where you got to kneel.  You were actually amazed that your legs hadn’t been noticeably wobbly so far, but they definitely could use a break.

In the time that your head was meant to be bowed in your prayer, you carefully opened your eyes and turned your head— just enough to take a peek at him quickly.  Well, your intention was to be quick about it, but once you started looking, you became distracted rather easily.  It was just that you'd never seen him so up close, you were sure: you'd never noticed the slope of his nose before, or how long his eyelashes were, or the shape of his lips in this profile—

Suddenly, as if he sensed your stare somehow, his eyes popped open and glanced over to return it.  He gave you a half smirk as your eyes widened and you snapped your gaze back down to your clasped hands.

“...and may they be joined in unholy matrimony for all eternity,” the priest ended his prayer: “Nema.”

“Nema,” you and Copia and the rest of the congregation replied.

The penultimate step of the ceremony was the exchanging of the rings, which were extended towards you both on a little velvet pillow— it was actually kind of adorable, you thought.

You figured he might take his gloves off for you to put the ring on, but it was apparently designed to fit around them; alternately, you had to suppress a startled reaction to your own ring as he gently placed it on your finger.  It was a massive ruby surrounded with onyx and black diamonds, intricate and completely unsubtle.  You knew Copia had expensive taste, and it was certainly in keeping with such a lavish wedding, but you wondered if it would look entirely out of place on you for daily wear.

I’ll wear this ring every day, forever, you reminded yourself; you breathed out shakily as his hands held yours so tenderly for one more moment after your ring was in place.

And then there was only one thing left.  The thing you’d been preparing yourself for since this morning— or perhaps since that fateful meeting with the clergy: the kiss.

It felt pretty melodramatic with him lifting your veil over your head, and it felt surreal to be in the part of this that you’d been imagining in hopes of preparing yourself.  Of course, it was a little different than how you’d pictured it, most of all the look on his face: it was subtle, but he didn’t seem as serious or muted as you were used to.  It wasn’t like he was grinning or anything— that would’ve actually been sort of creepy— but there was a small smile on his face.

You heard the priest say something about husband and wife but you weren’t paying attention, it all sounded distant somehow.  And maybe you sort of psyched yourself up for this moment too much— maybe you wanted to get the wedding over with, maybe you were afraid if you didn’t commit fully that you’d end up instinctively backing away when he came closer and you’d both be humiliated in front of all these people.

There were other possible explanations for what you did, but for whatever reason, you all but threw yourself onto him and kissed him.

It only lasted for a few seconds, but that moment may as well have been frozen in time; it took him a second to react, his hands settling near your waist— and it took the crowd a moment too, but they began to clap and cheer for you both at some point.

Truthfully, you weren’t thinking much about how it felt to kiss him… you couldn’t, really, without losing focus on the point of all this.  You weren’t here to have a nice kiss or meet someone you might like— you were here to serve a purpose, to fill a role.  And that’s not to say you weren’t grateful, but you weren’t going to let yourself be distracted from your duty to the church.

You backed away as suddenly as you’d latched onto him, and when you opened your eyes after scrunching them shut during the kiss, you saw him looking at you with a bit of shock in his expression.  Only then did you wince to yourself and wonder, was that too much?

He took your hand and turned to face the congregation, so you followed suit of course, and as he smiled and waved at them politely you were a little surprised to see them all standing and applauding.  It definitely felt like a bigger crowd from this side of the cathedral…

You were almost frozen for a second, until you felt his hand guiding you down— he was already on the first step down, so you quickly picked up your skirt and followed him.  You had wondered before if you would feel different walking back down the aisle with him, compared to when you processed on it alone.  You weren’t sure if you really felt married or something— what would that even feel like?— but you did feel different.

You felt better, actually— relieved, happier, you even caught yourself smiling at the crowd, but it was hard not to with how… energetic they were.  Despite not really knowing what to do with all that attention, you at least appreciated it, though it surely had little to do with you.  They were cheering for him because he’s Copia— Frater, the former Papa, heir of the Emeritus bloodline— and they were only cheering for you because you’re his wife.

And no, just because you understood that logically didn’t mean it felt at all real yet.

Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia! you could hear the announcement echoing through the hall, though it was distant compared to the claps and hollers.  You dared one glance at him by your side, thinking it might be easier than looking at this massive crowd around you, and found him already smiling at you; and with a warmth beginning to spread on your face, you let him guide you out of the doors, into the rest of the church submerged in nightfall. 

~

After a crowded spectacle like that, the quiet of his chambers was quite a relief.  So much so, actually, that it dampened some of that eerie, anxious feeling of being alone with Copia in his bedroom; it wasn’t quite as spacious as you would’ve assumed someone with his level of importance would have, but the ornate and luxurious furniture made perfect sense.

You were so caught up in taking it all in, almost entranced by the beauty all around you, that when he spoke it slightly startled you. 

“That kiss,” he said suddenly.  “Wow.”

It was just that his voice sounded so different like this: no microphone, no massive chapel, just one small room with stone walls.  There was a brief pause as he ran his gloved hand over his hair, blowing air quickly out of his mouth, and you realized you should probably respond somehow: for some reason, your mind struggled to accept that he was speaking to you directly.  “I’m sorry if I was too forward, I just—”

“No!  No, not at all,” he laughed thinly, “no, you did very well.  I’m sure today was… overwhelming for you.”

It felt good to just hear him confirm that: up until now, everyone in the clergy had been sort of acting like this was normal, never really acknowledging (let alone validating) your stress.

“If it’s any comfort, it was for me, too.  And I’ve had a lot more experience with large crowds than you,” he added.

You smiled a little; “Yes, that’s true— but it must be different here, at home.”

“Mm,” he nodded, pondering that for a second.  “It is.  But it’s preferable in some ways, too— like now, being able to come back to my own space.”

You envied that a bit; you were likely never to return to your chambers across the building, and while you didn’t necessarily enjoy sharing that space with a dozen other Sisters, it was probably easier than sharing a bed with just one man.

Before you could get a little too caught up in that train of thought, he spoke again.  “I can’t believe I haven’t already told you how exquisite you look in your dress,” he offered.

“O-oh, thank you,” you hummed, “I’m very fortunate, it’s a beautiful gown.”

“Of course it is, I picked it out,” he informed you proudly.  “I have excellent taste, no?”

“You do,” you agreed with a small laugh.

“And you liked the ceremony, I hope?”

“Yes, Papa,” you answered dutifully.  “I-I mean, Frater.”

“Force of habit,” he noticed, “literally.  But, I'm not Frater to you anymore, I'm your husband.”

That certainly made your heart skip a beat, even though you couldn’t imagine you had forgotten it in the last ten minutes.  “So what should I call you, then?” 

“Well, just my name should do,” he laughed slightly, seeming a bit surprised by the question.  “Spouses call each other pet names from time to time, would you like that?”

You might have been able to think about that idea more clearly if his hand wasn't on your waist, petting along the curve of it absent-mindedly.  “I… don't know,” you admitted, “I’ve never really tried it.”

“It will come naturally, I suppose,” he shrugged.

“So, it is a proper marriage then,” you realized.

“Hm?” 

You wondered if you shouldn’t have said it aloud.  “I-I just mean, I wasn’t sure at first… if maybe it was all political, you know,” you admitted.  “A marriage for show, not necessarily of a personal nature, I guess.”

“If it were political, I would have been paired up with someone from another church, I imagine,” he explained, one of his eyebrows raising.  “Did you think I chose you randomly?”

It felt pretty fucking random, you wanted to say, but that would have been a little bit harsh.  Instead, you sat down on the edge of the bed (which was only a little cumbersome with your dress) and he copied you, sitting just a few feet away.  “I’m so honored you chose me, Copia,” you began, feeling a little odd about using his name so casually, “but I just… I can’t imagine why.”

“The clergy asked me the same thing,” he recalled, “but they weren’t satisfied with my answer— I’m sure you won’t be, either.”

“Try me,” you encouraged.

“Well… I saw you once,” he explained slowly, “in a Mass— I gave you communion, do you remember that?”

“O-oh, yes, I think you’ve served me the elements a few times.”

“This was the first time,” he assured, “I know, because I thought to myself she must be new, if I’d seen her before I would’ve remembered it.”

You tried not to smile too wide, but you couldn't help some reaction.  You never imagined you'd left such an impression on him.

“You looked up at me, and you just looked so sweet… I couldn’t get the image out of my mind, you on your knees before me…”

You crossed your legs tightly.  “I mean, I remember that too, of course.  But it’s because it was the first time I saw you in your papal robes— I was just one of hundreds, I didn’t even know you could tell us apart.”

“Well, you stood out to me— maybe it was fate, eh?” he smirked.  But he was the head of the clergy, the most important man in the church: he made his own fate.

“And that’s it?” you realized sheepishly.  “You thought I was pretty, or something, a few years ago and so you married me?”

“Not pretty, no— pretty is cheap, cara mia.  You were enchanting.”

Was this flattery?  It seemed too perfect to be totally genuine, but hell, he was smooth.  

“I thought of you often,” he admitted, moving closer to you, “I imagined if I might have you to myself someday… and now I do.”

His gloved hand rested on your shoulder before carefully moving up to the back of your neck; he guided you towards him, slowly and patiently, looking into your eyes for a moment but taking longer to look at your lips. 

You swallowed nervously once before letting your eyes fall shut.

The kiss was soft at first, but grew more intense with every moment; he breathed a little heavier through his nose and you could feel it against your face.

His arms wrapped around you, and it should've felt nice, like a loving embrace; it sort of did, it just also started to make you feel claustrophobic, forcing you to fight the urge to squirm out of his grasp.

You wanted to give into it, you wanted to let yourself melt into his arms… but as he held you tighter and kissed you harder, your heart started to race in a way that wasn’t pleasant anymore.

Pulling back and pushing against him, you broke away and hoped he wouldn’t be angry with you or hurt by your rejection.  Fortunately, he let you move back as soon as you tried, and looked at you with an expression more of surprise than frustration.

“W-wait, I—” you mumbled nervously, willing your hands not to shake with nervousness.  “It’s not that I don’t— we’ve only just— I do find you attractive, but—”

“We don’t know each other very well,” he finished for you.  “It's alright, you seemed nervous already.”

“Yes,” you sighed, smiling with relief.  “I just thought… maybe we could get to know each other better first, before we…”

“I didn't expect you to be so shy,” he noticed with a soft laugh.  You were keeping close watch on his tone and, from what you could tell, he thankfully didn't sound too disappointed.

“I-I’m usually not,” you assured, “maybe compared to some other Sisters…”

“Well, that's a low bar,” he noted with a raised brow, “but anyhow, it doesn't bother me.  I'm happy to wait until you're… more comfortable.”

You smiled a little, glancing away briefly.  “Thank you,” you began, barely managing to stop yourself from calling him by a title again.

“I just hope you'll stay in my bed tonight— it's your bed, too, you know.  Nothing else has to happen.”

“Of course,” you smiled, “I'd like that.” 

He nodded shortly at you and moved as if he was going to get up, but you opened your mouth impulsively to speak— even if nothing came out right away— and he stopped.

“But, um— you could kiss me again,” you suggested quickly, before you lost the nerve.  He smiled, with a certain sparkle in his eyes that made you squirm slightly against the bed.

His hand brushed under your chin gently, lifting your face until you were forced to look right up at him.  “If it would please you,” he returned with a purr.

Swallowing thickly, you nodded; “Yes,” you insisted softly.

This kiss was slower, but no less intoxicating: he touched you like you were the most fragile thing, and the movements of his lips seemed to gently guide your own.  You heard yourself sigh against him, and his thumb started to pet your jawline tenderly.

You remembered that moment clearer now, the one he described to you before. Taking communion from him, kneeling under him, waiting with an open mouth for him to deliver the mana to your tongue… the cool golden chalice against your lip and the bittersweet wine…

His other hand delicately landed on your lower back, and you opened your mouth wider, letting his tongue graze against yours.

When he pulled back, you found yourself leaning forward just for a second, chasing him for more.  And he obviously noticed, it was clear from the way he smiled down at you.  You wondered if he would indulge your desire for more— for a second, you imagined he might decide that you were more ready than you'd let on and take you right then and there.  A little brutish, yes, but the idea tickled a certain corner of your brain.

But, no, he sat up straight and let out a short breath.  “I'll get ready for bed,” he announced.  “You should too— you've had a long day.”

You nodded back; “Yes, Papa,” you returned compulsively once again.  “Damn it!”

“It seems you have a lot of new things to get used to,” he laughed.

More than you know, you thought to yourself as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

[sturnioloszn]

IN LOVE WITH A CRIMINAL - C.S

summary; after almost being caught committing murder, chris reassures you that everything is fine and helps you relieve some nerves...

warnings; smut, mentions of committing a crime (murder), gun kink.

a/n; i'm lowk stepping out the comfort zone w this one, so if it's dogshit, we know why. btw, if u don't understand the relationship, chris and y/n work together as hitmen (or ig hitman and hitwoman).

I sit on the edge of the bed, leaning down to undo the straps on my black heels. I'm usually focused on how sore my feet are after wearing heels for several hours, but my mind is engrossed with one thought.

It wasn't uncommon for Chris and I to be paired together for hits; actually, we worked well as a team. But tonight didn't go as smoothly as it was meant to.

It was supposed to be a straightforward night; while I kept the ambassador distracted, Chris would take him out.

Unfortunately, my charm worked a little too well, and the ambassador wanted to "find somewhere more private," so we kept changing locations, meaning Chris couldn't take the shot easily.

We eventually managed, but the authorities were on scene immediately, which wouldn't have been the case if we had stayed at the original location. Due to this, we were almost recognised, but we fled the scene just before they could recognise us.

Yet, I can't help but feel paranoid. I know what line of work I'm in, and yes, I know the risks, but it's still an insanely scary thought. What if they saw my face? Would I have to be a fugitive? Would I have to live the rest of my life in the shadows to prevent from being seen again?

Fuck.

The sound of ammo hitting the bathroom counter snapped me out of my anxiety-ridden thoughts. I slowly stand up from the bed, stepping out of my heels and heading towards the bathroom in the hotel room.

I reach the doorway and see Chris at the countertop, he's clearing the gun that was used tonight. I lean against the door frame with my arms crossed over my chest as I watch his hands work the gun. I won't lie, Chris was hot as fuck, he had a sharp jawline and a beautiful side profile with gorgeous brown hair that fell over his forehead.

But it doesn't matter how sexy he was, there's no way anything could happen between us, especially with work. It would just get way too messy.

"Do you think they saw us?" I ask, breaking the deafening silence that was lying between us.

"No," he replies coldly. I know he was somewhat upset at me due to the fact that I couldn't keep the ambassador in one place, making his job harder.

"There were a lot of them... what if they did see our faces?" I say, now beginning to share my inner conflicts with him.

"They didn't. Stop stressing," another cold reply.

"They saw us leave though, we had to have looked suspicious, right?" I question once again. I could sense he was getting annoyed at all my questions but I really couldn't help it.

"We're fine," he huffs, as he sorts through the unused ammunition. I watch his fingers work diligently, organising everything so carefully. I wonder what else his fingers would be good at.

Fuck, I really have to stop thinking these things, because I can only blame myself for the dampness in my panties right now.

"Listen, it's not your fault, okay?" He sighs, turning his head to finally look at me. I think he feels slightly bad being so harsh on me, even though it really isn't my fault that I'm so hot.

I nod at his words, dragging my eyes to the floor to avoid eye contact. He takes a few steps towards me and places his index finger under my chin, tilting my head high enough so that our eyes could meet.

"I mean it...I'm sorry for being a dickhead," his words are soft and sincere, almost enough to make my knees crumble completely. "And no, I'm sure they didn't see us. Stop stressing your pretty little head about it,".

He's so close that I can almost hear his heartbeat, and the small touch he has on my skin is enough to burn up my entire body. There's no way he can't see the effects he has on me.

"What can I do to ease your mind, hm?" He says, moving his finger from under my chin and using his entire hand to cup the side on my face; his thumb caressing my blushed cheek softly.

"Nothing, I'm fine...I probably just need some sleep," I say. But even if I take him up on his offer, what is he really laying out on the table? Maybe I'm reading too far into this.

"Nothing? There's absolutely nothing I can do f'you?" He asks, lowering his head to my neck and planting a soft kiss there. I lean my head back, surprised by his actions.

Chris and I have been strictly colleagues, and other than the occasional flirty joke, there's not been anything else between us... until now.

"Chris..." I whisper, almost as a warning, as if someone could catch us at any moment.

"Hm," he mumbles against my neck, still peppering small kisses. I sigh and give into his touch. He feels me surrender, and he moves his hands to my curves, drinking them in with every touch.

"This dress looks so fucking good on you, y'know that?" His words are barely recognisable, so I weave my hands through his hair and tug his face away from my neck. I guide him towards my lips and it doesn't take long for him to crash his perfect, plump lips into mine.

The kiss is instantly hot, burning even, and the feel of his hands all over my body definitely doesn't help with the heat. His hands slip down to my ass, grabbing handfuls. A light gasp leaves my mouth, surprised by his direct actions.

"Can I make you feel good?" He asks, briefly pulling away from my lips. There's a look of hunger in his eyes, which makes him look even more irresistible.

"Please, Chris," I reply pathetically. By now, my panties are soaked, and we're both still fully dressed. God, what is he doing to me.

I feel him reconnect our lips and slide his hands under my ass to my thighs. I feel his arms tense, and my feet lift the ground. He places me onto the bathroom countertop, and I wrap my legs around his torso.

His hands find my hips again, but instead of stopping there, they continue downwards towards the slit in my dress. His right hand slips under my dress, and he reaches for the fabric at my hip.

He invites his left hand under the dress, too, finding the fabric on the other side of my hip. He tugs both sides down, removing my panties completely.

He looks up at me, his cold, blue eyes meet mine. I've never seen anyone with eyes as pretty as his; they really are his best feature.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, his eyes locking me in a trance. I nod, unable to get any words past my lips.

"I need you to use your words," he speaks again. If he keeps speaking like this, my composure will be out the window any minute.

"Of course I trust you, Chris," I say, wondering why he's even asking me that. He then turns and grabs the gun next to him. What is he doing?

He returns his attention back to me and slowly spreads my legs. My dress rides up, leaving me more than accessible to him.

"Fuck, look at how soaked you are and I haven't even touched you yet," he groans, and I can see the buldge in his trousers form.

He then does something that I would have never dreamed he'd do.

He took the barrel of the gun and ran it between my folds, lathering it in my fluid. The cold metal of the gun against my hot core makes me jump slightly.

"C-Chris... what are you doing?" I ask, my breathing getting shallower.

"Shh, just let me take care of you and ease your worries," he says, his eyes never faltering from my dripping cunt. I throw my head back and enjoy this new sensation that I'm being guided through.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel the gun slip into me. No way he's fucking me with a gun.

"Fuck, Chris," I say, bucking I'm hips slightly. I'm not completely opposed to this idea but it's definitely something new.

Thank God I saw him take out the bullets otherwise my stress level would be through the roof.

He starts pumping the gun faster and faster, and a familiar heat is building in my stomach. Moans start spilling from my lips uncontrollably and my hands find their way to his hair again.

"Chris, p-please... don't stop," I say, at this point I'm fucking the gun back, and I'm so close to euphoria.

"I wasn't planning on it," he breathes out. A few strokes later, and I'm spamming around the gun, letting my wetness coat it as Chris' name, along with a string of curse words, leave my mouth.

He slowly removes the gun from my hole and looks at it in wonder before turning to me.

"I've never been more turned on in my life," he says, his eyes bouncing back between me and the gun.

I'm sure I look a mess right now, I'm panting heavily, my hair is frizzy, and mascara is likely running down my face, yet Chris doesn't think twice about calling me beautiful.

"What does this mean for us?" I ask, pulling myself down from the countertop, grabbing onto Chris to steady myself.

"I've liked you for a while, y/n, I was tired of pretending like I didn't need you," He admitted. My cheeks are definitely blushing, and not because I just orgasmed.

"Me too... but what about work?" I question, work is the main reason I hadn't made my move. I'm already a criminal, I can't be in love with one, too.

"We'll make it work, now stop worrying about everything, I'm going to run you a bath, and you're going to relax," he says, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

a/n; well... I don't think this is too horrendous (if it is, keep ur mouth shut otherwise i'll cry). alsooo, 151 notes on my last fanfic?? u guys are insane but i appreciate it sooo much, thank youuu and love youu smm 💙

[cassandraclare]

*sighs a bit* Okay. Guys. I have been asked this question a lot, and answered it a lot. I don't know how to give a better answer — Dru & Ty&Kit share significance as main characters — so I guess I'll talk a little about comparison and structures.

First, all series have different structures. I don't think it's super useful or predictive to try to map an upcoming, unknown book series onto an existing series. In TLH the main character was Cordelia, everyone else was secondary to her, and people's roles and the significance of them altered from book to book. It was a big ensemble cast and they mostly stayed put in London especially in book 1.

TWP focuses on a smaller group of people. It also has a very different structure. In book one, Dru is not with Kit and Ty. They are in different places, both of which have their own stories that are significant to the plot. There is no way to see Place One without following Dru. There is no way to see Place Two without following Kit and Ty.

I know that TWP is a long way off. I know there are people who are very angry with me that there's such a gap, but there isn't anything currently I can do about that, or about the fact that I don't yet have the schedule for my upcoming books. That rests in the hands of several different publishers who must coordinate the release times and production schedules for four different series. I am not withholding any information about when these books come out. I simply don't know it yet.

I understand that TWP being a long way off makes for anxiety, and that those who are worried Kit and Ty will somehow be secondary are looking for tiny clues in microscopic details — micro-reading the of placement of the word "and" in my newsletter and such — that are meaningless, but I get that it all comes from anxiety. (FTR, those worried Dru will be secondary are equally anxious.)

I think there is only so much I can say. Because there's a big gap between TLH and TWP everything I do say or every image or hint about it is freighted with a weight of assumption it can't really support. Anxiety is always going to trump reassurance. And truly, at the end of the day, if you only care about Kit and Ty and find the idea of a Dru story tiresome, you will feel like they got shafted because when you absolutely hate a plotline, you will always feel like it's taking up way too much space. That's just how our minds work.

I've been doing this long enough that I know no book can survive a hostile reading. I know that Book Three of a trilogy is the one people hate until they don't. (When Clockwork Princess came out people hated it so much I considered quitting writing!) I know that it's wonderful to love a character but can also be a problem for people when I put out books that aren't about that particular character or dynamic. I know that for a lot of people, Sword Catcher and Ragpicker King are just tiresome things that have no business on my schedule because they're not Shadowhunter books. And I get it. But I also have to block it out, because I've been writing a long time, and I've gotten to a point where I know that I have to write the thing I want to be writing, because if I don't, if I sit down and try to force myself to write something I'm not feeling like writing at that time, I'll be making myself physically and mentally sick. And that's no good for anyone, really.

I suppose the positive thing is that, while this would not have been true five years ago, I am at the place where I want very much to be writing Wicked Powers. I missed these characters and am glad to be back with them. I consider this a story in which there are three main characters. And that is all I can say right now because it's all that I know.

(And this was much more of a general response to a lot of things than a specific response to this question, but I did feel like it was stuff that I needed to say. Creators are at the end of the day, just people. Sometimes we are powerless to reassure. Sometimes we are tired. Sometimes we are wrong. Sometimes we try things and they don't work. Sometimes we can't explain to you what our story is going to make you feel, because only reading it is going to tell you that. This may be one of those times.)