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incognit0slut · 7 months ago

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Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

This isn’t a love story. This isn’t a fairytale. This is about a woman bent on setting the world on fire and the FBI agent assigned to her case, drawn to the very flame she ignites.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader

Warnings: (18+) Typical CM violence, mentions of sexual assault and trauma, implied sex, fire/arson, and this is basically angst with no happy ending

A/n: For once, I am writing outside my comfort zone. This is heavily based on John Mayer’s song with the same title, Female Rage, and Megan Kane (she did nothing wrong!). Constructive criticism is welcome since I rarely write angst, but please be nice, it's my birthday🥺 (yes my birthday appreciation post is heartbreaking)

You wanted the world to burn.

You wanted to watch the ashes drift through the air. You wanted to smell the acid scent of smoke. You wanted to feel the heat envelop you, to wrap your body like a suffocating blanket. Because simply sitting in silence wasn’t enough for the rage that consumed you, the smoldering anger that craved the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath.

You craved the chaos, but the man lying defeated before you was enough for now. His eyes, wide with horror, stared up at you—the look of a man who knew these were his final moments. He pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation, his hands bound tightly behind his back as you stood there, unfazed.

Please.

I have a family. Think of my children.

Just let me go—I'll disappear, you'll never have to see me again.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? How a man could beg for mercy, could invoke the sanctity of family only when facing his own end. How a man could think that running away could solve everything, believing that his disappearance would erase the past and the suffering he caused.

No, that was a choice you didn’t have. The luxury of forgetting, of escaping the shadows that clung to your every step. Not only was his pleading in vain, it was insulting, as if the depth of his misdeeds could be washed away by mere absence. You wanted him gone. You wanted him dead.

So you gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your expression was serene, almost angelic, but it belied the reality of your intentions as your heels echoed through the empty warehouse, a jug of gasoline in hand.

He screamed. Your smile widened. It was useless—no other soul was near enough to hear his cries, too far away to save him. His desperation filled the empty space once again as you poured the gasoline around him, drenching him in its sharp, pungent scent.

Then you took a step back, your hand reaching for the lighter in your pocket. There was a moment of hesitation as you watched him struggle. Could you really do this? Could you cross this final line?

But then the memories surged forward, vivid and painful. He was one of them, one of the people who had taken advantage of your innocence when you were young and naive, who had shattered your trust and left you to pick up the pieces alone, leaving scars that never truly healed.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Your fingers tightened around the lighter. What a foolish man, who was he to think that a forced apology could undo the damage? With a steady hand, you flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life. His apologies continued, increasingly frantic, but they were nothing more than the desperate noise of a man who had run out of options, out of time.

You threw the lighter. The small flame sailed through the air, landing amidst the gasoline-soaked ground with a burst of fire. The flame caught instantly, erupting into a roaring blaze that engulfed him in a matter of seconds, drowning out his piercing scream.

You continued to watch his body burn, and perhaps for the very first time in your life, you felt a terrifying peace.

~*~

“This is the third body in a week,” Derek mentioned, stepping into the old factory as he slipped his sunglasses on top of his head, scanning the scene before him. It was disturbing. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Spencer looked up from where he was crouched near what was left of the victim. “It’s getting more deliberate,” he observed. “The Unsub is trying to send a message.”

Derek moved closer, carefully stepping over a piece of evidence marked by the forensic team. “What are you thinking?”

He slowly stood up, his eyes assessing the place. There were actually a lot of things on his mind, and one of them being how this third victim seemed more calculated, more precise than the others. It was a stark contrast to the first victim, whose remains were found in a haphazard, chaotic state in that old warehouse.

But this one… everything was meticulously arranged, from the positioning of the body to the burn patterns that radiated outwards in a controlled manner. The Unsub was trying to perfect their methods in a short amount of time, and as much as Spencer hated to admit it, it was almost impressive.

“They want attention,” Spencer finally said, breaking the silence as he mulled over the crime scene. “They’re not just doing this for the sake of it; they’re communicating. Whatever message they’re trying to send, it’s getting closer with each victim.”

“You think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“No, I don’t think it’s aimed at us.” Spencer bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing in thought. “They’re trying to make a statement.”

“Like a public declaration?”

“Could be,” Spencer acknowledged, stepping back to view the scene from a different angle. “Or it could be a form of protest or revenge.”

“Burning people for revenge,” Derek mused, crossing his arms. “Now that’s a hell of a way to get a point across.”

“It’s deeply symbolic. Fire consumes everything, leaving nothing but ash. It’s final.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “Whoever is doing this is not just angry, they’re trying to erase their victims from existence.”

“Well, they’re doing a pretty good job at it, we haven’t identified any of them yet.”

Spencer frowned, his gaze dropping back to the scene in front of him. Identifying the first two victims had been nearly impossible due to the extent of the burns. The flames had consumed everything, leaving behind little more than brittle bones and ash. Dental records and DNA tests had been their only hope, and even those couldn’t identify the victims.

He continued to study the body, looking for anything that could help them. The burns were severe, almost total, but then something caught his eye. A faint mark, barely visible under the scorched skin. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details. There, peeking out from the blackened flesh on the victim’s forearm, partially obscured by the burns, was a small tattoo.

“I think we might have something,” he said, pointing to the mark.

Derek leaned in, his eyes widening slightly. “That looks like a tattoo.”

“You think we can get this to the lab?”

“We can,” Derek replied as he took out his phone and took a quick photo of it. “But we also have Garcia.”

Spencer watched as Derek quickly navigated through his contacts, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He tapped the screen, putting the phone close to his ear. It didn’t take long for the call to connect, and almost immediately, a familiar voice filled the brief silence through the speaker.

“I knew you couldn’t go a day without me,” Penelope’s unmistakable cheerful voice greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this delightful interruption?”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “Garcia, we need your magic on a photo. There’s a partial tattoo on our latest victim, and we need to know if it matches anyone in the system.”

“Send it over and I’ll sprinkle some of my digital pixie dust on it.”

Derek attached the photo to a message and sent it directly to her. “It’s on its way.”

“Got it,” Penelope replied, her fingers already flying across her keyboard on the other end. “Okay, this might take a while, but I do have more information on our first victim, or I guess you can say, I have all the information that you need.”

“Our first John Doe is identified?”

“Rick Sullivan,” she confirmed. “He was reported missing a week ago by his wife. Turns out he has a bit of a past—multiple arrests for minor offenses, but nothing that would usually make him a target for this kind of violence.”

Spencer leaned closer to Derek’s phone. “Does he have any known associates or enemies that stand out?”

“Not on record,” Penelope said, her voice slightly muffled as she sifted through more files. “But listen to this, his bank transactions show some pretty hefty sums being spent regularly. Guess where most of it is going?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

"To an exclusive strip club on the east side of town called The Velvet Curtain,” she revealed. “Seems our Mr. Sullivan was quite the regular spender there.”

Derek smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice. “Keep the compliments coming and maybe I’ll dig up even more dirt for you.”

“We’ll need all the dirt we can get. Thanks, Garcia.”

“Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else,” she said before ending the call.

Derek turned to Spencer as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to see some strippers, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer glanced back at the charred remains. He’d seen too many bodies, too much senseless violence. There was nothing left that could shake him—not even the neon lights and dark corners of a strip club, or even the thought of being in a room surrounded by half-naked women. He could handle that. He could definitely handle that.

With a slight nod aimed at Derek, he followed him out of the building.

~*~

“Scarlett!” A voice rang through the dressing room. “You’re up in five!”

You swiped the red lipstick across your lips one last time, perfecting the bold arch that had become your signature look as your eyes swept over your reflection, eying the thin straps of your costume. The fabric was a deep, seductive red, almost the color of freshly drawn blood, and barely covered your skin. The material was sheer and see-through, leaving little to the imagination, something you preferred. Because the more skin you showed, the more you felt in control.

This was your armor, the persona you donned to hide the secrets buried beneath your glamorous exterior. As Scarlett, you were a siren. Untouchable. You had power and control, something your life outside these walls lacked.

“Scarlett!”

“I’m coming!” You snapped, capping the lipstick and placing it back in your makeup bag. You stood up, smoothing down your outfit, and made your way to the stage entrance.

The stage coordinator eyed you up and down. “No props for today?”

You shook your head, giving a confident smile. “Not today. I can manage without them.”

He nodded approvingly, moving to the side. “Alright, it's your cue."

You brushed past him and headed down the dimly lit corridor leading to the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through you. Taking one last deep breath, you finally stepped into the glow of the spotlight. The crowd's attention shifted to you, and you felt the power you had grown accustomed to, the control you desperately craved. The music pulsed through the air as you sauntered toward the pole at center stage.

You started to move.

Your fingers around the cold metal, and your body naturally found the beat as you began to dance seductively, letting the red fabric of your costume shimmer under the lights. A flirtatious smile played on your lips as you glanced around the room, locking eyes with a few patrons who watched. You slid down the pole, bending your knees and arching your back gracefully, biting back a smile as you heard the cheers and whistles from the crowd.

You took in the familiar faces and the usual gazes of admiration and desire, from the sleazy grins of regulars to the guilty looks of married men stealing away from home. But then, two men caught your attention, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the usual patrons.

One of them exuded confidence, his gaze steady and assessing as he watched your performance. The other, however, seemed out of place, his eyes darting around the room awkwardly. At first, he appeared uneasy, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and avoiding direct eye contact. But as you moved, dancing with the pole and letting your body sway to the rhythm, his gaze gradually settled on you.

You had never seen him before. He was unexpectedly handsome, with soft curls that danced along the edges of his face and soft features that made him beautiful, almost angelic. But there was something more about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed to blend in with the shadows, making him nearly invisible among the brasher, more excited crowd. His presence was so out of place and yet so focused on you that it spurred you on.

With a teasing smile, you tugged at the thin strap of your top, playing with it as you danced. His eyes followed the movement, his breath catching slightly as you slowly slid the strap down your shoulder. The fabric slipped further, revealing more of your skin as you twirled around the pole.

You then arched your back and bent low, the thin strap finally gave way, allowing your top to slide down your body, exposing your perky breasts to the crowd. His eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't look away. Neither could you. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent exchange as the cheers and applause became a distant hum in the background.

You could see the conflict in his eyes—part fascination, part restraint—and it only made you bolder. You slipped the last piece of fabric down your legs, and with each sway of your hips, you drew him deeper into your world, determined to leave a mark on his memory.

~*~

“Just talked to the club owner,” Derek mentioned as he walked over to where Spencer stood, hiding in the corner of the room. “He gave us permission to question the dancers.”

Spencer nodded, but didn’t say anything. Derek raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… fine.”

Derek gave him a knowing look. “Your first time being at a place like this?”

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the stage. That would be a good excuse for why he was acting this way, but it wasn’t the truth. He grew up in Las Vegas, after all. Even though he rarely found himself in these types of scenes, he knew what went behind the walls. He was aware of what happened inside clubs, the performers, and the whole spectrum of human behavior. But he had never seen someone so… mesmerizing.

His mind was still processing the way you moved, the way you commanded the room with such effortless confidence. The way you shamelessly captivated everyone’s attention, including his.

No, it wasn’t the setting that threw him off—it was you.

“Reid?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” he managed, snapping back to the present. “So the dancers?”

Derek nodded, sensing Spencer’s momentary distraction but choosing not to comment.

“Yeah, we need to start talking to them. With these many dancers, I think it’s better we split up.” His eyes scanned the room. “You take the bar out here, and I’ll handle the lounge area. If any of them seem to know more or are hesitant to talk in front of others, we can bring them aside for a more private conversation.”

“Got it,” Spencer agreed. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath as he made his way directly to the bar, nodding politely to the bartender before turning to address the group of dancers gathered nearby.

“Excuse me, uh, hi there,” he greeted, showing them his badge. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’d appreciate it if I could ask you a few questions.”

The dancers exchanged glances as Spencer cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. One of them, a tall woman with striking pink hair, stepped forward. “What do you need to know, Handsome?”

Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, momentarily flustered by the directness. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual or seen anyone acting suspiciously in the past few weeks?”

The pink-haired woman looked him up and down, taking in his crisp suit and tie with a playful smile. “Well, the only unusual thing I’ve seen lately is a handsome FBI agent in a place like this.”

Her comment drew a few chuckles from the group, and Spencer felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He usually could handle a bit of teasing—he’d even interviewed sex workers who blatantly flirted with him before—but being surrounded by half-naked women, one of whom was actually topless, was making him feel distinctly out of place. His usual confidence was slipping away, replaced by a deep, uncomfortable blush.

Before he could respond, another dancer, this one with blue hair, joined in the teasing. “Aww, look at him blushing. Aren’t you just adorable?”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to refocus. “I, uh, appreciate your… observations. But really, any information about unusual behavior could be very helpful.”

One of them, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned closer and asked in a flirty tone, “Would you like to find a private room for questioning, Doctor?”

His eyes widened. “W-What? No, no, I—”

“Ladies.”

Spencer turned around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing close to him, your sweet fragrance enveloping him. His heartbeat quickened, and he found it hard not to stare. You had changed from your performance attire into something slightly less revealing but no less captivating that Spencer had to remind himself to blink.

“Stop teasing the poor guy,” you said, addressing the dancers with a slight smirk.

“We were just being nice,” one of them protested, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s give him some space.”

The rest of the dancers giggled, picking up their drinks and retreating to another part of the club. You watched them leave before turning back to Spencer and gracefully took a seat on a stool where one of them had been.

“So,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, and Spencer made a conscious effort not to focus on how the fabric rode up your thighs. “I can’t help but overhear you’re with the FBI. I’m Scarlett.”

He stared at your outstretched hand but made no effort to take it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ah,” you said, retracting your hand and placing it on your lap. “You’re that type of guy.”

“What do you mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, a wry smile playing on your lips. “You know, the type who might think less of this kind of job, of people who work in places like this."

Spencer shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I grew up in Las Vegas, places like this don't surprise me. It's just that—l don't do handshakes. Personal preference, not a judgment."

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Well, studies show that handshakes transfer a significant amount of pathogens. It’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

An amused smile played on your lips. “Is that your way of trying to kiss me, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammered. “I just meant, scientifically speaking, it’s… safer.”

“Of course.” You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “So what brings the FBI here?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re here to gather information about one of your customers.”

“Who?”

“Do you know anyone by the name Rick Sullivan?”

“Know him? He practically lives at the end of the bar some nights.” Your eyes swept over the empty seat where Rick usually occupied. “Although he hasn’t come here in a while, his wife probably decided to put her foot down."

“Do you remember anything unusual about his behavior or if he mentioned anything out of the ordinary recently?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He was always pretty quiet. But now that you mention it, a few weeks ago, he seemed more on edge than usual. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”

“Did he ever talk to anyone in particular, or did anyone strange approach him?”

You shook your head. “Not that I noticed. But then again, it gets pretty busy here. Hard to keep track of every interaction.”

Spencer nodded at the information. “Is there anyone who seemed particularly close with him here?”

“I don’t think so. He’s friendly with some of the regulars, but no one stood out. He mostly keeps to himself unless he’s buying drinks for the dancers.” You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought and you couldn’t help but ask, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but don’t you have to write all this down?”

Spencer glanced at you, a small smile forming on his lips. "I have a good memory. I'll remember everything you've told me."

"Really? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

"Eidetic, actually.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s impressive. So basically you’ll remember anything?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, I can recall detailed images and information with high precision.”

“Alright, I want you to remember this then,” you said, leaning in slightly. You recited a series of numbers, your voice smooth and confident.

He looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”

“My number.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh.”

“There’s a rule against sharing personal information while working here,” you explained, leaning in a bit closer, “But you can save it under Y/N. That’s my real name.”

Spencer found himself momentarily mesmerized by your proximity, the scent of your perfume, and the intensity of your gaze. He blinked, trying to maintain his composure.

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory.

You smiled. “Exactly. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he assured you as you slipped off the stool and the space between you momentarily vanished. For a brief, unexpected second, your body lightly pressed against his. The contact was fleeting but there was an unspoken tension that seemed to pause the noise around you.

The closeness brought a rush of warmth, and your eyes locked with his. “Do you like jazz music, Dr. Reid?”

He frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Um, I don’t really listen to music.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” you replied with a playful smile. “There’s a great spot not too far from here. They have live bands on the weekends.”

“What… what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to ask you out on a date.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words. “Oh,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your boldness. He hesitated, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “I, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?”

He swallowed, looking a bit flustered. “It’s not that. It’s just… there are boundaries, and I’m supposed to remain professional.”

“Ah, I see. But if you decide to change your mind…” You moved closer, reaching out to fix his crooked tie, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I’ll be at the Blue Moon on Saturday around 9 p.m., sitting at the bar in a red dress with a drink in my hand.”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly as he tensed but didn’t pull away, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do, Dr. Reid.” You took a step back, your hand lingering for a moment before you let go of his tie. “You know where to find me.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there as he watched you blend into the crowd, conflicted and unexpectedly aroused.

~*~

You weren’t sure what you were trying to do. Asking an FBI agent out on a date went against every rule you had set for yourself. You were supposed to keep your distance, to remain anonymous and untouchable. It was safer that way, for both you and your secrets. Yet, here you were, sipping your drink as you waited for a man who represented everything you should be avoiding.

A part of you questioned your sanity. What was it about him that made you break your own rules? It was reckless, foolish even. Getting involved with someone like Spencer Reid could only complicate things.

But there was something about him. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, the way he seemed both out of place and perfectly composed at the same time. Or perhaps it was the way he treated you with a respect and sincerity that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make you take this risk.

But now, as you sat by the bar alone an hour later, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a mistake. The minutes had ticked by slowly, and you tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and maybe that was for the best.

Just as you were about to give up and leave, the door to your side opened. You turned, not daring to hope, and there he was—looking slightly disheveled and out of breath, but undeniably there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a small, relieved smile crossed his face.

“Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and I didn’t want to come empty handed, so…”

Your eyes drifted towards the simple bouquet of white lilies in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Spencer nodded, extending the flowers towards you. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “I didn’t know what you’d like, and I thought lilies are a safe choice because they’re elegant and not too overwhelming, but then I started thinking maybe roses would have been better, but then roses can be a bit too—”

You cut him off with a warm smile, gently taking the bouquet from him. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”

You placed the lilies on the bar and gestured to the seat beside you. “Come here, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

“It felt like it,” he admitted, taking the seat right next to you. “I really didn’t want to be late.”

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You slightly leaned back and studied him. “I’m actually surprised you changed your mind.”

Spencer glanced at you. “I… I guess I realized I didn’t want to miss the chance to get to know you.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to know about me?”

There were so many things he wanted to know about you, actually. He wanted to know your story, why you chose your job, and who you were beneath this confident exterior. But that was all too much for a first date. Glancing around the room, he decided to start with something simpler and said, “Start with how you know this place.”

You smiled, looking around the familiar setting. “I found it a few years ago. I was walking aimlessly down the road one night after work and stumbled this place. It’s become my little escape since then.”

“I can see why." His eyes drifted towards the band playing live music and the few patrons mesmerized by the soft tune. "It’s definitely got a charm to it.”

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have any secret escapes?”

He looked back at you. “Not really. My escapes aren’t quite as charming. Mostly books and chess. They're not exactly thrilling.”

“Books and chess?” you asked, tapping your finger on the bar. “You really are a nerd.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man of knowledge,” he replied with a shy yet proud smile.

“Well, intelligence is attractive, and not only that, it’s also very sexy." You laughed when you noticed him slightly squirming. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at magic tricks. It’s something I picked up as a kid.”

“Now that’s a talent I didn’t expect,” you observed, your eyes lighting up. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I’d be happy to,” he replied enthusiastically. “What about you? What’s your hidden talent?”

You grinned. “I can make a pretty mean lasagna. And I’m good at dancing, but you might have already guessed that.”

Spencer suddenly felt the warmth spreading along his face as he remembered your performance on stage the other day. His mind flashed back to the way you moved with such confidence, the undeniable sex appeal you exuded effortlessly, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely noticed,” he admitted.

“I hope that means you were impressed.”

Spencer nodded, still a bit flustered but managing a smile. “Very impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you noted, leaning closer to him. “How about you? Do you dance, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “I’m not nearly as skilled as you are,” he confessed. “My dance moves are more… theoretical. More of an exercise in coordination than something you’d want to see in action.”

The image of this authority figure awkwardly dancing in his suit made you smile.

“Now this I need to see.” Sliding off the stool, you extended your hand towards him. “Dance with me.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

You waited, half-expecting him to decline considering he didn’t even want to shake your hand the last time you saw him. But then, to your surprise, he took a deep breath and placed his hand in yours.

You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up and let you lead him to a small open space near the bar, slipping in between other couples swaying to the music as the band played a lively, upbeat tune.

“Okay, put your hand here,” you instructed, guiding his hand to rest lightly on your waist. You took his other hand in yours and began to sway gently to the rhythm, leading him in a basic two-step.

Spencer tried to follow, his movements slightly awkward at first. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”

“You’re doing fine,” you reassured him, smiling up at him. “Just trust your instinct.”

“My instinct is to find the nearest exit door.”

“No escaping tonight. You’re stuck with me,” you teased, your other hand holding onto his shoulder. “Besides, I think you’re doing pretty well for someone who claims to be bad at dancing.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his confidence growing slightly. “You think so?”

“Yep,” you replied, giving him a grin. “In fact, I’d say you’re almost a natural.”

“Almost?” he echoed, a teasing note in his voice. “What do I need to do to earn the proper title?”

“Maybe a spin?” You suggested, already positioning yourself lightly. With an encouraging nod, you prompted him, and he took the cue, lifting his arm and carefully guiding you into a smooth spin under his hold. You twirled gracefully and came back into his arms, beaming up at him.

“How was that?” He asked.

“Pretty impressive.”

He smiled, and a warmth spread through you, a sense of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was wrong, you knew that. You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear. But at that moment, all those concerns seemed distant and unimportant, especially when the music suddenly turned slower.

The soft, sultry notes of a saxophone filled the air as you moved closer to him, gently grabbing his hands before guiding them to rest behind your back.

“Now this,” you began, moving your arms around his neck. “Is how you dance to a slow song.”

Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft expression that made his whole features light up. He pulled you gently against his chest. “I think I prefer this type of dance better.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”

You felt a hand press gently on your lower back, drawing you even closer as you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smelled of fresh soap and something sweet, like vanilla or honey—a combination that you could easily find yourself getting addicted to.

The thought surprised you. For someone who loathed men, who had built a life around a cold, calculated revenge against them, you found Spencer oddly comforting. It was unsettling how natural it felt to be this close to him, how safe he made you feel.

You could almost laugh at the irony. Here you were, a woman fueled by a desire for vengeance, finding solace in the arms of a man. It was reckless. Dangerous. You needed to keep your head in the game. Allowing yourself to get distracted, to feel these warm, tender emotions, was a risk you couldn’t afford.

But as you pressed your face closer to the crook of his neck, it became increasingly difficult to push him away. You knew you had to be cautious. You knew you needed to keep your head clear, your focus sharp, and you promised yourself that you would.

But not now. Not when his touch made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years. For now, you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, to the warmth of his embrace, to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, and to the fleeting sense of peace that felt so foreign yet so desperately needed.

~*~

Spencer wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He found himself awkwardly moving close to you, then pulling back, reaching out as if to take your hand, then stopping himself. The hesitation gnawed at him, torn between wanting to hold your hand and maintaining a respectful distance.

Was it too soon? Was there a rule about holding hands on the first date?

He mentally sifted through his limited experiences, trying to recall any useful advice or guidelines. But all he could think about was how natural it had felt to dance with you, to be close to you. He glanced over, catching the soft glow of the streetlights across your face. You looked serene, content, and he wished he could just follow his instincts without second-guessing every move.

“What?” You asked without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?

He quickly directed his gaze away from you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You turned to him with a small, amused smile. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

He hesitated as you both continued to walk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps blending with the quiet night. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment. I guess I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I wanted to hold your hand,” he blurted, his face flushing slightly. “But I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. I didn’t want to seem too forward or make you uncomfortable. I’m sure there’s a whole rule to this that I don’t know about, and I’ve been overthinking it the entire walk.”

You chuckled softly. “Spencer, you don’t need to worry so much.”

He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… can I hold your hand?”

“Of course, you can,” you replied. “I’d really like that.”

His face lit up as he reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You laughed at his boyish smile. “So this is why you’ve been silent this whole time?”

“I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“And here I thought you didn’t want to talk to me because you didn’t enjoy my company.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, not at all! I was just worried about doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong tonight.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face. “Really?”

“Well, except for making me wait for a whole hour.”

He winced at your words. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t worry. The flowers were worth the wait,” you said, holding up the bouquet in your other hand. “And besides, I enjoyed dancing with you, I had a great time talking to you, and now you’re walking me home, which is definitely a bonus point.”

“So you’re keeping scores?” He asked, finding this conversation amusing. “What’s my score now?”

You pretended to think, a smile playing on your lips. “Well, punctuality could use some work, but excellent choice in flowers, charming dance skills, and chivalrous escort service? I’d say you’re doing quite well. Maybe an eight out of ten?”

“An eight? What happened to the last two points?”

“You need to earn them.”

“How?”

You slowed your pace, pulling him to a stop under a streetlight.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He hesitated for a moment, then complied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shut his eyes.

“Okay. Now what?”

You stood on your toes, trying to match his height, and leaned in close. Then, with a quick flutter of excitement, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise. “I—uh, what—”

You just laughed, a light and carefree sound that cut through the night. “You just gained another point, Dr. Reid.”

Before he knew it, you turned and dashed away, your laughter trailing behind you playfully. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, and, almost without thinking, he started chasing after you.

Spencer wasn't sure why he was running, or even why this felt like the most natural thing to do, but he didn't care. Your laughter was infectious, and when he finally caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn't stop laughing.

"Got you," he said, grinning as he met your gaze.

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. There was a certain glow about you, a warmth that seemed to radiate across your face. His gaze then drifted down to your lips, slightly parted and still bearing the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest.

He liked seeing you like this. You always looked so confident and poised, but now you seemed... happy. There was a lightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before, and like a moth to a flame, he wanted to bask in your warmth.

Without thinking, he slowly closed the gap between you, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, and then, gently, he kissed you.

Your lips were so soft.

He had imagined they would be, but not like this—not as delicate, not as perfectly in sync with his. The sensation was more than he had ever expected, more than he had allowed himself to hope for. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, and the soft moan that escaped you urged him even further.

He pulled you closer, and you parted your lips to invite him in. The moment his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was lost in the rush of flavors and sensations. Your tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, savoring every second while everything around him started to blur into shadows and muffled sounds.

He was so engrossed, so utterly consumed by the taste of you, that he completely forgot he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared that reality snapped back into focus. Pulling slightly away, he turned his head towards the sound and met the stern gaze of an older woman passing by.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling incredibly flustered. The woman simply huffed and continued on her way, shaking her head.

You giggled as you reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “I thought you weren’t good with this sort of thing.”

“I’m not,” he assured you, his thumb gently brushing your sides. “This is... definitely a first for me.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t usually make out with girls on busy sidewalks?”

The laugh he let out sounded almost ludicrous, as if the image of him kissing girls in public seemed completely out of character, out of place—until now, to his surprise.

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

You smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

You walked together, and Spencer took your hand again. His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously, as if he wanted to imprint the way your hand felt into his memory. He was acutely aware of the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly with his. And this sense of wanting to hold onto you grew even stronger when you finally arrived at your building.

“This is me,” you said softly, turning to face him.

He looked down at your intertwined hands. “This is you.”

There was a brief, tense silence before you softly called out his name. He met your gaze, and dear god, how could he let go when you looked at him like that? He was mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled under the light, the soft curve of your smile, the gentle confidence in your stance.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how you can earn your last point?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your question, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “How can I earn my last point?”

Then he saw it, the same glint in your eyes that he had noticed when you were dancing on stage. It was a look filled with flirtation, exuding sex appeal and confidence. The way your eyes sparkled under the ambient light, the subtle but assured smile playing on your lips, all pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing and enjoyed the game just as much as the outcome.

“Well,” you started. “How about you come upstairs and we can figure it out together?”

Spencer’s heart raced at your words. He might not have had much experience when it came to dating, but he knew the look on your face all too well because he was sure he had the same expression. His eyes fell to your lips.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Because you’re trying to remain professional?” You asked, recalling his exact words the other night. “Spencer, I think you’ve long forgotten about that the moment you agreed to spend the evening with me.”

He felt a rush of warmth at your words, realizing just how right you were. The boundaries he usually upheld seemed irrelevant now, replaced by the desire to be closer to you. He sighed, the tension easing slightly as he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

You stepped closer, your smile seductive. “So, how about we stop worrying about what’s appropriate and just enjoy ourselves?”

He was going to regret this.

“What do you have in mind?”

He was really going to regret this.

“I think you already know what I have in mind.”

Oh, screw it. If regret was the price he had to bear, then he was willing to pay it.

~*~

The crowd pulsed when you stepped out into the main area, heels clicking sharply against the floor. You took in the scene before you, passing sleazy men, some slipping tips to a dancer on stage, others getting lap dances in the dimly lit corners. A group of men in sharp suits whistled when they spotted you, and you winked at them, flipping your hair back with a playful gesture before continuing on.

You could feel heavy stares watching your every move, but despite being in a room full of men, there was only one man you had your eyes on.

You spotted him by the bar with a drink in his hand, and despite your meticulous planning to bring him back here to observe him, the sight of the man who ripped off your dreams as a naive sixteen-year-old girl never failed to ignite a burning rage within you. You wondered whether his memory was as vivid as yours, if he remembered the disgusting things he had done. But there was never any sign of recognition in his eyes, just as there hadn’t been in the eyes of the three before him.

They all thought you were just a woman trying to make ends meet, working every night in this dark place by taking your clothes off on stage. To them, you were just another pretty face, another body to gawk at. They believed you were just another girl trapped in the cycle of survival, oblivious to the deadly game you were playing.

You had crafted this persona carefully, every move, every word designed to lure them in, to make them feel comfortable, even powerful. They had no idea that you held their fate in your hands. You made them think they were taking advantage of a desperate woman, but in reality, they were the ones being manipulated, guided like pawns towards their inevitable downfall.

And tonight, it was his turn. The last of the men who had tainted your innocence.

You slipped into the empty stool beside him, a coy smile playing on your lips. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”

He turned towards you, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, your voice a soft purr. The words were easy, almost natural.

“You’ve been quite the distraction for me,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You laughed lightly. “Good, because I aim to please.”

“And you’re very pleasing to look at,” he agreed, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “You have a way of captivating an audience.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I have such a dedicated fan.” You leaned loser so your shoulders brushed. “What brings you here tonight? A fight with the missus?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s out of town.”

You knew that already. You knew his schedule as well as he did, if not better. But you feigned innocence, like you always did.

“Lucky me then,” you replied with a flirtatious tilt of your head. “It means I get to have you all to myself tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised interest. “I really couldn’t stop thinking about you lately.”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Really? What exactly have you been thinking?”

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to spend some real time with you. Away from the club.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what exactly would we do with that time?”

His hand brushed against your thigh under the table, a bold move that was more telling than any words. “I think you know what I mean.”

You pulled back slightly, giving him a flirtatious look. “You know it’s against the rules to do anything too... personal here. The club has strict policies about that sort of thing.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for more than just a dance.”

You smiled slyly, your eyes locking onto his with a promise. “Who says we have to stay here?”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, brushing your fingers along his arm. “We could go somewhere else…” you murmured, your hand continuing a path up his shoulder, tracing the line of his suit jacket. “Somewhere we can really enjoy each other’s company.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “Like where?”

You let your lips brush his ear. “How about your place? Your wife isn't there, we can use it however we want.”

There was a pause as he considered your words. You could see the wheels turning, the temptation playing across his face. Sensing his uncertainty, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your fingertips.

“Think about it,” you coaxed softly, your voice a seductive whisper. “Just you and me, no rules, no eyes watching...” Your body inched closer to his. “It’ll be our little secret.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation, the earlier reluctance fading away under your touch. “Alright,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s go back to my place.”

You smiled triumphantly, standing up, brushing the nonexistent dust on his shoulders. “Meet me at the back exit in five. I need to grab my purse.”

He nodded excitedly as he watched you walk away, mesmerized by the confidence in the sway of your hips. But the moment you stepped into the dressing room, your façade cracked.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as you fought to keep your composure. The walls seemed to close in, the air thinning around you as if suffocating you under the weight of your own emotions. Your breath became shallow, the world spinning slightly as a wave of dizziness and anger overwhelmed you all at once.

You slowly forced yourself to move, your feet dragging you over towards the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. The confident, seductive woman from moments was now replaced with a figure trembling under the weight of her memories.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the past rushed back in a wave of emotion. The image of the young girl you once were, the girl whose dreams had been shattered by the man waiting for you outside, seemed to blend itself over your reflection. The pain, the anger, the helplessness—it all came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you couldn’t let it. Not now.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you straightened up, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. You grabbed your purse and checked its contents one last time, making sure everything was in place, and checked your phone.

There was a message.

Your eyes welled up with tears again as you saw the name glaring back at you.

Dr. Reid :)

Just seeing his name was breaking your heart. He had been trying to contact you for days now, ever since that night you spent together. The night that had been a brief, beautiful distraction from the dark path you were on. He was kind, gentle, and you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

Each message was harder to ignore than the last, and he wasn’t just reaching out; he was trying to reach in. His words were always kind, always thoughtful.

I had a great time. Can we meet again?

Just thinking about you. Hope you're okay.

Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart?

His random messages of facts always made you smile because it was so authentically him—something you had never encountered before. And every time he tried to contact you, the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crack. You longed to reach out to him, to relive those short moments of happiness that had brought a rare light into your life. But you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, it would only weaken your resolve.

So you had been avoiding him, giving excuses about being busy or not feeling well. His presence had a way of grounding you, and you couldn’t afford that now, not when you were so close to the end.

Your eyes fell to your phone again. Despite the knot tightening in your stomach, despite knowing how much it would hurt, you clicked open the message.

Can I see you tonight?

The words on the screen blurred as your grip tightened. A part of you wanted to see him again, to have his arms wrapped around your body, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. But surrendering to these desires would only put you in danger. It was only a matter of time until he saw through your act, and until then, you needed to move fast.

Because you knew that if you let him in, if you opened that door, you wouldn't be able to follow through with your plan. The plan that had consumed you for so long, and now with the final act right in front of you, you couldn't afford any distractions.

So you took a deep breath and crafted another lie.

I have work tonight. I'm sorry.

~*~

Spencer stared at the message, a frown creasing his forehead. Had he done something wrong?

He couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding him. He replayed the evening in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word exchanged. It had felt perfect to him—the connection, the chemistry. But now, your constant excuses and distant responses gnawed at him. Had he misread everything? Had he been too forward, or was there something he had missed?

"Reid?" Derek's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You were saying?”

Derek opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Penelope entered the conference room with a laptop in her hand. "You guys are gonna love me," she sang, setting the device down.

“You found anything?” Derek asked.

“Remember that blurry picture of the tattoo you sent me a few days ago?” she turned her laptop screen towards them, showing a detailed emblem that was now clearly visible. "This isn't just any tattoo—it's mandatory for the members of a local club known for their… exclusive membership.”

“What kind of club?”

Penelope clicked through a few more screens, bringing up information she had compiled. “It’s a bit underground, not your typical social club. It appears to be part social, part cultural, but there are hints of something more... let's just say, illegal activities.”

“And all members have this tattoo?”

“Yep, it’s like a symbol of loyalty, almost like a badge of honor.”

Spencer felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Is it… The Velvet Curtain?”

Penelope shook her head, typing quickly to bring up a comparison on her screen.

“No, The Velvet Curtain is just a fancy, exclusive strip club. This one, on the other hand…” She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she chose her words carefully, “...is much more secretive and, from what I can tell, much more dangerous. Think less about glamour and more about power and control."

“What kind of activities are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual gambling and trafficking,” Penelope said dryly, scrolling through her screen. “I think you guys should check this out after we wrap up the case.”

Derek ignored her jab and crossed his arms. “So our victim can be anyone, which doesn't narrow it down much.” He turned to Penelope. “How many members are we talking about?”

“Over three hundred registered members.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Have you tried cross-referencing the members with Rick Sullivan?" Spencer suggested. "He might be our best lead.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up new data. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Got it!”

Derek leaned in. “We have a name?”

Penelope quickly brought up a profile. “James Dalton, went to college with Rick. Mid-30s, a manager at a tech firm, lives in the suburbs with his family…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “...and was reported missing a week ago.”

Spencer frowned, piecing it together. “He could be our John Doe.”

Penelope nodded, already typing away. “I’m cross-referencing his dental records and fingerprints as we speak.”

“You can do that?”

“You underestimate me, pretty boy,” she quipped with a smirk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her screen to flash with the confirmation she needed. “It’s a match. James Dalton is our John Doe. The dental records line up perfectly.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the news. Derek ran a hand over his face, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Did Rick and James ever contact each other after college?”

Penelope shook her head, scrolling through her data. “No, there’s no evidence of any recent communications. It looks like they hadn't been in touch for years until... well, until whatever pulled them back together recently.”

Spencer leaned closer to get a better view of Penelope’s screen. “Can you check his bank records? There could be any mutual transactions between them.”

“Pulling up his financials now,” she said, her eyes scanning the data that populated her screen. Moments later, she pointed at a series of numbers. “There are no mutual transactions… oh wow.”

“What is it?”

“He spent a lot of money over the past few months,” Penelope continued, her eyes wide with surprise. “We’re talking significant amounts.”

“Where?”

She looked up at him. “The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt the blood drain from his body. It was as if a heavy, sinking feeling took hold, the kind that grips the stomach and pulls down hard. At first, he thought of your safety. The club you worked at was linked to the case, and worse, even directly to the victims. This connection sent chills down his spine, filling him with dread.

But the more he thought about it, especially when his mind replayed how you had been avoiding him lately, the worse his feelings grew. His concern turned into suspicion, and then that suspicion morphed into a sense of betrayal. Were you involved in this? Were you hiding something from him?

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t. You were too kind, too genuine. There had to be another explanation.

“Reid, let’s go.”

Spencer looked up to see Derek standing by the door. “Where?”

“We need to go back there,” Derek said firmly. “We’re missing something.”

Spencer’s badge felt heavier than usual, the gun on his hip weighing him down. His mind was clouded with doubt, his heart pounding with anxiety. He always considered himself as someone who was confident when it came to his job, a man of knowledge who could win an argument with facts and logic. But now the lines of right and wrong seemed to blurred and he found himself questioning even his own judgment.

He let out a heavy breath. There was nothing else he could do but to follow Derek out of the room. He needed to see this through, for justice, for his peace of mind, and perhaps, for your innocence he hoped to prove.

~*~

You weren’t here.

I have work tonight, I’m sorry.

You weren’t here.

Spencer was trying to come up with excuses for your disappearance. Maybe you got sick. Maybe there was an emergency. His mind went through plausible scenarios, but none seemed to fit quite right, and his curiosity continued to gnaw at him. He braced himself and approached the club owner, hoping to gain some information under the pretense of connecting you as a witness.

The man, with a burly frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl etched on his face, barely let Spencer get the words out.

“She was here,” the owner grumbled. “Her set was half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. If I find out she’s skipping out on work again…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.

Spencer felt his heart sank. “Again?”

He nodded gruffly. “Yeah, she’s been a bit unreliable lately. Shows up late, leaves early. It’s becoming a problem.”

“Did she mention anything to you?”

“She never says much. Keeps to herself mostly. If she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s not talking about it.” He gave Spencer a once-over. “You know her personally?”

Caught off-guard, Spencer quickly shook his head. “No. I’ve just heard she might have some useful information on the case we’re working on.”

The owner seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. “Well, good luck with that. If you find her, tell her she’s got some explaining to do.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him even more. The pressure in his chest was almost suffocating. He knew he needed to focus on trying to find out anything about James Dalton, but his mind kept turning to you, unable to shake the fear that something terrible had happened, or worse, or worse, that you might somehow be involved.

“What was that all about?”

He looked up to see Derek watching him closely. “Nothing.”

Derek studied him for a moment, noting the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes darted away. “Reid, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine."

“You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”

“I know,” he snapped. Then he sighed, his expression softening. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just focus on the case.”

Derek studied him for a moment longer, wanting to press further, but was stopped when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Penelope’s name, and quickly switched it to speaker.

“Found something new?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Penelope's voice came through with urgency. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”

“No, nothing solid on our end,” Derek replied, glancing at Spencer who remained focused but visibly tense. “What did you find?"

“I think you should take this somewhere private,” Penelope suggested cautiously.

Derek nodded, catching Spencer’s eye and motioning for him to follow. They navigated through the bustling backstage area, moving past busy staff and performers until they spotted an empty dressing room. He ushered Spencer inside and shut the door behind them.

“We’re out of earshot,” Derek confirmed, his tone low. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, listen,” Penelope began, her voice serious. “I’ve been digging into the pasts of the two victims we identified and I found something disturbing that was buried deep in their college history. It took a lot of digging because it was almost completely erased from the public record.”

“What did you find?”

“There were reports of a group of men, including Sullivan and Dalton, who were accused of sexually assaulting a high school student who was a minor. The details were sketchy and it seems there was a significant effort to cover it up. The case never went to trial, the reports were sealed.”

“How many men were involved?”

“Four. Sullivan, Dalton, Mark Eldridge, and Robert Lawson.” There were some clicking noises in the background before Penelope continued, “Mark Eldridge was reportedly missing a few days ago, and I cross-checked his dental records with our second John Doe—it was a match.”

Derek let out a sigh. “This looks like some kind of revenge plot.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell us about Lawson?”

Penelope quickly typed in a few commands. “Robert Lawson lives on the outskirts of town. He’s maintained a low profile over the years, but nothing in his recent history suggests he’s aware of the danger he might be in.”

Derek nodded, absorbing the information. “Alright, send us his address. We need to get to him before the Unsub does.”

“Sending it now,” Penelope confirmed.

“Garcia?”

Derek looked up to see Spencer standing at the edge of the room, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. His posture was tense, his face pale, and his breathing uneven. It was the most uncharacteristic of him Derek had ever seen.

“Who was the victim?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost strained.

There was a brief pause as Penelope searched through her files. “Y/N L/N,” she answered quietly. “She was a high school student at the time, just sixteen. The case was buried deep, but it’s all here—she was threatened, her family was paid off, and the whole thing was hushed up.”

Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “And where is she now?”

Another pause, this one more tense, as Penelope gathered the final piece of information.

“She’s a dancer at The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt his world tilt. The realization hit him like a freight train, his heart dropping like a stone into the depths of his stomach. It was as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to ice, sending him slipping into a dizzying spin of shock and disbelief. The pieces clicked together with the painful precision of a knife twisting in his gut. All the clues that had seemed disconnected before suddenly formed a clear, devastating picture.

“Reid.”

He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight with a constricting panic. The room closed in around him, the walls seeming to press closer with each labored breath.

“Reid.”

The reality made him feel sick.

“Reid!”

He needed to get out of here.

His feet carried him toward the door, pushing him outside to breathe. The fresh air hit his face, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his lungs.

“Reid, I need you to talk to me,” Derek’s voice followed behind him.

Spencer leaned against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his racing heart and chaotic thoughts. He struggled to find the words, the horror of the situation crashing over him like a relentless wave.

“What happened?”

He stared at Derek through blurry eyes. “It’s her,” he managed to choke out. “I-I didn’t know it was her…”

“Reid.” Derek stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Spencer looked up at him, the pain suffocating his chest, building up inside until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The words began tumbling out of his lips.

He told him everything. How you approached him that first night they came to the club, how you stood out in the crowd. He described the spark in your eyes when you had asked him out on a date and how hesitant he was at first until his curiosity got the better of him.

He recalled that night, how he felt a connection he hadn't known was missing. He told Derek about the conversations you shared, the laughter between you, and how deeply fulfilling it felt to be with someone who seemed to truly get him, a happiness he hadn't known before.

Derek stared at him when he finished. There was no judgment in his eyes, far from it, but what Spencer saw was even worse—it was pity.

“Reid…”

Spencer shook his head, trying to dismiss Derek’s sympathy that made him feel so exposed. “I know what this looks like,” he cut in quickly. “But you have to understand, it felt—everything with her felt real.”

“I know, I know. I believe you, man, it’s just—”Derek sighed. “You’re too involved in this.”

Spencer met his gaze. “I never wanted to be this involved.”

Derek let out another sigh, something he couldn’t stop doing when the person he considered as his little brother was going through so much pain. He took out his phone from his pocket. “Look, let me call Hotch and tell him to send someone else—”

Spencer quickly grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him from dialing. “No,” he insisted. “I need to do this. I want to see her.”

“I don’t think—“

“I have to,” Spencer pleaded. “I need to. I can’t… I just… I need to see her.”

“Reid, she’s dangerous. She’s killed three men before, and there’s a chance she might do the same to you.”

Spencer shook his head. “What she’s doing is for revenge, you said that yourself. She won’t hurt me.”

“But—“

“Morgan, please,” Spencer interrupted, the desperation clear in his voice. “Let me talk to her. This might be my only chance.”

Derek watched him closely, seeing the pain and determination in his eyes. It was clear Spencer wasn’t going to back down, and understanding this, he finally gave in.

“Fine. But we’re taking every precaution, okay? You’re not going in alone.” Spencer nodded gratefully. “And I’m still calling for backup.”

“Of course,” he agreed, watching Derek turn around.

Spencer silently followed him back to the car as he replayed every moment without you. He tried to search for any clues he might have missed, wondering how he had been so blind, so caught up in his feelings. The thought of you being the one behind those murders was too much for him to bear, yet he knew he had to confront you. He had to know why you did it. He had to know whether any of those moments you shared together was as magical for you as it was for him, even though he was scared of the answers, of this new, cruel reality.

He just had to see you, no matter how painful it might be.

~*~

Your last victim was the easiest. You’d think he would have struggled a bit, or maybe he’d see right through your act. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had seen you, and sure, you might have looked different, but you still had the same features from when you were young. Your eyes. Your smile. You were still you, just older.

But he never noticed, because as soon as you started to seduce him, he was just like the others. All they sought was your body, or the thought of it, the fantasy they spun so easily in their minds. You realized that another thing that hadn’t changed was their disgusting perception of you, not as a person, but as an object for their desires.

Despite their oblivious nature, it came to your benefit. It was easy to put the drug in his drink, not much, but enough to make him drowsy. Enough for his body to go limp so you could tie his hands behind his back easily. You could see his brows creasing as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You knew the sedative was starting to get to his brain.

You managed to drag his body to his study. You had pulled him by his feet, his head occasionally bumping along the floor. He groaned but didn’t do much, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His eyes, heavy and confused, flickered with a dim recognition of his state, a useless attempt to grasp the situation that was slowly escaping his control.

And you loved it.

“W-What…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “…help…”

You left him there to struggle as you grabbed the can of gasoline from his backyard, which you had hidden there that morning when he was at work. You wondered briefly if he had noticed it when he came back home, but just like the others, he was oblivious. It was still right where you left it.

You carried it back into the study and noticed his eyes widening slightly, a fear starting to seep through his confusion. You unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell filling the room, and stared down at him.

That was when you heard the ringing.

It was a loud, jarring noise and your eyes settled onto the house phone sitting on his desk. The sound was out of place, cutting through the tension-filled silence like a knife as you waited for it to stop. It kept on going, on and on, until the answering machine clicked on, and a familiar voice cut through the room, calling out your name.

You let out a cry. The sound of Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed in your ears, the voice you had hoped to avoid was now invading this moment.

“Pick up the phone,” he pleaded. “Please.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was already starting to shake your defenses.

The call ended not long after that. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. But then the phone rang again. This time, his message was more desperate.

“Talk to me, please, I know what you’ve been through... I just want to help.”

The gasoline can shook in your grip. Help was the last thing you needed. “I don't want any help," you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible over his voice cutting through the answering machine.

“I-I’ll be here if you need me, you don't have to go through this alone.”

"I don't want any help.”

But he kept on, his voice calm yet insistent. "I know you're in pain, but this—this isn't the way to solve things. Answer me, please, let me help—“

It was your last straw. You finally snatched up the phone. "I don't want any help!"

You were met with a stunned silence on the other end. It was deafening, stretching out long enough for the reality of who was on the other end to sink in.

“…Spencer?”

“I’m here,” he replied softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hearing his voice, so familiar and filled with genuine care, made you pause. For a split second, the walls you had built around your heart trembled. You wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but a part of you longed for his presence.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you not going anywhere?”

“Because I…” There was a pause. “Because I care about you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “You do?”

“I do,” he confessed. “More than I should have.”

You sniffed, gently placing the gasoline on top of the wooden surface of the desk. “Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?” You wondered, recalling the same question you had asked him days ago.

“You know it was never about that,” he said. “But you’re smart enough to know the real reason.”

You glanced back at the man lying on the floor, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and labored. Spencer’s voice rang in your ears again.

“Don’t do this… please.”

You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll give you three,” he responded quickly. “One, you’re not a bad person.”

Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Two, you deserve a chance to find real peace.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, the resolve in your heart wavering.

“And three,” Spencer’s voice softened. “Because I want to dance with you again.”

The memory of that night, the connection you felt, rushed back, overwhelming your rage that you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “Yeah?”

“I want you to teach me again,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m still not very good at it.”

The image of the two of you dancing at the bar brought a bittersweet ache to your heart. But it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the anger, the deep-seated rage that had driven you for so long.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the phone, the words escaping in a breath so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

Spencer heard it, though. “Don’t say that. It’s not over,” he pleaded. “We can still have more nights out, more dances.”

“Spencer, stop.”

“Think about it,” he continued, his voice softening as he tried a different approach. “Your family, they would rather take the money than fight for you. They left you to fend for yourself when you needed them the most.”

“Spencer…”

“And you’ve carried that weight for so long. You’ve been so strong, but now you’re not alone, you have me. So don’t let their choices define you,” he muttered. “You’re better than this.”

His words struck a nerve.

“Better than this?” You suddenly snapped, anger flaring up again. “You don’t know me. Just because we had one date, it doesn’t mean you understand what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t know everything you’ve been through,” Spencer admitted. “But I know pain. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and betrayed.”

He paused, the line silent for a moment before he continued with a heavy sigh.

“When I was in school, a girl asked me to meet her by the school field one day… only for the football team to show up instead. They tied me up to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of all the students.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone laughed and stared, and no one did anything to stop them.”

You knew what he was trying to do. And partly, it worked. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. You imagined how sad it must have been for him, how traumatic and devastating that experience must have been. It was heartbreaking to picture him in that situation. But despite your sympathy, it didn’t suppress the anger inside you.

As painful as his story sounded, you knew you’d rather take his place instead of enduring what you had experienced.

“Spencer, it’s not the same,” you said, your voice trembling. “What they did to you was horrible, but what happened to me… it destroyed everything.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he replied quietly. “But pain is pain. And it doesn’t have to define us. We can choose—“

“Pain is pain?” You cried, finally letting go of the tears you had been holding back. “You know what’s painful? Hearing your story and the first thing that came up to my mind was how I’d rather take your place, because unlike you, those men didn’t stop after they stripped me naked.”

The anger boiled over, and you couldn't stop yourself, tears streamed down your face as raw, unfiltered pain poured out in your words.

"Do you know what it feels like to be young and helpless? To have four men twice your size assault you?" You screamed, losing any semblance of control you had left. "Do you fucking know how it feels to see these disgusting men get away with everything while you have to endure the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear every single day?"

Your voice broke, heavy sobs wracking your body.

"Do you know how it feels to be broken, to be so destroyed that you can't even look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see?”

Silence fell, your heavy breathing the only sound in the aftermath of your outburst. Spencer's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course, you didn’t. Because you’re a man, after all.” You picked up the gasoline again, the weight heavy in your hand. “You’re just like them… all you want to do is to save them.”

“That’s not what I—”

“And you’re fucking wasting my time.”

You slammed the phone down, cutting off the connection.

You moved on instinct. You looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes half-open, barely conscious. You regarded him one last time before you poured the gasoline over his body. The fumes rose in the air as you spread the liquid around the room, creating a trail that led to the door. At some point, one of your heels cracked, and you kicked them off, feeling the cold ground beneath your feet. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing compared to the gravity of what you were about to do.

When you finally reached a safe distance from the house, you paused, taking one last deep breath, throwing the empty can onto the ground. The weight of your past, your pain, and your anger all converged in this single moment. You took out the lighter, your hands trembling as the reality of what you were about to do settled in.

You flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night air. For a moment, you were transfixed by it, the flickering light a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Everything you had endured, everything that had brought you to this point, seemed to hinge on this tiny flame.

With a flick of your hand, you let it fall to the ground.

The flame kissed the trail of gasoline, igniting it instantly. The fire took life, racing along the path with a hunger that matched your own rage. It moved back toward the house, consuming everything it touched, fueled by the fume and your deep-seated desire for retribution.

The flames grew and the fire roared louder, its crackling sound filling the silence of the night. The house began to catch, the flames eagerly climbing the walls. The sight was mesmerizing yet horrifying, and you stood rooted to the spot, the fire reflecting in your eyes, casting light on the tears that streaked down your face.

You felt a smile forming on your lips.

So this was what it felt like, to watch the ashes drift through the air. To smell the acid scent of smoke. To feel the heat envelop you, wrapping your body like a suffocating blanket. To hear the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath. It was beautiful, and you were mesmerized by the flames, the destruction—they were your creation, your justice.

But deep down, it was so much more than that. This wasn’t just for you, but for everyone else who had been silenced, who couldn’t do anything. You realized your anger was more than just a personal vendetta. It was a voice for the voiceless, a stand against those who had used their power to hurt and destroy.

You thought of all the others who had been through the same hell, who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone, who had been dismissed by a system that should have protected them.

The fire was for them, too.

You continued to watch the flame dance through the night sky, and that was when you heard it, the distant sound of vehicles approaching you. The crunch of gravel under tires grew louder and you stayed rooted where you were.

There was no running from this, no escaping what was to come. You had chosen this path, you had already accepted the consequences long before the first match was struck.

As you turned around, a group of people in FBI vests came rushing out, some frantically calling for backup as they watched the fire consume the house, while a few others pointed their weapons towards you. But your eyes were fixed on the man who had given you a glimpse of hope, the man who had tried to save you.

You felt tears streaming down your face as Spencer approached you, and you sobbed uncontrollably, the reality of what you had done sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I-I had to do it.”

“Reid.”

An older FBI agent standing close called him, his tone a clear warning, but Derek, the other agent who you had also seen at the club, placed a hand on his shoulder. The older agent hesitated, then remained silent, allowing Spencer to approach you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance. The confident woman he had always known was nowhere to be found, replaced by this version of you—vulnerable, sad, and angry at the world. The sight of you barefoot, the dirt and grime clinging to your skin, made it even more heartbreaking. Your hair was disheveled, your face was streaked with tears. The raw emotion in your eyes tore at his heart.

“I—I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

You let out a choked sob. “I… I-I really had fun that night.”

Spencer nodded helplessly. “It was the best night of my life.”

Your sobs grew louder, feeling the air restrict your lungs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to do it again.”

He shook his head. “We could.”

“You know well we couldn’t,” you murmured. The pain in his eyes after those words left your mouth was too much—that raw, unguarded hurt—and you had to close your eyes, not wanting to see it.

In that brief darkness you wondered what would have happened if you had never gone through with any of this. Would you still have crossed his path? Would things have been different? But no, your rage was too consuming, too deep-seated for you to second guess the path you had chosen.

His soft voice whispered your name, and you blinked your eyes open, noticing his outstretched arm.

“Dance with me.”

You let out a painful cry. “Spencer… don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Please, I… I just want to hold you.” You stared at his hand trembling under the firelight. “Please.”

You had never felt so much pain, a crushing weight on your heart, and against your better judgment, you took his hand. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as if trying to memorize every detail of your body pressed against his.

The world seemed to pause. You let your mind be happy for a while, you let it travel to the simple, mundane things you wished you could do with him—walking hand in hand through a park, sharing quiet breakfasts, laughing together over something silly, and feeling his comforting presence beside you during the small, quiet times in bed.

You dreamed of a life where your past didn’t haunt you, where the weight of your decisions didn’t crush your spirit. You dreamed of waking up to his smile, of whispered conversations in the dark, of his naked body pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear. You allowed yourself to fantasize of a life filled with those ordinary, beautiful moments, a life that felt so achingly close yet so painfully out of reach.

But the fire’s glow around you was a reminder of the reality you couldn’t escape. Still, for a few moments, the night around you seemed to fade, the chaos and destruction reduced to a distant backdrop. His hands were gentle on your back, holding you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, someone to be loved.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, those deep brown eyes you knew you were going to miss. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The sorrow there was mirrored in your own, a mutual recognition of the pain you both felt. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The color of your eyes, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice. He wanted to remember you for a lifetime.

With tears streaming down your face, you leaned into him, savoring the bittersweet moment. You ignored everything around you. The noise, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

And nothing else did.

So you danced for the last time, holding on to each other desperately, each step a silent prayer, each turn a tender goodbye, as the world continued to burn.

~*~

“Can't seem to hold you like I want to,

So I can feel you in my arms.

Nobody's gonna come and save you,

We pulled too many false alarms.”

~*~

A/n: If you managed to make it to the end, I applaud you! Thank you from taking the time to read this fic. I’m very self conscious about this because not only does it have 14k words, the plot is also very heavy. But I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope you liked it too. Also, I could go on and on about why I chose this specific plot, but I’d be talking too much here. So if you want to further discuss this story, feel free to send me asks. I’ll gladly reply to them <3

#lou’s birthday party🎉#unsub reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #angst #dark fic #angst with no happy ending

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fratttymatty · 3 months ago

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The Card That Changed Everything

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Novak had always been the quintessential "nerd" in high school. At 18, he was just a few weeks away from graduating, a proud member of the debate team, the editor of the school newspaper, and a staunch liberal in a town that was a bit more on the conservative side. With thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a backpack full of books slung over one shoulder, he had always felt a little out of place. His friends, a small but close-knit group of fellow "outsiders," often joked that if the high school hierarchy were a pyramid, he’d be firmly planted at the bottom, right next to the chess club.

Elliot had been expecting a quiet, uneventful Friday night. But when his best friend, Max, invited him over for a game night, he reluctantly agreed. It was nothing too out of the ordinary—just a few games of Uno and maybe some pizza. What he didn’t expect was that this seemingly innocent night would change his life forever.

It started innocently enough. The group—Max, his girlfriend Lily, and Sarah from the drama club—sat around Max’s living room, laughing and talking as they shuffled the colorful cards. The first few rounds of Uno passed without incident. Elliot was his usual self: sarcastic, quick-witted, and, as always, a little too passionate about winning.

Then came the final game of the night. For some reason, the cards seemed to fall differently. He felt a strange energy in the room, a kind of buzz that seemed to hum in his ears. It was Max who had drawn the last card, and as he placed it down, there was a sudden flash of light, so brief that no one noticed—except Elliot.

The world seemed to tilt.

He blinked, disoriented, trying to shake the odd feeling of vertigo. The room appeared the same, but everything felt… different. He looked down at his hands, which were suddenly larger, more muscular, the knuckles rougher. His clothes felt tighter, almost too tight. As if on instinct, he reached up to adjust his glasses, but they weren’t there.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his voice coming out deeper, rougher than usual.

Max, still grinning from winning the last round, glanced over. “You okay, man?”

Elliot’s heart started to race as he realized something was wrong. He glanced at the mirror across the room, and for a moment, he barely recognized the reflection staring back at him. His once lean, skinny body had transformed into something broader, more defined—his arms, his chest, his jawline—all of it seemed so different. His short, curly brown hair was now dark and tousled in thick, messy curls, and his face, still familiar in shape, had lost its nerdy softness, replaced by the sharp angles of a confident, athletic young man.

He was no longer the bookish Elliot Novak. In the mirror, staring back at him, was someone new.

“Max, I don’t… I don’t think I’m okay,” Elliot’s—no, his new voice—sounded unfamiliar, confident in a way it had never been before.

“Dude, you’re acting weird. What’s wrong?” Max asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I… I feel different,” Elliot murmured. But as he spoke, he didn’t feel the anxiety or the usual sense of out-of-place-ness he had grown accustomed to. Instead, there was something else—a surge of confidence, a sense of power. A feeling of certainty.

He was no longer Elliot Novak. He was Ethan Cole.

Ethan ran his fingers through his new head of tousled, dark brown curls, noticing how it felt different, more natural than his old look ever had. He straightened his back, feeling the strength in his spine, the ease of standing tall. He had always been awkward about his body, but now it was as if he had been molded into something new, something purposeful.

Max looked him up and down, his eyes widening. “Holy crap, Elliot, what the hell happened to you?”

The name Elliot felt wrong in Ethan's mouth. "It’s Ethan, man. You know, like… the name that suits me," he said with an easy smirk, not understanding why he was suddenly so at ease with himself. A new sense of self-assurance flooded his veins, and he felt an overwhelming desire to flex his muscles, to show off this newfound strength.

"You're acting weird," Max muttered, unsure what to make of this transformation. But Ethan was already adjusting to his new life.

He looked at the game of Uno, now discarded on the floor, and the realization hit him. It was the game, the card. It had changed everything, even his very identity. But rather than panic, he felt a strange sense of… relief.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't miss being the old Elliot. Being Ethan felt right. His thoughts began to align with his new persona—no more arguing about social justice issues, no more complicated liberal viewpoints. No, now he saw things clearly. The world was about competition, dominance, and personal achievement. It made sense. Everything made sense.

And the people around him? They weren’t so different from him anymore. He gave Max a friendly clap on the back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro. But we should hit the gym sometime, huh?”

Max blinked in surprise. “Uh… sure, man. That actually sounds good.”

But something in Max had shifted too. His posture straightened, his eyes narrowed with sudden focus, and an unexpected grin spread across his face. “Yeah, you’re right. I could use a solid workout. We should start lifting.”

As if by magic, Max’s transformation mirrored Ethan’s. His body began to tighten and firm up, his once lean frame now more muscular, shoulders broader, chest more defined. His hair, always scruffy, seemed to grow thicker, more styled—almost like it had a purpose now. He gave Ethan a playful shove. “Maybe I’ll even beat you at this gym thing.”

Ethan grinned. “You can try.”

The two exchanged a knowing look, as if they were already bonding over something bigger than just physical strength. It was a new world, one where power and confidence ruled. For Ethan, it felt like a natural fit.

As the evening wore on, Ethan felt something else—something different in the air. Kassie, Max’s girlfriend, had been sitting on the couch, watching their interactions. She was the type of girl who didn’t usually give Ethan much attention. But now, there was something new about him—something magnetic, something that drew her in.

She looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the way his new curls framed his face. She smiled slowly. “Ethan, right? I’ve gotta say, you’re looking good.”

Ethan felt his chest puff with pride. “Thanks, Kassie. You’re not so bad yourself.”

She laughed lightly, a flirtatious edge to her tone. “How about we grab a coffee sometime? You and me?”

Ethan smirked, feeling the newfound confidence flood his veins. “Sounds like a date.”

By the end of the night, Ethan had fully embraced his new life. He wasn’t just a jock in body; he was a jock in spirit. His new persona felt like home. Kassie was his girlfriend now, Max was a jock too, and together they would rule the school.

The old Elliot, with his liberal ideals, his anxiousness, his nerdy quirks—was nothing more than a distant memory.

Ethan Cole was here to stay.

#male tf #male tf story #gay to straight #nerd to jock #smart to dumb #gym bro tf #conservative tf #lib to con

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lady-ashfade · 11 months ago

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Lord Of The Tides

Yan!One-Eyed!Lucerys Velaryon x Niece!Reader

╰･ﾟ✧☽ the best girl @madame-fear requested this from me and I love the way her mind works. She’s my wife- so I hope I make her happy with this one.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 3k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: targ’cest, lucerys being a bit different because he’s older, he also losses a eye, yandere behavior, slight dark themes, and slight mature themes (sexual), but no smut, and if there is a mistake about him having two eyes—Shh.

“were you scared?” the spoon in your hand scratched the bottom of the cup in your hand, and the sound of your heels clinking on the floor boards below were soft but could be heard around the room. even if it was only the two of you, the room was full in your eyes. “greatly. I was young and naive but I loved my brother, but I was too slow to reach towards the knife. Aemond had me beat in length, and that’s how,” his fingers moved upward to the black patch on his eye. He didn’t look ashamed of it like he did all thoses years ago before you were born, his body grew and so did his mind.

“I remember the story sounding much more…action packed as a child. Don’t get me wrong, uncle, you are the bravest man I ever met,” his chest filled with pride as the words fell from your dusted pink lips, “but I do recall you saying you road in on a dragon?” The sly smile on your cheeks was the only thing he recognized about you now. It’s been a few years since he had seen you, or took notice really. he was trying to fulfill his duty to study on how to be the next “lord of the tides” and he took it seriously.

glancing upon you now for the first time in years, he could see the beautiful woman you’ve became. perfect body that filled out your dress perfectly while showing just the right amount of skin but enough to leave any eyes yarning for more. you had matured more then well. In this moment he couldn’t pull his eye away from you, he was desperate to look at you for as long as he could. you were magnificent. “Would that enthrall you?” his teasing tone and brow arch made you flush in embarrassment.

“Would make the story a lot better, uncle.” you raise the cup to your lips and took a quiet sip while holding eye contact with him. the few seconds of silence had your stomach tingling and blood pumping faster. there was no secret from a young age you had a crush on your kind uncle. He had given you attention and made you laugh while teaching you stories and knowledge. It was just a silly crush that had you staying up late at night thinking of his smile years later.

“I suppose your right.” he broke eye contact to chuckle and lean forward to grab a soft pastry from the table. “Tell me, what has it been like while I was away? Has my brother learned anything about being future king?” His tone was off. Almost sounding as if he was belittling your father, or making fun of him. You stood up straight and place the glass down on its plate.

“My father has been doing a great job. Our queen is training him well, or do you doubt your own mother?” his body stopped in time for a second with half his lips wrapped around the sugared sweet to stare at you. he couldn’t believe how fast you acted to defend your father and tried to make a fool out of himself. the look behind your eyes and the smile tugging at your lips he could tell you meant no true harm. only to play a little game.

“You have changed,” he tone shifted as his eye made sure to run its way up and down your body, making you squirm in your chair. “No longer a girl but a lady.” you hated how easy it was to feel drawn into him again. it was different now then it was back then, you had aches and desire only the dead of night could see and he was making it so hard to control them. “I was pleased when I got your letter even if I had little time to prepare for it. But there is one question on my mind: why?” the truth wasn’t something you could tell him in that moment. So you settled for something easy, and nothing like the full picture.

“I missed you. Castle life is wonderful, but you always showed me the fun of things.”

each day that went by he was drawn in closer by you, from your smell, to your smile, to the sound of your laugh that he caused. he tried to deny himself from the thought of you but you were already hammered into his mind once he saw you getting off your dragon merely days ago. It’s been a long while since he saw beauty like you, your intelligence mind and wit, or your able to be naive in hopes of a better world. the strength to hold himself back when you were just a few inches away from him was great. he wanted to hold you, to touch your soft kiss…to whisper into your ear—

“I don’t understand,” the sound of you voice awakened him from his day dreaming. you had not noticed his staring from being turned away from him. “This game is incredibly stupid.” the mallet in your hands swung a bit as you exhaled frustratingly. the colored balls scattered around the ground, non of them close to being where his were.

“I think you wanted me to fail,” you pouted you lips at the tall man. “It’s not my fault your losing my dear,” the nickname made your body clinch, “if you had listened to me-” the words shouting from your mouth interrupted him.

“I have been listening to you. But you’re somehow cheating.” it made him unbelievably amused to watch you huff and pout at losing a game you forced him to teach you. if he could, he’d steal that pout away from your lips and make you whine about something else. “Are you accusing me of something?” He leaned his arms on the mallet but leaning on his leg to stare at you with scrunched brows. you took a moment to find something to say but only muffled and gagged words came from your lips before you eventually gave up. “No uncle, forgive me for my temperament.” You looked down at the yellow ball and glared down at it.

“It’s just utterly frustrating to loss when you’re already so far ahead of me,” you glanced back up and pointed to his, “I don’t like losing.” that was something you gained from both your parents if he was honest. jace never liked to lose a game or training, and your mother had a shorter temper he could only imagine how you’d act when you get heated. “Then we should keep playing until your good.” he turned back to hit the blue ball at his feet and cheers when he gets it through the metal bars. gods, he was going to kill you with his handsome smile.

It was heart wrenching to see his smile fade and his body tense days later, with his hand resting on the stone railing. it was a perfect day, the time you spent with him was still unmatched by the way he made you feel. the sun shining orange across the sky and bouncing off the both of you, making the other even more breathtaking to each other.

“What?” his voice rasped and dropped darker then you have heard it before. all ounce of happiness left his body and started to over flow with growing anger. “For how long?” the raise volume to his voice make you look down in guilt for some reason. he was mad at you for not telling him…but for reasons you did not know of. “Two months. Before I came he was set to stay in kindslanding to find our ground with one another,” you played with you finger tips. he took a deep breathe to stop himself from shouting at you any further. his sweet girl knew nothing of the pain it caused him to hear those words. to find out she was in fact not his.

“He’s sweet, and kind. A perfect match for the realm,” you look up at the orange sunset and feel the aching in your heart grow, “we are to be wed in three months.” grabbing the long glass of wine from beside you and bringing it up to your lips to take a big sip. you needed to drown out the doubts and fears you had somehow. lucerys fist tightened at the thought of another having you be their bride, to get to kiss you and share your bed every night. he was lord of the tides, he had the best fleet and army at sea, he could protect you, love you like you deserve- but this man got it just on a whim?

you are more precious to be sold for some on going alliance with a household- you deserved a prince.

“But,” you start again with hesitation and force yourself away from his eyes, “he is not the one I long for. Yes, he would be a good and faithful husband but my heart does not long for him.” the title belonged to the man you stood beside, the man who made your soul burn blighter. he stepped forward and your breath hitched and couldn’t keep your eyes away from him. the eyepatch on his face never made you fear him, not even once did the stories make you feel any less for him.

“Who does it long for?” He fell hushed as he stood even closer to you now, your bodies almost touching and you could almost feel the heat coming from him. you wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to belong to him- to marry him. but it was not to be so, your duty as the princess is to care for the kingdom the best you can and that is for your betrothal to the lord you barley knew to work. and not to the man you loved.

clearing your throat you step back away from him and force a smile your face. you clearly were imagining things and he was not pursuing your fantasies, or his own. “A chat for another time perhaps, it’s getting quite late wouldn’t you say? I need a good nights sleep for my travels tomorrow.” he had forgotten all about you leaving. time slips away with you here. how could he bring himself to part ways now after everything you brought him?

“Then I shall fair you goodnight,” before you could pull away his body moves forwards and his lips pressed against the hairline of your forehead. it was a few seconds long but the feeling made you overwhelmed in shock, you froze up. pulling away from you he took notice of your reaction and how tense you became, “slept well, my dear” he walked away with a curled smile towards his cheeks and leaving you standing there alone.

that night you toasted and turned in your sheets thinking of how his lips felt on your skin and your brain started to wander. how would it feel for him to kiss down your shoulder, or you lips and down your chest in his chambers at night. he had no wife to warm his bed, surely he must be lonely? but a man like him was definitely no stranger to the feeling of a lovers touch and you knew that for sure. the thoughts you had that night made you feel embarrassed to see him the next morning when you woke from the vivid dream you had.

you fixed your glove over your hands and made sure everything you need is tied on tight to your dragon. she squirms beneath your touch and if she could purr like a cat you know she would. lurcerys appreciates you carefully as your attention was not on him, he liked to see your face in shock because he found it adorable. “Leaving without a goodbye?” to his pleasure he was right. when you turned around at his voice spooked like a horse.

“I wasn’t sure you’d have time, it’s early.” you shifted awkwardly and covered yourself. he hummed along and walked closer and then inches by you. he stops before the scales of your dragon and slowly guides his palm over repeatedly along her body, makes her happy like it was you. even she enjoyed his company, much like her rider. “I’m sorry, I did not know how to say goodbye.” admitting the truth was harder once it was out for some reason. you didn’t want to look like a girl despite in love.

“This isn’t a goodbye, we will see each other again.” he gave one last pat and turned to face you again. he stood with his hands clasped together, his black outfit with golden accents shining in the morning sun, his dark brown hair reflecting just like the gold.

“I’m sure of it.”

Lucerys Velaryon was many things. a prince, a lord, a brave soldier trained, and powerful man with connections everywhere. he could pay his way through the slums and have anything he wanted done at the snap of his fingers. he never wished to see you in tears or upset, really, but that’s the way things happened. to even think of letting you suffer a marriage to— anyone but him was a taste worse then the gods could give. and it was tragic how the lord just ended up dead a few days later from being poisoned by one of his own cooks. he died in his mothers arms and his heart felt sorrow for her and only her.

you came running into his arms after you heard the news since he was the only one you could go to. of course you would, he planned it just right. so he kept you in a tight embrace as you cried into his chest while stoking your hair and whispering everything was going to be fine and you were too distraught to say anything. “just breathe sweet girl,” he whispered into your ear. you grabbed ahold of him and tried to calm your breathing but the hiccups messed you up. he hated seeing you like this but was overjoyed at the same time. he was with you, you were his now.

“I’m scared,” you sobbed as more tears rolled down your already damp cheeks, “he was kind- the next man might not be the same. I don’t want to be a miserable wife,” naive little you to think he’d ever let that happen.

“look at me,” he commanded but not harshly. his hands cupped the skin of your jaw and cheek to guide your face up to him. even now you looked as stunning as ever. “I’d never let you be miserable, you are too special,” his thumb traced shapes into your skin. he looked into your puffy eyes and drank them in, you looked so innocent and in need of his protection. and he loved that. “I shall confess I find myself thinking of you since you first arrived in driftmark as a new woman.” he watched your eyes widen in anticipation and surprise.

“my heart longs for you and only you. the minute you come the place lit up and worked smoothly with you around. driftmart needs a lady, I need someone by my side that is wise and has a soft approach.” your brain fogs up as he leans down near your face like he was going to kiss you but stops just before your noses touch. “I’d fill your rooms up with anything you ever ask for, show you love like you’ve never dreamed, or protect you from any harm that comes your way. you know I’m a better choice than the boys competing for your hand.” you hear the slight venom in his voice towards the mentions of other lords.

“my father, what would he say?” you whisper and he could feel your breath making him hold himself back. “I’m in need of a wife, he’s daughter is a reasonable gift. He knows I’d never mistreat you,” the other hand grabs ahold your waist and moves his hands up and down your dress making you shiver. “come on, sweet girl. say yes.” a simple nod of your head was enough of a answer for him to finally capture your lips like he had been waiting for. you felt so warm pressed up against him it made him feral inside.

the warmth inside became like a explosion when he kissed you, the way he’s holding onto you so tight and against him, his short breaths and gasp for air, the hunger makes you sore and aching for everything he had. he wanted to give you it all, but he couldn’t. not until he put a ring on your finger and that pained him. the hormones in his body were at its peak now.

slightly tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth he pulled away slowly with a husky growl. he held your hips in place to stop you from trying to get more. he listens to you pant while doing the same thing himself. you smiled up at him, “I’ve always wanted you to be mine,” you say blinking your eyes up at him teasingly, “I don’t think I can ever belong to another.”

his chest rumbles in soft laughter. “About my brother— I’ll make him see we belong together, he raised you well so he knows just how much I need you.” he was so good a flattering. you roll your eyes playfully at him, “you have honeyed words, my betrothed.” you needed no acceptance from your father. you’d run back to dragon stone and wed Lusercys there. you couldn’t be pulled away from him after this.

“Because you get the cutest look on your face, you haven’t been as secretive about your feelings towards me. Should we talk about the time you practically bursted into flames when you knocked yourself onto me?”

“You stoop so low, my lord.”

#Lucerys Velaryon #Lucerys Velaryon x reader #yandere lucerys velaryon #yandere Lucerys Velaryon x reader #Lucerys Velaryon x fem!reader #house of the dragon #yandere hotd x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon

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it-happened-one-fic · 3 months ago

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Steal Away - Malleus

Author Notes: I wrote this fic a little while back and its just been gathering dust in my documents until now. I guess you could say this fic is a bit of a callback to simpler times pre-Diasomnia chapter, though it doesn't have to be specifically set at that time. This fic was written while I listed to the song “Steal Away” by Robbie Dupree. As per usual, reader is gender neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader/ sfw/ fluff/

Word Count: 979

I slipped quietly out of the front door and onto the porch of Ramshackle Dorm. My eyes quickly finding the shadowy figure that had drawn me out of my warm bed and into the chilled night.

Most people would probably be distressed by seeing a tall, horned figure out in their front yard in the dead of night. But I wasn’t concerned. After all, I happened to know the young man whose lilting humming currently filled the otherwise silent darkness quite well.

“Hornton,” He turned at the sound of my voice, bright green eyes widening slightly as he spotted me before he relaxed once more.

“Child of man, I wasn’t sure if I should expect you after you didn’t come out to greet me last time….”

And there it was. His signature pout. It was hard to believe that anyone could find this man terrifying when I was looking at him like this. Especially considering that he let me call him ‘Hornton’ of all things.

“Sorry about that… I guess I must’ve been really tired the other day,” His expression softened as I explained my absence from whenever his last visit had been.

There was a slight smile on his face as he tilted his head, “Is your daily toiling so great that you fall into such a deep slumber when the evening comes?”

I laughed slightly at his odd way of phrasing before shaking my head, “Well, Crowley and school together do keep me pretty busy, but I think I was just sleeping really well.”

His smile turned amused as he continued to gaze at me, “And what of tonight? Does sleep evade you, Child of Man?”

I blinked up at him before shrugging, “Maybe a little? I just saw you and wasn’t really that tired, so I came out to chat.”

And it was true. Up until the moment I’d seen Malleus’s glistening faerie lights, I’d been curled up in bed listening to Grim’s soft snores, feeling totally incapable of falling asleep.

He hummed in response before turning to glance into the distance before looking back my way with a distinct frown, “It seems I shall not be staying long this evening.”

His pout had returned, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. Sebek and Silver were no doubt out looking for him, and that meant he would either be returning to Diasomnia or giving them slip yet again.

I reached out, patting his arm affectionately as I grinned at him, amused by his sulking, “Hey, it’s okay. I doubt this will be your last evening escapade.”

His eyes widened in an almost comical fashion as he echoed me, “Escapade?” His gaze turned thoughtful, and he seemed to look past me, at some distant point of interest, before reaching a sudden decision.

A grin that I could only describe as evil crossed his pale face as he looked at me and held out a gloved hand, “A splendid idea, Child of man. Shall we steal away?”

I blinked up at him, startled and with widened eyes, before fumbling out a reply, “Wha- What?”

He chuckled, a low sound that, accompanied by his gleaming, unnaturally green eyes, made him both appear and sound distinctly villainous.

Maybe I actually could understand why some of my classmates were wary of him. Just a little…

“An escapade. Would you like to come with me?” His explanation confirmed my suspicions.

The great Malleus Draconia, heir to the throne of the Valley of Thorns, was asking me if I wanted to help him avoid his bodyguards and play hooky.

It was an impulsive decision, and I honestly wondered if Ace’s troublesome ways were beginning to influence me, but I found myself slipping my hand into his nonetheless, “Just for a bit, we don’t want to worry them too much.”

His grin was now positively devious as his fingers curled around my hand as if he were claiming some sort of prize, “They would be fine even if I stayed away all evening.”

I squeezed his hand slightly and grinned back at him as I teasingly scolded him, “Behave.”

He chuckled again before tugging me over towards him and wrapping an arm around me. I stumbled slightly but managed to catch myself against him before I looked up at him as the strangely firefly-like green lights began to float around us. A signal that he was just about to use his magic and teleport to some place.

In the distance, I could hear Sebek calling for his lord, but I ignored him in favor of questioning Malleus, “Where to?”

His gaze met mine, and he squeezed me ever so slightly in a half-hug before turning his bright-eyed gaze towards the sky with a truly villainous grin, “Where else? Into the night, of course.”

There was a floating sensation and flash, and then we were gone. Leaving the front yard of Ramshackle dorm empty as both knights came walking up. One, perfectly calm even as the other one agitatedly scanned the area.

“LORD MALLEUS?” Sebek’s yell shattered the silence of the night as Silver shook his head.

“It looks like they’ve already left,” His voice was distinctly tired sounding as he trailed off in a yawn that had Sebek looking at him irritably.

“Who are they? The only person I’m concerned with is Lord Malleus!” Silver sighed almost immediately at Sebek’s intonation before looking at him meaningfully.

“Malleus and Y/n. We should leave them be. Father said having friends was good for Malleus,” And with only those words, Silver turned and started to stroll away. Leaving a sputtering Sebek to follow him.

“Bu- But… A HUMAN?”

“Quiet Sebek. You won’t want to wake the ghosts like you did last time,” Silver hardly even missed a beat as he continued on his way. Leaving you to spend time with Malleus for as long as your shared escapade lasted.

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softonshanks · 6 months ago

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Starlight and Sailor's Delight

Characters: Luffy x female reader

Total word count: 1129 words

Plot: Luffy and the reader spend a nice night during a festival and Luffy has to face his feelings for Y/N, realising that becoming king of the pirates isn't the only thing he cares about.

Author's note: I'm working on all the request you sent me and I am so so so thrilled because I am having such a fun time writing all this stuff. Unfortunatly today I had a very long work day, so I haven't been able to ultimate your prompts. Thus, I have decided to post a one shot about Luffy I had previously wrote, let me know if you like it (: English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes.

The sun was setting on a warm, tranquil afternoon when Luffy and his crew docked at a remote island known for its serenity and breathtaking views. The Straw Hats had stumbled upon this hidden gem purely by chance—its isolation was both a mystery and an invitation for adventure. The island's sole settlement was a quaint village with narrow streets and cozy cottages, known for its simple beauty and tight-knit community.

Luffy and Y/N walked through the village, taking in the scenery, while the rest of the crew preferred to rest on the ship and join them later. Y/N was enthralled by the vibrant flowers lining the streets and the gentle hum of the nearby brook. Luffy, with his boundless energy, bounced from one spot to another, his excitement contagious. He couldn’t help but notice how Y/N’s eyes sparkled with every new sight, though he wasn’t quite sure why it made him feel so… happy.

“This place is so cool!” Luffy exclaimed, his straw hat tilting as he leaned in close to a flower.

“I can't wait to see it at night,” Y/N said, her voice filled with excitement. “I have always read about this festival where the whole village lights up with lanterns, and the stars look like they’re dancing in the sky.”

“Whoa, that sounds awesome!” Luffy said, his eyes wide with anticipation. “We’ve gotta check it out!”

As they strolled, a local woman approached them, her face beaming with warmth. “Ah, visitors! We’ve been expecting you. Tonight, we’re having our annual stargazing festival. Would you like to join us?”

“Festival? That’s the one you were talking about Y/N!” Luffy shouted, his enthusiasm drawing the attention of nearby villagers. “We’re in!” The woman laughed and led them to the village square, where preparations for the festival were underway. Lanterns were being hung, and a large telescope stood prominently in the center, surrounded by tables of food and drink.

As dusk fell, the village came alive with festivities. Villagers and visitors alike gathered, chatting and laughing as the first stars began to appear. Luffy and Y/N mingled with the crowd, soaking in the lively atmosphere. Luffy’s heart felt lighter than usual, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Being around Y/N just seemed… nice. Y/N was drawn to the telescope, where a young man with glasses was eagerly explaining the constellations to a group of fascinated children. Luffy, however, was more interested in the food table, his eyes widening at the sight of the variety of local treats.

Y/N later joined him, holding a small plate of what looked like sweet pastries. “You’ve got to try these, Luffy. They’re amazing!”. Luffy grabbed a pastry with childlike glee and took a big bite. His eyes lit up. “This is awesome! We should take some back to the ship, so Sanji can taste it and cook it for us again once we leave,” said with his mouth full of food.

They spent the evening sampling food, enjoying the music, and laughing with the locals. As the sky darkened and the stars became more prominent, the atmosphere grew more magical. Villagers gathered around the telescope, and Luffy, never one to miss out on fun, decided to take a turn. Y/N watched with a soft smile as Luffy peered through the telescope, his face scrunched up in concentration. “See anything interesting, Captain?”

“Whoa, I think I see a giant meatball!” Luffy exclaimed, pulling back with a wide grin. “Oh, wait… nope, just a star. But it kinda looks like one!”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Only you, Luffy.”

“Hey, I’ve got a pretty good imagination,” Luffy said, puffing out his chest with pride. “And a great appetite!”

Y/N giggled, her heart fluttering at his carefree attitude. There was something so endearing about Luffy—something that made her feel warm and safe, even amidst his wild antics.

As the night wore on, the focus shifted to dancing. The villagers formed a circle, and soon, Luffy and Y/N found themselves caught up in the rhythm. The music was lively, and the dance was infectious. Luffy’s movements were wild and uncoordinated, but filled with pure joy. At one point, Luffy noticed Y/N standing off to the side, watching the others with a thoughtful expression. He bounded over to her, grabbing her hand with his usual enthusiasm. “Come on, Y/N! You can’t just stand there. Let’s dance!”

“I’m having fun just watching,” Y/N replied with a soft smile. “But thanks, Luffy.”

Luffy tilted his head, his eyes full of curiosity. “You sure? You look like you’re thinking too much.”

Y/N’s smile widened, but there was a hint of something deeper in her eyes. “Just thinking about how much I’ve enjoyed today. And how glad I am that I met you”. Luffy’s grin softened into something more sincere, though he wasn’t entirely sure why her words made his heart skip a beat.

“I’m glad too, Y/N. It’s been awesome having you around”. Y/N’s heart warmed at his words, and for a moment, they stood there, the sounds of the festival fading into the background. The stars above seemed to shine a little brighter, casting a gentle glow over the village. She hesitated for a second, then leaned in and rested her head on Luffy’s shoulder. His face flushed slightly, a rare sight for the usually carefree pirate.

“That is nice!” he said, stopping for a moment and just enjoying the view of villager’s dancing, while he and Y/N were in peace. "This is really nice," repeated, as he rested his head on Y/N's one. While the dance continued, something shifted in the air between them. Luffy found himself drawn to Y/N in a way he didn’t quite understand. Her laugh, her smile, the way she seemed to glow under the lantern light—it all made him feel… different. A warm, unfamiliar feeling settled in his chest, but he shrugged it off. He was Luffy, after all. The only thing he wanted was to be kings of the pirates, maybe some meat most of the time. He didn’t have time for complicated stuff like feelings… right?

“Luffy,” Y/N’s voice broke the crystallized moment they were in. “Thank you for tonight.”

Luffy’s eyes lit up at her words, though he wasn’t quite sure why they made him feel so warm inside. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Y/N. This is awesome!”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his simple sincerity. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his, trying to find the right words to express what she was feeling. But before she could speak, Luffy, with his usual impulsiveness, did something that caught even him by surprise. He leaned down, closing the distance between them, and pressed his lips to hers.

It was a gentle, tentative kiss, filled with all the innocence and curiosity that defined Luffy. Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, everything else faded away—the music, the laughter, the festival—leaving only the two of them, connected in the quiet of the night.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #fluff #angst #romantic #first kiss one piece #one piece kiss #one piece romantic #luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you

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letters-from-the-gaps · 25 days ago

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Gun Witch I

AKA "Letters tries to write a Western." Shoutout to @inbabylontheywept, who saw the first draft of this bad boy. Part 1 of ???, so stay tuned!

The thing about guns, Marigold has come to know, is that they are singular tools. They are skeleton keys that can only ever open a single kind of lock. They are hammers that, in the moment before they have completed their swing, transmute whatever lies at that swing's endpoint into a nail. They are levers by which the universe acts upon itself, levers that can only produce a single kind of reaction, a single kind of product.

The thing about guns, Marigold has come to know, is that they can only do harm, the greatest harm, that singularly final harm that renders everything before it paltry. Temporary. They are tools which can only escalate a conflict; even the clearing of leather is an act that signals a terrible trajectory, a course that will not yield to even the soundest of rhetoric.

The thing about guns, Marigold has come to know, is that many people still think of them as tools for preventing violence, for halting bloodshed. They think that you can use a gun to posture, to intimidate. The issue there, of course, is that an implied threat can only live in Schrodinger’s box for so long before people start itching to open it. The issue there, of course, is that a gun is no passive participant to a scene like that: nothing wants to see implication become action more than the gun.

Marigold’s first words in this broke down, backwater, dead-on-its-feet town were the single greatest kindness she was still capable of showing.

“I have held a gun from the cradle: if any of you feel as though violence against me might get you anything worth getting, disregard those feelings as swiftly as you are able. I am a Gun Witch, and I have yet to find myself out-drawn.”

Her second words, uttered after a long pause in that silent, waiting bar, were far simpler.

“Barkeep,” she said. “What’s the closest thing you can make to a Mule?”

She had tucked herself into a corner booth–its occupants had swiftly vacated as they calculated her trajectory–with a drink that might’ve been able to call a Mule its distant ancestor. It had something like vodka, and something that might’ve been near ginger in some cabinet somewhere, and it had some sort of citrus. It certainly wasn’t good. Marigold didn’t really care.

She sipped from the glass she had been given in slow, methodical pulls, a careful eye turned inward to watch for the first signs of creeping dull. She hoped desperately that this place would listen to her, would recognize the old and familiar violence in her voice, would mind their own fucking business and keep to their own fucking drinks. She had spent a long time out in the sands between towns and was more than happy to avail herself of the drink, the marginally cooler air, the sounds of people. The piano player wasn’t even half bad–she didn’t recognize the melody, and the keys were horribly out of tune, but they played with an easy smile and practiced hands, and it was remarkably easy to imagine that things were normal.

She didn’t look up from her drink when they walked in. Four of them, rough looking, shabby dusters and boots that hadn’t seen polish in an age. She didn’t look up as the bar started to hush. She didn’t look up as the piano player started to falter, fingers stuttering over the ivories. She kept her head down, hat brought low over her eyes, and she thought, No, go! Go out! Go away! None of you have to do this! You can all still live! Go! She was half finished with her Mule (this startled her–she should’ve drained it all by now. How long had she been here?), watching the last few bits of ice slowly melt into the remainder when those four rough looking young men decided they wanted to die.

“Hey! You!” He was a little on the scrawny side, with a voice still figuring out its range. The four of them had started walking towards her table, and as they passed through the bar other patrons started to flee out into the evening. “You the one who announced herself earlier today?” The other three fanned out behind him, and Marigold guessed he was their leader. They were all around the same height, with a slightly malnourished edge to them; the one who fanned out to the right could’ve been a downright intimidating fellow with a few more years of good eating in him.

Marigold didn’t say anything. Didn’t really look up from her glass, either. The ice had melted all the way. If anyone had been looking at her glass they’d have seen the condensation on it, thicker than it should’ve been in that air-conditioned room. Nobody was, though. At her silence he stepped up a little closer, his voice a little sharper.

“You deaf, woman? You hear what I asked you? Cause if you make me repeat myself, I swear to G-”

“You should watch yourself, throwing around names like that.” Marigold’s voice came out in a slow, scarred exhalation, the first crackling arms of some great inferno. “We should all be so thankful that He isn’t here.”

“Oh, so she can speak! And she can do it in riddles, can she?”

“Riddles? Lord have mercy if you think I’ve woven a riddle for you. See, if I had spoken to you in riddles,” she said, and now she tipped her head up just a fraction, “They might’ve frightened some sense into you four, and you’d have all gone scampering away.” The glass was running with sweat now, water soaking into the wood beneath it. “No. I’ve spoken plain, boy.”

The boy bristled at that, his eyes darkening. They were a deep, dirty green, and Marigold thought they must’ve been brilliant in the right light. He took another step forward and twitched his duster to the side: the plain, worn, poorly-kept handle of a revolver glinted meanly in the lamplight. The bar was empty by now, the piano player and the barkeep having fled together. The other three followed his lead, twitching aside ratty coats to reveal rattier looking holsters, housing guns that had clearly never known the touch of oil nor rag.

“Who you callin’ boy, eh? You? Some vagabond from out in the desert? Some crazy old bitch–” one of his posse, the bigger one to his right, flinched– “who thinks she’s hot shit?”

Marigold took one long, slow breath. The liquid in the glass was simmering now, ever so slightly, the beginnings of a boil. She leaned back in her booth, and she tilted her head, and she fixed the four thugs before her with eyes that had seen the creation of countless ghosts. She had not looked at a mirror in a long time, but she knew what they were seeing: deep set, slightly bloodshot, dull yellow irises and coal black pupils peering out from a face lined by age and heat in equal measures. She watched all four of them look to the right side of her face, watched their leader try to wrench his eyes from the horrid river of scar tissue that ran from her right eye down below her collar. He didn’t do a very good job. She didn’t fault him for it. She knew that it was knotted and angry, and that when you looked at it for too long you could see a dull glow like embers beneath the skin. Her hat was still low over eyes, but she tilted her head back so they could get a good, long look at her. Then she spoke, and that inferno was starting to come closer now, and she said:

“I have already given you the greatest kindness I could when I warned you all earlier today, so I will give you the second greatest kindness I can: leave. All of you. Hide those shoddy things at your hips, and go out into the street, and see if you can’t correct the courses of your lives.” The one on the left of the pack finally looked down at the glass and started, for its contents were bubbling and hissing against Marigold’s naked palm. He looked back at her when she said, “I am Marigold Velfor; I am a Gun Witch; I do not particularly want to kill any of you. You can all still turn around.”

“You know…I ain’t never killed a Witch before, Marigold,” the boy in front hissed, and her heart sank at the naked violence on his face, “But I’ve always wondered what it must be l-”

In one liquid smooth motion, before the boy had finished his empty threat, Marigold drew her six shooter and put a single holy bullet directly between his eyes. It exited out the back of his head in a spatter of bone and brain and flew perfectly into the shoulder of the fellow behind him, where it lodged itself. Before their leader’s ghost had even figured out it needed to get the hell out of dodge, Marigold had pulled the hammer back with a terrible click and calmly fired again at the gentleman on the far left–this one took him in the heart, carving through skin and muscle and bone and organ like so many pieces of paper laid before a train. By the time this had resolved itself the boy was a corpse on the ground, and the man to his left was a corpse rapidly approaching the ground, and the man behind them both was a not-quite-corpse collapsed into a table, and Marigold’s cannon was pointed serenely at the man on the right. This had happened in seconds. This last man’s hand had managed to grab the handle of his piece but, seeing the smoking barrel now leveled at his head, had stopped. Marigold thanked the Lord for this, and said to him:

“The first and third are dead: the second will live, as long as you get him to a halfway decent doctor in the next couple of minutes. Neither of you will live if you draw. Do you understand?” He nodded, mutely, eyes never leaving the gun. “Good. I’m going to stand up now, and I’m going to find someone to pay for the damages I’ve left here, and then I’m going to leave. Before I do that, though, you’re going to take your friend, and you’re both going to go outside, and you’re going to tell whoever’s out there that anyone who draws on me will die. Ok?” He nodded again, and at a gesture from Marigold he set out to comply. As the bar door clanged shut behind their wild exit she sagged a little in her seat. Her cannon was displeased: it whispered that she still had four rounds in the chamber, that she could probably take this whole Podunk town before they got a shot off. She ignored it, pushed forward the hammer, slid the thing home in the holster on her hip. The Mule on the table was at a low simmer now; Marigold didn't flinch as she drained the thing in one pull on her way out.

#prose #short story #woah! new writing!#gun witch

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nottswitch · 9 months ago

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yellow hearts

summary: the times you put yellow hearts around his name, and the times he put them around yours.

pairing: sirius black x reader

warning: sappy fluff

wc: 1.6k

a/n: yellow hearts by ant saunders. a cute little thing I made upon hearing this song after many many years. finally able to write something short!

“Girl, what is this?!”

You whine, slamming your diary shut. Your cheeks suddenly feel hot and you try your hardest to avoid Lily’s prying gaze. She tries to look over your shoulder again, letting out a disappointed groan at the sight of a shiny cover.

“Just… Zip it,” you sigh, still flustered and really embarrassed. “You didn’t see anything!”

“No, no, I definitely just saw it!” Lily shouts and you have to hush her, noticing a few people at the table giving you weird glances. “Was it “Sirius” with hearts around?” she asks, her voice a bit calmer but still conveying the same emotions.

“No…”

You stutter, giving yourself completely and irrevocably away. Your eyes make an automatic roll and you scoot over to make space for your friend. Lily plops down next to you, her eager hands already reaching for your little navy-blue diary. Before you have time to hide it, she snatches the book from you and starts flicking through the pages, ignoring whatever is written on them. Finally, she finds the right page and bends the spine of the diary to have a better look.

Here it is, in all its glory. A “Sirius” with shiny yellow hearts drawn all around.

“Eww!!!”

Lily wrinkles her whole face, looking at you and then at your scribbles again.

“Don’t tell me it’s that prat Black from our year! Is it?!”

You sigh, taking the diary from her and putting it safely in your bag.

“Who else has the name, Lily? Think.”

You stare down at your breakfast, hoping that as long as you don’t look at your friend, she will miraculously forget about your existence.

“But he hangs out with Potter and they’re a bunch of tossers!” Lily’s voice is loud again, earning you a few more concerned looks.

You sigh again, biting on a slice of bacon.

“Maybe,” you mumble with your mouth full.

Lily rolls her eyes. Her plate remains untouched as she turns to you, fully intending to push for more information.

“And since when?” she demands, raising her eyebrow. You start to feel like a criminal being questioned in court.

“Last year,” you answer reluctantly, knowing that she won’t let you be if you don’t pour your whole heart out right here and now.

Lily scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief.

“This is so messed up! What’re you gonna do?”

You don’t reply. You don’t know yet. You don’t plan to ever know. But you don’t stop your sappy scribbles – you just make sure Lily never sees them again.

The second time someone sees the yellow hearts is much, much worse.

It’s your fifth year. You lost the diary a couple of days ago and you go absolutely mental trying to remember all the places you could have left it at. Your heartbeat briefly stops every time you think of a possibility of someone finding it, reading it and knowing it all.

“Oi, come on! It’s not like fancying Black is just a you thing!”

Lily tries to calm you down as best as she can. She has been lightly teasing you about your crush on Sirius for the previous two years, but she sees your worry and, being a good friend she is, hugs you and helps you on a secret mission to search every single classroom for any signs of the diary. Unfortunately, no luck.

“Lily, shut up! I have a wand and I’m not afraid to use it.”

You nibble on your nails for the hundredth time today – a nasty habit you have developed ever since losing the only way to let out your growing feelings towards a certain someone.

“What? The whole school is mad about him and his pack of tossers! No one’d blink an eye.”

“But what if he finds it?!”

“He finds what?”

You freeze at the sound of a voice, and not just a voice, his voice. A young fellow appears from behind the bench you’re sitting on, followed by three other guys, all snickering and whispering something to each other.

“Hello there, ladies,” Sirius murmurs, making a funny little bow.

“Black, shut it!” Lily immediately retorts, noticing your hopeless gaze. “Keep walking, and you might just live.”

“Well, I would, but I may have something you’re looking for.”

No. No, no, no, no.

A small navy-blue book appears in his hand and you suddenly feel like the bottom of the lake wouldn’t be such a horrible spot to be in. Lily’s eyes are wide and you think that if she had an ability to cast spells with just her eyes, she would use it right at this moment.

“Where the hell-” she starts, but you cut her off, not willing to prolong the already tense and miserable moment.

“Sirius, please, give it back.”

Your voice trembles treacherously and you mentally curse yourself for such a poor attempt at hiding your emotions. A thought of trading your face for a brick wall doesn’t seem that unappealing.

To your surprise, Sirius hands you the book without any of his usual shenanigans that you would normally expect. Your fingers brush his as you snatch the diary from him and you hold in a gasp; you would not mind becoming a delicious meal for the mermaids to munch on.

Sirius turns on his heels to leave, but then stops abruptly, as if he forgot something. A moment later, he’s at your ear, his breath warming up your already flaming hot cheek.

“I like yellow,” he whispers as his lips graze against your stray baby hairs; they suddenly feel like а bouquet of exposed nerves.

He leaves, shameless about the fact that his actions made your heart perform acrobatics within the bounds of your ribcage.

“What did he say?!” Lily repeats over and over, but you can barely hear her voice. You flip through the pages erratically and the right one catches your eye at last. A glaring “Sirius” with yellow hearts around it. You notice another name at the bottom of the page. A name of your own, staring right at you. And around it, the same yellow hearts.

The third time someone sees the yellow hearts you aren’t anxious anymore.

It’s your seventh year. Exams are approaching, but seeing as your boyfriend is Sirius Black, it’s hard to get any actual studying done. You have been dating for quite a while now, but it still feels… new.

You’re in Transfiguration together. He sits several rows behind you – a rule McGonagall made just a week prior, “For your own good”, as she said, because together you weren’t making much progress. But he still finds ways to remind you of his presence – he makes paper birds, charming them to fly right to you. Sometimes they’re just pretty birds, sometimes they’re notes with some silly poem he wrote for you, just to make you laugh and earn a warning from Minerva – for both of you, because the source of your distraction is really obvious.

Another bird lands on the desk in front of you. You quickly glance at McGonagall and, much to your contentment, notice that she’s preoccupied with her textbook.

“Hey,” you hear a whisper from behind. Of course, you recognize Sirius. He grins at you and gestures to unfold the origami. Even before you can do it, you see a sheer golden glow emanating from within. Your smile grows wider as you open the poor bird and see the letters scribbled down on a piece of parchment.

Your name. And yellow hearts around it.

McGonagall clears her throat somewhere above you. Her menacing glare tries to burn a hole in your head, but you don’t really care. You give her a sorry nonetheless.

“Shall I teach special classes, so that you attend in the morning and Mr. Black – in the evening?” the professor demands, but you see glimmers of amusement in her eyes. She briefly glances at the note she took from you and gives you and Sirius one of her raised-eyebrow looks, but you see the corners of her mouth lift up ever so slightly. You hear Sirius chuckle, close your eyes and smile. You don’t need anyone else.

The fourth time yellow hearts frame not one name, but two.

You and Sirius have just returned from your honeymoon. You have a whole stack of polaroids from your trip and you want to pick just one to put on the fridge in your shared home. The job proves to be rather difficult. You almost have a fight, which is so stupid and insignificant, but so you.

“Babe, this one is obviously superior! You see how stunning I am in this jacket?!”

“Yeah, and I’m blinking like an idiot because the sun is right up in my face. Sirius, babe, not everything has to be about you.”

You finally choose the one. It’s the last polaroid in your stack and you just can’t take your eyes off of it. In the picture, you’re waving at the camera and laughing, with an ice cream cone in your hand. Sirius pulls you in for a kiss and when he leans away, his nose is adorned with a spot of white ice cream.

You can’t help giggling, show the polaroid to Sirius and he does the same.

“This is it,” you say simultaneously and cackle at your apparently developed skill in Legilimency.

“Just a moment.”

Sirius stops you from taking the picture, takes out a sharpie and writes something on a white area at the bottom of it. He takes out his wand, silently waves it in front of the picture and only then goes up to the fridge and puts it up with many others. He steps back to have a better look at his creation.

You’re flustered, but a joyful smile doesn’t leave your lips. Sirius understands and places a gentle kiss on your temple. You look at the words written on the polaroid once more.

A “Sirius” and then your name below it. Around it, shiny yellow hearts shimmering in the sun and casting an array of rainbow specks all over the kitchen.

my masterlist

#— witch’s works ☾#sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #the marauders #the marauders era #the marauders imagine #the marauders fanfiction

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doormatty3 · 1 year ago

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Pushing Further (Josh Lambert x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Josh Lambert x Female Reader] [Josh Lambert x You] There is nothing more stressful than moving day - the campus is packed with freshmen and their parents. And you just want some peace and quiet. However, amidst the tumult, a tall, broad, and handsome man grabs your attention that is until he sends you sprawling to the floor. Annoyed you go on with your life and meet Dalton who you soon befriend. When you find out that the stranger is his father - you're doomed. Josh Lambert is everything you want in a man but there are reasons why you should not give in: He's almost two decades your senior, divorced and most importantly your friend's dad So you go out of your way to avoid him and walk the tightrope between attraction and avoidance. That doesn't make him any less hot though - even more when you discover that the attraction is mutual. OR: And they were friends - except you fucked his dad.

Wordcount: 7,134

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk, older man/ younger woman, daddy issues

A/N: There is a criminally small amount of Josh Lambert ffs, so I decided to change that

ALSO: Insidious 5 plot (Josh Lambert) >>>>

You hate move-in day.

The college campus swirls with a kaleidoscope of emotions. Freshmen, wide-eyed and eager, navigate through the labyrinth of unfamiliar buildings, their parents hovering nearby, taking in the scenery, a mix of pride and reluctance in their gaze as they prepare to part with their newly-minted scholars.

The sun bathes the bustling scene in its warm rays, transforming the campus into a vibrant panorama. The old grey stone building looms tall and resolute against the canvas of the sky. It wears the patina of years with a dignified charm, its weathered facade a testament to the countless stories etched into its walls.

As you observe this annual rite of passage, a sense of nostalgia mingles with a tinge of wistfulness. Your own move-in day, with its mix of excitement and trepidation, feels like a distant reverie. Now a senior, the campus teeming with eager newcomers stirs conflicting emotions. The excitement and youthful energy are heartening, yet the multitude of people and the bustling activity feel almost too much, too overwhelming.

You sit at a secluded spot beneath the sprawling canopy of one of the many trees that grace the campus. From this vantage point, you observe the ebb and flow of people, hesitant to venture into the dorms that will surely be crowded.

The leaves above gently rustle in the breeze as you sit, absorbing the sights and sounds of the day.

Your attention is drawn to a cluster of fellow students distributing flyers, unmistakably advertising a fraternity event that you have never attended and will never attend - the frat boys just creep you out. Self-assured and arrogant has never been your type to hang out with.

However, amidst the lively scene, your gaze lingers on a lanky young man strolling by, seemingly impervious to the flyers being thrust into the hands of passersby.

Artist, you think. Everything about him just extrudes an artistic flair and you’re sure that your assumption would be right if you were to ask him.

You watch him stride away from the frat boys and you can’t help but think that he made a good choice by not interacting with them.

Your attention shifts from the bustling crowd to the presence of a man making his way down the path. Intrigued, you furrow your brow, momentarily curious about whose father he is. Your eyes linger on him, drawn by a magnetic quality.

As he walks, you find it hard not to notice his striking appearance. Despite the rough edges, there’s a rugged handsomeness about him. He is tall, with broad shoulders and his short, wispy light brown hair catches the sunlight, adding a subtle sparkle to his presence. A scruffy stubble grazes his face, enhancing that rugged charm.

Your gaze can’t help but follow the flex of his muscles as he carries a considerable amount of stuff for his child. The hot summer day is a blessing, you think, since it prompted him to don a tight polo shirt and shorts. You silently appreciate the view - the way his biceps and triceps tense with each step, and the way the shirt accentuates the breadth of his shoulders and chest.

Silently observing, you witness him engaging in conversation with the fraternity members, taking one of their flyers, presumably for his child. You can see him being a frat boy in his younger years - he certainly has the looks.

As he walks away, the flyer securely in his grasp, your eyes remain fixed on him. The contrast between his mature, composed stature and the frat boys is striking. His steps are deliberate, and everything about his presence seems secure and strong.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you watch him and you’re somewhat surprised - even if also glad - that he doesn’t acknowledge your burning gaze since you’re practically undressing him.

Part of you hopes that you’ll see him more often on the campus and that that won’t be the last time your paths cross - maybe you’ll be able to strike up a conversation with him.

Your gaze lingers in the direction where the broad man disappeared and you find yourself momentarily lost. The vibrant energy of those who come after him seems to pale in comparison, they fail to capture your interest and it begins to feel boring.

With a sigh, you stretch your limbs, the pull of your muscles urging you to stand up. The prospect of a quieter atmosphere within the dorms becomes increasingly tempting, and hope that the flow of people there will have dulled.

_____

Rounding the corner and approaching your dorm, you eagerly open the door, hoping for a reprieve from the bustling crowds. However, your optimism is quickly diminished as you find the space still densely packed with a mix of eager freshmen, parents, and the occasional irritated senior, annoyed at the number of people - a hive of activity and a melting pot of an array of voices.

Undeterred, you press forward, determined to make your way to your room despite the persistent throng.

Navigating through the diverse sea of faces you make your way down the corridor. The air is charged with a blend of anticipation, familial warmth, and a touch of exasperation from those who had hoped for a quieter return to their familiar living spaces.

The sounds of conversations, laughter, and occasional sighs create a lively symphony that fills the air, providing a vivid backdrop to the varied emotions playing out in the cramped dormitory corridor.

Turning another corner, your curiosity is piqued, and you slow your pace to observe the activity around you. As you walk past a series of doors, your attention is drawn to the scenes unfolding in each room - freshmen unpacking with enthusiasm and parents offering last-minute advice.

Lost in this observational moment, you’re caught off guard as someone collides with you, sending you sprawling to the floor suddenly. A breath escapes you and you blink disoriented.

In the abrupt stillness that follows, you glance up to see the source of the collision, and to your surprise, it’s the handsome man from earlier. In the fleeting seconds your eyes lock, and you notice the striking shade of blue in his gaze and the sadness that seems to emanate from him.

Rather than offering a hand to help you up, he mumbles a quick apology and resumes his stride without missing a beat. A sense of frustration flares within you - as handsome as he is, his manners are clearly lacking.

Arsehole, you think as. you gather yourself from the floor with a shake of your head.

The brief encounter leaves you with a mix of bewilderment and a lingering sense of irritation as you make your way to your room.

______

Professor Armagan’s voice reverberates through the expansive art studio, commanding the attention of her assembled freshman class as she introduces you.

“Today, I want you to meet one of our seniors—she’s really gifted, and it’s important to me that you get to know more students of mine,“ she declares, her enthusiasm evident in the cadence of her words.

You raise your hand in acknowledgement, a subtle greeting to the newcomers, and take a moment to let your eyes wander across the room. The art studio, a sanctuary of creativity, is filled with eager faces, each potentially harbouring a unique artistic voice.

As your gaze travels through the room, you spot the lanky boy from the first day.

Ha, I knew it, a quiet sense of validation washes over you - your intuition about him being an artist appears spot-on and judging by the strokes on his canvas, a talented one at that.

The lesson unfolds with a straightforward tempo, and your role is mainly confined to sharing insights about the college and providing a glimpse into how art functions in Professor Armagan’s class. The information is delivered efficiently, and you find yourself relieved as the session concludes.

“Hi, I’m Dalton,“ the lanky boy strides up to you, extending a hand in greeting.

You reciprocate with a friendly smile, taking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Dalton,“

As your eyes fall upon Dalton’s pencil drawing, you can’t help but offer a genuine compliment. “Wow, this is really good. You’ve got some serious talent,“ you remark, appreciating the skill evident in his work.

Dalton’s face lights up with a grateful smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that,“ he replies, the sincerity in his tone confirming your initial impression of him as a genuinely nice individual, and you find yourself thinking that Dalton is the kind of person you could see yourself being friends with.

“You have to work on your disguise though - I could tell from a mile away that you chose the art program and was just wondering whether you made it to her class,“ with a playful grin, you jest to Dalton.

Dalton chuckles at your remark, and there’s a warmth in his response, “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty obvious, huh? Can’t hide the artist in me, I suppose.“

As you both exit the art studio together, the door softly closes behind you, the ambient sounds of the campus filling the air. The sunlight casts a warm glow over the pathway as you begin to make your way through the bustling campus, the occasional laughter and conversations of students blending into the lively background.

Turning to Dalton, you initiate a conversation about his college experience so far.

“So, how are you finding college so far? How’s it treating you?“ you inquire, a casual smile accompanying your words.

Dalton reflects, “It’s been an interesting ride. Meeting new people, navigating through classes, and, of course, diving into the art program. It’s everything I hoped for, honestly.“

The two of you continue to stroll, the campus unfolds around you.

Dalton shares more about his classes and the artistic projects he’s eager to explore, and you reciprocate with your own anecdotes.

Continuing your conversation, you find a natural segue to inquire about Dalton’s residence on campus. “By the way, which dorm are you in?“ you ask curiously with a casual tone.

Dalton smiles, “Oh, I’m in the last one down the path. How about you?“

As he reveals his dormitory, you can’t help but feel a spark of excitement. “No way! Me too,“ you respond, a genuine grin spreading across your face.

Dalton’s eyes light up with joy, and you pick up on the enthusiasm that suggests he might not have a large circle of friends.

He suggests, “We should totally hang out sometime. And you’ve got to meet my roommate, Chris – she’s really cool.“

You quirk an eyebrow and playfully tease Dalton, “Rooming with a girl, huh? The administration must have a wild sense of humour.“

Dalton chuckles, “Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise for both of us. Chris is fine, though. We make it work.“

You share a laugh, the notion of unexpected room assignments becoming a shared source of amusement. “Well, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting this mysterious Chris. Maybe the three of us could grab a coffee or something,“ you suggest, already envisioning potential hangout sessions.

Dalton’s eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm. “That sounds awesome! Chris will love it. She’s been itching to make some new friends around here.“

“How about this? There’s this amazing little coffee shop I’ve been a regular at since my first year here. It’s got this cosy vibe, and I think you and Chris would really enjoy it,“ you suggest, your enthusiasm echoing through your words.

Dalton’s eyes light up even more, his excitement matching yours. “That sounds awesome! I’m in, and I’m sure Chris will love it too.“

As you and Dalton walk through the dormitory halls, he suddenly comes to a stop and points to a door. “This is my room,“ he says with an appreciative smile, gratitude evident in his eyes.

You return the smile and quip, “Well, look at that! I guess I’ve been on the unofficial welcome committee. My room’s just further down the hall.“

Dalton laughs, appreciating the light-hearted exchange. “Thanks for walking with me. Do you wanna stop by tomorrow? I’d introduce you to Chris and we can get that coffee?“

“Absolutely, sounds like a plan,“ you respond. “See you tomorrow, dude,“ you add with a nod and a parting wave, continuing down the hall to your own room.

_____

The next day, you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room, thankful to do something today. The familiar dormitory halls lead you to their door, and you give a light knock before it swings open.

Dalton greets you with a welcoming smile. “Hey! Glad you could make it. This is Chris,“ he introduces, gesturing towards a short, black girl with braided hair, vibrant clothes, and a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you! Dalton’s mentioned you,“ Chris says and extends her hand, you grab it and shake it.

Upon entering the room, your eyes are immediately drawn to Dalton’s paintings adorning the walls. “These are really nice,“ you remark, genuinely appreciating the artistic talent displayed.

Dalton beams with gratitude. “Thanks,“ he responds, a hint of pride in his voice.

As the three of you settle into conversation, you decide to delve into a bit of small talk. “So, Chris, do you also major in art?“ you inquire, curious about her academic pursuits.

Chris chuckles, her demeanour warm and friendly. “Nope, not at all. I’m actually a math major. Total left brain-right brain dynamic we’ve got going on here,“ she says with a playful twinkle in her eye.

As the conversation flows, a sudden knock interrupts the camaraderie. Chris and Dalton exchange confused glances, both wearing expressions of mild bewilderment. “Were you expecting someone?“ Chris asks, looking at Dalton.

Dalton shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No, I have no idea. Were you?“

“Nah,“ Chris mirrors the headshake.

The room falls into a brief silence as Dalton opens the door, revealing a man standing on the threshold. Dalton’s confusion is palpable as he utters, “Dad?“

A breath hitches in your throat as recognition sets in. It’s him - the handsome man from your first day, the same person who unintentionally sent you sprawling to the floor and didn’t have the decency to help you up. The lingering ache in your hip serves as a constant reminder of that memorable encounter.

“Hey. Sorry for the surprise visit. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by and talk to Dalton,“ he says, his eyes widening a bit as they lock onto yours. Recognition flickers across his face. “I’m Josh, by the way.“

Holding his gaze, you find yourself momentarily captivated, drinking in the details like a starved soul. His blue eyes, once a passing detail, now reveal a depth that draws you in. The slight curl of his hair at the nape of his neck and around his ears adds a touch of casual charm, accentuated by the scruff of his beard that now appears more prominent. Your gaze appreciatively lingers on the nuances, savouring the details.

Your appreciative gaze shifts downward, taking in the way his dark blue, tight dress jacket with rolled-up sleeves complements the form-fitting light blue t-shirt beneath. The fabric spans deliciously over his broad shoulders, chest, and the little tummy he has, accentuating his physique effortlessly. It makes you want to be under him, your bodies pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly with his strong body - you’re sure that he’s soft in just the right places while being muscular and powerful.

The spell of fascination is abruptly broken as Chris, standing next to you, coughs purposefully to snap you out of your trance. The sudden interruption startles both you and Josh and you tear your eyes away from him.

You can’t shake the feeling that the attraction is not one-sided. Josh’s lingering gaze and the subtle shift in his expression suggest that he, too, was captivated.

The realization that the attraction might be mutual, even in this unexpected and somewhat inappropriate context, leaves a tinge of discomfort. Josh is not just a stranger; he’s Dalton’s dad, Dalton who is your friend. You silently hope that Dalton didn’t pick up on it.

Meeting Dalton’s gaze, you instantly sense that hope is futile - his raised eyebrow speaks volumes,

Josh clears his throat and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, your eyes involuntarily follow the movement, captivated by the subtle gestures.

For a brief moment, you indulge in the thought of his lips on yours, and his tongue on you. You wonder, if the stubble would scratch you, leaving marks on your skin so you could remember and feel him days later.

“Well, I should get going—I didn’t want to interrupt you,“ Josh says, directing his gaze at you again. “It was nice to meet you.“

As Josh offers a tight-lipped smile and exits the room. Once he’s gone, both Dalton and Chris turn their attention toward you.

“What was that?“ Chris’s inquiry comes with a hint of humour.

“Could you not undress him with your eyes next time - he’s my dad,“ Dalton says to you and you feel your cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry, man,“ you mumble, a tinge of embarrassment colouring your words, “It isn’t my fault he’s hot.“

_____

The next time you encounter him, you’re on your way to your dorm as Josh is just leaving.

“Hey, Josh,“ you greet him with a bright smile.

He responds with a big, bright, and goofy grin etched on his handsome face. You can’t help but think that he looks good when he smiles.

“Hey, it’s nice to see you again,“ he greets you, his eyes sweeping over your form, lingering longer on the neckline of your tight shirt than is appropriate.

“I’m sorry for running you over when he first met,“ he starts, scratching over the hair on the back of his head, “ Or at least just walking away and not helping you up again.“

You reach out to place a reassuring hand on the skin of his arm. Intending for it to be a featherlight, brief touch, as soon as your fingertips trace over his arm, it feels like electricity is being passed through you.

Josh, in response to the touch, swallows heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a visible display of tension. Instead of pulling away, he surprises both of you by taking your hand in his. Intertwining your fingers, he begins to rub soothing circles over the back of your hand with his thumb.

You notice the size of his hands—big and fitting for a man of his stature.

At that moment, it feels as though time stands still. Both of you just stand there, locked in a gaze, drinking in each other’s presence.

As he moves a bit closer, you become acutely aware of him, and his scent engulfs you like a private cocoon. It’s uniquely him - a blend of cologne and something inherently Josh. The cologne carries a woody fragrance, specifically dry wood, with nuanced undertones of sandalwood and amber.

The sun casts shadows on his face and accentuates the contours of his features. You observe that the short beard framing his face is threaded with salt-and-pepper hair. The interplay of light and shadows makes him more than just attractive—it renders him captivating.

His blue eyes, sparkling in the sunlight, reveal a depth that draws you in. They are akin to fire in water, reflecting a passionate intensity that burns within the warm sun-lit undercurrents of his gaze.

The healthy shine of his hair catches your attention, and you can’t help but notice the vibrancy it adds to his overall appearance. Your fingers itch to push the wayward locks behind his ear again, to feel if it is as soft as it looks.

The enchanting moment is abruptly shattered as someone carelessly bumps into you, jolting you out of the reverie. In the sudden disturbance, Josh releases your hand.

“I-,“ he clears his throat, the remnants of the charged moment still lingering, “should get going.“

There’s a palpable pause, a shared awareness of the disrupted connection. At that moment, you sense that he, too, is affected by the sudden intrusion into the private bubble you unintentionally created. The unspoken understanding between you deepens, and as he looks at you with an intensity that mirrors your own feelings, you find yourself nodding in agreement.

As Josh begins to move away, you’re left standing there, your gaze fixed on him. Your eyes trail along his departing figure, captivated by the sight of his muscular back.

_____

The inappropriate thoughts about Josh weigh heavily on your conscience, creating a turbulent storm of emotions within you that refuses to settle. Part of you acknowledges the relief of not having seen him in quite some time, while another part feels a twinge of sadness - There’s an undeniable sense of loss or longing; you want to see him again.

But you cherish your friendship with Dalton and don’t want to jeopardise it. It feels like you walk on a tightrope between desire and loyalty, especially because you’re fairly certain that this perpetual tension will snap at some point. So you find yourself consciously avoiding Dalton and Chris’s room. The fear of running into his handsome father fuels you, in particular, because he seems to make frequent visits - and the question lingers in the front of your mind: does he purposefully stop by so often, driven by a desire to see you?

Your gaze drifts around your dorm room, and you spot a sketchbook that isn’t yours. A moment of realization hits you like a sudden jolt—shit, that’s Dalton’s. He’s forgotten it again.

With the certainty that both Dalton and Chris are currently in class, you entertain the idea of stopping by to return the forgotten sketchbook. The timing seems opportune—no risk of encountering them, and by extension, no chance of a surprise visit from Josh, Dalton’s father.

The thought forms a plan in your mind, and you decide to seize the moment. The dormitory halls echo with quiet solitude as you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room.

The door swings open, and to your surprise, the room isn’t as empty as you expected. There, standing in the middle of the room is Josh,

Time seems to slow as you lock eyes with him, and an involuntary thought escapes your mind— Jesus, your memories really didn’t do his handsomeness justice.

You find yourself taking in the details—the way the room frames him, the play of light accentuating the contours of his features, and the way his presence seems to fill the space.

All the subtle nuances of his appearance, from the slightly tousled hair to the hint of scruff on his jaw, draw your attention. His blue eyes, usually a captivating shade, seem to shine darker than normal, adding a layer of intensity to the moment.

“I didn’t expect you here,“ the words escape your mouth, almost breathlessly, and you curse the involuntary reaction you have to Josh.

Instead of responding immediately, he looks you over, his gaze lingering on your form. Then, he opens his mouth and says, “You’ve been avoiding me.“

It’s not a question; it’s a statement, and it holds a truth you can’t deny. You have been avoiding him, but it’s more about not trusting yourself in his presence than anything else.

As you remain silent, Josh takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. His hand lands on the wood of the door, near your head, applying gentle pressure. The muscles in his chest and arms tense as he leans against the door, closing it with a quiet click.

Instead of moving away, he keeps standing there, effectively boxing you in between the door and his body.

He maintains an unbroken gaze on you, his eyes locked onto yours. The close proximity allows you to observe the intricate details of his eyes. They are not uniformly blue; instead, there’s a fascinating interplay of shades. A ring of light blue delicately encircles the pupil, creating a mesmerizing gradient with the darker blue that surrounds it. The hues blend seamlessly, forming a captivating dance of colours within the confines of his gaze.

The fragile silence hangs in the air, and a subtle fear lingers—fear that any spoken word or sudden movement might shatter the enchanting spell woven between you and Josh. In the cocoon of quietude, you choose to remain still, each heartbeat echoing in the confined space, cautious not to disrupt the delicate equilibrium of the moment.

You can’t help but feel lazy arousal starting to pool through your veins, fueled by Josh.

“Tell me to stop,“ Josh speaks, his words almost a whisper, “tell me to walk away.“

The quiet plea hangs in the air, revealing the internal struggle he faces. He’s your friend’s dad, divorced, and almost two decades your senior—valid reasons to resist the magnetic pull drawing you both in. Yet, in this charged moment, those rational arguments seem to lose their significance in the haze of him that clouds your thoughts.

Your eyes flicker to his lips, and as quietly as he had spoken, you finally respond, “Kiss me.“

And so he does.

Josh’s lips descend to yours, capturing you in a kiss that feels both urgent and consuming. His warm hand gently cups your cheek, adding a tender touch to the intensity of the moment. It’s a kiss that feels like an act of hunger as if he’s been starved and you are the only remedy to satiate it.

Your hands find their way to his strong shoulders, instinctively pulling him closer as you reciprocate the kiss. The texture of his lips against yours becomes a tactile language, each brush and press conveying a depth of emotion words might fall short of capturing. You feel his stubble scrape over your skin. The taste of his kiss is a fusion of want and need, a shared desire that resonates between you, eclipsing any reservations that linger in the back of your mind.

Josh breaks the kiss, and both of you are left breathless. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,“ he confesses, his voice laden with a mixture of desire and relief.

He starts leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, and you laugh quietly in response. “Well, I have an idea,“ you playfully remark and reminisce of when you first met him - you wanted to do that since then.

“Yeah, tell me,“ Josh smiles, his hand finding its way into your hair, tightening its grip. He is looking directly into your eyes smouldering blue burning into you as he leans down to bite into your bottom lip lightly.

“Josh,“ was all you managed to say in a breathy voice.

His lips move to your jaw, leaving soft kisses and sucking a mark into the soft skin of your neck, letting his teeth nip over the spot before moving on. You let out a moan and dig your fingers into his shoulders, before loosening your hold and roaming his whole back. You feel the strength of his muscles between your hands as well as the heat he emanates.

Not being able to contain yourself, you are desperate for some skin so you lift up the hem of his shirt and slip your hands under it, feeling his skin.

With a groan Josh presses his hips into yours, making you feel the hardness of the erection he is sporting. You grind against it as you feel your heart beating fast in your chest.

Josh pulls back, his eyes dark and glinting with arousal.

He slips his thick fingers under the thin straps of your dress and pulls them over your shoulders, leaving burning pathways in the wake of his touch. At that moment, you’re so glad you decided to wear a dress. And you second that again, when he tucks down the upper part of your dress, exposing your breasts to his nimble fingers and hungry eyes.

Almost instantly his hands find their way to your tits and you groan when he rubs the pad of his thumb over your nipple.

Josh takes his sweet time exploring you and finding out which sound he can wring from you by just his hands touching your chest. Deliberately, he flicks his forefinger against the hardened bud before capturing it between two fingers, rolling and tugging on it.

His lips skate over your collarbones, nibbling and sucking leaving more marks in his wake.

Something shortcircuits in your brain when you notice how his hands span over your ribs, making you feel fragile beneath him. And in that moment you want nothing more than for him to just lift you and impale you on him, manipulate you to his liking until the only thing you can remember is his name.

You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, pulling his hips against yours, wishing that he wasn’t wearing anything. You feel the hardness of his cock pressed against your belly as you grind down on him.

When his lips and fingers leave your skin you almost whine at the loss of contact but Josh wraps an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his thick frame before covering your mouth with his own again, possessing you.

He presses one of those strong thighs between your legs, pressing it against your clothed cunt, locking you against the wood of the door again. Without a coherent thought, you moan into his mouth as the rough fabric of his jeans rubs over your wet pussy.

Frantic your hands undo the belt and open his jeans, pushing it down, before tugging on his shirt, desperate for more skin. Josh takes pity on your frazzled attempts and takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head as well as letting his jeans fall to the floor with a quiet thud.

His skin is damp, a thin sheen of sweat giving it a dewy glow that catches the light of the room. Your eyes trace over him appreciatively, taking in the details that make him undeniably attractive as he just watches you with dark, hooded eyes.

The rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by a scattering of sparse chest hair, draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on the muscles that play beneath the softness of his belly. In this moment, you find that he is a perfect harmonious mix between being ripped and soft.

Driven by a need to touch - to feel - him your fingers trace a delicate path across Josh’s chest, shoulders, and belly, exploring the terrain of his skin with a gentle curiosity.

As your fingertips navigate the expanse of his chest, you feel his breath and breathing heart, a subtle rhythm syncing with the beating of your own heart. The transition to his shoulders unveils the sinewy strength that lies beneath, a testament to the physicality that drew you in. Moving lower, your touch encounters the softness of his belly, tracing the trail of hair that leads into his briefs.

Without warning you cup his hard cock that’s straining against the fabric of his underwear, making him groan, a deep sound that reverberates through his chest.

Josh wraps his arms around you, lifting you up as he dips his head to kiss you. He bites your lip, the sharp nip of his teeth making you whimper into his mouth. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass as he carries you, prompting you to wrap your legs around his thick middle.

With one fluid movement, he sets you down on the desk, dimly you register the books on the table being swept to the floor. He slots himself between your legs as he tangles his hand in your hair to tilt your head back to force you to meet his gaze.

“If you want to stop - at any point - you tell me,“ Josh’s voice is a quiet, husky murmur, the darkness in his eyes reflecting the pleasure shared between you. His lips, now deliciously pinked from your kisses, hover close.

Wordlessly, you nod. In this moment, he embodies everything you desire and more, a captivating presence that has ensnared your senses. If this is your only chance at tasting him, feeling him, having you - you’ll gladly take it. If not somewhat sad, because you’re sure you will not be able to forget him.

He captures your lips in another short kiss while hitching your dress up higher. Josh’s hand is between your legs now, rubbing one finger over your clothed cunt. You just know that the cotton has to be damp, that he now feels how much you want this - want him.

When he applies more pressure, scraping over your clit you arch your back into his touch. His eyes are on yours, drinking in your every reaction.

Josh repeats the act and you rake your fingers over his back so hard you’re certain to have marked him. It’s making him moan, low, deep and frantic as if he’s enjoying this as much as you. Your entire skin fizzles with electricity upon his reaction.

In one fluid motion, he seats himself beneath your things and yanks your ass off the edge of the desk. His fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and he pulls them down, off your legs.

Just the sight of Josh between your legs edges you closer to an orgasm. His big hands are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open for him. If you had to describe the look in his eyes you don’t know if another word than feral was fitting.

He makes you want to paint him, to capture this moment for eternity, with his messy hair and dark eyes.

Your head falls back and every thought becomes impossible when he presses a featherlight kiss on your clit, the stubble prickling like electricity. You cry out when he draws a circle around it with his wet tongue.

“You need to be quiet, sweetheart,“ he says, voice low, rough and deep. “Wouldn’t want anyone to come in here, right?“

You can’t do much other than nod - you know that you can try but you also surely know that you will fail.

As soon as Josh presses his palm across your stomach to hold you down and tastes your cunt with a long lick you lose that train of thought again.

He builds you up with a slow and dexterous tongue, determined to make you cum beneath him. Your back arches off the desk, only held down by his strong arm as you whimper.

You feel your cunt clenching and you’re sure that you’re staining the desk with your wetness.

Arousal crashes through your vein and you feel yourself getting closer - and he apparently also does because he hooks his arms around you, to pull you closer to his mouth.

A curse rolls over your tongue when he sinks two of his thick fingers into your cunt, curling them inside your so you spasm around him.

While you know that your orgasm is drawing closer it still hits you like a freight train. The mixture of his fingers and his mouth on your clit brings you over the edge.

You cry out and your back arches off the desk, fire pulsing through you. Josh’s mouth is still on you, licking through your wet cunt, catching every drop. You feel like your muscles are locking up and the fire has extended to your lungs as he continues to work you through it. Only when you whimper against him, overstimulated he pulls back.

Josh’s neck and chin are coated in your wetness, glistening in the light of the room. A blinding smile is etched across his features, reaching his eyes. The pleasure radiating from him is palpable and genuine, he likes how you react to him.

Your fingers instinctively dig into the firm contours of Josh’s shoulders, a desperate longing urging him to rise and meet your lips. In response, his strong arms envelop you, pulling you irresistibly close as your mouths meld together in a fervent kiss. You taste the salty tang of yourself on his tongue.

His hard cock is pressed against your bare cunt and you grind down on him, making him groan into the kiss. Just from feeling him, you know that he’s big and you ache to get your hands on him.

You reach into his briefs, following the trail of hair. Josh’s cock is thick and twitching in your palm as you smear precum over him to jerk him off easier.

God, he’s going to split you in half, make you burn from the stretch as he forces you to accept every thick, hot inch of him.

Driven by need you push his underwear over his hips, mesmerizes as you finally see him naked. His dick stands proud and hard in neatly trimmed pubic hair. You wrap your hand around him again, tracing the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. Josh jerks his hips into your hand and you wet your lips as you clench around nothing.

It’s almost surreal, the realization that this handsome and gorgeous man is as captivated by you as you are by him and you itch to return the favour and take him into your mouth to see what sounds you can elicit from him.

But when you show signs of slipping from the desk he stops you with a long-fingered hand on your thigh.

“You can return the favour next time, we have to be quick,“ Josh’s voice is husky and dark as his eyes are on you intently.

Next time? Fuck, yes, you really hope that there will be a next time because you don’t think you can get enough of him.

His arms wrap around you again to claim your mouth before lifting you up from the desk. The dig of his fingers into your skin lingers are you just hope that they will bruise. He walks both of you over to a bed in the room, laying you down on your back.

Josh is a solid form above you, chest heaving as he braces his weight on his elbows. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, before licking a stripe along the length of your pulse.

The feeling of his weight pressing you into the bed with his bare chest on yours is indescribable. The soft swell of his stomach against yours is heavenly s you claw into his shoulders and back to pull him further on you,

“Fuck me, please,“ your voice wrecked and hoarse as you buck against him, feeling his hard dick press against you.

He pushes his cock against your cunt, nudging your clit with every stroke, just slicking himself with your wetness.

You whimper when you feel the tip of his broad dick slide into you, keeping it buried inside you, “Josh, please .“

Josh takes pity on you. He leans forwards and his eyes are on yours as he fills you with short and shallow thrusts, inching his cock further and further inside you. Your eyes fall closed at the overwhelming feeling of him in your cunt and he stops again.

Your eyes fly open when his hand finds its way around your throat, wordlessly telling you to keep your gaze locked on him. The slow drag of his dick elicits a high-pitched whine from you.

When his hips are flush against yours, he stills, giving you time to get used to him.

“Just like that…. You’re doing so well,“ his voice is low as he praises you.

The combination of the barely contained edge in his voice and the praise causes you to clench around him, making Josh groan. You’re drunk off him, off how you feel every ridge, every vein against the wall of your cunt.

When he pulls back and only leaves the tip inside you again, you whine. That is soon replaced by a loud moan as he slams his whole length into you.

He feels impossibly deep in your cunt, like he’s carving himself inside with every slap, stroke and thrust of his hips. There is nothing you can do but lay there and take it.

With every thrust, he almost growls into your ear as he possesses you. The slap of his balls against you and the wet squelch of your cunt is loud in the room as he continues to wreck you.

The head of his cock drags over that spot that makes you see stars and you twitch and jerk against him, completely overwhelmed by him.

You hiss when he reaches between you to press the pad of his thumb against your sensitive clit. He flicks it against it before starting to rub small circles that make you quiver under him and clench around him.

Josh’s face is the epitome of concentration as he drives his dick inside you again and again, his brow furrowed as he fucks the both of you towards your high.

You scream when you come. Blinding pleasure shoots through your veins, expanding from inside you and engulfing you. His lips come down to kiss you, capturing you in a feverish and feral kiss. Your teeth click together as he devours you and continues to slam into you.

With a load groan, he pushes into you as deep as possible, clutching you tightly as his hips jerk and he spills inside you.

He kisses you, hard and short while he keeps his hips flush with yours as he rocks them, milking himself dry.

It feels almost soft when he pushes your damp hair from your face and cups your cheek as you catch your breath. The kiss you share is lazy and soft, your hands comb through his hair lightly. You wrap your arms around him tightly, holding him close and savouring the feeling of his body on yours.

The post-orgasmic bliss disperses suddenly when you feel him soften inside you, his cum leaking onto the bed.

“Shit, Josh,“ panic is evident in your voice, “Get up.“

The realisation hits you, that Josh just ruined you in the room of his son - on his desk and bed. You know that you can’t pretend that this never happened, not when you know how perfect he feels inside you or how he looks when he comes.

His quiet laugh irritates you at first but your eyes flutter closed again when he presses his lips against yours.

“It will be fine,“ Josh’s blue eyes shine bright as he traces your lips with his thumb, “Let’s get cleaned up first. And then I’d like to take you out for some food.“

“Yeah… yeah,“ you start, a smile on your features, “I’d like that.“

#patrick wilson #patrick wilson x reader #patrick wilson smut #the conjuring #ed warren #insidious #fanfiction #josh lambert #insidious smut #josh lambert x reader #josh lambert smut #orm marius #aquaman #insidious fanfiction #insidious the red door #aquaman the lost kingdom #aquaman and the lost kingdom

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godhandler · 28 days ago

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Rent A BF!

#3 | young toji fushiguro x reader | fluff, mentions of prostitution, aged and sometimes offensive terminology | 800 words

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22nd May, 1996

You’re probably one of the worst customers Toji’s ever had.

Perfect Princes Escort Services placed their escorts hierarchically. At the top of the food chain were the Gojo-Geto pair, so high in demand they could pick their own customers and set their own prices. Perhaps Nanami could’ve asked for the same benefits if he hadn’t demanded that 401 (k) instead.

Newcomer runts like Toji sat snug on the bottom rung. You were actually his first high-paying customer, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s really worth it.

“So, tell me about your family back home, Toji-kun.” The candlelight from the romantic dinner table reflects the burning curiosity in your eyes. “Got any siblings?”

Like hell I’d tell ya.

“Don’t have either, miss.” Toji forks a mussel open and dumps it all over his spaghetti. He doesn’t bother plastering a polite smile on. He has no incentive to: you’ve already made the mistake of pre-paying for 10 days, and he highly doubts that you’ll extend the contract with him any longer. Nanami once told him– when moderate efforts do the job, moderate efforts are all you should put in– and Toji decided to brand it into his heart.

He’s very invested in spiral-mixing his shellfish into his spaghetti when the sound of you scoffing cuts into him.

You scoffed at him. You scoffed. At him.

Red-hot rage flashes to his skull before reason has a chance to. Triggered instinct– white knuckle grip bending the fork– shoulder tightened in anticipation of an arm drawn to sma–

“Like I’d believe that.” Unaware of the danger you’re in, you’re smiling so sweetly at him. No condescension, no ill meaning. “You know your forks, you weren’t raised in a barn.”

“Huh?”

“Your tastes are dogshit, who mixes oysters and pasta? But even when you’re not trying, your dinner table etiquette is so proper. You leave your dinner fork on your plate and pick your oyster with the oyster fork, you keep your wine glass diagonally to your left, you know the difference between a bib and a lap-napkin. I bet you’ll eat the dessert with the tiny spoon too, O Prince Toji.”

No longer a weapon, the fork returns to its duty of gingerly shovelling food to Toji’s mouth while you add, “And we don’t even use forks that much. You were raised into money then. Let me guess, a runaway second son of a renowned clan who fell into debt or drugs?”

For a long time, the only sounds are of the cutlery scraping the china. A habitually thoughtless speaker, you slowly sink into a mortified guilt of touching a nerve not meant to be exposed to the air. I was only joking around (that’s quite a horrible apology) or maybe Geez, I didn’t think you'd be so sensitive (even worse). After all these years, apologies are still so hard for you to manage. So you just slip this one word out: “Sorry.”

Toji doesn’t look at you. “Think you’re so smart, knowing so much about me, huh? I know about you too.”

“Like what?”

“No,” he shakes his head glumly. He’s not angry exactly, more like the topic provokes like a popped blister. “You’ll complain to my boss.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Fine, then.” And he sets his stoneheavy eyes on yours. They're deep green, you notice, the colour of an old lake. “These aren’t oysters.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a fucking mussel. I don’t know how you can confuse the two.” He picks an unopened one up and pries it open with a nail. “See? It’s so much smaller and thinner than an oyster. Oysters taste like strong salty boogers, but mussels–” He scoops the flesh out, drops a bit of marinara on it and hands you the fork. It’s good, you realise, the gentle flavour of the mussel carrying the pasta sauce well. “–Mussels taste like the ocean.”

A minute passes as you chew, apology taking shape on the tip of your tongue: “I’m sorry I got too much.”

“Apologise for shitting on my taste in food too.”

“Fine, Toji-kun, I’m sorry I called your tastes dogshit. Maybe shellfish and pasta do go together.”

“That’s right, miss.” He cocks his head to the side, grinning like a troublemaker. “I wouldn’t expect you new money to know about delicate tastes that much.”

And you can’t help smiling as well. “That easy to read?”

“I’m just observant.” He taps his temple. “Your family wasn’t poor but you struggled sometimes, you’re actually left handed but you trained your right hard to work too, so now you’re ambidextrous, you had two younger siblings possibly sisters, you don’t actually like either spaghetti or mussels, you over-steep your tea, your watch is 19 seconds late, you have a rash on your left thigh, you need to moisturise your hands more and learn to blend your foundation into your neck, and your family died recently.” He leans back against the chair and burps. “There, we’re even now.”

You’re left gaping at him.

“... Anything else, Toji-kun?”

“You have pasta in your teeth.”

Toji left the second session with a distinct sense of victory.

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a/n: pancakes are the bane of my existence. they taste just fine without putting things on top (not too sweet is the best compliment) but noooo you just have to ruin it with syrup or butter. and then u have to cut it with a fork and knife. its useless, its wasting fucking time. my hands could just hold it like a burger and finish the whole ordeal quick, even chopsticks maybe if they're not too heavy. fork and knife is decidedly the worst way to eat pancakes.

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galadrieljones · 1 month ago

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Possession (Rook x Emmrich)

❤️ Dragon Age | Emmrook | Solavellan | one-shot | Mature ❤️

word count: 7,460 Summary: In the Lighthouse, Rook and Emmrich hunt through some of Solas's old records from his time with the Inquisition. What they find brings them closer together, as they embark on a romantic scavenger hunt through memories of the past.

Read here, or at AO3 💫

Possession

JOLENE MERCAR, also known as Rook, was stalemated outside the door of a certain generous and compassionate necromancer. It was late at night. Though time seemed to pass strangely here in the Fade, whenever she was inside the Lighthouse, she could always sort of tell what part of the day it was. Like an enchantment, or an illusion. She knocked on the door.

Emmrich answered. He was very tall, and when he saw her in all of her tiny elven glory, he smiled. He was genuinely surprised to see her, but seemingly very pleased. "Rook," he said. "What a nice surprise."

"Hello, Emmrich," she said, feeling a little stupid. She had her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels as she spoke. "I was just...popping by. I discovered something, here in the Lighthouse, a hidden room. It belonged to Solas. It's filled with a bunch of notebooks. Diaries and things. Records, lots of them dated back to when he was in the Inquisition. I was going to go through them on my own, see if we could learn anything, but I suddenly felt the urge for company. I thought you might find it all interesting, as an expert on the Fade. You know, like he is."

Emmrich considered. Rook had long, dark hair, which she sometimes wore in a loose braid over her shoulder, but that night, it just fell to the small of her back, like a curtain. Her eyes were light as candles, and he liked her. Something about her forward nature truly intrigued him, and though he did not entirely understand what she might see in him, she came by often, looking for wisdom. She was young, and he could tell that she felt...out of place in all this. In any case, she had never come to him so late at night before. This was new. The promise of what lie ahead, it was very tempting, despite his prevailing sense of discipline and stoicism. He said to her, "I believe I would find that interesting. Thank you, Rook, for thinking of me. Please, come in. Just let me grab some things, and let's be on our way."

As she stood there, demurely, taking stock of Emmrich's vast and detailed inventory, the books and the skulls and the bizarre crystals, she felt excited, happy for the first time since all this began. It was a pretty picture, this place, so strange and haunted, and yet the whimsy, it was like wrapping herself in a warm scarf. Rook was not a mage, and she had not grown up with such displays of magical possibility. Magic was utilitarian where she was from, or else it was devious. But Emmrich, in all of his sparkling oddity, could make even the littlest, most mundane things feel new and awake. Rook often tried to remind herself that, no matter how bad things get, it's the little things in life that truly set you free.

In the music room, Emmrich was delighted by the presence of a piano in the Lighthouse. He honed through a couple of chords, but it sounded like the gloomier depths of the Necropolis. "It's woefully out of tune," he said. "I can come back in the morning, perhaps, make it sing once more."

"You play the piano?" said Rook, feeling wistful. She had picked the lid up off a wooden box, which she had stacked earlier near the high window. Light seemed to flood in, even though it was after ten.

"My skills are a bit lapsed," said Emmrich. "But I trained for many years in my youth. Music is a language all its own. I've found that certain spirits communicate more readily through the wonders of melody."

"Perhaps that's why Solas plays?"

He smiled. "Perhaps."

Rook sat down on a dusty old hope chest. It seemed made of both wood and gold at the same time, and this weirdness with textiles was something that Solas seemed drawn to. Metals that looked like wood, woods that looked like metal. She watched the little particles floating around in the bars of light from the window as she gathered a stack of leather bound notebooks. There were many books and records and things that looked sort of official, like things you might need at some sort of tribunal, but these ones were filled, front to back with what seemed like poetry, math, journal entries, all in Solas's handwriting. It was elegant but rushed. "Some of these notebooks are just filled with what look like complicated arithmetic."

"May I?" said Emmrich. He pulled up the bench from the piano, sat beside Rook at the window. Rook handed him a notebook. He studied the markings, which were strange, but some oddly familiar. "As the maker of the Veil, it would make sense for Solas to be adept at theoretical and applied physics. Some of these formulas are familiar to me and my studies. Others are...well. They are like nothing I've ever seen before."

"He doodles a lot. See?" She showed him the pages of another notebook. This one was more of a sketchbook, she gathered. There were a great many drawings. Mostly faces and animals, sketched out in pencil, loose with an absentminded touch. "This one is cute. Look. A nug."

"That is very amusing."

"If we don't find anything good here, we can always go back to the office," she said. "It's through the door, but it's sort of gloomy. I just brought some of the boxes out here so that we could sit in the light."

"Yes, the light," said Emmrich, studying the windows. "I wonder if the enchantment lives inside, outside, or in the glass itself?"

"In any case, it's pretty," said Rook.

"I agree."

She showed him another sketch, this one more detailed than the others. "Look at this one. Do you recognize this place?"

It was a castle, or a fortress, misty, and planted deep in a glorious mountain scape. Emmrich studied it closely. He did recognize it, but he was having a difficult time placing it in his memory. "It says right here, Terasylan'Telas. Do you speak elven, Rook?"

"Nope," she said. "My knowledge ends at Andaran Atishan. Mostly."

"Hmm. You know, now that I think of it, I believe this might be Skyhold," he said.

"Skyhold?"

"The legendary fortress of the Inquisition. It's located somewhere in the Frostback Mountain range, which forms the natural border between the southern Kingdoms of Ferelden and Orlais."

"Ferelden and Orlais," said Rook. "Geez. That's far. Have you ever been?"

"Never," he said. "Until I met you, I never once left Nevarra. Now, here I am, living in an ancient elven sanctuary in the Fade. Such intrigue you bring to my life, Rook."

She blushed a little, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "He seems attached to this place," said Rook, turning the pages of the notebook, slowly. There were several more sketches of the castle, from multiple angles, the insides and outsides. "He seems to know it well."

"Who is this?" said Emmrich. He pointed to a figure, sketched out in the doorway to what appeared to be some sort of rotunda. The form was female, somewhat tall, created with great care, but it was unfinished.

"Who knows," said Rook. "A mystery woman? After this, it's just tons and tons of butterfly sketches. All kinds of them. Guess he's a fan of bugs."

"Let's delegate a little," he said. "Hand me one of those notebooks, if you please."

She obliged. He straightened up and opened the notebook in his lap. "You continue with the sketchbook, and I will investigate this here."

"What is that one?"

"It looks to be some sort of diary," said Emmrich. "Entries, with dates from twelve years back. I'll let you know if I find anything of interest."

"Same here."

They sat for a while, reading. At some point, Rook got antsy and scooched off the hope chest to sit on the floor. She flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, taken with the minute and lovely details of Solas's drawings. After the butterflies, the pages began to fill with the shapes of people, actual people with detailed, unique faces and expressions, which led Rook to believe that they were real. His friends, perhaps? There was a study of a young man with an enormous hat, a tall elven woman with short hair eating a cookie, a human shield maiden reading a book beneath a tree, and a great, Qunari warrior playing chess. At some point, she came across somebody familiar, but the hair had changed. She recognized him from Minrathous. It was Dorian Pavus, holding a skull near a candle. This awakened something strange inside her, like an eclipse. Late in the book, there was a sketch of Varric, situated from the side. He was holding a flagon, sitting in a tavern somewhere, and he looked pensive. Rook almost said something to Emmrich about it, but she kept it inside. She wasn't sure why. It just felt like opening a can of big, fat worms, which she wasn't ready to open yet.

But then. "Very interesting," said Emmrich. "Very interesting indeed."

"Did you find something?"

"I'm not entirely sure," said Emmrich. "There's a fair bit of elven in here, which I do not understand. But not all of it. This, here, it is written mostly in the common language. It appears to be a prose poem? A ballad of some sort."

"What's it about?"

"Well, as it is a ballad, which means it is about love."

"A love poem? By the Dread Wolf?"

"Come here, Rook. Have a look at this."

She got up from the hardwood floor and went and sat down next to Emmrich on the piano bench. He was big beside her, and she was temporarily taken by his scent. Like rosemary, subtle. His clothing was simple tonight, she thought, unadorned. Just a cream collared shirt, seemed made of cotton, very soft, well-tailored, and expensive. He opened the notebook between them, so that she could follow along. "Listen," he said. He pointed to the page in question and read aloud, solemnly and with great care. As he spoke, with such a soft gravitas, the world around her seemed to change:

Light gathers on the sea, where we sit on the pier. It approaches and folds beside you like an envelope. I do not know how it folds, but it seems to anyway. It disregards me entirely. On this day in Val Royeaux, as we watch the seamen mooring their ships, you whisper, "What is that, vhenan?" You speak of a white bird, which has landed on a barrel. "Some sort of egret," I say. I can tell that you already knew that. You just like to ask questions, and you think it's funny. The word "egret," you say, sounds funny in my mouth. The light finds you here. It finds your eyes here. It disregards me entirely, The light. I could not have made it any more beautiful myself. It has a mind of its own as it touches you. And you find me, ara avise'ain.

The room was silent, but for the tense ticking of a clock somewhere.

"What a wonderful, if not monumental relic," said Emmrich, his heart stayed. "I am taken aback by this. I should like to read it again and again. What do you think, Rook?"

Rook shook herself out of a deep but ethereal trance then. It felt like something was wrong with her. She realized right then that she had leaned in a little close, the whole time he'd been reading. Her cheek, it brushed against the soft fabric at his shoulder. He did not seem bothered. He seemed very comfortable there beside her.

"I think..." she said, trailing off. "I think...it's just...so erotic."

This seemed to intrigue him greatly. "Erotic?" he said. "Quite the interpretation, Rook. You speak of his use of light, perhaps?"

"Yeah," she said. "How it's always folding and...touching the water, touching her. The mention, too, of the word egret, and how it sounds in his mouth. It just calls to mind their...intimacy. Something was going on here."

"Very good," said Emmrich. "I do agree. It seems that perhaps the Dread Wolf may have taken a secret lover during his time with Inquisition."

"Perhaps the woman that he drew? The one in the doorway of the rotunda?"

"Perhaps."

"Ara avise'ain," she said. "Are there any other uses of this word?"

"Hmm," said Emmrich. He flipped forward a few pages. There was a great deal of elven here. It was sort of like fishing for diamonds through a deft and elegant swamp. But he caught on something, quickly, then studied. He gave her the notebook. "Here. Read this, Rook."

She stared at the poem. She tried to concentrate, but then, she felt him nudge her gently in the shoulder with his own.

She sort of jumped. "What's wrong?"

"Read it aloud, if you please," he said, softly. "I'd like to hear it in your voice. It is so much more meaningful that way."

"Oh," she said. "Sure. Here goes." She cleared her throat.

I knocked, wondering if you had forgotten. You had not. You were braiding your hair. You said, "I was worried." Vhenan, who worries. Sometimes I feel like a star, which has already died. You say to me, "Sleep here." You invite me inside. Where it is safe. A nest. Maybe here? You bring me in with both hands. I take off your dress. Why can't I go home, avise'ain? Where the candles flicker to death, withholding, and there are only teeth.

"Shit," said Rook.

"I echo the sentiment," said Emmrich.

"This is really...wow. I wasn't expecting this," she said. "Only teeth? Fuck."

"I am concerned about the metaphor," said Emmrich. "It does not bode well for the Dread Wolf."

"I wish I knew what that word meant," she said. " Avise'ain. I know what vhenan means. It's like, an elven term of endearment. It means my heart. Or something."

"I wonder if, perhaps, Bellara, or Davrin could help us with the elven."

"That's a good idea," she said. "But Bellara's asleep. She was up late last night, tweaking the eluvian. Told me she wanted to turn in early."

"Then Davrin it is," said Emmrich. They set off.

When they found Davrin, he was lying flat on his back, on the hardwood floor, staring up at the ceiling while Assan, confused, licked his palm.

"Davrin?"

"Hello, Rook."

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

He turned his head to see them. They stood just inside the entryway. There were stacks of old books on the table, the wooden carvings lined up. Davrin kept a very nice space. He was neat and discerning, but he was not a minimalist.

"Emmrich?" he said. It was like a light turning on. "Wait. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine," reassured Emmrich. "But, we are wondering the same of you. Are you often taken with lying on the floor, Davrin?"

"Not at all," said Davrin. He got to his feet, slowly, like he was drunk. He wasn't drunk. He was just...exhausted? "Assan won't sleep. I thought, maybe if I lie here on the floor, he'd doze off next to me. But. No dice."

"Aw, poor Assan," said Rook, patting the sweet creature on his feathered head.

"Poor Assan?" said Davrin. "How about poor me?"

"Poor you," said Rook.

He smiled. Assan squawked. "What are you guys doing here? Isn't it kind of late?"

"A little," said Rook.

"We require your assistance with the elven language. How are you with translation, Davrin?"

"Pretty good," he said. "What's going on?"

"We found some of Solas's old records, in a secret room, next to the library," Emmrich continued. "They are from his time with the Inquisition. It's quite interesting. A good deal of it is written in elven, however, and neither Rook nor I speak the language."

"Solas is an ancient elf," said Davrin. "I never really learned that dialect. I know a little, but it's rare."

"Can you try?" said Rook.

Davrin sighed. He scratched at the back of his head and then plopped down into the armchair by the fire. "Have a seat," he said. "Let me see."

Emmrich handed Davrin the open notebook, the one with the poetry, and then he and Rook sat down on the floor, like children. Assan watched the whole interaction, rapt and wide awake as Davrin took to studying the elven.

"These poems here are written in the common tongue," said Emmrich. "But there is an elven word used multiple times. Avise'ain. It perplexes us."

"Can you tell us what it means?" said Rook.

"Holy shit," said Davrin, reading the poem about the pier, and the egret. He read it multiple times. Then he looked at Rook, his face screwed up like he'd seen a ghost. "Do you know who he wrote this for?"

"No, we don't," said Rook.

He made a low whistle. "This shit is deep."

"What does it mean?" said Rook, urging him back to the task at hand. " Avise'ain?"

"Right," said Davrin. "Well, this word isn't something I've seen before. But it's not ancient elven. It's contemporary. See this? The suffix, -ain , is a diminutive. It means little, or petite. Avise is a form of the word ise, which means fire. Avise means flame. Avise'ain means—"

"Little flame," said Rook. "Like, a pet name maybe?"

"That's exactly what it is," said Davrin. "And see this here? Here, he uses the possessive, ara, which means my. My little flame. Whoever this was, they were definitely...well, I think you know."

"I believe the correct term is intimate, Davrin. No need to be coy."

Davrin almost started laughing. "Touche. Does seem a little strange though, speculating about the sex life of an ancient elven god."

"Solas didn't present himself as a god to the Inquisition," said Rook. "He didn't even tell them he was an ancient elf. According to Varric, he just presented as an apostate. He said he was a fade mage, same as you, Emmrich."

"That inspires my curiosity, to be sure," he said.

Davrin flipped through the book some more, studying the handwriting. "All this other stuff is ancient," said Davrin. "Except for this one word, avise'ain, which is in common elven. Why?"

"Perhaps the woman to whom he assigned his pet name is not an ancient elf," said Emmrich. "If she doesn't speak the dialect, it would make little sense for him to use it."

"So she's a regular elf? Or...a new elf? Like me and Davrin?" said Rook.

"Yes, and it's also likely that she speaks the common dialect."

"So, she's Dalish," said Davrin.

"Are you sure you can't read any of this other stuff?" said Rook. "These poems and entries. You can't read the ancient elven? Even a little?"

Davrin squinted at the pages in deep concentration, which seemed to lure Assan closer to his side. He sidled up to Davrin's chair and placed his head in his lap. Davrin stroked the beast's neck absentmindedly, a darling display. "Hmm," he said.

"Hmm?" said Rook.

"I can't translate this word for word," he said. "That's for sure. I just don't know the vocabulary. But elven, it's more than just a language. It's like a feeling. If you're an elf, that is. Especially this old stuff. Shit, it's a little like music. Rook, even though you don't know how to speak it, I bet if you read this, and you focused really hard, like really hard, you would understand what I'm talking about."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"You can sense the story," he said. "Solas, in his words, is telling a story. I can see it in my mind's eye, like...ancestral memory."

"I don't know how I feel about sharing ancestral memories with Solas," said Rook.

"Well, I think we do. Whether we like it or not." He handed her the book. "Here. Just take a look."

She looked at Davrin, a little apprehensive. She had never been very elfy. Sort of like self-preservation in Tevinter. In fact, in her quotidian life, before all this, it was typical for her to simply forget what she was half the time. When it struck her, and she remembered, it was always in these horrible moments of existential unease. On the street corners. On the docks. She had considered leaving Minrathous thousands of times before her twenty-fifth birthday, for thousands of reasons. But she never had anywhere to go. Until now, of course.

Suddenly she felt Emmrich's hand, big and soft on her shoulder. He squeezed once, then lowered his mouth, close to her ear. He said, "You can do it, Rook. I believe in you. Just give it a whirl."

She felt very hot all of a sudden, in her cheeks, and it zinged straight back to her eartips. But still, it was comforting. He was such a comforting presence, calming all her stupid bullshit with one single, casual touch. She said, "Okay. I'll try."

She picked up the book. The words made little sense. As Davrin had said, even for elven, it was out of whack, bizarrely tuned, as if invented on the spot. But then, after a moment, she felt a kind of warm, snowy sensation in the back of her brain. It was like fuzz, and then it spread, and it came into focus. Like a crystal. It spun there, at the center of her brain. She looked up at Emmrich, and she said, "I felt something."

"Wonderful," said Emmrich. "What did you feel?"

"This is a story," she said, tapping her finger to the words. "It's about rooftops, am I right?" She looked to Davrin.

"Yes," he said. "Rooftops, mountains. Her hair, like, it's everywhere, right? Did you get that?"

"I did. Maybe that means it's windy?"

"Good call. Also, there's a tear in the sky. He compares it to an eye, watching them. Like they're never alone. But he wants her. Bad. He wants to be free, to be with her."

"Emmrich," said Rook, serious now.

"Yes? I must say. This is quite entertaining, you two."

"You've read the Inquisition folklore. Are you sure you never saw any references to a romance?"

"I have only read the canonical texts," he said, "which, beyond names and basic formalities, in no way addresses any interpersonal aspect of the people involved. So, no."

"You should go talk to Harding," said Davrin. "She was in the Inquisition. She might know."

"Oh my gosh," said Rook. "You're right."

"You're also in luck," said Emmrich, voice low, his hands clasped in front of him, very debonair. He nodded toward Assan, who had fallen asleep, his head heavy in Davrin's lap, very still, eyes closed, breathing even. "It seems our discussion of ancient elven poetry lulled your young griffon here right to sleep."

Davrin surveyed the situation, dropped his head back and blinked up at the ceiling. "Guess I should get comfortable."

"We'll see you in the morning," said Rook, very eager. Emmrich had got to his feet first, extended a hand to her. She took it, stood tall, and dusted herself off. "Thank you for your help, Davrin. That was...interesting."

"Any time," he said.

As they crossed the great courtyard in the middle of the night, they both looked up to the deep, dark Fade sky at the same exact time. There was a shooting star, or, that's what it looked like. It was big and molten, like a long column of light which then simply disappeared from existence. This dazzled Rook, but it also unnerved her. She had never really been outside before when the Lighthouse went dark. She'd had no idea that there were stars here.

"This place shall never cease to amaze me," said Emmrich, in wonderment. "Stars and night. The chattering sounds of inexplicable nature. We are floating on a cloud, it seems, and yet, there are butterflies and opossums. I can sense them in the underbrush. Solas made this place comfortable many years ago. He wanted his people to feel at home here."

"When we first arrived," said Rook, "the place was falling apart. I think Solas was living here, before the ritual, but it feels like there are parts of the castle he never went to, like he lived in two, maybe three of the rooms tops. Everywhere else, he just left it sealed away. Like a tomb."

"The bachelor pad of a god is sad indeed," said Emmrich. "Particularly if he is on the wrong side of love. Let us continue our scavenger hunt, Rook. I am enjoying this evening immensely. Thank you for asking me to accompany you on your search tonight."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling like an idiot. He held out his arm to her then, an unexpected gesture, but she took it anyway. Even though she was not afraid of the dark, she was hesitant, walking through the Fade like this. She was not used to such big, cold, and cosmic magic.

Emmrich sensed this, as he so often did. "Do not fear this place, dear Rook," he said. "Allow it to become familiar, and it will embrace you, as a home."

They started toward Harding's. They could see the light from her lantern, a long, golden bar at the bottom of the door. "Is that what you do?" said Rook.

"Yes, it is," he said. "Like a scent on the breeze. I will not forget it for all my years."

When they got to Harding's door, it was like she had seen them coming. She stayed up late.

"Rook?" she said. "Is that you?"

"It is," she said. "It's me, and Emmrich. Are you decent?"

"Sure am," said Lace. She opened the door, seeming delighted. She was wearing red pajamas with her hair in a braid and holding a cup of tea. "What brings you two around so late at night?"

Emmrich smiled, his face going a little crinkly. "We won't take up much of your time, Lace. We just have a few questions for you, concerning your time in the Inquisition. May we come in?"

"Definitely," she said, holding the door wide open and standing back to give them room. As she shut the door behind them, Rook noticed the remnants of some sort of art project. There were what appeared to be curtains, draped over a table, and several spools of colorful thread. Harding seemed to be practicing her embroidery.

"I love the curtains," said Rook.

"Oh, thank you. I'm just trying to make this place feel a little more like home. You know?"

Emmrich glanced at Rook, very knowing.

"So," said Lace. "You guys wanna talk about the Inquisition? What did you wanna know?"

"We have been scouring some of Solas's old records," said Emmrich. "Rook found a secret room inside, near the library. It's full of old notebooks and things. Much of it dated back to Solas's time with the Inquisition."

"Interesting," said Harding. "Find anything good?"

"Yes," said Rook, a little anxious. "We found love poems."

"Love poems?" said Harding, sort of giggling. "Really? Wow. I mean, I knew Solas was an artist, but a writer, too? Wow."

"Wow, indeed," said Emmrich. "We came here tonight to ask whether you know anything about a woman that Solas might have been seeing at the time. Someone in the Inquisition, perhaps? She was likely a Dalish elf."

There was a long pause then, in which Lace stared at them both as if she thought they might be on drugs. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, we aren't," said Rook. "The stuff he wrote. It was really...passionate. Do you know anything about it?"

"Uh, yeah. I do," said Lace.

"Really?" said Emmrich. "Who was it? The woman, we mean?"

"Inquisitor Lavellan."

It was like a boulder, falling off a cliff.

"The Inquisitor?" said Rook.

"Oh, my dear," said Emmrich. "This is a surprise."

Lace shrugged, like it was just any other factoid. "I'm surprised you guys don't know. I guess I just assumed that everybody did. It was all over the tabloids, at least down south. People can't get enough of that shit. Sene's love life has been under scrutiny for years. It really pisses her off, but I mean, what can you do? Idle minds, am I right?"

Rook opened the notebook, which she'd had tucked under her arm. She showed Lace the poems. She said, "He loved her. A lot. We're pretty sure that everything in here, at least in this notebook, is all about her. It's full of poems and stories. What happened between them?"

"Solas and Sene were crazy in love," said Lace, sipping her tea, reminiscing. "Like I said, it was no secret. They were great together. Inseparable. They used to have picnics on the battlements at Skyhold, talk for hours on the rooftops at Haven. He would braid her hair before they went out into the field. It was just...romantic. I used to talk to them all the time, when we would deploy to different regions, trying to bring people and their factions into the Inquisition. She would sit and watch him paint his frescoes, and he made her these butterflies out of his magic, like little presents. Hundreds of them, green and glowy, all the time. Everywhere. They would just fly around the rotunda, and the garden, like part of the decor. It was so dreamy and romantic."

"Green, glowy butterflies?" said Rook. "There's a bunch of them here, flitting about in the bushes. I've seen tons of them, flying around the Crossroads, too."

"Yup," said Lace. "Those are them. I'm not surprised that she's left her mark here. The way Solas looked at her, it was so...intense. I thought he was gonna ask her to marry him. It was really serious. And, like I said, everybody knew. They were just...Sene and Solas. Solas and Sene. The tabloids used to refer to Sene as the Tall Red Elf and Solas as the Tall Elven Warrior at her Side. Anyway, be careful, Rook. This is...kind of a long story, and Sene is a close friend of mine. She practically lived at my house for like a year once, down in the Hinterlands. I'll tell you stuff, but like, keep it clean. I'm not getting into the weeds here, okay?"

Rook fell silent. She did not really know much about Inquisitor Lavellan, or the Inquisition at all. It was not a common topic of discussion in Tevinter. And yet, even still, she was a bit of a celebrity, mainly with the Chantry, as the Herald of Andraste. They talked about her all the time in the holy newsletters and things like that. Debates over whether her claims to prophesy were legitimate, or whether she even believed them herself, seeing as she was an elf. Rook knew that she was Dalish, but she hadn't really put it together, until now.

"We promise to be civilized in our questioning," said Emmrich, taking over. "We will of course respect your loyalties to Inquisitor Lavellan. But please forgive me, as I must ask. You make it sound like he was over the moon for her, and yet, you said he left? Why?"

"At the time," she said, "Sene didn't know. None of us did. Nobody knew that he was the Dread Wolf. We just thought he was some really powerful apostate. After we killed Corypheus, he just...left. She was devastated, but at some point, she moved on. Or, she tried to. She was in another pretty serious relationship when Solas finally showed himself again two years later, during the Exalted Council in Halamshiral. He explained everything, that he was the Dread Wolf, that he wanted to bring down the Veil, that he still loved her, but that he had to go, and he would not take her with him. That was important. Anyway, based on what Sene told me, I think he originally intended to just use the Inquisition, like a pawn, to help him further his plans. But it didn't go so hot. He accidentally fell in love. He made friends, too. Kind of a huge, fantastic failure...I guess."

"So it was after the Exalted Council," said Rook. "That's when they last saw each other?

"In person, yeah," said Lace.

"What do you mean in person?" said Emmrich.

"Solas is a dreamer," said Lace, taken with the thought. "Rook knows. He can walk in peoples' dreams. As far as I know, he's visited her, quite a lot, over the past ten years. Where they stood at any given time, it was sort of on and off, but it was consistent, to some degree."

"Does he still love her?" said Emmrich, seeming desperately curious. Too tall, he was nearly hunched in half, trying to lean into their conversation.

"Probably," said Lace, her voice soft all of a sudden. She became wistful. She looked away, toward the window. "They were special. They meant everything to one another. It was the kind of love that you aspire to, you know? And I mean, she still loves him. That, I know for sure. Sene went through a couple different men, trying to move on. But despite both of them being great guys, neither of them stuck, not like he did."

"Which men?"

Lace sighed, setting down her mug on the table next to the curtains. "This is where I call it a night. I'm not getting into all that. You're gonna have to read about it in the tabloids like everyone else."

Emmrich seemed to be thinking about this in a practical manner. "We can probably find them in the Magisterial Library of Minrathous. I'm sure they keep records of every tabloid and newspaper in Thedas, going back at least 100 years."

"Or, you know," said Lace. "I guess you could just ask Inquisitor Lavellan, herself. I'm sure you'll meet her. Soon."

"I will?" said Rook.

Lace shrugged again. She was doing that a lot. Like it was all just old hat to her. "Sene is close to Morrigan," she said. "And she also has Lady Nightingale, the best Spymaster in all of Thedas. I guarantee that she knows all about this by now, everything that's happened. And she'll also know, too, that you're the one leading the charge here, Rook. She'll know that Solas is trapped in the Fade, and that you're the only one who can talk to him. So, of course, she's gonna wanna meet you. Probably soon. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if, when you go to meet Morrigan at the Cobbled Swan in a couple days, she'll be there, too. Then again, who knows? She's got her hands full. Given everything my ma said in her last letter, the south is...under siege. There's a bad fight there, and lots of Blight. All hands on deck." Harding looked down into her tea, pensive, and then she looked at the floor. "I'm okay," she said, to no one.

"Is your mother safe?" said Emmrich, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, like she was terribly relieved that he asked.

"I think so," she said. "She went to Skyhold, with a lot of other people. I'm pretty sure that's where Sene is. Or, she goes back and forth a lot, with her Commander. Cullen. It's become like, a sanctuary. Like what this place used to be."

"Harding," said Rook. "I'm sorry. I didn't...I should have asked you about this earlier."

"It's okay, Rook," she said, smiling once more. "I get it. We have our hands full up here, too."

Emmrich straightened up then, and something about his massive height seemed to change the atmosphere. He seemed to know it, too. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Well, we should take our leave. Thank you, Lace. This has been most educational."

"Now that you know," she said to Rook, "what will you do? Are you gonna mention it, next time you see Solas?"

Rook thought about it. She could not picture it. Whenever she thought about him, about Solas, her mind twisted into a riddle, and she could no longer tell what was real. She had only ever seen him from far away, up on a huge pedestal, or in the Fade, where everything was grim, and he was removed from her grasp, as cold and hard as steel. He was a total stranger, and yet, she relied on him. In this moment, she felt hugely young, raw, spilled open, her guts all over the floor. She did not want to hurt the Dread Wolf. He was like a music box, rusted shut, and there was just something so strange about it. So pretty, this idea that he held inside of him this intense history. Love, sex, all the things that made him a man and not a god. "I don't know," she said to Harding. "I need to think on it."

"Well, goodnight," said Lace. "See you in the morning. Lucanis is making breakfast so, don't miss it."

Outside, Rook and Emmrich stood at the center of the midnight courtyard and stared up at the enormous idol of Fen'Harel. Oddly now, standing here in front of this enormous statue, her thoughts turned away from Solas and instead settled with the man by her side. It was so strange, she thought. From the very first day she met him, he disarmed her. He took her guard completely down, and he told her to light brassieres and they fought demons, and they were talking to spirits. She said hello to a little wisp, and it had made her heart beat strangely. He told her he had never been out of Nevarra, and he seemed starved for adventure, and yet, it had been him who'd swept her off her feet, took her on a grand field trip through the Necropolis, this well of magic, everywhere, all the time, living and breathing with a mind of its own. He had opened her eyes that day.

He was older, but she didn't much care. He did not treat her like a child. Sometimes, he did treat her like a student. But he did that to everyone, and in any case, it was never condescending. It's just who he was. The professor. He was not steel, nor was he even terribly guarded. He did not give in to her easily though, that was for sure. He moved slowly, deliberately, all those times she would go to talk to him, ask him questions about what he thought about all of this, about the Veil. He kept his distance until it really mattered, as if every choice he made would determine who they were, together, and in this, she knew that she could trust him.

"What do you think of all this, Rook?" he said then, smiling at her. "Have your opinions of Solas changed in any way?"

"A little," she said. "I need to sleep on it. I just...I realize that I don't know him at all. He barely even seems like a person sometimes, let alone a man who could...well, you know."

Emmrich held out his hand then, and from his palm, he snapped a little wisp, white and pure. It buzzed around her nose and landed in her hair like a bug, and she laughed. "Do you like it?" he said, very debonair.

"Yes," she said.

"You know, Inquisitor Lavellan is not a mage either," he said, growing pensive, his brow furrowed. "She was at the Conclave, sent as a representative for her clan, which, as I recall, is fairly important in the Free Marches. They own a great deal of land there. Even still, she was one lowly elf among an entire Chantry. She was certainly judged, and certainly alone. There are records, which state that, after the explosion at the temple, which resulted in the death of Divine Justinia, the Seekers of Truth wanted to arrest her for apostasy, for treason, for murder. You name it. She was ostracized far before she was ever beloved. And she was young when the Inquisition began, only twenty, if I recall from the literature, and the Chantry experts distrusted her immensely, even after she was named Inquisitor. Many were especially critical of her as the prophetic Herald of Andraste . But others believed, and among them, I imagine, Solas. He followed her. He loved her. Just like with this place, he desired to warm her heart, to make her feel comfortable, at home in an icy, mean, judgmental landscape. Perhaps because he understood what that meant? To be so ostracized, so fantastically alone. Part of that was the butterflies, I imagine, and that is why they linger still. That little wisp I just conjured up, you said you like it. Does it bring you warmth, Rook? Joy?"

Rook held it in her hand now, like a little poof of cool, calm energy. It seemed to vibrate with admiration, glowing up at her, like it was alive. "It does," she said. She set it free then, and it disappeared. "Thank you, Emmrich."

"Whatever the Dread Wolf is or isn't," he went on, "I think it is clear by now that he is, ultimately, just a man. He has desires, needs, and she fulfilled them, as he fulfilled hers. These were needs that had either not been fulfilled before, or not in some time. She thawed his heart, and he kept her safe, and they found a home in one another. Even if it was short-lived, it is more than most will possess in their lifetimes."

Rook felt impulsive then. She could hear the words that he was saying, and she knew that he was right, but she was lost in the feeling and the sound. She wanted to express herself. She wasn't shiny or particularly eloquent like he was. Definitely not a poet. She didn't have beautiful things to say or magical creatures she could conjure into the air. But she did have action. She had always been good at just...doing things. No fear. She slid her hand into his then. He looked down right away, at their fingers mingled together, like he was startled, and then he looked at her, laid bare.

She said, "Is it okay? I don't know what to say. I just...I want to show you how I feel."

He was very soft then, his eyes dark and filled with a hidden sadness, which tempted her. What was it? Where did it live? What did it see? He picked up her hand, and he closed his eyes and brought her knuckles to his lips. It disarmed her and made her weak, and she sort of shivered. Their eyes met. He said, quietly, "Language can be superfluous in times like these, dear Rook. But, please, know that I feel it, too."

So, she kissed him, in front of the Dread Wolf statue at midnight, in the Fade. She had to stand on her tallest tiptoes to do it. At first, just like with the handhold, he was taken aback, but he quickly molded to her, his other hand on her jaw, as he touched her ear with tenderness. It was not devouring. It was pure. Tallest mage, so full of compassion. He seemed to unlock for her that night, a click and release.

Rook did not have much to hide. She didn't understand people who did. But she could try. That night, Emmrich walked her back to her room, and they shared one more kiss before parting until morning. She sat down on the couch in the blue, aqueous light of her quarters, vibrating and giddy, and watched the fish do their little immortal dancing. She thought about Inquisitor Lavellan, twenty years old, a Dalish elf in the Chantry, and how lonely that must have felt for her. How scary, how out of place she was and the deep, impending desire to return to the home that she knew, somehow, she would never really see again. Not as it once was, as a child. But then, there was a man who came along and made it feel okay to just be alive, no matter how you did it, or how new you were to the world. A man who seemed to know everything, who could stand so tall, and yet, who nursed inside of him a heart so true that it could not be contained. And so they were consumed by possession, discovery, desire.

*This story, though it stands alone, is also a part of my Solavellan fic Riptide.

#emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich volkarin #dragon age rook #solavellan #solas #sene lavellan #emmrook fanfic #datv #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age inquisition #dragon age

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luciferlightbringer · 11 months ago

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Talk to Me

Chapter 1

Lucifer x Fem Fallen Angel Reader

Word Count:4.1 k

CW: Angst, abuse, lies, slowburn,

Chapter 1|Chapter 2 (Updated through Chapter 5)

Welcome back friends! I will be tagging all chapters now under #punching-pentagrams if the tags ever have issues or if you are looking for updates from me 😊

Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates, known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light. Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil. Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a troublemaker with “fantastical ideas” for all of creation, and was seen as such by the elders of Heaven. For they knew his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world. So, he was to watch as the other angels began to expand the universe in their ways.

From the dust of Earth, they created Adam and Lilith. Equals as the first of mankind, but despite this, Adam worked to take charge over his responsibility to care for Earth, and Lilith refused to work alongside him. She fled the Garden. Drawn in by her rebellious nature, Lucifer found her and troublemaker seduced her to his cause. Together, they wished to the ruin the future of humanity with their selfish dreams and ideas, offering the Fruit of Knowledge to Adam's new bride, Eve, who accepted, unaware that this “gift” came with a curse. For with this single act of disobedience, evil finally found its way into the Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin. And the order Heaven worked to maintain was shattered. As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his mistress into the dark pit he had created, to live out his days as the King of the cruel and the wicked.

This was the Parable of Lucifer, known by every Angel in Heaven, memorized, but rarely spoken. His name, or even the threat of falling was akin to swearing, which wasn't forbidden but it was frowned upon. For many eons, his name was rarely mentioned. That is, until the morning his daughter came to visit Heaven.

You watched that morning as Emily, the young seraphim you served under, danced around her room as she got ready that morning, singing and flitting about while talking about how excited she was to be at the the side of Sera, the High Seraphim, later at a meeting with the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith.

You listened and nodded at her excitement, trying hard to keep your own thoughts to yourself. You didn't understand how she could be so excited, being in the room with anyone related to Lucifer sounded like a fate worse than death. You were not important enough to be in the room where it all was going to go down, and you were perfectly ok with that.

"And then! Oh! What about the zoo?! Do you think they have zoos in hell? Maybe we have different animals.... Oh I'll just ask them!" Emily squealed with excitement as she brushed her hair.

You were trying so hard not to roll your eyes, why would some hellspawn want anything to do with a heaven zoo? And why did Emily insist on showing them around? It almost seemed cruel to show them around something more wonderful and beautiful than they probably had back home in their dark pit of evil. But it couldn't be helped, that is just who Emily was. Kind and full of desire to make people happy.

You were a "right hand man" of sorts to Emily, a sort of "lady in waiting" or "aid", and had been ever since the beginning of her time as the Seraphim of Joy. You enjoyed a higher status, that was marked by your four wings, but not as many as Emily's six, which marker he status as a seraphim. You liked being by her side, she was sweet and playful. It was her job to keep the people of Heaven happy, and it was your job to assist her in that. She was gentle and kind, and that made your job easy. She treated you as an equal, even if she didn't need to, you were happy to serve her.

"Sounds great, my lady, I hope you guys have fun," you say trying to hold back any sass you wanted to add to your comment in response to the idea of her field trip with the Princess of Hell.

Emily looked at you with a smile, "Oh! You're coming with us, of course. Aren't you?"

You held a strained smile, of course she would want to include you.

"Oh... I wish I could. But I can't I have plans," you responded coolly.

"Plans? Like what?" Emily pouted.

"Well... there uhhh... there is the updates to the Golden Girls theme park! Now that Betty is here, I figured it was important to meet with her and make sure it is correct...ya know... get her ideas..." you start.

Emily floats over and grabs your hands, "Oh but that can wait, can't it? Pleeeeease? This is so exciting and I want my best friend their with me!" She gave you big puppy dog eyes.

You can't help but feel a little shy when she calls you her best friend, you were honored that she thought of you as a friend, but you knew that was not your place, even though you had been by her side for several thousand years. It wasn't forbidden for you two to be friends, just... discouraged. Due to the difference in status. You sighed, she knew you couldn't say no to her when she got all pouty and pulled the "best friend" card.

"Alright, alright! I'll go... Just... Please don't expect me to be all buddy-buddy with them? I mean no disrespect, my lady... The idea of having beings of Hell in Heaven just... makes me nervous..." you nervously confess to Emily.

Emily smiles and pulls you in for a hug, "Yay! Oh (y/n), it's going to be ok! How about this? If you get uncomfortable, you can flap your wings quickly twice and I'll give you a reason to leave, ok?"

"But won't that leave you alone with them? What if they should try to harm you?" you say with worry in your voice.

Emily squeezes your shoulders, "It will be fine. Come on! We are gonna be late!" Emily grabs your hand and she half drags you out the door and out the the main plaza to meet up with Sera before going to welcome the guests from hell. You bow respectfully to Sera in greeting and wait as Emily and Sera fly out to the front gate while you wait inside with Sera's aid, Lily, who also had four wings like you. You rarely talked to Lily, but she was also nice, more serious like her seraphim she served.

"How is your lady feeling about the meeting?" Lily asked calmly, looking forward instead of at you.

"Very excitedly, as is her nature. Almost a little too excited, but that is not my place to tell her, of course. And what of your lady?" You asked Lily.

She shook her head, "Nervous, but collected. She was very distressed by Lucifer's request for his daughter to meet with the council of Elders. Her ideas sound... preposterous, and dangerous. Just like her father's," she responded flatly, her nose crinkling slightly.

"What ideas?" you ask.

Lily looked around for any nearby souls before leaning close and whisper, "Something about trying to redeem souls to get them to give them a second change in heaven."

You blinked, what? She is trying to redeem the souls of sinners? "Is that even possible?"

Lily shrugged, "It is not our place to ask such things, besides, we have no idea why they would want to try that. It sounds fishy to me, and I think it sounds fishy to Sera, too. We have a system in place for a reason."

"Of course, that does seem silly to try to change things," you go back to your neutral stance and start to think. The daughter of Lucifer wants to redeem souls? Why? That seems like a good thing to try to do? But how could they prove they were actually "redeemed" to even attempt something like that. As far as you knew, this had never been done before. This thought left you with so many questions, that from that point on would start to unravel your very understanding of everything you thought you knew.

Eventually you see the gates open and Sera and Emily enter with two others, a girl with long white hair, wearing an eye patch, named Vaggie, and a young woman with long blonde hair in a ponytail and a red suit, who was introduced to you as Charlie Morningstar, the daughter of Lucifer. You wanted to focus on the Morningstar child but... something about the other one seemed off about the other one, especially in the way she looked at all of you. Specifically she looked... uncomfortable? That seemed like such an odd way to react to Heaven. But maybe a place this beautiful was just hard for a demon like her to feel comfortable in. A pity.

You shifted your attention back to Charlie, you were only briefly introduced as Emily's aid, she greeted you warmly and then went back to talking with Emily and Sera. You liked it this way, it gave you a chance to just watch this daughter of Lucifer at a distance. As you toured Heaven with them, you were surprise by how sweet and bubbly she came off. She talked, mostly with Emily, about how excited she was about the meeting and looked in awe at everything she came across in Heaven. Your face remained a pleasant neutral, but you were processing everything through the lens of what you had been told about Lucifer and the information given to you by Lily about her reason for being here. What was her deal?

Eventually, Charlie and Vaggie were set up in their room, and Vaggie decided to stay at the hotel while Charlie went off with you and Emily to the zoo, and Sera and Lily went off to prepare for the meeting. Great... now there was more of a chance that you would have to interact with the Morningstar child, but you were good at remaining pleasant and neutral. You stayed to Emily's right while Charlie walked on Emily's left as they went through the zoo. Luckily, the Princess of Hell was more interested in fawning over the animals than paying attention to how little you were interacting with her. You exchanged some pleasantries and small talk when addressed, but not much beyond that.

The longer you were around her, the more curious she made you. She didn't act at all like how you expected a hellspawn would act. You know you shouldn't be making assumptions but... something was not adding up. How could this be the spawn of the most hated and dangerous being in all of creation? Either she was a very very very good actor, spinning colorful and exciting tales to disarm her victims and seduce them to her side... or somehow... despite having such an awful and cruel creature of a father... this young woman had an actual passion and love for others. You were worried at how much you felt like you wanted to agree with the latter, especially with how in-sync her personality fell with Emily's. You tried to shake the questions out of your head, again it was not your place to ask such questions.

Before long, it was time for their meeting with the angelic Council of Elders, which meant it was your time to separate from Emily and the Princess. You bid them a farewell and went off to take care of that meeting with Betty White to make any additions or suggestions to the theme park. You had a pleasant meeting with her, luckily there were only a few additions that needed to be made, so you were able make note of them with the construction team and get back to Emily's suite to prepare her some tea for her when her meeting was over.

Before long you heard the quick open and shut of the door, signaling that Emily had returned home, "Welcome back, my lady Emily! How was..." you stopped as you heard the sounds of... something you had never heard before... little sounds in quick secession that would get quieter, she'd breathe in, and then the quick secession of sounds would happen again, but starting louder and growing softer.

You peaked out around the corner to see Emily curled up on the floor right next to the door, face in her hands, making her little sounds. You had heard about this, was... was she... crying? She had never seen anyone cry before. You rushed over to her side.

"My lady? Emily? What's wrong? Why do you cry?" you asked with a slight panic, you had not idea how to help her with this, you had never seen someone sad before.

She let out different higher pitched sound and shook before she looked up at you, tears rolling down her round cheeks.

"Oh (y/n), it's terrible! I'm so angry!" Emily cried.

"What's terrible? What did the Princess do? Are you hurt?" you start to look her over.

"No!" Emily cried, "It's Sera, and Adam, and Lute... They have done something terrible!"

You blinked, you had never heard her speak of her superior sister like that, and you new the First Man to be... a colorful character, but what could he have done? "What happened?"

Emily took a few breathes before looking up at you, "They have been allowing a yearly extermination on human souls in Hell to control the overpopulation down there... Adam has an army of angels that go down with him to kill and erase human souls!"

You sat back a little, taking in the news, "Wait... why... That does not make any sense... why would they do something like that?"

Emily let more tears fall, "It's how they control the overpopulation of souls, trying to keep them from thinking about uprising against Heaven... that's why Charlie was here. She's trying to redeem souls into heaven so that we would stop killing them. She-she's just trying to protect her people, and we have just been slaughtering them! For... centuries!"

You sat in silence as Emily continued to freak out and cry, this was the worst thing you had ever heard of. How could heaven allow something like this?! Sure, the sinners had all earned their place in Hell, and they needed to stay in their place... but the does not mean anyone should be erasing them!

"Who could have allowed this?" you ask quietly.

"Sera..." Emily snarled, you look up at her, and she looks at you... with anger in her eyes, it made you jump, "Sera allowed this it happen, and what's worse... she kept it from everyone! From the rest of the Elders... from me... Only Sera, Adam, and his army of angel exorcists know... The rest of us were in the dark..."

You just sat there on the floor next to her, trying to breathe, trying to work through the thoughts and feelings in your body, this was bad... this was... really bad. You never knew this try of bad could exist, not here, not in Heaven, and you felt it all over your body. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts were racing, everything was a blur.

You looked at the young angel next to you, "What do we do now, my lady?"

Emily's expression went serious and she sat up straight looking at you, "This can't be a secret anymore, we must tell everyone."

Your eyes widened, "E-everyone? Even the human souls? My lady... I don't know if..."

Emily got up, "Yes! Everyone! They have been keeping this secret from everyone! They are breaking one of God's base commandments! Now that we know we must tell the truth! Everyone must know!"

You get up to meet her, "But... that would cause an upheaval! What if..." you change to a whisper "What if this causes you to fall? Like Lucifer?"

Emily shook her head, "If something like this is what caused his fall... then maybe there is more behind his fall than they told us in the first place..." She looked at you, "After hearing Charlie... it's worth the risk... I need to do this. Are you with me, or not?" Emily grabbed your hands.

You froze in place. Do you defy Emily, your seraphim that you are sworn to serve and support? Or do you go against something that you know will make the elders unhappy, and risk both you and her falling? You knew this look on her face, there was not talking her out of it at this point.

You sigh, "Ok... I'm with you." She smiled and hugged you, and you hugged her back. You had not idea what was going to happen next, but you couldn't bear the thought of not supporting her. It's all you knew.

You spent the rest of the night planning with Emily on how you were going to get the word out to the people. Unfortunately for the both of you... Sera had been worried about Emily's outburst in support of Charlie and went to go check on her. Emily was not watching her volume, no matter how much you reminded her, so before knocking, she was able to hear Emily talking out some ideas out with you. With a heavy and broken heart, Sera went to go alert the rest of the Elders.

The next morning, you and Emily did not have a chance to start telling anyone before Emily was brought to stand trial before the Council of Elders. You were brought with to stand witness for the conversation you had with her. Emily fought and cried, angry tears running down her face as she pleaded for the safety and protection of the people of Hell, quoting how the Elders were breaking commandments. The Elders responded of how they were doing what they needed to do to maintain the order in Heaven, and Emily teared back about how they were only proving Charlie's point about "angel's getting to do whatever and remain in the sky" while the people of hell suffered by Heaven's hand. Sera warned Emily not to press but she didn't care, saying if this was the truth that she no longer wanted to be the Seraphim of Joy.

"If you don't stop this now, you may soon not be a seraphim at all!" one of the Elders warned.

Adam sat over on the side, grinning. He was quieter than yesterday, he was trying to play nice after his major slip up the day before when he revealed the existence of the exterminations, but he was still enjoying watching the drama. Sera looked over to you, eyes pleading with do something to stop this. You looked over at Emily. There was only one way you could see getting her out of this, it wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was all you could do.

You stood up and looked over to the council, starting to cry and shake, "I'm sorry! I'm so... so sorry, my great Elders!" You whole room was looking at your now, even Emily.

"Please... please do not blame her! It was my fault! I... I was so excited to see the Princess of Hell, know why she was here. I know I wasn't allowed at the meeting... but I still stood outside of the door and listened! I couldn't bear the news! I've gone mad! Emily came back and didn't want to talk about it... but I did! I made her! I filled her head with ideas of telling the people of Heaven the truth! The angels deserve to know! It's barbaric! All of you refused to listen to Charlie and I can't stand that!" you say grabbing your hair. "Please! Emily is innocent of everything besides being to close to me! Please spare her! Punish me instead!"

"(y/n) what are you doing?!" Emily cried.

"I'm telling them the truth, my lady! Don't try to cover this up for me. You've suffered enough!" you cried, flying down to the floor and standing in front of Emily, fanning out your wings to block her, "Punish me instead! I should fall for my madness! My lady Emily has done nothing wrong! Punish me for my sympathy for Lucifer and his daughter!"

Sera frowned, looked at the others, and shook her head, "What a shame, but not unexpected from you, unfortunately." That comment almost made you flinch, what did that mean? Sera looked to the others, who all nodded at her and looked at you with distain.

"Very well," she said, lifting a hand to prompt two other angels to remove Emily from the floor, leaving only you in the middle, all eyes on you. "(y/n), for your attempt of treason against Heaven and attempted corruption of a seraphim, you have fallen from Grace and will be cast into Hell."

You give Emily one last look as she screams, whispering a goodbye to her. A portal opens up in front of you, giving you a clear but distant view of the rings of hell. Intense fear flooded your body for the first time. You take a step back, only to be stopped by Adam who had flown over an landed behind you, a wicked grin on his face.

Behind you he whispered "See you on extermination day", before breaking off one of your wings and kicking you into the pit, the sound of your screams of pain mixed with his laughter as you began to fall.

What an absolute piece of shit.

Most of your fall was spent in searing pain from your one missing wing, the other three fluttering in the wind as hell grew closer, golden blood oozing from your new wound, your first wound ever. You cried the whole way... out of pain, out of fear, out of hope that you saved Emily from this fate, out of confusion...

As you got closer, you felt more pain sear through your body, but for a different reason. You watched as you hands stared to turn into black claws, horns sprouted from your temples, a tail lashed out behind you, eyes watering as they changed to red, some of the feathers of your wings burned red. More tears burned down your cheeks as you fell, mixing in with some feelings of... anger? You wish that Emily had not dragged you into this... but it was your job to serve her... and you did it until your falling day... Who knew what awaited you in hell. The second fallen angel in all of history...

You realized then, yes, would would be the second fallen angel, would Lucifer seek you out if he found out another angel had fallen? You wanted to avoid that at all costs. As the ground grew nearer, you knew you had two choices, use your wings to ease your fall and risk being seen, or tuck them away and have a much harder hit but hide your identity as an angel. You swallowed hard as you forced your wings to tuck away. It was something angels could do, but it was not common, as it was more comfortable to keep them out.

You were almost to the red floor of the Pride Ring. God Above, this was going to hurt... You braced yourself as you plummeted into the hard rock of the upper part of the ring, making a small intend in the ground from the length and power of your fall. Your body seared with more intense pain, bones were definitely broken, but by some grace you were still barely conscious.

After catching some amount of breath, you looked around. With as much information as you could process at the moment, it looked like you had landed on some old battle ground near the edge of the ring. At least some luck was still on your side. With one good arm and leg, you clawed and crawled your way across the red brimstone ground, leaving a trail of golden blood, before finding a pile of stones that were set in just a way that you could hide. Probably something someone had built for cover at some point.

With the last of your energy, you crawled into the hole, took off your robe, and stuffed it under your head as your felt yourself suck into unconsciousness.

_____________________________________________________________

Hello! Just wanted to let everyone know that this one will have less of a back and forth between Lucifer and y/n's point of view, it will still have that, but it will be a lot more focused on y/n until they meet. Also it might take a little before they meet, but we will get there! Let me know if you want added to the taglist!

Taglist:

@sapphireravensworld @cimadreamer @froggybich @randomstranger703 @tiredlillypad @melday0105 @btsgangleader @hawke1917 @gbshdhd @pandaquick @littleladydemon @wonderlandangelsposts @hulyenl @willow404

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #fanfic #fanfic writing #lucifer x y/n #lucifer fanfiction #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #slow burn #angst #punching-pentagrams

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justmeinadaze · 1 year ago

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Little Girl Gone Part 3 (Steddie X You)

A/N: I tried to grab all the tags! If I missed any let me know :)

Warnings: Gangster Eddie/Officer Steve & Doctor Fem Reader, SMUT, slight degrading, spanking, slapping, handcuffs, etc. FLUFF, more details about the guys relationship,

ANGST, Per the previous chapters cliffhanger we get to meet Jason Carver and he causes problems triggering Eddie to react impulsively. Steve and Y/N spend the bulk of the chapter trying to talk him out of it. Steve and Y/N talk about past relationships, The boys fight but its an understanding between them (you'll see what I mean), technically not a cliffhanger ending this time!

Word Count: 6883

Previous Chapter Here

Clearing your throat, you regained your composure as you feigned a smile and extended your palm out to shake his.

“Hello there Mr. Carver. How can I help you today?”

“Well, like I told the young lady out there, I’m just here for a checkup. I’m embarrassed to say I wasn’t even aware this little office was here and so close to my house!”, he chuckled as he leaned against the counter.

Your head slightly ticked to the side at his statement as you pretended to read his chart. Carver’s side of Hawkins was nowhere near your clinic with you actually being a lot closer to Eddie’s building then any of Jason’s.

“Is that right?”

As the gangster nods, he turns his back to you for a moment to check his phone allowing you to sneak towards your sink and turn on the water as you pretended to wash your hands, utilizing your own device as you call Eddie’s phone.

“If anything happens, you see something or feel unsafe just call my cell. I’m more likely to answer than Steve who’s always on the move.”

Casually fumbling with your hair, you slide the wireless earbud into your ear and slide your device back into your pocket just as Jason turns back around.

“Please forgive me. Didn’t mean to break one of your rules.”, he laughs softly as he points to your “No Cell Phones” sign.

“Hey princess. I was just thinking about you.”, Eddie’s voice sweetly flowed from your phone.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Mr. Carver. I completely understand.” You heard clicking that sounded like a gun being loaded as you focused on the man in front of you. “Now was there a particular reason you felt like you needed a checkup or did you just wanted to keep up appearances?”

“No Steve, fuck you. I’m not staying put. This fucker has the nerve to come on to MY territory and…well then I’ll meet you there. You better get there before me because I swear to God if this asshole wants a war… The fuck did you just say to me!? Goddamn it!”

“I have to confess; I did have a bit of a reason. My head and my shoulder have really been bothering me.”

“Steve’s on the way, Y/N. He said he’s a couple of minutes away and so am I. Just stay calm, baby.”

“That’s not uncommon with things like…migraines. I, um, I can run some tests and prescribe you some medication that…that will help.”

Jason takes a few steps toward you as he speaks.

“I would appreciate that. It just genuinely feels like I got shot in the forehead or something.”, he chuckles as he moves again till he’s right in front of you.

“I think you should leave.”

“Aw, why? I’ve heard from the community around here that you’d be the person to come to for pain and I’m in a lot of it. You see, I had to bury one of my close friends yesterday.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out, honey.”

“Don’t call me that.”, you growl making him smirk down at you before pushing some of your hair behind your ear displaying the earbud.

“She seems like a strong one, Munson. Beautiful. Girl in uniform. You definitely have a type.”

“Don’t touch me either.”

“Or what, honey, huh?”

The exam room door flies open as Steve barrels through with his gun drawn.

“Jason. You’re on the wrong side of town.”

“Put me on speaker, Y/N.”

Removing the device from your ear, you do what he says and hold your phone towards the gangster whose eyebrows raise in amusement.

“Is that my favorite rival?”

“Jason… you’re playing with fire. First you come on my territory, kidnap, and hurt Steve. Then you send one of your idiots to point a gun in my face. Normally this would be strike three but I’m giving you an out here. Stay away from them and off my side of Hawkins and we’ll do the same.”

“You know, Eddie, that sounds like a sweet deal. Let me talk it over with my team and…oh wait. You killed half my team.”

“You hurt the man I love. You started this… Don’t play the victim now.”

“No, you know who’s a victim? Andrew, Patrick, Samuel, and all of my other friends you killed.”, he sneered as his eyes met your own. “Soon you’ll know what it feels like. You won’t know when or where, freak, but I assure you I will be there when your pig and little whore here become victims to. Unless… you want to switch sides and come with me, pretty girl.”

As his hand reached out to touch your face, your fist reached out to punch him, knocking him backwards just in time for Steve to move forward, grab your wrist, and pull you behind him.

“Like you said, asshole, I have a type. She’s a lot stronger than she seems. However…”

The door to the room opens again as Eddie saunters in cocking his gun and points it in the other man’s face.

“If you ever pull a stunt like this again or lay one hand on her, there will be nowhere you could run where we wouldn’t find you. I’m not Allen, Jason. I’m not going to let the stupid bullshit you used to do slide.”

Moving aside to stand by Steve, he allowed the gangster to stand and adjust his suit as he headed for the door.

“You’re right, Munson. You aren’t Allen. The streets ran better with him in charge and you’re nothing like him. You may think these people respect you but I assure you they pity you.”, he spat before leaving the way he came.

The officer immediately turned around and cupped your head in his hands.

“Are you ok, honey? You did really good.”

You aggressively nod, gripping his wrist as you lean your forehead against his.

“Yeah, I’m ok. What does this mean?”

“It means I fucking slaughter that asshole and show him exactly how people respect me.”, Eddie grumble as tucked away his weapon.

“No, it doesn’t. That’s something impulsive Allen would do but not you.”

The gangster chuckled under his breath casually walking towards the officer, placing himself mere inches from him with a stoic expression but eyes filled with fury.

“That’s the second time today you, Steven, have insinuated I’m acting like my father and second person today to compare me to him. I am the boss of the Munson crew and I know how to handle my business. Now, go back to being the dirty cop and shut the fuck up.”

“I’m dirty because of you, babe. Everything I do is for you.”

“Wait…”, you begged as you step between them, each man prepared to duke it out here in your exam room. “Wait, don’t do this here. We can talk about it tonight in your loft.”

“We?”, Eddie sneered as he backed away. “You two can come over but the conversation will be the same. I know what I’m doing and neither of you have any say but especially you, little girl.”

“The head of a gang just threatened my life. I’m allowed to have an opinion on this.”

“Edward Munson, don’t do anything till we talk or I swear to God, I will arrest you and take you in myself.”

The gangster bit his bottom lip, huffing at he turned to leave.

“Well then bring your handcuffs, sweetheart, because you will need them.”

##############

Steve stayed with you the rest of the day and after you got off, drove with you to Eddie’s building. As soon as you both stepped in you could feel the energy buzzing around what happened.

“Hey Marcus. Please tell me he’s at least in his apartment.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Harrington, but he has had people coming and going.”

“Great. Thanks, bud.”

The man behind the desk smiles at you as you wave politely, your other hand firmly locked with the officer’s as he led you to the elevator.

“Is this normal? Have you ever seen him like this?”, you ask.

“Uh, yeah, but not at this scale.” As the door to the elevator closes, he sighs before turning to face you. “We meant what we said, Y/N, about not hurting you or anything like that but we both can get feisty when we’re heated. If anything makes you feel uncomfortable or you get scared just say that word we taught you, ok?”

The entire week you stayed with them after what happened with Andrew, you not only spent that time getting to know each other but they explained some rules they like to follow when it comes to “playing rough.” Steve told you that due to their line of work sometimes they liked to take out their stresses on each other which made you giggle at the time when his eyes playfully rolled back.

“We like to go all out, you know? Slapping, choking, degrading… of course, honey, you don’t have to do any of that.”

“I don’t mind you doing any of that. Just don’t like punch me or cut me.”

“Sweetheart, we aren’t into that kinda thing either. Trust me, we see it enough out there.”, Eddie teases as he points absently towards the window. “If you don’t like something we’re doing or you need us to stop just say ‘Red’, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Munson. She has manners. I like that.”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer grins as he leans down to kiss your lips.

As soon as you enter Eddie’s apartment you’re stunned by the chaos around you. There were guns laid out in random sections of the living room with a gigantic map of Hawkins on the coffee table. Walking further in, you noticed pieces of glass shattered against the wall with liquid that smelled like bourbon surrounding it.

“Ed, this is a rash jump. Shouldn’t the retaliation be level with the offense? A war seems…extreme.”

“Alright, Gareth, what would be level for openly threatening me and the people I care about, hm? Kill more insignificant lackies? Steal some of his product? No. If this is what he wants then I’m going to give it to him.”

“Jesus, man. You sound like—” The gangster’s angry glare cut him off as he rose to his feet, relief panting his features when he noticed Steve. “You know we’d follow you anywhere but we…I really think you should reevaluate your strategy.”

Eddie ignores him as he holds his current glass of alcohol in his hand to his forehead as he continues to focus on the image in front of him. The officer pats Gareth shoulder comfortingly as he leaves and you exhale your nerves as you watch these two men you’ve grown fond of interact.

***

“I see you didn’t wait for me.”, Steve sighed with agitation.

“You’re right, I didn’t, but I haven’t made any definitive moves yet so you’re right on time to say your peace.”

“Eddie, I’m not playing around. If you start a gang war in the middle of Hawkins, I will arrest you and throw you in a cell myself. If you want to act like your dad then I can treat you like him.”

The long-haired man slammed his glass against the table and rose to his feet, striding angrily towards the officer before shoving him furiously in the chest.

“Last time you tried that, babe, we barely made it halfway down the street before you were fucking me and letting me go! You think now you can follow through? After everything we’ve been through? Now that you love me.”

Steve stepped forward shoving the man back with his broad chest.

“With no hesitation, honey. I’d be doing it because I love you. I’m not going to let you get innocent people and/or yourself killed! There are other ways we can do this, Eddie.”

“There’s no other way. I’m tired of his cocky, entitled attitude and I gave him plenty of leeway! His response was to hurt you, threaten me, and intimidate Y/N? No. I won’t have that disrespect!”

“Eddie, doing this won’t gain you that respect. If anything, you’ll lose more or all of it.”, you added trying to help.

“Oh, sweetheart, if anyone has less say in this, it’s you.”

“My life is now on the line to as well as those innocent people Steve mentioned. I see and heal them every day! You told me when we first met that you didn’t kill people you didn’t have to. You don’t have to do this.”

Eddie glared into his boyfriend’s eyes as he reached for his phone and started dialing.

“Hey, Jeff. Yeah, get everything together and—”

Steve hand flew, knocking the device from the gangster’s hand as he tumbled to the side and caught himself on the couch.

“Jeff, it’s Steve. Ignore that order. As a matter of fact, all of you head home for the night, ok? Mr. Munson and I need to have a talk so he won’t be making anymore decisions tonight.”

With exception force, he threw the phone hard against the wall, not even flinching when it shattered. Both men stared each other down as the fury burned around them and you’d be lying if you said watching them angerly pant as their dominance oozed from them didn’t turn you on a bit.

Eddie lunged toward him and you watched in aw as both men began to fight each other. The officer got the upper hand, pinning him to the floor, and pressing his knee into his shoulder blades as he handcuffed his hands behind his back.

“Be careful, Steve! He’s still healing.”

Rolling him onto his back, he checked the gangster’s wound that was exposed due his shirtless physique that had Steve not just checking his side but his entire upper body.

“Why are you acting so impulsively? This isn’t like you.”

“Well, this feels familiar. You sizing me up while I’m on my back, handcuffed. I’m starting to think the reason you restrain me is because you can’t control me without it. Just like how you think threatening to take me in will get me to submit to what you want.”

Keeping both knees straddling his waist, Steve’s palms caressed his stomach around to his back, his eyes never leaving his boyfriend’s as he removed the cuffs accepting the challenge.

“I can control you just fine without restraints. Now… are you done with your tantrum, little boy, or should we keep going?”

The condescension in his partner’s voice infuriated the gangster as he smacked him in the face and tried to throw him off him. This just spurred Steve on more as he grabbed the man’s wrists and held them to the floor.

“Honey, can you help me?”

Nodding, you scurried his way and when his eyes gestured towards his belt, you immediately unbuckled it, even going the extra step of pulling out his cock for him.

“Thank you, pretty girl.”, he coos, tilting his head towards you so you could kiss his lips as Eddie struggled beneath him. “See? She’s a good girl.”

“She IS a good girl. That’s why I’m doing this; to protect her.”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re doing this for us, Eddie, because we don’t want you to do this.”

The gangster’s jaw clenched at your words causing Steve to sigh in frustration as he leaned down till the tip of his cock was resting on his lips.

“Open.” When his partner remained still, the pretty boy rolled his eyes, shuffling the man’s hands into one of his own so he could free his other to reach behind him and place it on the massive bulge in his slacks. “OPEN.”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered as Steve continued to massage him and without prompting you slide towards the gangster’s waist and unbuckled his pants as well.

“All the way off, baby. He needs to be exposed and vulnerable because that seems to be what he’s into now a days. Right, little boy? That’s what this move you’re planning will do.”

When Eddie moaned, Steve turned to see just as you were running your tongue down the veins of the man’s length.

“She’s a lot nicer than I am because I assure you I’m not going to be that gentle. Now…OPEN.”, he growled.

He tried to remain steadfast but when your lips enveloped him, Eddie couldn’t help but groan allowing Steve to slide into his awaiting mouth. Releasing him from his hold, the officer balanced his hands above his boyfriend’s head as he thrust into him as you lightly mewled at the feeling of Eddie’s palms petting your hair.

“Fuck. That’s it. Keep that sassy fucking mouth open for me.”

Coming around to their front, you help Steve remove his shirt before leaning down beside Eddie’s forehead to tenderly move his hair away from his face. Even though they were upset, both men sighed at the action. You were a nice contrast to their rough lifestyle, not just when you played but in their relationship as well.

“Eddie, please, there’s another way we can do this without people getting hurt.”

Wrapping his arms around his waist, the gangster flipped the officer over and you slid back a bit to allow them to wrestle. You noticed immediately that a lot of Eddie’s fight had decreased especially when Steve’s back hit the wall as he circled his legs around him, locking the long-haired boy in a position that had him thrown over his lap on his stomach with his ass exposed.

Gripping his wrists again in one hand, the other free one came down hard on his behind making Eddie groan.

“She’s talking to you and she’s right, Ed.” Squirming against his hold, Steve’s hand came down again. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?!”

“FUCK YOU!”

His deep, authoritative voice startled you but not his partner as his palm came down once more before sucking on two of his fingers and sliding them into his entrance.

“Are you trying to prove something? Everyone already knows you’re a badass to be feared if needed.” Eddie moaned as Steve’s fingers tapped that spot inside of him that drove him crazy. “You keep saying it’s a respect thing but I don’t believe you. People respect you except that fucking, preppy moron but that’s one man. We don’t need to kill a bunch of people to prove a point to him.”

Steve spanked him again as he mused.

“Is it me?”, you asked in a small voice that makes Eddie’s head hang as his hair blocks his face. “Is it because of what we talked about…about how I’m another vulnerability?”

“I won’t allow anyone to fucking hurt you.”, he grumbled as his eyes shot up to meet yours. “Anyone.”

With incredible force, Steve pushed him off his lap and rose to his feet, pulling up his pants, and collecting you in his arms before carrying you up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Grab anything you may need, honey. We’re going to my place.”

“You have a place?”

“Yeah. Can’t really have it on record that I live with a gangster.”, he chuckles, his face hardening as Eddie enters the room. “You promised me that you wouldn’t let your feelings for me affect what you did out there. We agreed that extended to her when we decided to bring her into our world. If you really want to fucking burn down Hawkins to show the city that we are yours then we’ll remove ourselves from the fucking equation. Oh, and she’s not a vulnerability. Personally, I think she’s one of our strengths. One of the few fucking positive things about us and in our lives.”

“Why do you think I’m trying to protect her?!”

“EXCUSE ME! But haven’t I protected you two?!”, you angrily spit towards Eddie. “You I’ve saved twice, remember? I don’t NEED you to protect me. I can protect myself just fine. I like knowing I have you two there for me though. I…I make myself vulnerable FOR you. That doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’m not afraid of Jason Carver. If anything, I’m more afraid of you right now and what you might do.”

Eddie let out a heavy sigh as his palm flew up to his chest. Taking a hold of your hand, Steve led you past the brokenhearted gangster and out the front door.

##############

Grinning softly, you took in the new dwelling Steve had brought you to. It was a modest, brick interior, studio apartment on the fifth floor of a complex that had a good view of the city. The walls were pretty much bare except for the couple of pictures of sports cars and near his bed his certificate of graduation from the police academy. In the corner, he had set up a little gym area with weights and a treadmill with the same fantasy book off to the side that you remembered on Eddie’s nightstand.

When you flashed it to him questioningly, he smiled.

“Eddie loves that crap. Whenever he babbles about it, I at least want to know what he’s talking about.”

On his nightstand, he placed his badge and gun right beside the medication you prescribed him making you beam when you see he had been following your instructions. Beside his lamp and phone charger was a framed photo of him and Eddie different from the one the gangster had. In his photo, Eddie was on a kitchen counter somewhere with his legs reaching to wrap around Steve’s waist as his ringed fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. Their lips were inches apart, noses just barely touching as Steve smirked down at him.

“We need to get a picture of you so we both can have one.”

“Does it worry you? Like if you invite a friend over who’s on the force and they see that?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know if you noticed but I’m kind of an asshole. I don’t have many friends.”, he laughs breathily as he runs his fingers through his hair and takes a seat beside you. “The friends I do have know about us. If I ever go somewhere work related or with any of the other officers I usually go to their places. And of course, I’m the only cop that goes to his place so…”

Your own fingers tenderly reach out to caress his cheek and run down his muscular back making him sigh as he closes his eyes.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah… I’m just…I’m just worried. I really don’t want him to this.”

“Would you genuinely take him in like you said?”

“I would. Which means I would most likely get arrested to.” Opening his eyes, he glances your way seeing the slight confusion as he continues. “If I just brought him, it wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to tell them how I knew it was him and then everything else but…at least he’d be safe. Unless they send him to the same place his dad is at…Fuck.”, he groans as he rubs his palms over his face.

“What would happen to me?”

His head abruptly turned at your question as he became more serious.

“Nothing, baby. I promise. You’d be safe. Eddie has people that would watch over you for us and of course anything else you may need they can get it.”

“I need you two.”, you cry as your head hangs. “I like you both so much… I don’t want to lose you.” Steve’s arm shot out to pull you to him so he could hold you tightly to his chest. “God, what is wrong with me? I’ve never been this, I don’t know, clingy before.”

“We tend to have that effect on women.” He laughs and pretends to flinch when you pull away to lightly slap his arm. “Does it bother you? I mean do you like it?”

“I do. It scares me a little bit sometimes. Eddie says we’re his vulnerabilities but for me…being open like this…in that particular headspace… Most men are always intimidated by me when they first meet me and lately I struggled to get past that first date. My last relationship…didn’t end well…so I put all my energy into finishing my PhD and working.”

“I can understand that. I did the same thing after my last relationship. It’s part of the reason I had the balls to go after Eddie. I did so much reconnaissance and sleuthing that I thought I had enough to bring in the leader of a mafia gang. He, uh, wasn’t what I thought he would be.”

“Kind?”

“Goofy. He told me a dad joke that made me laugh. By the time we got near the station, I didn’t want to let him go. Over the past 10 months, I’ve learned how sweet, nerdy, and adorable he can be.”

“I learned the same thing about you.” Steve scrunched his nose as he laughed at you. “I did. You were a bit of a jerk and I thought you hated me.”

“I told you I’m a jerk!”, he grinned till you both calmed down and he tenderly petted your head. “No, baby, I didn’t hate you.”

A knock on the door had you both more alert as he placed his finger over his mouth in a shushing motion while he reached for his weapon. Rising to your feet in preparation, you watched as he slowly moved towards the sound, exhaling after looking through his peephole.

Lowering his weapon, he opens the door to a disgruntled Eddie who barges through and throws his leather jacket on the couch, his face instantly softening when he sees yours.

“Why are you crying? Is everything ok?”

You wipe your face as he hurries towards you, giving you a once over as you nod.

“Yeah, Eddie. I’m ok. We were just talking about you…how much we care about you.”

“Why are you here, Munson? Don’t you have a massacre to dictate?”

Blinking, he readjusts himself so he can address you both.

“Steve, when you showed up at my door after Carver’s guys jumped you, it scared the hell out of me. You were in so much pain and…”, his voice cracks before clearing his throat as he continues. “I remember what it was like having the shit kicked out of me and the fact that someone had the balls to do that to someone I love; someone that’s mine. I saw red. When Jason showed up at her work threatening to do the same…Baby, I lost my fucking mind.”

“Clearly.”, Steve chided, sighing when you flashed him a stern look. “She’s not just yours, you know. It’s not solely on you to watch out for her. You don’t think when I saw him pressing up against her and calling her a whore I didn’t want to shoot that motherfucker then and there? You’re also mine, Eddie, and if I have to arrest you to keep you alive…”

“Are you still going to go through with it? Going after Jason?”, you ask, relief washing over you when he folds his arms and shakes his head.

“You both were right. There are other ways we can attack him without innocent people getting hurt.” The gangster’s beautiful chocolate hues glance towards you. “I’m sorry I scared you.” As your arms wrap around him, he exhales heavily into your hair as his fingers cling to you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s ok—”

“No, it’s not.”, he scolds himself as he tilts your head back to look at him. “Don’t you ever let either of us get away with bullshit like that. It’s one thing to dominate you. It’s another to frighten you. We don’t want to do that with you.”

“So, what I’m hearing, Edward Munson, is that you need to be punished.”, Steve teases causing the other man’s eyes to playfully narrow as he bows towards his boyfriend extending his arms on either side.

“I’m all yours, Officer.”

“Hm.”

Grinning, he steps forward, placing himself directly in front of him before forcefully turning him to face you as he pats him down.

“God this feels so vaguely familiar.”

“Because it’s been done so many times in the past?”

“Only by you, baby.”

Steve’s face hardens as he spanks the man in front of him as he leans over his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

“Stop talking. You’re in a lot of trouble.”

You watch with intense desire as his palm glides over the gangster’s pockets and reroutes around to the bulge in his slacks. Eddie groans as he licks his lips, his hips slightly grinding to find more friction.

“Too bad you were a bad little boy. We could have been sucking you cock right now or you could be sinking it into her tight, wet pussy. But no… you had to play big man in Hawkins, didn’t you?” When his boyfriend doesn’t answer, he spanks him again. “Didn’t you?”

“Ah, fuck. Yes.”

Abruptly grabbing his wrists, Steve handcuffs them behind Eddie’s back, guiding him towards his mattress, and tossing him stomach first onto his bed.

“Can you do me a favor, sweet girl?”

Stepping closer to him, you allow him to murmur instructions to you making you nod before lightly kissing his lips. After completely disrobing, you climb on to the bed in front of Eddie and per the officer’s instructions, open your legs wide for him to see.

“Fuck, angel. You’re so fucking beautiful.”, he compliments in a strained tone as the other man reached underneath him to remove the gangster pants and boxers.

“Yeah? You like my pussy, baby?” Scooting a bit closer to him, you bite your bottom lip and grin as he nods, tilting his head to kiss your inner thigh. As his kisses trail further up towards your legs, you push yourself back, denying him what he desperately wants. “Oh, I’m sorry. Officer Harrington said you weren’t allowed.”

Steve smirks over his shoulder as he listens to Eddie whine while hanging his head.

“No, hey, keep your eyes on her.”, he scolds, gripping his jaw and forcing his head up.

The long-haired boy groans as your fingers glide effortlessly through your folds, the sound of your wetness making him harder as he tries to relieve the pressure by rutting into the mattress. His boyfriend roughly loops his arms through his own, bringing his back to his chest as he guides his cock into his entrance.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it.”

You had never really been privy to seeing them be sexually intimate and you never initiated any of that in the bedroom. You wanted them to feel comfortable especially since you were the newcomer to the relationship and dynamic. Seeing them now as Steve slammed his hips into Eddie’s, lifting and holding his upper half with his arms alone as the gangster practically drooled mewling his name; it was the sexist thing you had ever seen.

A small cry left your throat as you pushed two of your fingers into your needy hole.

“Aw, look what you’re doing to her, honey. She wants your mouth in her cunt so bad. I bet you do to, huh?”

“I-I—fuck—I’m sorry.”, he sighed exasperatingly.

“I’m sure you are.” Pulling out, he smacked his ass before bouncing on to the bed on his back and man handling his boyfriend till he was positioned over his cock. “You better ride my dick fucking hard.” Holding the base, both men moaned as he lowered himself on to his firm length and did what he commanded. “Mmm—fuck—come here, Y/N.”

After crawling over to him, he tugged your arm and shifted your body till you were sitting directly on his face.

“I got you, baby.”

Steve wasted no time, his fingers digging into your thighs as his thick, masterful tongue went to work. Eddie watched you both with glassy, lust filled eyes as he bounced and grinded on the man he loved. Leaning towards him, you couldn’t help but capture his lips and was surprised when the officer allowed it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am. Fuck, his cock feels so fucking good.”

“I forgive you, Eddie. I forgive you. YES! Steve, please. I need him.”

His hold around you tightened as he shook his head between your legs, his lips making obscene slurping sounds as he flicked his tongue against your clit at an overwhelming pace.

Panting, your body trembled as you came as his tongue continued with its assault, elongating your high. After a soft kiss to your thigh and a firm tap of your ass, you climbed off him, waiting for instruction. Sitting up, he grabbed Eddie’s cheeks and kissed him passionately making the gangster groan at the taste of you on his boyfriend’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You know how I am sometimes.”

“Hot headed? Stubborn? A pain in my ass?” They both chuckled softly, the officer running his thumb along his lips. “We talk to each other right? Figure things out together.”

“Yeah, baby, we do.”

“ALL of us. That includes her now. She makes us stronger.”

“Yeah, she does.”, Eddie smiled as he glanced your way wishing he could touch you.

Giving him one final kiss, Steve leans back and pats his lower stomach.

“Come here, honey.” Taking his hand, you let him direct you till you were straddling him with the other man’s cock teasing your pussy lips. “You’ll have to slide back on him but he should be able to do the rest.”

Nodding your head, you reach behind you to hold his length as you guide him inside of you.

“Oh my fucking God.”, Eddie growls as you mewl at the stretch.

Steve’s large palms grip your hips as his boyfriend start’s bouncing and thrusting his own.

“Does that feel good, Y/N?”

“S-So good.”

“Shit. You’re both so fucking sexy That’s it. Just let go and take it like a good girl.”

Your breasts hang perfectly in front of his face and when his mouth attaches to your nipple, your pussy clenches around Eddie making him whimper as he picks up his pace.

“Please, Eddie. Make me cum.”

As he does his best to honor your request while restrained, Steve licks his thumb and massages your clit driving you crazy as you push up and lean against the gangster’s chest. You feel him grunt into your shoulder as he releases inside of you, you following as you moan his name into the ceiling. After lightly spanking you, you collapse to the side and watch as Eddie falls forward knowing the man he loves will be there as Steve cups his cheeks and thrusts roughly upwards chasing his own high.

“That’s it, Eddie, baby. Take it, take it, take it. That’s my good boy. Fuck.”

They both groan as the man underneath him thrusts his spend deep inside of him, his mouth falling open as he pants against his lips.

“I love you so much, Steven, fuck. I love you.”

As the gangster croons into his neck and they continue to whisper admiration for each other, you tip toe towards the officer’s set of keys and quietly reappear to free him. His palms promptly come to pet the boy’s head, kissing his forehead before playfully wrapping his arms around you and dragging you over Steve to place you between them.

A warm feeling washes over you as both men roll on to their side to nuzzle their noses against your cheeks as they hold you.

You aren’t sure when you fell asleep or for how long but the strong, delicious smell of pasta caused your eyes to flutter open. Eddie was still knocked out beside you but due to the small space you could see Steve with his bare back to you in sweats at the stove. One of his shirts had been placed by the bed and you smiled as you slid it on, shuffling towards him.

“Hey you. I’m making dinner if you’re hungry.” His grin grows when you nod, turning his attention back to his sizzling pan. Hopping up, on to the nearby stool by his counter, you notice a file with Jason’s name on it.

“May I?”

Glancing that way, he hesitates for only a moment before giving his approval.

The file itself was thick with photos and notes of Carver’s gang showing that the officer really did take his job seriously as you browsed through the details. Kind of like Eddie his father passed the reigns to his son Jason but unlike him, his father was still out and walking freely. He seemed to still have a bit of sway when it came to the clan itself but otherwise he trusted his son. He had been running things for a couple of years before Eddie took over and due to the change Steve noted a few things you found disturbing.

“Hey. Put that down and try this.” You smile as he holds a spoon to your lips and he beams with pride when make a tiny yum noise as he turns back around. “My mom was actually a pretty good cook. She taught me a thing or two.”

“Jesus Christ, it smells good in here.”, Eddie announced, grabbing a desk chair and sliding obnoxiously loud over to you two making you laugh. While tilting up to kiss you, he yanks the file from your grasp. “Bad Officer Harrington. Letting her snoop.”

“She’s not snooping. She asked and I said it was alright.”

“I’m glad you’re not going after him, Ed. There’s some things in there…”

“Yeah. Jason Carver is a prick. I’m surprised his dad lets him get away with half the shit he does but unless George Carver deems you worthy so to speak he doesn’t give a damn.”

Your head shot up as an idea hit you.

“Wait a second, Hawkins does a charity thing every year where the wealthy show up to throw money at causes to make them feel better about themselves.”

“Yeah, my parents go to that.”, Steve replied with a hint of sarcasm you didn’t miss.

“My dad was always invited but never went. He never felt the need to pretend to be a good man.”

“But that’s why I never went. I had heard that the head of the Carver’s attended.” They both continue to stare at you with confused eyes causing you to let out a frustrated sigh as you rise to your feet. “The sponsors of that party have funds for Hawkins medical funds but the bulk of it goes to that general hospital. I’m still always invited…if I wanted to mingle with the donors…make an impression… Come on, guys.”

“Honey, just say what’s on your mind.”

“I can go with Eddie and we can talk to Jason’s dad. Maybe somehow convince him to get his son to leave us alone.”

They exchange a look before the gangster finally speaks.

“Y/N, sweetheart, that means you’d have be seen with me and not just by the Carvers. My team, a few of our friends, and apparently Jason somehow knows about Steve but otherwise he’s hidden. If we go to this event with you on my arm, EVERYONE will know.”

“Including the police, baby. Which means you could have more eyes on you and pressure pushed when it comes to him.”

Your head hangs as you fiddle with your fingers.

“I would never turn you over or tell them anything. I swear…”

“No, honey.”, Steve quickly explains. “We aren’t worried about that. We just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Of course, we can protect you in that regard from getting into any kind of legal trouble.”

“Your family and friends will have something to say—”

“I don’t have much family and I work 24/7 so I don’t have time for friends. Honestly, the only thing I care about is that clinic, my patients, and you two.” The genuinely smile at that last bit making you blush. “I do. I care about you very much. It’s been a long time since I felt like I wasn’t just coasting through life. These past couple of weeks I’ve really enjoyed having someone to talk to, to hold me, even just hear someone tell me I’m fucking beautiful.”

Eddie gets to his feet and tenderly kisses your lips.

“You are beautiful, angel. Ok, I need to take you shopping so we can get you a new dress.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t HAVE to. I want to.”, he grins. “We need to go over some rules and things if we are going to pull this off. “

“I can come to. Since my parents are attending, it wouldn’t be odd for me to be there and I can keep an eye on you two.”

“My knight in shining handcuffs and a holster gun.” Steve sticks out his tongue as Eddie giggles like a little kid. “Alright, princess, this won’t be the last time I ask but are you sure you want to do this?”

Your gaze shifts between them as a heavy sigh exits from your lungs.

“I’m sure.”

###############

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