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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 6 | S.R.)

Summary: Something’s up with Spencer and Derek shows up at his door. The couple has their first fight.

A/N: By the way, we have a playlist for this Fic Series! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader   Category: Smut! (NSFW) & ANGST 💔 Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), heated arguing Word Count: 6,785

MASTERLIST

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My dreams had been particularly absent as of late. I wondered if it was because I was too busy living them.

Fantasy and reality had been blending together in a symphony of overwhelming emotion. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. The warmth surrounding me was greater than just the temperature of the car, it was the spirit of Spencer’s company.

I was awoken from the thought by strong arms under me, hoisting me out of the car as my head lolled over to his chest. It took me a moment longer to realize that he had picked me up, quietly carrying me towards the apartment.

“Pumme down,” I slurred while my eyes struggled to open, my hands weakly protesting my position. Spencer just chuckled, readjusting to try and follow my instructions. However, I just as quickly almost tumbled out of his arms in my rush to the ground.

“You are so graceful,” he laughed harder now, holding onto me as I steadied myself on my feet, not even bothering to fix my messed up hair.

Rubbing my eyes to try and wipe the exhaustion off my face, I replied in the least hostile voice ever, “Shut up.”

He waited for me to lead the way, probably to make sure I didn’t fall on my ass. Truthfully, I was a little surprised he chose to take me to his place instead of mine. After all, it was late and he’d barely gotten any sleep last night. I wasn’t going to complain though.

This time when we entered his apartment, he didn’t seem to care if I wandered around. However, it’s probably because I was tired as shit. I headed to the bedroom on instinct, beginning to strip before he even entered the room.

“Getting comfortable?” He joked, and I wondered which way he meant the question. Was I getting comfortable existing in his space, or by removing my clothes? The answer to both questions was yes. Wasn’t planning on telling him that, though.

Instead, I just smiled. “See something you like, Dr. Reid?”

Immediately recognizing the line from our first night together, he shook his head with an equally snarky grin. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“I can’t help it,” I shrugged, “I think about it all the time.”

“We can make a new memory if you want.”

The twisting sensation in my gut reminded me how quickly he could turn the tables on me. That stupid, suave motherfucker.

As he approached me, my heart beat recklessly, like a child with a drum set. I like to think that I am quick on my feet and easily able to bounce back… but sometimes Spencer was just so…

Gentle. That was the way he touched me, his hands coming up from behind me and gingerly exploring my chest, stomach, and hips. With his cheek pressed against my temple, I could feel the way he deeply breathed in the scent of my perfume still lingering after the long day.

Caring was the way he spun my body around to face him, kissing me with the same unrelenting passion I’d felt in the observatory.

Quiet jubilation was my response, my hands taking their time removing his clothes as he backed me against the bed. This silence persisting between us was not actually silence at all, the room filled with soft sounds of our breath quickening and the rustling of fabrics as they were thrown to the ground.

He lifted me off the ground and onto the bed by the backs of my thighs, climbing onto the bed with me as he positioned me nearly flat on the bed.

At first it was just like all the other times we’ve shared, although something felt distinctly different. There was an emotion running just under the surface of our contact that I tried to will away.

Spencer’s slow descent down my body was not helping. He was only passing by my chest and I was already a steady flow of moans, clutching desperately to his shoulders that were moving out of reach.

It wasn’t until he pressed a long kiss just above my pubic bone that I realized what he was planning on doing. My muscles tensed under him, my legs clamping together in painfully obvious shyness.

“W-what are you doing?” Had I actually just fucking stuttered?

“I think you know what I’m doing,” he responded, his hand easily separating my legs as his kisses continued onto my inner thigh.

I reached down, covering myself with my hands as my face burned with all the blood that should be reserved for more fun activities.

“B-but, it’s late. We should… do something else instead.”

“No,” was his response. So simple, so cruel.

“But Spencer,” I whined, cursing my legs for shaking as I felt his tongue gliding closer to my center.

“What? You can’t honestly tell me you’re too shy after you let me finger fuck you on the metro.”

I smiled nervously at the memory, still shifting back and forth to avoid his touch getting too close to where he wanted to be. “I-It’s not that it’s just… It’s never… done anything for me. So it’s not worth it.”

“Oh?” Spencer’s eyes immediately filed with a dark, voracious greed, a smirk spreading across his face that I’d never seen before. If I was nervous before, now I was terrified. I’d never seen him so competitive.

“You’re not broken, little girl. Promise.”

My legs were shaking so desperately now I couldn’t have stopped him if I tried. Without another thought he spread my legs, positioning himself enthusiastically under my knees and between my thighs.

“Some things...” his breath hot against my arousal, “just require a man’s touch.”

With that, he finally ran his tongue between my folds, the combined wetness of his mouth and my body leaving me drowning in a sea of his pleasure. My eyes were clenched shut as he explored every piece of me he could reach.

My fingers curled and rooted in his hair, tugging mercilessly as he dipped his tongue inside me, no doubt enjoying the way I squirmed and shook for him, laid out before him like a decadent meal.

“S-Spencer!” I cried as my legs wrapped around him, heels digging into his back. Knowing that he couldn’t respond with words, I wasn’t at all prepared for the way his responding moan reverberated against me.

“Fuck!” I yelled again, my breath coming in short, loud bursts. He raised his mouth just a few inches, his nose pressing hard against me as his tongue lavished the sensitive pearl at my crest.

I couldn’t moan his name, or anything else, at this point. It was just careening mewls, whines, and screams to the tune of Spencer’s ministrations. It was a mistake to look down at him, his pupils blown so wide that I could barely see the brown as he fixated on the wrecked look on my face.

Throwing my head back, I held him down against me as he switched from long laps of his tongue to short, flickering motions, gently suckling on me like a man starved.

I couldn’t take it much longer, finally breaking through the tension to find sweet release, the vibrations of his hum of pleasure following me over the edge. Now simultaneously overstimulated and invigorated, my body tried to relax.

But Spencer didn’t relent. No, he became even more fervent, bringing a hand up to join his mouth.

Jesus, how could this man still breathe?

Wasn’t my problem. Because as soon as two long, slender fingers plunged into my heat, I was blinded by ecstasy

My entire body was spasming underneath him in a disjointed mess. When I could breathe, they were gasps of air akin to the first one taken after being swept into the riptide.

His fingers curled inside of me, stroking me in harsh, long movements until my muscles began to flutter once more. My second orgasm was shorter, but twice as intense. I couldn’t identify the ways he was touching me, feeling all consumed by this man.

As I came down this time, he slowed his pace with me, eventually drawing his face away with one final brush of his tongue up the length of me.

I shuddered, my back arching off the bed as the weight of my legs collapsed against him. Sweat dripping down my temples, I couldn’t stop the way my body continued to tremble underneath him.

“That...” his voice breaking from the lack of breath and use, “was definitely worth it.”

Once I was able to breathe and form a thought, I responded with an equally crackly voice, although mine was for a different reason. “Spencer Reid, you have positively ruined me.” I rasped with a laugh, “I don’t know how anyone else will ever compare.”

Using the back of his hand to clean his face, a smile appeared for both of us. Stalking closer, his face hung above mine as he admitted, “Good. I want you all for myself.”

And he had me. He had me until the stars fell from the sky and ended the Earth in a fiery ball of smoke. When the world is drowned by the oceans falling from the sky he would have my last full breath.

I would be his until he wouldn’t have me anymore, and then a little longer after that.

Which is what I told him when he kissed me. The taste of myself on his tongue, we shared more than bodily fluids. I wrapped tired arms around his neck, tangling our limbs together to stop him from floating away from me.

There was no salacious provocation. There was no anger at all. It was a deep, meaningful yet silent compassion.

So synchronized our minds and hearts that my hips knew to raise when he brought his arousal to mine, my body accepting him with only a little apprehension.

With just enough force to fully join together, he pushed into me, his kiss becoming deeper. He was trying to tell me something that I had begged him to say but was now terrified to hear.

Maybe I should have changed the mood, tried to turn this into another meaningless romp between lonely strangers. But I didn’t. Part of me didn’t want to. Most of me didn’t want to. But the small piece of me - the scared, lonely piece - begged me to hold on to the space between us.

Spencer’s thrusts were slow and meaningful. The muscles in his back tensed with each movement, dedicating every part of him to this dance with me. The long, powerful moan that crept through my throat broke the kiss, and I couldn’t stop myself from calling to him again.

“Spencer,” I whimpered.

He had that look in his eyes again, the possessive, ravenous look that made me feel like I belonged here, with him. He fit within me so perfectly, each movement drawing my hips into a soft rocking motion with him.

His hand almost felt cold against the burning skin of my cheek as he directed my eyes to stay fixed on his. He swallowed a moan, desperately trying to remain composed as his pace began to increase in force and speed.

“(Y/n)...”

Oh no. That voice. I had only heard that voice from him twice, and both in the last twenty four hours. ‘Don’t...’ he had first begged with that voice before hypocritically criticizing the million plus words in the English language for not being able to express his feelings for me.

“(Y/n),” he repeated, working up the courage I would never let him utilize. “I—“

The speed with which my hand raised to cover his mouth with my fingertips was startling in comparison to the agonizingly slow pace of the rest of our bodies.

“Shhh,” I hushed, my eyes softening as I begged him to keep his words to himself. My actions hurt him, but the alternative might have hurt worse. Besides, what was the point of saying it if I already anticipated it?

I don’t think you love me as much as you think you do, Spencer Reid.

Once it was clear he wouldn’t continue, my hands returned to the back of his neck, bringing him in for another wistful kiss. More insistent now to act out the words he wished he could say, our tongues joined in the exploration of one another.

Although just as slow, Spencer drove into me as hard as he had before, my entire body shaking as I slid against the sheets. I clung to his shoulders, letting his lips slip away from me as he buried his face in the crook of my neck.

The stifled sound of my name on lips left me trembling at his mercy. But that was nothing compared to the way shockwaves spread through my body as he growled in my ear, “Come for me.”

It was a command I was all too excited to surrender to. With one last careening cry, my body tensed around him. I could feel my walls fluttering, trying to hold onto him and carry him over the edge with me.

His hips were flush against mine as he drove into me one last time, holding himself as deeply in me as he could. He propped himself up, locking our eyes together as he finished.

“That’s my little girl,” he uttered as his warmth spread within me. My mouth hung open as I panted his name, my eyes trying not to roll back. The exhaustion that quickly followed was unlike any of our previous trysts. My heart felt as heavy as my muscles felt weak.

Spencer dropped his forehead to mine, granting me one more kiss filled with longing. I kissed him back just as sweetly, my fingers barely pressed against his jaw.

We didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say. I couldn’t find words to shift the energy in the room, and I didn’t want to. Once he was off of me, I was the one to leave first.

He didn’t watch me as I walked away; his vision was locked on the ceiling as he let himself be lost in his thoughts. I could only imagine what they were about.

I returned to the bedroom to find him standing at his closet, just as lost in thought. I wasn’t even sure he heard me come in, but he definitely heard the curses I muttered under my breath.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, turning to see me crouched over my bag on the floor.

“Yeah, I just forgot my sweater. And no offense, but you’re a giant blanket hog.” The little chuckle afterwards was to make up for the fact I could barely maintain eye contact with him.

It was strange how much more naked I felt right now, compared to when our bodies had been tangled in a mess of pleading and sweat.

He didn’t respond to my comment, turning to his closet and pulling something from the top shelf. I wasn’t sure what it was until it landed in my lap.

A navy blue crewneck depicting two hands holding a torch, with “Caltech” below it. My breath caught in my throat, and I looked up at him, my mouth open but unable to make noise.

“It’s fine,” he responded to a question I hadn’t even asked. “It doesn’t fit me anymore, anyway.”

An awkward smile later, he finally made his way to the bed and slid under the covers. His back was to me.

Slipping into the sweatshirt, I took a moment to breathe in the way it smelled like the home I’d found with him. This sweater had obviously been loved; it was worn around the edges and lightly bleached from too many washes.

I didn’t let him speak the words ‘I love you’, so he found other ways to say it instead.

Under the covers I inched over to where he lay, snaking my arm around his waist and pulling myself as close as I could to his back.

“Thank you, Spencer.” I said with shaky reverence. I wasn’t talking about the sweatshirt.

An equally unsteady breath left him, and I knew he was avoiding looking at me for a reason. I wasn’t going to make him. He put his hand over mine on his chest, holding tightly for a moment before relieving the pressure.

He didn’t say it, but I could hear it in his thoughts.

‘Don’t,’ he had warned me, ‘I won’t be able to stop myself.’

Why hadn’t I listened? Why had I let him kiss me like that? Had I make a mistake in stopping those words?

Had that been the only chance I’d ever have to hear Spencer Reid say he loved me, even if it wouldn’t have been entirely true?

His heart beat against my heart to remind me that I was still in this moment with him. He let me hold him as I drifted off to sleep.

I wondered if he would still join me in my dreams.

—————————————————

When the sun peeked through the windows it landed on the bed next to me, my arms clinging to sheets and empty space.

Spencer was not there anymore.

Although I hadn’t expected it to be the same as before, I was surprised to find the nothingness. The bed wasn’t even warm, a sign he hadn’t been there in some time.

Trying not to panic, I managed to slip on leggings and pack up my things. I wasn’t even sure what I would do if he wasn’t here. Before I would have loved the opportunity to get to snoop, but now it just felt dreadful to be here without him.

Luckily, it wasn’t too hard to find him. I rounded the corner, spotting him curled up on his couch with his head resting against his arm. He looked miserable, the bags under his eyes visible despite his being asleep.

The alarms in my mind were blaring, and I begged them to be quiet. My heart was breaking with each step he didn’t wake up. Left with no other choice, I placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, hoping not to spook him with a lighter touch.

He immediately stirred awake, seemingly surprised that he had fallen asleep in the first place.

“Spencer, are you alright?” I asked as I got down on my knees in front of him, meeting his height as he sat up.

“What time is it?” He ignored my question.

“9:30,” I replied patiently, my hands resting on his knee. “Why are you out here?”

His hands ran over his face like it would answer my question. I wasn’t giving up, though, continuing my questions until he answered at least one of them.

“Did you have another nightmare? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Just shut up,” he snapped, and I actually jumped at the words.

“I-I’m sorry,” my voice shook as I watched the guilt wash over him. My hands dropped from his lap and my body shrunk into itself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s not you. I just— I couldn’t sleep.” Like that wasn’t fucking obvious. I felt terrible but I didn’t know how to reach him like this.

He had to let me.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Something happened in the pause between us. Spencer’s eyes met mine, and I felt the way he was tugging at my heart.

His tongue swept over his lips, contemplating whether I was safe to share this unknown weight with. His mouth barely opened, a sharp inhale that usually precedes catharsis.

I never got my answer.

The knocking on the door was more like an insistent banging, with a very worried male voice on the other side.

“Reid, it’s Morgan. Is your phone broken? Where you at, man?”

Spencer hadn’t looked this rattled in all the time I'd known him - not even when he’d found out he was hanging out with a criminal (me).

“Oh, shit,” he hissed, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me away from the couch. “Shit, (y/n), go to my room.”

“What? Who is that?” I whispered back, looking back at the door as the man continued to knock.

“Go,” he cryptically replied. So I did, bolting down the hallway and waiting as I heard him answer the door.

“Hey, sorry, my phone died.” Spencer explained to the man I couldn’t see.

“You look like hell. Everything alright?” At least this man shared my concern for the obvious mental breakdown he was clearly going through. “Yeah, I just… didn’t get much sleep.”

As much as the man seemed not to trust the response, he sighed. “Well, tough break. We’ve got a case. I’ve been calling you for an hour. You can sleep on the flight. We’ve gotta go.”

“Alright. Give me a minute, I’ll meet you at the car.”

Okay, that was a plan. Then at least I could get out of here before Spencer did. Not like it would be bad if I left after him, but I just wasn’t sure if that’s something he wanted to do.

“Reid, wait,” the man named Morgan said, clearly stopping the door from shutting. “Are you sure you’re alright? I can tell Hotch you can’t make it if you’re not.”

Perceptive. I guess that was their job.

“I’m fine,” Spencer clearly lied, “go wait by the car.”

The sound of the door clicking shut was what I needed to breathe again, and I relaxed against the wall just in time for Spencer to briskly walk past me, not even pausing to look at me.

I padded after him, grateful that I had already packed up my stuff. I picked up the bag, pausing to stare at him. He could feel it but didn’t make any indication of how he felt about it.

“Just go.”

My lips tucked together, trying to find the right words to say right now. He was frantically packing stuff together in a go bag he never even had a chance to unpack from the last time. I had begun to turn when he stopped, tossing the clothes at the bag as he rushed over to me.

His hands grabbed my face, crashing his lips against mine in a flagrantly fond manner. It felt like a kiss meant to say goodbye for longer than one trip.

Now even more wary, I grabbed onto his wrists by my face, looking up at him with one more plea. “Please, Spencer. Take care of yourself. Come home safe.”

For the first time, his eyes flickered down to his sweatshirt swamping my figure. Although startled, I could see the desire to please me behind the wall steadily forming between us.

“I will.”

I was not convinced, but he wasn’t going to accomplish that any time soon. I let him go, turning back to watch him one more time before I left.

As I exited his apartment I pulled the door softly, turning the handle and waiting for it to close fully before releasing the latch.

“Hey,” a confused voice rang out. I was not alone in this hallway.

Like a deer in the headlights, I didn’t even look at the man whose voice I immediately recognized as the one who had been at Spencer’s door a few minutes earlier.

Shit! He was supposed to be down by the car!

“Sorry to scare you. I just… Well, to be honest, I don’t really know what to say. It’s usually Reid that catches girls leaving my apartment.”

The inside of my brain was literally just screaming, my hands beginning to shake as I stepped back from the door, frantically avoiding eye contact with Spencer’s coworker.

“I-I was… You know, it’s not like… That.” I stumbled over words, sounding like a fucking idiot. Morgan’s eyebrows raised, a clever smirk on his face as he laughed.

“Babygirl. It’s 9:30 in the morning,” he pointedly remarked, an accusing finger aimed at the logo on my shirt, “and that’s not your sweatshirt.” Fuck! I forgot I was even fucking wearing it!

“I might not be Reid, but I know this isn’t a study group.”

All of the admittedly poor excuses in my mind came out in a defeated whine, my head hanging in shame. “Pleeease don’t tell Spencer.”

His chuckle was comforting. I understand now why they’re so good at what they do.

“No worries. I’m just glad you didn’t keep him any longer. I’m guessing you’re the one that kept him up all night.”

My face fell, and the way he responded told me he immediately understood why. He didn’t ask, although I could tell he wanted to.

“I... I’m worried about him.” My hands clasped together in front of me, worrying the sleeves under my fingers. He turned to face me more fully, and I could feel the way he inspected each movement of my body. He wasn’t as subtle as Spencer, which was its own relief.

“Will you keep an eye on him?” I blurted out, finally making strong eye contact. “Make sure h-he takes care of himself. That he’s okay?”

Morgan nodded, a familiar solemn look on his face. “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks,” I sighed, tucking my hair behind my ear as I glanced down the hallway. “Uh, I-I should go before he comes out.”

He followed my line of sight down the hallway, then nodded again. As I passed him, he called to me one more time, “What’s your name?”

I halted mid-step, not sure how to respond. I didn’t turn around, forcing out my first name as quickly as I could.

“(Y/n).”

Only time would tell if I’d just made a terrible mistake.

—————————————————

There was something about cases like these, the ones where the happy ending isn’t nearly happy enough, that stick with me. I had fucked up yesterday and I knew it. I’d let my emotions get the better of me and made a stupid mistake that could have hurt people.

Thankfully, it didn’t. But I knew that the man in the driver’s seat next to me was still fuming. If it was any consolation to Derek, I was just as upset with myself. But that didn’t stop him from asking the question I’d been waiting for since he first picked me up at my apartment.

“What’s been up with you, man?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumbled back under my breath, acutely aware of how unconvincing it was. I hadn’t slept in days and my head was killing me. It took everything in me not to wear sunglasses right now, knowing that he would use it against me.

“Nah, we’re not playing like this. This isn’t just about you, Reid. You need to talk to me. How am I supposed to trust you?” There it was. He was acting like he hadn’t seen this coming. As much as I didn’t want it to be true, we were all profilers. He could either keep acting like he hadn’t been overanalyzing everything I did and shut up, or let it go.

“Nothing’s changed!” I nearly shouted, “There’s no reason you shouldn’t!” It wasn’t true, but I wasn’t going down this road without a fight.

“Something is up with you, man. And it’s making you reckless.”

Ha! Of all the people to lecture me about being emotional, immature, or selfish? What a joke. “Oh, I’m reckless?”

“Yeah, Reid. You are.” His tensed jaw in his stern reply lit an anger in my chest that I was holding back with every bit of strength I had.

“Do you know what happened the other day when I came to get you? After you let your phone die cause you weren’t sleeping? A girl came out of your apartment and told me she was worried about you. You wanna tell me about that?”

I can’t even pinpoint which word that came out of his mouth set off the blind rage in my mind. The pulsating pain in my temples was nothing compared to the bile that stung my throat or how my stomach tied itself into knots. She did what?

The pause was stretching too long; I was giving him too much information. But my response was just as pathetic, my voice cracking as I whispered, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Damn right I don’t. Cause you haven’t told me anything about this.” I could barely see straight, nonetheless comprehend what he was saying to me. I wanted to scream at her right now. She told Morgan? What the hell was she thinking? This was my career!

“What’s a girl doing leaving your apartment in your clothes, telling me to look after you?” God, he was still talking. I don’t know how I would handle this situation without the headaches, and I certainly don’t want to handle it in a car after watching someone blow their fucking brains out in front of me.

“Hey, Morgan, here’s an idea. How about we don’t interrogate girls the other one is sleeping with?” I snapped, my hands finally leaving their clenched fists.

“I didn’t ask her shit, Reid. She looked terrified. How old is she anyway? 25?”

This was more than he was ever meant to know – especially at this point. I wasn’t prepared at all to handle everything that was going on with her. That’s why I hadn’t told anyone about her. I’d wanted time to deal with the shit I already had going on. It hadn’t been long since Emily waltzed back into my life, taking any trust I had in JJ with her entrance.

It hadn’t been long since I had to hold tighter to my NA chip to stop me from dipping into the locked box in my apartment. I can’t handle this. I couldn’t handle her if she was going to make my life any more complicated than it already was.

“She’s not important.” I tried to convince myself the words were true.

“Really? She’s not important but you give her your sweatshirt?” Of course he fucking caught that little detail. I rubbed my forehead, the pain returning in a crushing manner. I felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe.

“I’m not buying it, Reid.”

That was it. That was all it took for me to lose any sense of sanity or compassion I had left in reserve, my voice raising higher than I’d used with Derek before.

“Morgan, she’s just some stupid fucking girl I picked up at a bar. It doesn’t matter what she said. She doesn’t know anything about me, okay? She’s no one.”

The look on his face as the scathing words burned my tongue told me neither of us believed me, but neither of us was going to challenge it, either.

“Fine,” he said, defeated, “Sorry I even asked.”

I leaned back in my chair, giving in to the temptation and putting my sunglasses on.

“Great.”

—————————————————

The sound of my phone going off woke me, and I was a little surprised to see Spencer calling me in the middle of the night. Usually he texted me to avoid this situation. Especially on a weeknight.

I picked up the phone, my voice groggy and unsure, “Spencer? It’s after midnight. What’s up. Are you alright? Did you just get home?”

Nothing could have prepared me for the hostility I was immediately met with. “Yeah, I did, and I had a very interesting conversation with Morgan. Do you want to explain what the fuck that was about?”

My heart clenched in my chest, and I grabbed my head to try and stop it from spinning. It didn’t work.

“M-Morgan...?” I stuttered, trying to regulate my vitals, “Is that the guy from the other day?”

“I’m pretty sure you know who he is, (y/n).” Spencer’s voice was quick, harsh, and unrelenting. I’d never heard him like this before.

“What did he say? Are you alright?”

“No, not really, I’m pretty fucking pissed.” I could already feel the tears pooling in my eyes, knowing that I’d make a mistake I couldn’t take back. Knowing I would have to deal with this all, right now.

“Telling my team that you think I’m unstable? What the fuck were you thinking?”

I scrambled to defend myself, since he sure wasn’t going to do it for me. “I never said that, Spencer.” My tone was beginning to match his, and I hated it. I didn’t want to fight with him.

“Well what did you say, then?”

I ran a hand through my hair, looking over at the clock on my nightstand that read 1:01 AM and mourning the sleep I was never going to get now.

“Please, let’s talk about this in the morning. You need to sleep. We both do.”

“Fuck that, we’re talking about it right now.” The noise that came out of my mouth was halfway between a sob and a sigh, tears starting to stain my face as I tried to stop them from going too far.

He didn’t seem to care, continuing on his tirade, “I don’t have the luxury of pretending like nothing happened and going on with my life like a selfish fucking child.”

“That’s not fair, Spencer,” I croaked.

“Oh, it’s not fair? It’s not fair for me to treat you like a child now? After you jeopardize my career?” There was some truth to his words; I had crossed a line that I shouldn’t have. But was that really my fault, that I cared about him when he didn’t?

“Spencer, I was worried about you! You hadn’t slept in two days. You were crying in your sleep. What was I supposed to do?” The light in the hallway came on as my roommate woke up to the sounds of my hushed yelling.

Great, another problem for me to deal with. Another person I was inconveniencing.

“Mind your own fucking business and not tell my coworkers, for one.”

Quieter now, my hands motioned around me like he would be able to see it. Through clenched teeth I urged, “Let’s not pretend like I didn’t have reason to be concerned.”

Spencer bitterly laughed, “What the fuck do you know?”

There was no attempt to stymie my voice nor frustration now, practically yelling into the phone.

“You almost told me you fucking loved me, Spencer! You don’t fucking love me! You don’t even know me!”

A pregnant pause following, and I could practically see the way he was clenching his eyes shut, trying to hide his blatantly obvious emotions behind his hands. “I didn’t say it though, did I?”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “Because I stopped you!”

“And that’s my fault?!” He shouted back.

Throwing my head back against the headboard, I winced at the distraction of the pain. Maybe it knocked some sense into me, because I was starting to remember that this man wasn’t supposed to be the enemy.

“I’m not blaming you, Spencer.” With a deep breath, I tried not to sound like I was crying.

“But I’m not going to let you sabotage this relationship, either. Tell me right now that if I’d let you say it, you wouldn’t have found another reason to end things. Just like you are right now.”

It was hard not to let the anger bleed through my voice as I tried to keep it together for both of our sakes.

His reply was much quicker now, “(Y/n), we don’t have a relationship.”

The words were like a kick to the stomach, and I doubled over as if one had actually landed. We were really still acting like this was fucking normal friendship? Pouring our hearts out and screaming at each other at 1 AM?

“And right now the conversation isn’t about something I did. It’s about you trying to ruin my entire fucking life over your sick idea of romance.” Is that really what he thought I was fucking doing? I was over here worrying about whether he was going to come home safe and he thought I was just trying to get attention? Unable to tell if this was genuine miscommunication or just him projecting, I needed to see him.

“I just... if we have to talk about this tonight, please just come over. We can talk about it.” The emotion was clear in my voice, and I couldn’t hide the tears any longer. I was practically choking on the words, feeling the pain in each fiber of my being.

At this point, I didn’t even care about him being with me. I just wanted him to be okay.

“Come over? Why, so you can try to convince me to fuck you so I forget about it?”

Choking on my breath that was coming in gasps, my voice matching the static of the background noise. “Excuse me?”

Blood boiling and burning breath, I seethed, “What the fuck is the matter with you?!”

“If you know me so well, why don’t you tell me yourself?” He scoffed to hide the hoarseness in his voice.

Was he crying?

“Stop being like this, Spencer. Please.” I was begging him. “I was worried about you. And clearly, I was right to be.”

“How about you worry about yourself before you try to fix other people, (y/n).” There was no laughter or hesitance now, just bitterness and unprecedented hate he was projecting on me.

“Me? What the fuck did I do?”

“Aside from breaking the law literally the first night I met you?” I rolled my eyes at the pathetic excuse. Like I was the first person to ever use a fake ID. He didn’t seem to mind it that badly before.

But it was what came next that vaulted way too far over the line.

“How about how you constantly require some twisted, sadistic attention to make up for all your fucking daddy issues?”

“Daddy issues?!” The guttural growl came from a darker side of myself that Spencer had never seen. “Oh you want to talk about daddy issues, motherfucker? What do my daddy issues say about you? What does it mean that you want to act on them? How you love to tell me I’m your little girl while you fuck me? Or how about calling me a bitch while you fantasize about putting a baby in me? Don’t fucking talk to me about my daddy issues, Spencer.”

Heavy breaths were mirrored through the phone, the line eerily quiet without the screaming accusations.

“I’m done talking to you.” He was quiet now, resigned to the end we had reached. But I wasn’t done yet. I was still mad. Daddy issues? Fuck him.

“Why? Because you can’t handle the fact that I’m right? Because you’re ashamed of me? It’s okay to have feelings, Spencer. I just want you to talk to me about them instead of acting like everything is fine when it’s clearly fucking not.”

“Don’t ever contact a member of my team again. I don’t want or need your help. You don’t know fucking anything. You’re not my girlfriend. You never were.” I’m not sure if a yell would have been any better, but the sudden clarity in his voice killed me all the same. Crying loudly into the receiver, I closed my eyes, pleading his name one more time.

“Spenc—“ I never got to finish. He didn’t even say goodbye.

I wasn’t even worth that.

The sound of the dial tone was deafening, burning into my brain as I clutched the phone in my hand before tossing it across the room. I shrunk into myself, pulling my knees to my chest and burying my face in them.

I don’t even know what had happened. The call had barely lasted five minutes. That’s how long it took for everything to come crashing down around me.

Falling onto my side as the sobs wrecked my body, I spotted that stupid fucking sweatshirt next to me. Torn between wanting to burn it and cling to it, I chose the latter. I buried my face in the fabric, trying to breathe in the way it still smelled like his room.

Would I ever be there with him again? Was he really going to throw it all away that easily?

I knew he didn’t love me like he thought he did, but had I really underestimated just how little I meant to him? I hadn’t, had I? It couldn’t have just been me.

He didn’t get to be the one to tell me that he loved me right before he left me.

He didn’t get to do that when I was the one who fell in love first.

Spencer Reid had just made an enemy of the wrong girl.

—————————————————

| Part 7 |

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #angst #smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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sugarless-suki-writes · 3 years ago

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First Lines Meme

Tagged by @nikkxb -- sorry it's taken me so long to get to this, lmao

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!)

See if there are any patterns.

Choose your favorite opening lines.

Then tag 10 authors!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I just kinda went to my recents on my google docs, so this is gonna have a mix of stuff, some original stuff too. ye :3 but I'm starting with fics that I currently have posted online. All of them are the first paragraph of the update that's in progress

Favorites have bolded and italicized titles :3

1. Sobriety || KouKag

Kagome had three sessions of therapy so far and she wasn’t fully sure how to feel. She knew it was helping her, but she was left feeling so.... raw and open after every session that she felt like she was just back pedaling and it was hard to cope with. A part of her wanted to just stop altogether and go back to self medicating, but she knew that this was just part of the process. The first couple sessions were going to be hard because there was just so much to unpack, but her therapist was nice and calm and patient with her. She really had to thank Kouga again when she saw him later today.

2. 100 Arms, 100 Years || KouKag

This was the fifth day that an offering had been left in front of Kagome’s door for her. The fifth time she would receive the carcass of a large animal that she wouldn’t accept. The fifth time that Inuyasha found himself in front of her and Kikyō’s shared hut and bringing the carcass to the village for her. His fifth time taking the credit for a hunt he had no part in. He had to admit, this was quickly grating on his nerves. He hated the attention that he was getting from the villagers now. They praised him for shit that he didn’t do. That, and he didn’t want to be praised for anything. It was bad enough that he practically had the Sacred Jewel within his grasp and wasn’t able to use it to become a full-fledged youkai, but now he was being celebrated as a hero by some mere humans? Keh... they’re lucky I don’t tell them what this is all actually about. I bet they wouldn’t be so happy then. He sniffed and scratched at his nose. He talked a big game, but Inuyasha knew deep down that he would never do anything to hurt them. If he did that, that would in turn hurt Kikyō and he couldn’t do that to her.

3. Big God || KouKag

Kagome let out a frustrated huff as she shoved her phone into her pocket. She then plopped down onto the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her and curling into Kouga’s side. “That’s the fourth test we’ve ran, and we just... can’t figure out what the hell that stuff is... It’s so frustrating!” she grumbled.

4. You are the Moon || KouKag

Kagome took care of dinner that night, going out to pick up a few things she would need before returning home and cooking. Her mother tried to talk her out of it, but Kagome insisted, wanting to give her mother a break for the night and do something nice for the family. She missed them, and she wanted to make up for being gone for so long.

5. The Demon of Nabewari Yama || KouKag

Kagome let out a small huff as she looked up at the mountain she was heading towards. She had been traveling for several days, bordering a week now, looking for somewhere to settle. However, all the villages she had come across already had a miko or monk residing there, and if they didn’t, they didn’t want one. To be fair, there weren’t many villages she had come across between her hometown and here, and sure, maybe she should go further out after completing her training, but it was still just a little frustrating.

6. Seasons of Love || ZelGan

Zelda looked herself over in the mirror, and the corners of her lips pulled down into a small frown. Her hair was pulled up into an extravagant updo, several locks braided and pulled into the bun that rested on the back of her head. There were some flowers pinned in as well, all of them white in color. She would have preferred something with a pop of color, so they would stand out against her hair; but she figured that, in the end, everything had to match her dress.

7. Gerudotown || ZelGan -- Title may change for this, idk lmao

Ganondorf let out a grunt as he dismounted from his horse. The beast was large with a jet-black coat and a matching mane. He gave the steed a pat on his neck before handing the reins to a stable boy, holding back a chuckle from the look on the boy’s face. He was certain the child had never seen a beast so big, nor a Gerudo, based on how he was looking up at Ganondorf with wide, disbelieving eyes.

8. Shit, Let's be Pirates || DaveJade

Jade ran down the dirt path leading to a hidden beach. She had just gotten out of class and was eager to go down to the coves. She wanted to find some cool shells and snap a couple pictures for her biology class. She always went above and beyond in that class, but she just had a passion for marine life.

9. Changing Fate || ZelGan

“You can’t possibly be serious about this, father!” Zelda snapped indignantly. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides and her face was contorted in rage. King Rimoll let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. They had been at this “conversation” for what felt like hours. He didn’t expect it to go this badly. Of course, he didn’t expect it to go well in the first place, but this was beyond what he anticipated.

10. Moon Bonds || KouKag

All Hallow’s Eve. A powerful night for witches and magick users alike. A night that better helped connect them to the spirits of the earth and those who had been lost. It was a night that Kagome looked forward to every year. The surge of magick that tingled under her skin and filled her very being... by the goddess it was an amazing feeling. And this year would be even more delightful and powerful.

11. Princess and the Pirate || Amuto

Growing up, Amu had been told many stories about pirates, everyone on her small island had. But Amu felt as if she had heard more than most. Her mother would tell her tales before bed about the pirates on a ship called the Emerald Line. Despite the name of the ship, its hull and sails were completely black. The only speck of color was the pirate flag it flew, which was emerald green and depicted a cat head with crossbones beneath. It was also known to be the fastest ship to sail the seas.

12. The Black Card || KouKag

Kagome paced around her room in her tiny apartment, struggling with picking out an outfit. It was her first day off in a while and she wanted to look cute, seeing as she wouldn’t be restricted by her, somewhat lenient (semi-strict?), dress code at the bookstore. However, she also wanted to be comfortable, so she was at a bit of an impasse. It wasn’t really as big a deal as she was making it out to be, but she was exhausted and she hoped that dressing nice would throw Sango off her trail. With a huff, she finally settled on a nice sundress she had stuffed in the back of her closet, one she rarely wore and almost forgot she had. It was light blue in color with a floral print.

13. Harvest Moon || KouKag

Kagome stretched as she woke up that morning. She opened her eyes and saw the torn-up ceiling and frowned to herself ever so slightly. She had moved into the country several days ago and had only recently started working on repairs that her home needed. It was a pretty large house, but the rent was extremely cheap. The only downside was she had to pay for the repairs, but in all honesty… she wasn’t too bothered by it. Apparently the house had been abandoned for years. No one was really sure how long... but Kagome could take a guess that it had been at least a decade with how worn down and dirty things were.

14. Memories || Original Fic - No Pairing

Lotus looked around at the scene before her. It would be an easy job, simple. She could do it in her sleep no problem. She scoffed and looked at the man beside her. “Really? You need me for this?” she asked. He turned to look at her, a scowl on his face.

15. Any Way the Wind Blows || ZelGan

Zelda woke up to the sun on her face. She grumbled and grunted, rolling over onto her side on her small mat. She opened her eyes and looked out ahead of her, at the grass and flowers swaying in the breeze. Her stomach gurgled and she placed a hand on it, a grimace on her lips. Food...

16. Found || KouKag

When Kouga had heard that there was a disturbance along one of their borders, he had been prepared for anything. He pulled together a team quickly, not taking all the strongest warriors, making sure to leave some behind to protect his pack. They ran off, ready to fight. Ready for anything. Anything except this.

17. Interlude IV (Showtime) || KouKag

O Signore, per amor del tuo nome, perdonami la mia iniquità... Perciocche ellà e grande Kagome sat there in the street, blood seeping through her clothes and soaking her knees. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks in a never ending flow. Her breath kept catching in the back of her throat as she tried to force down her sobs. Her hands were curled up into fists, pressed against the pavement, soaked in blood and in pain from being clenched so tightly and pressed so firm against the rough asphalt. Regret, despair, and guilt crushed her heart. They squeezed tight, holding onto her and keeping her trapped in the moment. A moment she’d rather drink away and forget, only for her guilty conscious to bring it back in her dreams at night, keeping her away from the blissfulness of sleep.

18. Bubblegum & Nicotine || Original Fic -- Astrid/Loki

Astrid opened the door to the apartment and latched her keys onto her belt loop. She then bent over to pick up the bags of groceries she had set on the ground to unlock the front door. Once she had crossed the threshold into the house, she raised up her right leg and kicked the door closed behind her. With a bit of a grunt, she hoisted the bags up a tad higher and made her way to the kitchen. She set them down on the counter with a thud and took a moment to catch her breath. She may be in good shape, but carrying several pounds of groceries up three flights of stairs because the elevator was out? That would wind anyone.

19. We Are Complicated || Bubbline

Bonnibel Kaugummi entered the school and was quick to drop her things off in her locker so she could head straight to the Student Council room. She grabbed a couple of her books out of the locker and shoved them into her messenger bag. The tan colored bag complimented her uniform, which consisted of a grey sweater, a red ribbon tied into a neat bow, which was neatly tucked underneath the collar of her white button up shirt underneath her sweater, and a red plaid skirt. The red accents to her uniform identified her as a Junior, and they complimented her red-orange hair and rosy complexion.

20. The End of All Things || KouKag

Kagome let out a soft sigh as she curled up in her spot on the bench, bringing her legs up to her chest. She was sitting out on the small deck that overlooked the garden in her backyard and watching the rain. It was fairly cool out thanks to the constant drizzle that had begun early that morning. The sound of it pattering against the ground and roof that extended over the deck filled her with a sense of calm, a calm that she desperately needed right about now. Working as a nurse wore her out. She loved her job, of course, but gods if it didn’t have its trials and tribulations. She had been working almost every day for a solid two weeks now, covering shifts for people on top of her own. Thankfully she had a couple of her shifts taken from her after being at the hospital for a full 24 hours at one point in time. Today just so happened to be her natural day off, and she felt pretty great about it.

#ask meme #koukag #kogkag #bubbline #zelgan #amuto #inuyasha #adventure time #legend of zelda #shugo chara #original content

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kelyon · 6 years ago

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Golden Cuffs Chapter 17: The Cap

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

Belle discovers a secret

Trigger warning: There is pain in this chapter, but it’s consensual!

Read on AO3

Slowly emerging from sleep, Belle was first aware of the warmth around her ankles. She wasn’t accustomed to being warm in the cell. She slept every night curled into a ball with her blanket wrapped around her body and over her head. The steaming wash rag provided a little heat if she kept it close to her body, but for the most part she was always chilled.

But now she was lying on her back and something hot was creeping up her legs. When she opened her eyes she saw morning light filter through the weave of sky-blue blanket. She tried to pull the blanket off herself and see what was below her waist. But she couldn’t move.

Belle’s hands were immobilized, bound above her head and exposed to the cold. When she reached out, her fingers brushed against the rough stone wall. The cuffs had moved her while she slept. They had stretched her out like a prisoner on a rack.

To quell her rising unease, Belle took a breath. This wasn’t what it seemed. Nothing ever was, she knew that. She felt the heat on her knees now, felt the movement, the touching. Touching? Yes, it was touching her. And kissing her, she recognized the feeling now. The heat was a breath, the living warmth of a body between her legs.

Oh.

Instantly, Belle relaxed. “Rumpelstiltskin,” she murmured sleepily. “What are you doing to me?”

The movement stopped for just a moment. Her legs were spread apart now, to accommodate him. He rested his head against her thigh and she could feel his breath as he waited.

He waited. For her. Belle thought she understood: It had been this very act of pleasuring her that had failed so devastatingly when she had been sick. He had hated himself after that, after he had made her take a pleasure she hadn’t wanted. He wouldn’t want to make that mistake again. So now he waited. For a signal, a sign, a single word that would tell him whether he should move forward or go back.

Belle took a breath. How strange that he would be so attentive to her comfort. What a heady feeling, to realize that she could deny him if she chose to. She could tell him to stop and he would. Of course, he might punish her for that refusal later. He might not ask in the future and simply take her the next time he wanted her. But now, in this moment, he was asking. He was denying himself, waiting for her response.

She spread her legs wider to welcome him.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Rumpelstiltskin, do whatever you want to me.”

In the silent morning, Belle heard his breath catch. She could almost hear the words he wasn’t saying: Well, since you said ‘please’!

At once, his mouth was on her secret places. His heat met her warmth, as he tasted the wetness left over from the night before. She had touched herself while thinking of him. He lapped and licked at her folds, his tongue and his lips working together to make her whimper and cry out.

Restrained as she was, Belle could only jerk her hips and curl her toes and clench her thighs to encourage him. She wanted to touch him, to bury her fingers in his hair like he did to her when she pleasured him. How good it would be to have him in her hands, to stroke him and hold him and dig her nails into his back when he made her scream.

Rumpelstiltskin was relentless, and Belle had no one to blame but herself. She had invited him to pleasure her, and he was. Her body jerked backwards to escape the intensity, but he followed her, his mouth ever-ready to make her feel more and more.

Chained to the wall, she couldn’t move away. She couldn’t curl into herself the way she did at night. Her pleasure would have no gentle outlet, no quiet inhalation to signal her climax. He would make her come the way he liked her to come: hard and fast and powerful.

He pressed his nose against her pleasure spot, while his mouth took her with a savage hunger. Her hips rose up to meet him and he pulled her legs over his shoulders. Belle dug her heels into his back, against the hardened leather of his coat. It felt so good to touch him even that much, to wrap herself around him, to use her body to feel his body. Moaning, Belle arched her back and squeezed him between her legs. Surely her cunt was covering his whole face, surely he was feeling every part of her as he made her convulse in sublime ecstasy. He made her shudder again and again until she grasped him one final time and let loose the scream he demanded.

Exhausted and panting, Belle fell back onto her pillow. Her legs sprawled limply on either side of Rumpelstiltskin. The cuffs had let go of her hands when she had orgasmed, and she was able to pull the blanket off her face.

The cold shocked her awake. Her breath hovered over her, visible in the frigid morning air. Belle pulled her arms down under the blanket to warm them. Recent activity had made the space under the blanket very warm indeed.

Rumpelstiltskin had moved himself up from her cunt and rested heavily on her stomach. He was still covered by the blanket, but Belle could feel him panting. For a moment, both of them breathed together, hidden from each other’s sight, and yet united by their actions.

Slowly, Belle reached down and rested her hands on Rumpelstiltskin. His leather coat was so thick she had no idea if he would even notice the tentative contact. For a few breaths, she barely touched him, merely traced swirling patterns on his back. It soothed her to make these movements. Did it soothe him to feel them?

Growing bold, Belle traveled up to his high collar to delicately pet his crinkled hair. It was damp with sweat. Under the blanket he must be sweltering.

For a brief, wonderful moment, Belle wondered what it would be like to be under a blanket with him, to have him as naked as she was, both of them sweaty and hot and exhausted. Would his flesh feel good against her palms? Would his skin be soft and smooth? Or rough? Was he green and scaly everywhere? Would there ever be a day when she would see him without layers and layers of clothing?

He moved and Belle pulled her hands away with a flash of guilt, as though she had stolen something. Rumpelstiltskin crawled up her body and popped his head out from under the blanket. His eyes gleamed and the lower half of his face glistened with fluids. He gave Belle a grin. He didn’t seem to have noticed her touching him. Or if he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Good morning,” he smiled, and bent down to kiss her.

Their mouths met, flooding Belle’s senses with the smell and taste of her own wetness. She kissed him back, wrapped herself around him again. She opened her legs that he might enter her, encircled his shoulders with her arms that she might cling to him as he took her, as he fucked her. She wanted him. How could she want him again, so quickly after he had just pleasured her? How was it possible that she was both sated and starving for him?

She ground her hips against his breeches as they kissed, feeling the bulge that meant he wanted her too.

He pulled his lips away and groaned. “You’re making it very hard to leave you, little slut.”

“Good.” Emboldened by desire, Belle pulled him back down. “I’m glad it’s hard. I don’t want you to leave.��

“I know what you want, you harlot.” He hopped off her, shifting the blanket away in the process. Belle winced at the sudden cold. “I thought I was doing you a kindness by tending to you before I left, but I see it only inflamed your wanton desires.”

Belle sat up, pulling the blanket over her body while it was still warm. “Is that a problem?”

“Only when I have an appointment. And punctuality will make Princess Abigail more agreeable.”

He was going out to make a deal, Belle realized with dismal resignation. He was wearing his spiky black coat, his shiny black boots. This was the Dark One about his business, ready to make royalty cower before him.

“Princess Abigail?” Belle asked. That was King Midas’ daughter, the princess of Belle’s kingdom. “What does she need you for?”

He smirked at her. “When I come back, I’ll see what I can make you do to earn that question.”

Belle sighed. Putting a price on her curiosity had some disadvantages. “Will you tell me when you’ll be back?”

“If all goes well, I’ll return tonight. If all goes poorly, it may be a few thousand years. If I don’t return after a decade, you are permitted to leave the castle and come rescue me.”

Belle rolled her eyes and nodded. “Yes, Rumpelstiltskin.”

“The castle is your playground, my dear. If you truly need me, you may call my name and I will come for you.” He grinned wickedly as the wine-red smoke enveloped him. “Just as you came for me!”

And with that, he was gone.

Sinking back into her pillow, Belle considered her options. Days when Rumpelstiltskin was out of the castle were always long and boring. She would have to think of something to do.

Sleeping could easily eat up a few hours. Rolling over onto her stomach, Belle closed her eyes and tried to rest. But she was already awake. The sun was bright and it was too cold to stay in the cell if she didn’t have to.

If she touched herself, it would make her tired again. She might sleep that way. But when she put her hand to her secret places, they were still too swollen and tender to play with. If Rumple were here, he could make her come again. And again, and again. Belle made a low, desirous sound at the image of his cock swimming in her wetness, pounding into her while she was slippery from one orgasm after another. The thought made her throb, but she still didn’t want to touch. Best to save her yearnings for when Rumple would be able to satisfy them.

He hadn’t fed her, she realized. Or brushed her hair. For a moment, Bell considered calling his name, demanding that he come to her and take care of her properly. But she didn’t. She would be fine until he came back. There was no reason to appear desperate and needful.

Of course, she was needful. Not only for food or for her baser appetites, but for him. She wanted his company, his attention. She wanted the familiar routine that marked most of their days. She wanted him, and it irked her that she had to share him with anyone, that any deal would be more important than the one he had made with her.

Having no other choices, Belle decided to get up and start the day. Perhaps a walk around the castle would clear her head of these silly thoughts. If nothing else, just about any other room would be warmer than the cell.

The door opened freely, a fact that still amazed her. It was so like Rumpelstiltskin, to put her in a dungeon but refuse to lock the door. He was nothing like what he seemed, and the puzzle of him excited Belle as much as any of the pleasures they shared.

Would Princess Abigail be able to hold her own against Rumple? Belle had never met her kingdom’s princess, but she had always respected her. She had fancied the two of them as kindred spirits. After all, they were both the only daughters of powerful men, set to inherit a bounty that many said was unworthy of their sex.

If Belle had married Gaston, her village would have gone under his control, and belonged to his family forever. But when Princess Abigail had sought out a husband, she had made it clear that she would only take a man who could kneel before her and call her his queen. It had been a bold declaration and Belle had ever after looked at the princess in awe.

Princess Abigail was a woman who knew her own mind and had enough power to make other people respect it. What did she want with the Dark One? Something big, Belle reasoned as she went up a flight of stairs out of the dungeons. The princess would have to want powerful magic, something that could not be bought with her father’s gold or her kingdom’s armies or her own iron will. What price would Rumpelstiltskin demand for such a boon?

“He had better do right by her,” Belle said out loud. Princess Abigail had been given much, but much was required of her as well. She deserved whatever happiness she sought.

Finally, Belle found herself in a part of the castle she had never seen before. She always liked to get lost when she had all day to explore. She would poke around in areas entirely new, then try to find her way back to something familiar, and all the better if she could get her bearings without ever retracing her steps.

The first door she opened was a bedroom so grand she had to pass through three antechambers before she got to the bed. All the walls were hung with rich tapestries that told the story of a unicorn hunt.

No, Belle corrected herself, it was not a hunt. There were no hunters in these tapestries, no men with spears and barking dogs. Those were the sort of scenes that had adorned her castle at home. They always ended with the magical beast either captured or slaughtered.

But these were peaceful images. Here the unicorn was surrounded by maidens. Pretty girls played music for him and wove a crown of flowers for him to wear. Over the course of a few tapestries, the unicorn came closer and closer to the human maidens. Eventually, he rested his head in one of their laps, and no harm befell him. At the end of the story, one of the women was bold enough to grasp the unicorn by the horn. Perhaps the creature had been captured, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Belle bit her lips as she looked at these tapestries. Why would Rumpelstiltskin have such a story in his home? Was there a meaning? Or was she just seeing what she wanted to see?

She shook her head and kept looking around. Though the windows in the bedroom were covered--like so many other windows in Rumpelstiltskin’s castle--there were two doors in one wall that shone sunlight through brightly-colored glass.

“Oh how lovely!” Belle said aloud. She had only seen stained glass in the great temples in the cities she had visited with her parents, much larger and grander than anything in her village. She had never even heard of such art in a place that wasn’t reserved for the gods. The light splashed across the floor in a cascade of color--blue and red and purple.

Belle went to the doors and opened them. She stepped out onto a balcony, overlooking a courtyard. This room was set into the wall. She could see almost all of the castle from this spot. It was the first time she had seen the outside of her new home.

The whole building was laid out in a circle, two wings surrounding the courtyard and protecting the main keep. A road ran through the courtyard, from the outer gates to the entrance of the center building. Great wooden doors in the keep probably opened up to the foyer, where she had first appeared on her first night here. Those doors were the way out she wouldn’t be using. The diverging halls in the foyer lead out to the two wings Belle saw in stone around her.

The wings changed from side passageways to solid front walls, connected in the center by sturdy iron gates. The road bisected the area evenly, with the other wing a mirror image of this one. Belle could even see another room with another balcony, directly across from where she stood.

The courtyard was a mess of gray mud and leafless trees. Belle hoped that this was only because it was nearly winter. Perhaps there would be grass and flowers by springtime.

Mountains surrounded the castle, snow-capped peaks that reached up into the cloudy sky. A cold wind ripped through her robe and Belle clutched her arms over her chest. She shivered, but she didn’t want to go in yet.

Towers and turrets lined the corners of the walls at strategic points. Some were topped by pointed roofs, a few others by rounded glass domes. Wine-red flags flapped in the breeze atop the turrets. From the outside, Belle couldn’t tell which tower was the one where Rumpelstiltskin spun his straw and worked his magic. There were more towers than she had thought, more places for him to hide things, more secrets that she itched to discover.

But it was too cold for her to stay outside any longer. Reluctantly, Belle went back to the colored glass doors and put herself back in the dark interior of the castle. It was warmer, yes, but the air felt stuffy and close compared to the bracing wind out on the balcony. As soon as she closed the door, she had the awful feeling that it would never open again, that she would be kept inside forever--not only a prisoner but a hermit, never again to see the sun.

Panicking, Belle opened the door again, stuck her head out, and breathed deeply of all the fresh air she could.

“You’re being silly, girl,” she told herself when she shut the glass door again. “He hasn’t kept you from moving around yet, he isn’t going to start now.”

Rumpelstiltskin may have avoided daylight himself, but he had never forbidden her from seeking it out. And now that she knew where this room was, she would be able to find it again. And she could find the other room with the balcony as well. She could come back when the weather was more pleasant. She could come back any time she liked.

He hadn’t locked her in a cell, he wasn’t going to lock her away anywhere else.

After a few more deep breaths to steady her nerves, Belle left the unicorn room and kept wandering.

It occurred to her that she had never found a library in this castle. That seemed odd in the domain of a man as scholarly as Rumpelstiltskin. Wouldn’t he have a thousand books on every subject under the sun? It was possible he already knew every fact in every book ever written, but that wouldn’t stop him from wanting the proof of his knowledge easy at hand. Books were valuable, even ones that weren’t full of magic. Surely he would have a place for them as he did every other treasure in his collection.

Surely he had such a place. She just hadn’t found it yet.

Belle opened every door in this hallway, looking for anything more interesting than endless bedrooms. The corridor ended in a rounded wall that seemed to be the outside of a tower brought indoors. There was no door in the rounded wall, no way to get inside the tower from the hallway.

Wasn’t that a waste of a tower? Even if there was a door on the other side--the front wall of the castle that merged to become the outer gates--why did the guards stationed in the tower to have no other means to get out? If the castle were under attack, the men in the tower would have to go through the whole of the enemy before they could even send a warning to the people inside!

Of course, how often would Rumpelstiltskin’s castle be under attack and defended by soldiers?

Turning away from the strange wall, she saw an unassuming door. It was plain wood, and very small. Belle had to stoop to enter the room, but she could stand up in the vaulted ceiling inside.

It was a mean little room--bare plaster walls and one uncurtained window that looked out to the forested valley below. With no fireplace, the room was almost as cold as her cell. It was smaller than where she slept too. Was it originally supposed to be a closet?

But now it served the function of a bedroom. The bed in the corner was tiny. Belle would surely crush it if she tried to lay on the straw mattress and cover herself with the sheep skin and the knitted wool blanket. In the other corner near the window there was a square wooden table with one little chair. It was set with a wooden plate and bowl and a small drinking cup made out of bone. There was only one regular-sized chair in this room, a rocking chair set in the corner nearest the door and farthest from the window.

All the furniture looked homemade, rickety and worn. The table legs had splinters on the sides and faint words scratched into the top. Belle stepped over a rag rug to look at the scratchings. They were mostly just lines carved into the grain of the wood--out of boredom, perhaps. She made out a faint letter B, but time had faded everything else.

Belle became increasingly troubled as she kept looking around the room. Near the table was a narrow shelf, lined with a few slim books. Hanging from a hook there was a horn book--letters written on wood and covered by a piece of horn, used to teach a child to read. Belle repeated the thought, as she put together the pieces of this room: A child.

The books on the shelf were primers, simple stories and rhymes to teach letters. The village school at home had books like this. A is for Apple, B is for Ball, C is for Cat and so on. There was a book of sums as well, and Ye Goode Childe’s Storeys of Our Lande--an old book in an old spelling.

Toys were stacked neatly on the ground. A leather ball, a woolen sheep, a group of little human figures made out of twisted straw. There was a stout stick in the corner, and Belle could imagine a lively boy playing at swords and pretending to fight.

Or perhaps it wasn’t play. Perhaps the child kept here had made himself a weapon. Perhaps he had tried to attack his captor. Perhaps that was the stick he was beaten with whenever he tried to escape.

Belle couldn’t shake the terrible feeling that this room was a prison. It couldn’t be the sleeping quarters of a servant--a pageboy or scullery maid would be constantly at work, they would have no time for toys or learning. And it was clearly not the chamber of a lordling. Belle had seen the nurseries set aside for the heirs to this castle. There were dollhouses that were better furnished than this cell. This was a room for a peasant, kept alive but not free. This was a room for a poor boy. A poor boy who would never grow up to be a poor man.

There were clothes. Belle noticed them even in her growing panic. A cupboard by the bed had a door swung loose and she could see the clothing inside. From the clothes, she could track the age of this child. She would be able to see how old he’d gotten before...before...

Belle focused on the clothes. There were tiny nightgowns, finely stitched and embroidered with a pattern of leaves. She imagined a mother--or not yet a mother, but a young woman great with child--staying up late into the night, sneaking minutes away from her regular work to make something beautiful for her baby.

There was no embroidery on the rest of the clothes. The baby had become a toddling child who had to wear larger gowns. The stitches on these pieces were large and uneven, as though made by a beginner. They had been sewn by a different person than the infant gowns--perhaps an older sister, learning how to sew, wanting to help her mother.

The clothes were certainly made for a boy. There were tiny breeches, patched many times at the knees and re-sewn at the seams. The hems had been taken down as the boy grew. The stitches were better now, small and neat and even. The older sister had improved her skill.

There were a few linen shirts--rips mended, patches affixed, hems lengthened. The shirts were thin and soft from wear. Were they not so neatly tended, she might have mistaken them for rags. Belle could touch this family’s poverty in the fabric of the boy’s clothing.

There was a traveling cloak, undyed wool fastened by a button made of ram’s horn. The cloak could have almost fit Belle. The boy had grown tall. How old had he been when he’d worn it?

There was a yellow shawl among the clothes, but it was the matching knitted cap that finally broke her. Like everything else, it was small, made to fit a child’s head. Belle could feel the work that had gone into making this cap. She could feel the time that had gone into the loops and purls. She could feel the love that had been a part of every step in this process--from shearing the sheep to carding the wool to dyeing it yellow with onion shells to spinning the wool into yarn to finally knitting the cap--just to make a present the little boy would outgrow far too soon.

Someone had loved this boy. Someone had treasured him and given him their meager best, even in the midsts of heartbreaking poverty.

And someone had taken him away and locked him in a room no bigger than a horse’s stall.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle’s voice shook as she called him. “Rumpelstiltskin.” It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be what she thought it was. “Rumpelstiltskin!” The last invocation was almost a screech.

“What is it? I was about to get her to tell me--” But when he looked at where they were his words stopped. “What are you doing in this room?”

She didn’t answer. “What happened to him?” Belle’s hands were shaking as she held out the cap to the Dark One. “The little boy who used to wear this cap. Where is he now?”

He didn’t speak. Mouth agape, his eyes journeyed from the room to the cap to her eyes.

“I will pay any price,” Belle said with stony determination. “I will let you flay me alive, but you must answer me this question: What happened to the boy who used to live here?”

Still silent, Rumpelstiltskin reached out his hand and took the cap away from Belle. His eyes left hers and stayed, downcast, at the object in his hands.

“He never lived here,” he said at last. His voice was blank, deflated. As though there was nothing inside him. “This boy… my son… he never saw this castle.”

“Your son?” Belle whispered, her anger replaced with shock. He had a son? Were there other children, a family? A wife? Had Rumpelstiltskin been an ordinary man before he had been the Dark One?

“He helped me with this, you know.” Rumple pointed out a section of the cap where the knitting was large and inexpert. “He watched me make most of it and he wanted me to teach him. He was so proud of what he had done, what we had made together.”

“You made this?” Belle asked gently. “With your hands?” He spun straw into gold. Had he once been so poor he’d had to work with wool and linen?

“That was the only way I could make things, then. Yes, I knitted this.” He looked up, saw the pile of clothes Belle had gone through. “I made most of these.”

“Oh,” Belle said. That explained the improvement over time. He had learned how to sew as his son had grown. But he hadn’t made the smallest nightgowns, had he? He hadn’t been able to embroider. “What about the boy’s mother?”

He looked at her, his eyes large, full of pain and loss. “She--is another story altogether, Belle.”

“But where is your son?”

He shook his head. “I lost him. I lost them both.”

Belle raised her hand up to her neck, almost over her heart. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

Again, he shook his head. “It was a lifetime ago. Many lifetimes.”

She wanted to reach out to him, but she didn’t dare. “Are these all his things?”

“Everything I have of him I have kept in this room. I thought I’d locked it securely.”

Belle shook her head. “The door opened. I would never have gone in if I thought you wouldn’t want me to.”

“No, of course not.” He straightened up a little. “The cuffs wouldn’t have let you.”

Rumpelstiltskin set the cap down on top of the pile of clothes. “Leave this room, Belle. I’ll thank you not to come here again. There is nothing for you in this place.”

For once, the cuffs were gentle about pulling her out of the room. Their force was as soft as his voice when he gave the order. With her wrists set on the ground, Belle rested on her knees and waited for him to give her another command.

Rumpelstiltskin remained in the room with the door shut for some time. Belle strained her ears, but could hear nothing from inside. No words, no cries, not even footsteps. For all she could tell, he might have vanished himself from the room and gone back to Princess Abigail.

Belle’s heart pounded. He had a son! The little boy who had lived in poverty was the Dark One’s own flesh and blood! There had been a mother as well, a woman he had lost, a woman it pained him to speak of.

She could never have imagined that Rumpelstiltskin had had a family. He made her drink the potion to keep such a thing from happening to her. She had never thought that it might have happened to someone else.

The woman. Had she been his wife? What had happened to her? Rumple had never hinted that there had ever been other lovers, let alone the mother of his child! How long had she been gone? How long had both of them been lost? How long had Rumple mourned the family he had loved?

She had never really thought that the Dark One was the sort to love. Even if he wasn’t a monster, their interactions had hardly been loving. He had taken her as his price. He gave her pleasure and affection and with the same hand doled out punishments and distance. He didn’t love her and she had never thought he would.

But surely he couldn’t have treated his family the same way! He hadn’t given his wife the potion. Rumpelstiltskin’s son had been wanted. Even if the poor man who knitted wool hadn’t been able to conjure up the same potion the Dark One gave his whore, there were ways to keep a child from happening. That boy had been loved. Belle had seen, stitch by stitch, the love Rumple had given his child. The mother must have had had the same love. Had they loved each other as well?

It was the oldest story in the world: A man and a woman coming together and making a child. Of course, a marriage was not a guarantee of love, but there was still something in that union that Belle had never had from Rumpelstiltskin. Could she have such a thing, someday, from him? But what was it that she wanted? How could she ask him for something when she had no words to describe it? And how could she muster up the courage to beg for a thing he would surely never give her?

The door opened and Rumpelstiltskin stepped out. He shut the door firmly and pulled the latch off the wood, making it vanish with a wave of his hand. It would be impossible to open the door now.

He looked at her, his face a smiling mask. “Why so somber, little whore? Are you afraid of getting your punishment?”

Belle blinked, and for the first time she realized how heavy the tears were in her eyes. She hadn’t cried, but her lonely ponderings must have shown on her face.

“No,” she answered. She tried to wipe her eyes, but her hands were still locked to the floor. “I’m not afraid of pain, Rumpelstiltskin.”

“That’s a good thing, because you’re going to get some!” He rocked on his heels, his hands behind his back. “You stole a secret today and I’m going to make you pay for it.” Eyes on the ground, Belle nodded, “Yes, Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Come along!” he called as he sauntered down the hallway. The cuffs kept Belle down, but pulled her forward, making her crawl on her hands and knees.

He took her to the dining room, then ordered her to take off her robe and stand before him. Rumpelstiltskin circled her body, regarding it appreciatively, with his hands steepled in front of him.

“Mention was made of flaying you alive, my thing. But I think we’ll save that for sometime when you’ve really upset me.”

“Yes, Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle whispered. He didn’t seem angry. But he had said that she had stolen from him. It had hurt him, she knew, for her to have found the room. She had discovered a secret and demanded an explanation. She had said she would pay any price. And now he would hold her to that.

“Where haven’t I marked you lately?” He brushed her hair off her shoulders to expose the golden thread that covered the worst of her scars. Then his hands trailed down to her breasts, which still had a few red patches from the last time she had sought a punishment. His lips quirked into a small smile as his hands ran down her belly and his fingers brushed against her curls. Belle trembled, but he didn’t stop there. His fingers ran across her hips and tapped playfully against her bottom. “White again?” he asked playfully. “How could that be? How do I not keep you permanently red and welted? How could I have been so criminally neglectful of this perfect arse?”

He slapped her firmly and Belle yelped. The impact threw her off balance and she staggered forward, covering her chest with her arms.

“Jumpy today,” Rumpelstiltskin remarked calmly as she recovered herself. “Why is that?”

Belle’s voice shook as she answered. “I want something,” she confessed. “But I don’t think you want to give it to me.”

“You already got something today, something very precious. What else could satisfy your unquenchable desires?”

She shook her head. He was too hateful right now, too angry, even if he thought he was just playing the game. All of a sudden everything had become too real. She couldn’t push him any further. Not now.

“You’re going to tell me,” he said, his voice even. “You want to tell me, or else you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“That’s true,” Belle whispered. “But I don’t want to yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated, enunciating the final sound like the crack of a whip. “Very well, my little whore. You may not know what you want, but I know what I want. Go to the table.”

The cuffs pulled her to the table and locked her into the wood with her arms stretched out and her bottom exposed. Rumpelstiltskin came up to her and delivered a few smacks with his bare hand.

Belle whimpered at the pain, but at the same time it calmed her, helped her focus. Her head and her heart were a jumble of fears and desires and questions that couldn’t be answered by anyone. But the pain was easy to understand. Her body knew exactly what was happening to it.

He stopped slapping her backside. Belle imagined her skin was blushing pink now, her cheeks as bright as a girl at her first dance. Her mind was pleasantly fogged. Everything was becoming easier.

“Can you tell me what you want now, girl?” Rumpelstiltskin leaned over her body, the buttons of his waistcoat cold against her back.

“I want to,” she said dreamily. “But I don’t know the words.”

“What words do you need?”

She shook her head against the wooden table. “Your son,” she muttered. “His mother.”

“What of them?” His voice was tight, strangled. He didn’t want to tell her. He would make her pay if she pressed him.

“You loved them.”

He slammed something heavy onto the table. Instinctively, Belle tensed her body. She wanted to curl into a ball to protect herself, but the cuffs held her firmly to the table.

When his voice came, it was low and dark. “You know more than anyone in this realm who lives. If I had any sense, I would douse you with a potion to make you forget everything you’ve ever learned about me.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “No!” she squeaked. “Please!”

“I know.” With one hand, he rubbed small circles into her back. “I know what will hurt you, Belle. And I know that this,” he hit the table with the heavy object again, “will not deter you from asking more and more questions. But it is the price I set. Are you willing to pay it?”

Belle took a breath. “Yes.”

“Will you tell me what you want before I beat you or after?”

“After,” she whispered. Her mind would be frazzled afterwards, but perhaps that might help. Everything was simpler after a pain game. Perhaps it would be easier to say what she meant to say, to name that unfathomable need that she felt in her heart but could not force her mind to claim.

“Very well,” he said. “After I’ve hurt you and after I’ve fucked you. Then I will know your secret as you know mine.”

“Yes, Rumpelstiltskin.”

She felt the impact of the heavy object on both of her cheeks at once. It hit her not just on her skin, but deep into her muscles and against her bones. The noise Belle made was low and guttural, like a growling animal.

He hit her again and Belle felt the walls of her mind blast away. There was nothing but the pain now, nothing but the hits and the moments of eternity between them.

He didn’t make her count. That was just as well because she couldn’t remember any numbers at the moment. Each strike was like a clap of thunder that shook the earth with its power. Belle began a moan that became a shriek and ended as a thousand sobs. The pain was continuous--like a constant ringing in her ears--a noise she couldn’t even think of escaping.

At one point, Rumpelstiltskin paused to grip the table top in his hands. He pulled the table backwards, with Belle still lying on it. A small, groggy part of Belle’s mind reasoned that he must have hit her so hard he’d moved the table. Her backside was certainly no longer pink.

Dimly, she heard the heavy object land on the ground with a thud. Was he done? Behind her, Belle felt cool air move gently across her burning flesh. He didn’t touch her where he’d hit her. She didn’t feel his hands until he was holding up her ankles and spreading her legs apart.

His fingers slid into her cunt and he snarled his pleasure at what he found there. “You perfect whore,” he muttered. “Always wet no matter what I do to you.” Careful not to touch her bruises, Rumpelstiltskin pushed his cock inside her.

They were still for a moment, as their flesh became one. For the space of two breaths, neither of them moved.

Then, quickly and without warning, Rumpelstiltskin thrust his weight against Belle’s bruised backside. She screamed. He didn’t stop and she didn’t want him to. His body banged against her again and again and again.

Her hips rose and bucked against him and even Belle had no way to know if her body was fighting him or encouraging him. She kept her eyes closed, but still saw a bright white flash every time he pressed against skin. It had never been like this before. It had never been this intense.

He came with a cry, pushing his leather-clad breeches against her naked bruises as he filled her cunt with his seed. Rumpelstiltskin lay on her back and she could feel him panting underneath his clothes.

The cuffs were still holding her onto the table. If they weren’t, Belle knew she would fall to the ground. Probably, she would land on her ass and the pain of that was a thought she could not dwell on.

Belle breathed, and with every breath she came back to herself a little more.

Rolling off of her, Rumpelstiltskin let out a sigh and then a chuckle. “It’s remarkable,” he said, still panting. “It’s just fucking. How do you make it so good?”

Slowly, with a breath between each motion, Belle turned her head to look at him. He was looking back at her, his eyes shining, his smile genuine. He reached out one hand and cupped her cheek.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Closing her eyes, Belle nodded into his hand. She was alright. He had dealt to her a pain she had never known, but he had also given her a part of himself she’d never had before. It was fair. It was good.

“Can you speak, my dear?”

Belle took a breath and said, “Yes.”

He grinned at her. “You know that isn’t what I like to hear.”

Even in this state, she tried to smile. “Yes, Rumple-stbilskin.” Her lips faltered over the syllables of his name. But he just laughed and pulled her into his arms.

The cuffs released her and Belle put her hands to her face and wiped away her tears. Rumpelstiltskin held her, one arm over her shoulders and the other gently rubbing at her new bruises.

“You are a pretty purple thing today,” he told her. “You took your punishment so well.”

Belle rested on his chest and nodded into the leather of his coat.

“But there was something else I wanted from you. Do you remember?”

Her mind still hazy, Belle closed her eyes to concentrate. “You want… to know what I want.”

“Good girl. You told me you want something from me that you think I don’t want to give you. What is it?”

Punishment had made Belle react just as she had thought it would. In the usual, wonderful, paradox, while her mind was cloudy her heart was clear. She could now name what she wanted: “More.”

“More pain?” Rumpelstiltskin asked gently. “Or more pleasure?”

Belle shook her head. “More of you.”

His body stiffened even as he held her. “Me?” he asked in his impish voice. “What do I have to offer a pretty thing like you?”

He was being obtuse and Belle had no patience for it, not now. “You know,” she muttered indignantly. “You hide from me. And I don’t want you to. You hide.” By way of demonstration, she pulled weakly at the lapels of his coat. He was wearing a waistcoat underneath, and a shirt underneath that. Layers and layers kept him from the outside world, while Belle huddled naked in his arms. “It’s not fair.”

“Alright,” he placed a kiss on her head, patted her hair down. “Thank you for telling me what you want. I’ll keep it under advisement. Did I tend to your hair this morning?”

Belle shook her head. “You just pleasured me and then left.”

“How careless of me. Do you think you can stand?”

“I’ll stand better than I’ll sit for a while,” she answered as he helped her up.

Swaying on her feet, Belle stood between Rumpelstiltskin’s legs while he sat on the tabletop and combed her hair. As always, he was gentle and patient with her hair, starting from the ends and working his way up to her head. They were quiet while he worked on her. Belle was still too shaken for real conversation, and Rumpelstiltskin was too absorbed in his task.

“I didn’t feed you either, did I?” he asked when her curls were finally smooth and neat.

“No,” Belle said simply.

Behind her, he sighed. “Careless,” he said again. “Your tray is on the carpet.”

And so it was. Belle went to the fireplace and knelt gingerly. She knew better than to rest her bottom on the ground. How long would the pain from tonight linger?

Fortunately, Rumpelstiltskin had left her hands free, so it was easy for her to pick up the pastry-wrapped sausages he provided. She ate her fill while he stayed at the table. He watched her like he always did, but when she tried to catch his eye, he frowned and looked away.

“Bed time?” he suggested brightly when she was done.

“I suppose so,” Belle answered. “Unless you want me for something else.”

He scoffed. “You are a greedy girl, my slut. There’s no more for you tonight. ”

She nodded. Fair enough. “Will you walk with me? Back to the cell?”

For a moment, it looked as though he would deny her or at least question her motives. But then the moment passed and he nodded. “If that’s what you want, my dear.”

Belle was steady as they went through the castle. She didn’t really require an escort, but she still felt needful for Rumpelstiltskin’s presence. It baffled her, the hunger she had for him. The need was no better now than it had been this morning. How did she ache for him even after he had left her aching?

“How was your business?” Belle asked, mostly to cover the noise of her own thoughts.

Rumpelstiltskin gave a satisfied nod. “Pieces are falling into place as they should.”

“What did Princess Abigail want with you?”

“Well,” he said slyly, “what she wanted was not what I gave her.”

“Oh?” Belle recognized his tone. “What did you give her?”

“I merely informed her of the existence of a lake that brings back that which is lost. If, of course, one can defeat the lake’s powerful guardian. So now the richest princess in all the lands will be on the lookout for a warrior of uncommon strength and cunning. I hope she finds one.”

“What did she lose?”

“I was going to find out but then someone interrupted me.”

Belle bit her lip. “I’m glad you told me,” she admitted. “I mean, I’m glad I know. That the boy was your son. And that you loved him.”

“What did you think had happened?” he asked, suddenly serious. “When you called me, you were afraid for the boy’s safety. You thought I had done something terrible to a child, didn’t you?”

They were in front of the cell door now. Belle swallowed. “I was afraid, yes. But it didn’t make sense. It didn’t… seem like something you would do. I knew there was more to it.”

“More,” Rumpelstiltskin said quietly. “And you still want more of this? More of me?”

Without hesitation, Belle nodded. “I do, yes.”

He nodded with a look of slow bewilderment. “Remarkable,” he said to himself. “Good night, Belle.” he kissed her on the forehead. “Try to think of something pleasant, when you touch yourself tonight. You’ve had enough awful thoughts for one day.

“Yes, Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle smiled. “Good night.”

#golden cuffs #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #ouat #Rumpelstiltskin #belle french

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joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years ago

Text

The Battle of Azanulbizar

The Chaos of War

This was one of my entries for Dworin Week 17, previously published on Ao3

Warning for canon deaths, and a possible need for tissues.

Chapter 1

“Word from Lord Náin, King Thraín!” the young messenger cried, hurtling into the tent that held the Durin Commanders. She was brandishing a scroll, sealed with the Stars of Durin and the personal seal of Nain of the Iron Hills. Fundin sighed. His brother in law had done as little as he could for the Ereborian refugees after Smaug’s attack, offering only supplies to his cousin-kin. The slight rankled, even if Fundin could understand Grór’s strained relationship with Thrór being the cause of it. He wondered what the Lord of the Iron Hills – conspicuously absent from Thraín’s command tent – had to say that required a messenger.

“Give it here, Æsa 'Udshankhuzd[1],” Thraín said, reaching for the scroll. Haga, one of the other commanders looked up when the King chuckled.

“Good news?” he wondered; the King’s smiles were rare as mithril these days, and after six years of warfare – mostly in the long-abandoned tunnels beneath the Misty Mountains, with a distinct lack of proper maps – Fundin could not blame him. He had never favoured war, being a born diplomat, but he had known that it would be futile to attempt to change Thraín’s mind after Nár brought back the news of Thor’s ignominious end. He had tried to stop young Thorin from making the attempt, though the Prince had not listened, and King Thraín had ended that discussion by calling his eldest a coward with no family honour.

“Nain’s bringing in another gangbuh[2], led by Lord Fundin’s cousin Gufa. They were unexpectedly delayed by the weather, but they’ll be here by morning, in time for our assault on the vale.” Thraín replied. The tense atmosphere inside the tent lightened slightly. The King’s attention landed on Fundin next, standing beside Balin. “Your son will be leading his own maznakkâ’, cousin. You should be proud of young Dwalin. I’m certain he will prove himself an able commander in the field.” Thraín’s head was bent to read the short missive, and missed the slight fear that crossed his advisor’s face at the news. Commanding a maznakkâ at such a young age – for a warrior relatively untested – was a great honour, and though Fundin had no doubt that Dwalin had earned his commission, he could not help but wish that at least one of his children could have stayed away from this war. A futile wish, in all ways; Dwalin was a warrior born and had already fought with Náin’s army in the south near Gladden, joining the Orocarni tribes in routing the Orc-forces there.

“Dwalin is coming?” Thorin couldn’t help but ask, the name that had been so familiar on his tongue until the day Fundin had sent Dwalin away to the Iron Hills to foster with his aunt and uncle – Lord Náin and his Lady, Rádveig, who was Dwalin’s mother’s twin sister – falling easily from his lips. He had never admitted to anyone how much he missed his friend – and lover, the small voice in his head reminded him – but Thorin suddenly felt a curious sense of uplifting at the thought that he would soon see Dwalin again, for the first time in almost ten years. Beside him, Balin smiled widely. He had gone back to the Iron Hills to visit and carry messages, so he had seen Dwalin more recently, but Thorin knew that his friend missed his brother far more than he let on.

The conversation turned to the battle they would fight in the morning; going over strategies and battle-plans until Thorin’s head was drooping with tiredness, and Fundin sent him off to join Frerin for supper and a good night’s rest.

Lying in his bedroll, Frerin’s golden curls pale in the darkness of their tent, Thorin wished that Náin’s reinforcements had arrived at nightfall, as originally planned for. He did not envy those who would be marching through the night, but even more than that, he wished that he had had a chance to speak with his long-absent friend before the horror of battle surrounded them once more. He wondered if the young warrior would have looked at him with the same fondness he had often dreamt he had seen in Dwalin’s eyes when he last saw him in the bleak Dunlands where the Erebor diaspora had first settled. In the dark of night, on the cusp of dreams, Thorin allowed himself to see once more that look in Dwalin’s eyes, the look that made him feel warm and tingly even when he was huddled alone under his blankets in the coldest of winters. He was not yet ready to call it love, but…soon.

Dwalin was marching through the gathering dark. They had been delayed by a minor blizzard three days ago, and though the Fabarâl had tried to reach the Azanulbizar valley at the agreed-upon time, it had been impossible to catch the wasted hours. Instead, they would arrive in the morning. Dwalin scowled at the thought. Around him, his maznakkâ shared his disgruntled expression. No one liked the situation, but as Dwalin did not have the power to move them faster than their marching feet would take them, there was little release from the annoyance.

He had commanded soldiers before, one of the youngest ‘Uzkhâs Durin’s Folk had elected, but he had earned the accolade. His maznakkâ currently consisted of half Iron Hills Dwarrow and half Ereborian refugees, and while he knew that his Durin blood weighed heavily in the minds of his Ereborian soldiers, the Iron Hills Dwarrow respected him for the long line of Iron Hills generals his paternal sigin’amad had married to the Durin blood to spawn his own Adad. Fundin was a diplomat, like Balin, though he was a highly competent ’Azghzabad[3], something probably owed to his amad’s teachings. Dwalin’s sigin’adad, Farin, had been a merchant like his adad, but sigin’amad Geira had been a warrior born and bred, ‘iron in her veins’, as they said in the ‘Hills, the daughter and granddaughter of generals and commanders.

Geira and Farin had been a peculiar couple to look at; a small, plump dwarf with a shrewd mind for numbers, and a rather tall warrior with a fierce scowl and more muscles than Dwalin had seen on anyone else. In truth, he resembled her greatly, having grown into his own large bulk over the years, something she had foretold on the day of his birth, to believe Balin. Dwalin smiled at the thought. Geira had died with Smaug’s attack, her massive axe in hand as she tried to defend her son’s home against the overwhelming odds. It was the way she would have wanted to join Mahal’s Guard, Dwalin knew, the loss of his first Master-at-Arms no longer so raw. He still remembered the lessons she had barked at him, when he was still little more than a pebble; the day she had given him his first axe, teaching him the ancient warrior’s stances and forms he had later passed on to the new recruits he would help train in the Iron Hills as part of his own training for the role of Uzkhas.

Someday he might stand as Thorin’s ’Azghzabad, he dreamed, ruthlessly suppressing the joy he felt at his imminent reunion with his friend. His thoughts turned to Thorin, imagining those blue eyes, lit up with his smiles, as they laughed together at one of Frerin’s abominable jokes. He did not let himself dwell on the other ways Thorin’s eyes would smile at him; it had been nearly a decade since he had last seen the Prince, who might have easily found a different bedmate. Stroking the handle of his axe, Thorin’s face swam before his eyes. He had been surprised when Balin brought him the gift, from Thorin – his own work, marked with his raven – for his 50th Name-Day.

Letters could not bring the same closeness as actual conversation – Dwalin had never been fond of writing, and his letters usually ended up sounding like terse military missives to him, no matter how long he slaved over the word choices. Flowery words were Balin’s trick, Dwalin knew, content to let his brother handle all such things while he concerned himself with killing the things that needed killing, and protecting those who needed protection. The only time words seemed to flow for him was when he was writing music for his viol, and even then he was better at laments than happy dancing tunes, Dwalin thought wryly.

“Three hours rest!” The command of Gufa Fabarâl – a cousin on his Adad’s side, though distant – meant a chance to sleep, something Dwalin would have appreciated more if it had not also meant that he was three more hours from reuniting with his Adad and brother – and Thorin. He knew better than to grumble, though, and simply set out his bedroll, falling asleep almost immediately with the ease of one used to catching sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself.

It was dark when Thorin woke, Balin shaking him and Frerin both awake and sending them off to fill their bellies. The sky was covered in a dense layer of ominous clouds, the sight settling like a ball of lead in Thorin’s gut. Not for the first time, he wished that he had been able to send Frerin away, that Thraín had not allowed his youngest son to come along and play at war, a terrible sense of foreboding weighting his shoulders.

“Stay near me, Frerin. Promise,” Thorin implored, catching his brother’s sleeve as the younger dwarf was in the middle of telling a joke to the appreciative audience of three pretty dwarrowdams.

“Always, Thorin,” Frerin smiled, knocking his forehead against his oft-too-serious older brother’s. “My place is always beside you.” Thorin gave him a rare smile. His unease had not lifted, but he felt better for the small comfort. They would be part of the Vanguard, directly under Fundin’s command, following Thraín into battle.

Marching into the battle that the Children of Mahal would forever call nothing but Azanulbizar when they left it, Thorin felt proud of his kin. Around him, rank upon rank of heavily armoured soldiers marched, silent until they reached the East-Gate, where they cried their challenge as one voice, the sound shaking the very earth beneath them. Thorin would not have been surprised to hear that their war-cry had caused an avalanche in the mountains far above his head, but when they looked up it was not cascading snow they saw, but thousands upon thousands of Orcs, all along the western slopes.

Thorin no longer remembered how many he had killed over the last six years of war, but the numbers were high, the sustained losses so heavy that none of them had expected a force such as this to be waiting for them. Thorin found Frerin’s hand, giving him a squeeze that Frerin returned with a pale smile. Before them, multitudes of the ugly beasts were pouring from the Gate, their jeers loud in the crisp morning air. No sun lit the valley, giving the Orcs the mercy of hiding its face which Thorin considered another poor omen – or would have, if he had been inclined to believe in omens. Of course, the Dwarrow could see fine, some of them actually better in this half-dark than in bright sunshine, their Darksight eyes inherently suited to the lightless life under ground, after all. Still, the sight was a worrying one. They had not expected the enemy to be able to muster such numbers still, after the decimation they had suffered in their ranks since the war began, but Thorin realised quickly that the Dwarrow were vastly outnumbered. What was worse was that the Orcs currently possessed the significant advantage of high ground, which meant that their own army had to move quickly to seize the slopes. Just as Thorin thought that, the horn blew; his Adad’s signal.

“Baruk khazad!” They cried, as they launched the assault, “Khazad ai-menu!” Bellowing along with his fellows, Thorin charged, pushing through the sparse trees that lined the valley. Keeping his promise, Frerin stayed right beside him, his bow twanging as he aimed for the archers above. It was rare for ranged attackers to fight in the Vanguard itself, but Frerin would never leave his beloved bow behind, and his arrows felled many before he had to abandon it for his sword, forged during the three years it took to gather their forces before the War against Orcs truly began.

Thorin gave himself over to the bloodlust, barely noting the scrapes he received as he snarled, felling his enemies with impunity. His shield took most of the damage, the left arm absorbing the brunt of any blow he was not quick enough to dodge. Another forceful blow of a mace splintered the shield, and Thorin threw the pieces down with a roar of annoyance. He knew, however, that they weren’t winning, seeing dwarrow fall on either side of him with an almost detached mind; his only focus on the next enemy to kill, the next attack to evade or parry and return in ferocious blows of vengeance. Thinking quickly in the unexpected lull of the battle – they were retreating back through the trees slowly – Thorin picked up a large oaken branch, broken off in a storm perhaps, but the branch had broken in such a way as to form a natural handle as it lay along his forearm, taking the place of his splintered shield.

“FRERIN! NO!”

Thorin heard the cry, though it did not register at first. His heart filled with dread as he dispatched his current enemy to whatever awaited Orcs in the hereafter. Turning, an act that felt like it took an age, he watched the smile that still lingered on his brother’s face, even as he stared in horror at the bloodied spear that pierced his chest from behind.

“Frerin,” Thorin croaked, catching Frerin’s body as the younger Prince of Durin’s Folk collapsed, bringing them both to their knees. “No, nononono,” he moaned, trying to stem the gushing blood, even as he knew that it was pointless; Frerin was already gone. “Frerin! Frerin, please!” he wailed, paying no attention to the battle around him as his hands were stained crimson with his brother’s blood. He vaguely heard a growl, but the sound was far away and did not concern him, watching the life leave the golden-haired dwarf he had loved since he was no more than a bump under Frís’s jewel-toned gowns. He didn’t register the legs that stood like tree trunks on either side of him, firm against the swarming Orcs. He did not hear the thunks and the snicks and all the other sounds an axe makes when it cleaves flesh from bone, when it rends armour, when it is wielded by a master in berserker rage.

“FRERIN! NO!” Dwalin screamed. Gufa had split their gangbuh in two, sending five maznakkâ to aid the retreat of Thraín’s forces while the other followed Lord Nain to the East Gate. Dwalin had seen what Frerin had too: the orc who was aiming to cut off Thorin’s head as he stooped to pick something up off the ground. Dwalin, however, had also seen what Frerin had not. Dwalin had already been running, but even as he screamed the warning, hurling one of the well-weighted throwing axes his Aunt had made for both him and Dáin before they left, he knew it would do no good; he would not be swift enough to take the head of the Orc whose spear was aimed at the young Prince’s chest as he turned to defend his brother.

Frerin’s sword described a perfect deadly arc as he cut off the large Orc’s head before it could take Thorin’s. The small throwing axe buried itself in the back of the Orc’s head. Dwalin’s feet had wings, he was sure, as he sped towards the brothers – one he had called brother himself, and one he would call so much more if he’d let him – but it was too late. With a bellowed roar, his axes swung, his legs firmly planted on either side of Thorin, who seemed entirely subsumed by grief. Dwalin did not care. In his hands, Grasper and Keeper were living entities, whirling death at the end of his arms. Dwalin saw nothing but the red haze of fury. He vaguely heard Thorin’s whimpers, his pleas, his cries of agony, but as he stood there, the vengeful protector incarnate, he only cared for the next Orc to come at them, ending up hacked to pieces before him.

Chapter 2

From the Official Account of the Battle of Azanulbizar and the Burned Dwarrow:

The battle swayed back and forth across the floor of the valley. The youngest Prince of Durin’s Line, Frerin, was slain among the trees near Mirrormere, along with Lord Fundin, son of Farin, son of Borin. King Thraín of Durin’s Folk had been wounded in the first assault of the Vanguard upon the western slope, as had his oldest son, Prince Thorin, whose shield splintered so that his only means of defence was an oaken branch; henceforth he was deed-named Oakenshield for his valour in battle.

Lord Náin from the Iron Hills arrived near midday at the head of a force of fresh troops. Náin and his Dwarrow cut through the Orc lines with their mattocks, chanting, "AZOG! AZOG! AZOG!" until they had reached the steps of the gate, where Náin called for Azog to come out and fight. When Azog emerged from the inner gate with his guards, Náin was already exhausted and half-blind with rage. He tried to swing as hard as he could, but Azog darted aside and Náin missed, splintering his mattock on the ground. The orc kicked Náin in the leg when he dodged the Dwarf's blow, making him stumble. The momentary distraction was enough for Azog to try to behead Náin, like he had done his uncle, but his thrust was blocked by Náin’s mail. The protection was so thick that the blade did not penetrate, though the massive force of the blow broke Lord Náin’s neck. The Lord of the Iron Hills died instantly.

Even as Azog gloated over his victory, he looked out over the valley before him, and came to the realization that his entire force was routed. Those that could were fleeing southwards, and all his guard was dead. With that knowledge, he fled back to the gate. Náin’s only son, Dáin, whose foot had been crushed by an Orc’s mace, ignored his pain and leaped up the steps with his red axe. Before Azog could retreat into the darkness of Khazad-dûm, Dáin took his head with a mighty swing, bellowing his grief and rage. The Pale Orc fell, and the Battle of Azanubizar was ended. The slaying of Azog, remarkable as Lord Dáin was only 32 years of age, and the later replacement of his foot earned Lord Dáin the deed-name Ironfoot.

The Dwarrow stood victorious, but when we began to tally the bodies that littered the field, half of our forces were dead or mortally wounded. The wounded were lying in tents, in the care of harried healers who would ultimately be too few to save all those they might have been able to if there had been more knowledgeable hands. The Orcs suffered even worse casualties, with ten thousand dead, but it was little comfort.

After the battle, King Thraín wanted to enter and reclaim Moria, the ancestral home of Durin's folk. However, due to their losses, the other Houses were not willing to participate in ousting the last Orc stragglers, and since young Lord Dáin claimed he had seen Durin's Bane beyond the East-gate, King Thraín refrained from entering.

The survivors stripped our dead so the Orcs could not plunder them, and cut down all the trees in the valley, which would remain bare ever after. They made many pyres on which to burn the dead. They could not bury them all in tombs of stone, as was their custom, because it would take too long. From then on those that died in Dimrill Dale were known proudly as Burned Dwarrow, remembered in the annals of our race.

A yearly memorial celebration is held in the honour of the Burned Dwarrow, on the day of the battle, 27 Af’dush[4], a sombre day spent telling stories with family and remembering those who died in the Valley.

The Houses parted ways, returning to their homes to the North, East, and West. Thráin, with what was left of the Longbeard contingent, went back to Dunland and eventually wandered into Eriador, settling in the Southern Blue Mountains. There Durin's folk repopulated slowly, waiting for the day when they could take back the halls of Erebor and Khazad-dum.

Chapter 3

Thorin felt numb, staring at the flames. They had collected all the wood they could find, and the smoke stung his eyes, tearless as he stared in horror at the pyre that would consign his brother’s body to ash, never to be laid to rest in the stone, and he thought he would have crumbled if Dwalin had not been standing beside him.

Dwalin could hardly think. He had stood on the field of battle, and he had known that death was coming for him, had greeted it with a snarl on his face and axes in his fists. He had known that he would die here, defending his Prince, his friend, and the golden-haired lad who had grown more than he had expected since they had last met, but who would grow no more. Thorin had wailed, had whimpered, had roared in pained rage, and Dwalin had followed, protecting his back as he sought vengeance, a mad explosion of metal, wielded against any who’d dare to stand against them. In the rage, he had found a strange serenity, as though he was only nominally in control of himself, watching himself hack and slash and parry and whirl with a sort of detached awe at the death he left in his wake. He had watched Thorin throw himself headlong into the battle, ignoring the wounds he had already taken, ignoring the scratches and bruises he earned as they fought their way across the blood-soaked field.

Surviving had been a surprise.

Finding Balin alive had been equally unexpected, but the look on his brother’s face had told him clearly that he should not expect to see his Adad until Itdendûm beckoned. The pain had been muted, and Dwalin still did not truly believe – and yet he had to, for the fire had caught Fundin’s tunic now, and he wished he could not smell this, he really wished he could hide his face in Balin’s shoulder or Thorin’s hair… anywhere.

Dwalin stood, still as a statue. Not a muscle twitched, bar his painfully tight grip on Balin’s and Thorin’s hands, but their fingers were squeezing his just as tightly, so tight a distant part wondered if any of them would regain use of their fingers come morning.

Thorin had looked to his Adad for comfort, but Thraín had none to give, had few words to spare for his son, whose praises the common soldiers were already singing, and Thorin knew that Thraín blamed him for Frerin’s death. He blamed himself, too, but he wished… oh, he wished… Wishing didn’t bring back the dead, Thorin thought, viciously, as he stared at the leaping flames. He saw without seeing, heard without hearing, stood there, straight and proud, determined to honour the sacrifice that had bought his life by at least watching as the one who had paid the price burned before him, burning his heart to ashes along with him. His fingers hand found Dwalin’s, almost accidentally, and that was all the comfort Thorin allowed himself to crave, ruthlessly stomping down his desire to wail and cry. He was a Prince of the Line of Durin, and he had never hated it more than he did this day, knowing that any tear he felled for Frerin would be a stain on their reputation in his Adad’s eyes. For royalty, grief was private, he had been told, even as they marched away from Erebor and he had been unable to hold back his tears when he realised how many friends and family had not made it out. In public, he must be strong, must carry the hopes of a people on his shoulders, and, oh, how he hated it.

The flames leapt against the star-studded blackness beyond the mountains.

Balin was angry. Angry at the world, at his King, at his Adad, at his Maker. He had seen his Adad fall, had briefly caught a glimpse of Dwalin charging across the field, and he had had no time to speak his last to either of them before a blow to the head had knocked him unconscious. It was sheer luck that he was not among those who were burning as those who could still stand stood watch, their eyes dead and empty, as those who could cry, cried tears of anguish and grief. They could hear the screams and whimpers from his far left, the healers’ tents overflowing with wounded and dying. Balin was angry, because anger was preferable to the crushing grief that waited around the corner as he watched his last true family burn. Now, all that was left was Dwalin and himself, and Balin wondered how this could be the Maker’s plan.

“He is with Amad, now…” he heard himself croak, almost too low to be heard, but Dwalin’s firm squeeze of his fingers told him that his little brother had heard.

“Perhaps… perhaps she will make him laugh again,” Dwalin whispered, as the flames mercifully obscured Fundin’s face from their sight. On his other side, Thorin shuddered.

“Frerin will make them both laugh,” he said, an oath and a plea in one. Balin and Dwalin both nodded.

None of them said another word through the long hours of vigil, watching their loved ones turned to ash.

[1] dwarf (about to reach battle ready age) who is the personal assistant to a lord, general or army commander, often carries messages and weapons or armour on his behalf (like a squire)

[2] March-company, a force consisting of 10 maznakkâ’(fist-force) of 49 Dwarrow.

[3] War-lord – battle tactician and right hand of the Uzbad, the Army’s top commander(Uzbad is also the word for lord & king, who usually filled that role)

[4] early/mid December

#dwalin #thorin #battle of azanulbizar #dworin week #feels #you have been warned about the feels

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ookamikasumi-fanfics · 7 years ago

Text

Diabolic 3

Summary: Vincent Valentine is kidnapped by the ghost of Sephiroth for a very personal mission.

(S/VV- After AC) COMPLETE

All characters property of Square Enix. This story was written for the intent of Personal enjoyment. No money was made from this work.

Warning! Rated NC-17: hard-core Yaoi content, adult language, mild violence, non-con seduction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Three ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun climbed higher and the shadows thinned. Vincent was forced to look for shelter from the brightening sunlight, but he wasn’t about to return to the gazebo. Flitting from shadow to shadow, he investigated the vine-coated empty buildings looking for a room without windows, while his thoughts churned looking for a solution to his dilemma.

In one of the smaller buildings he found a stair leading down to a small windowless cellar. It was cool and dry with no trace of rodents. He sat down in the darkest corner facing the stairs with his knees up and his back against the wall.

No matter how he scoured his mind, he couldn’t think of a way out of his…mission. He was trapped. If Sephiroth chose to invoke that name while he was with Cloud and company, or worse, in a completely defenseless town, the destruction he could cause was too monstrous to think about.

The only loophole he could find in the demonic angel’s plan was that he wanted someone of his original bloodline. He knew for a fact that Sephiroth had no direct siblings, and he was pretty sure he’d never succeeded in fathering any children. Hojo might still have another one of his clones sealed in a tank somewhere, but Sephiroth had said that he didn’t want anyone Jenova tainted either. This also ruled out Cloud, thank Gaia for minor miracles.

Vincent smiled sourly. Perhaps Sephiroth had defeated himself in his own request? With that comforting thought, he slid into sleep.

-VV-

Vincent’s unquiet soul awoke and uncoiled within the sleeping body it inhabited. Food was near and it was very, very hungry.

-VV-

Vincent awoke standing in the doorway of the abandoned building. The night was ablaze with the descending curtains of a bright green aurora. A life-stream flow was spilling across the island coating the trees and flowers with the ethereal glow of life itself.

Vincent tottered out onto the grass and into the green light. His skin warmed deliciously under the fall of raw power. His body ravenously drank in the elemental energy until his blood sang with fire. His tense muscle relaxed all at once and his knees gave out. He sprawled on his back under the glowing curtains of aetheric life. It was so pure, so strong… His sight slipped out of focus, everything melding into a bright green haze. His thoughts scattered.

A long cool winged shadow spilled across him. “There you are.” The shadow knelt at Vincent’s side. “Vincent?”

Vincent blinked. The pale handsome face leaning so close to his was difficult to focus on through the emerald glare, but it was clearly frowning.

“Your eyes… They’re glowing green.” The frown deepened. “No, they’re merely dilated all the way open and reflecting the light.” A cool hand brushed his brow. “Vincent can you hear me?”

Vincent could hear him just fine, but his thoughts simply wouldn’t hold together long enough to form a reply.

The shadow snorted. “I thought this might happen.” He leaned down and slid his arms under Vincent’s limp body. “At night, the island drifts close to the life-steam. At this elevation, the flow here is far richer than what you are used to.” He rose from his knees and stood, lifting Vincent without effort. “I suppose I could have warned you about the possibility of power intoxication.” The shadow chuckled. “But why waste such a perfect opportunity?” The chuckle deepened into a rich rolling laugh. He strode forth with Vincent curled in his embrace, too dazed to make even the smallest protest.

-VV-

The tide of green power humming in Vincent’s blood was supplanted by a purely physical tide rising to engulf it – ecstasy. The green haze ebbed back, allowing his mind to surface. His gaze focused on the familiar arching ceiling above him, but his body was focused on something else entirely.

Hot wet suction was being voraciously applied to his dick.

Vincent shuddered in shock. His toes curled and his back arched in pure reflex. A deep guttural moan escaped his throat. His right hand clutched silk. Only it wasn’t silk, it was hair; long silver hair attached to the naked form of a winged man sprawled face first between Vincent’s raised knees. A hot hand held his risen flesh firmly for the hotter mouth that descended and rose on it.

Sephiroth was sucking his dick? He blinked to clear his vision, but it remained unchanged. A hot tongue lashed along the bottom of his shaft. His balls tightened and he gasped. The dark angel was not only sucking his dick, he was doing a damn fine job of it too.

The pleasure slammed him hard. He knew damned well that he should shove the man away from him, should attack, should escape, should do something…but he just couldn’t make himself do anything at all. Pain was something he’d long become accustomed to, but it had been so long since he’d felt physical pleasure, he was quite literally held captive by the sensations inundating his body. His heels dug into the gold sheets and he bucked into the hot mouth that held him. He was going to cum, really soon.

The mouth pulled away only to be replaced by a wriggling tongue that focused on lashing across the engorged and very sensitive head of his cock. The sensation was so intense it practically burned.

Vincent threw his head back and a small cry escaped his lips.

The tongue slowed to long languorous swipes. “Ah, so we have finally regained our senses.” The elegant head lifted, dragging a hot pink tongue along the length of Vincent shaft. The glowing green eyes were creased with humor under sardonically arched silver brows.

Vincent shuddered. His cheeks heated and his temper flared. “I’m surprised you didn’t just do me while I was out of it.”

“I considered it.” Sephiroth’s rose up on his hands and his lips curved in an insufferably satisfied smirk. “But I decided that I wanted you awake and attentive when I took you.” He slowly moved up Vincent’s body. Sleek muscle rippling under smooth pale skin slid between Vincent’s upraised and trembling knees. “I wanted you fully aware of exactly what was being done to you, and precisely who was doing it.”

Vincent stiffened. “You’re a sadistic bastard, you know that?”

Poised over Vincent’s body, Sephiroth’s green-gold gaze focused on Vincent’s. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He descended slowly, unbearably slowly, until his lips brushed Vincent’s nipple.

Vincent trembled, agonizing between anticipation and terror.

A long pink tongue flicked out and lapped, swift and hard.

Vincent’s nipple tightened deliciously and rose to a hard swollen point. He couldn’t help but gasp. His grip tightened in Sephiroth’s long silver hair, and he hated himself for it.

The dark angel moaned softly in appreciation, then bit down on the rigid flesh with his flat front teeth, his green gaze narrowing.

A bolt of fierce pleasure bloomed in Vincent’s nipple and speared straight down to his painfully hard dick, making it jump. His belly muscles clenched and he curled up, grabbing onto Sephiroth’s head with a guttural moan.

The dark angel wrapped an arm around Vincent’s waist and proceeded to suck hard and noisily on the captured nipple encouraging Vincent’s gasps. He reached up with his other hand and plucked at Vincent’s other nipple with his long nails, forcing it to burning erection.

It was too much. Vincent threw himself back against the pillows moaning.

Sephiroth followed him down to take Vincent’s open mouth. His tongue surged in to engage Vincent in a ferocious and breath-stealing kiss. His arm tight around Vincent, he writhed atop the smaller man, belly against belly, chest to chest, his rigid erection sliding along Vincent’s.

Vincent wallowed in the decadent pleasure of skin against skin, tongue against tongue. He arched, pressing up against the cock cradled between his thighs, and moaned, begging for more, begging for release. Guilt battled selfish lust. He shouldn’t want this, but he did. Blood and hell he wanted it.

Sephiroth raised his head, releasing Vincent from his kiss. He sat back on his knees and smiled with lips reddened from Vincent’s kisses. With slow deliberation, he licked his index and middle fingers.

Vincent froze in alarm, then pushed up on his elbows. “What…?”

The dark angel dug his fingers into Vincent’s hip holding him in place. “You want to cum, do you not?” He sucked on his two middle fingers until they dripped with saliva.

Vincent frowned. He did, but…

“So do I.” He lowered his wet hand, and reached under Vincent’s lifted leg to brush against the curve of his ass. “In you.”

Terror washed through Vincent. “No!” He twisted hard to get away.

Sephiroth chuckled and used Vincent’s momentum to flip him onto his belly. “Yes.”

Vincent grabbed for the sheets but they were too loose to do any good. He couldn’t kick out, Sephiroth was already between his spread thighs.

A powerful arm slid under his hips, lifting them from the mattress, forcing him up onto his splayed knees. Wet fingers slid between his ass cheeks. Fingers pressed against the tight rose of his anus.

Vincent gasped in shock and twisted to look back.

The dark angel’s gaze was focused on his ass. “Push out hard, or this is going to hurt.” His gaze shifted to Vincent’s face and he grinned. “Unless of course you like this kind of pain?” He pressed.

The pressure against his anus was firm, but insistent. Vincent resisted the invasion instinctively. Very quickly it became a sharp ache that threatened to become real pain. “I cant…!”

“You can. Push out against me and the pain will stop.”

Vincent shuddered and shook his head. “I can’t…!”

The arm around his waist pulled away and a hard slap smacked sharply against Vincent’s ass. “Push out!”

Vincent gasped in surprise and his body automatically relaxed. The finger slid in. He trembled with the shock of being penetrated.

The arm returned around his hips and the finger forged deeper.

His body constricted, closing tight around the invading digit. And it hurt --a lot. He bowed up, gripping the sheets, and choked back a groan. He was more than used to pain, but this was a completely different kind. It was far more…intimate.

Sephiroth snarled. “I said push out, you stubborn shit!”

Out of options, Vincent pushed out. The pain immediately retreated. He dropped down on his elbows among the sheets and a groan of relief escaped his throat.

“Much better.” The finger within swirled all the way around, trailing not unpleasant tingles that developed into shivers. “Now where is that…?” The finger pressed down against something.

A brutal wave of pleasure seared right up the back of Vincent’s skull making the hairs rise all over his body. His cock jumped in eagerness and liquid slid up his shaft and dribbled. He choked out a groan. It had damned near felt like an orgasm. He’d never felt anything like it.

“Ah, there it is.” Sephiroth chuckled. He pressed again.

Severe delight burned all the way up Vincent’s spine and then spilled through his cock, making it drip again. He gasped out a small guttural moan and shoved back, looking for more.

The dark angel obliged, stroking deeper. He added a finger while he was at it, increasing the pressure, and the intensifying the pleasure.

Vincent groaned and rocked back against the fingers pumping within him, mindless with need to feel more of that unusual intense pleasure, so unlike anything he’d ever felt. It was going to make him cum…

Sephiroth chuckled. “Such a greedy boy.” He pulled his fingers free.

Trembling hard, Vincent clutched the sheets with his right hand and bit back a whimper. Damn it! He was so close! Shameful as it was, he seriously considered demanding them put back in.

“Vincent.”

Vincent turned to look over his shoulder.

Sephiroth was pouring some kind of viscous oil on his hand from a white plastic squeeze bottle. The cat-slits in his eyes had widened to dark pits, and his cheeks were flushed a delicate pink. Smiling, he thumbed the lid closed with a snap and tossed it on the blankets. “Lay down on your back.” He reached down and smeared the thick oil up his heavy erection, and then down.

Vincent rose up on his knees and whirled to face his personal demon. Sephiroth was greasing his dick. That could only mean one thing. He swallowed hard. He could run…?

Sephiroth licked his lips. “If you run, you won’t get very far.” He stared pointedly down at Vincent’s rather painful hard-on.

Vincent felt the heat fill his cheeks. “I don’t want your dick up my ass.”

Sephiroth lifted a sliver brow and the corner of his mouth kicked up. “Oh? You didn’t seem to mind my fingers one bit.”

Vincent wrapped his arms around his waist and looked away. He couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Vincent…” Sephiroth leaned forward on his hands, moving closer. “You can’t run away from your own desires. Just accept them.”

Vincent bared his long teeth at his tormentor. “I didn’t have these desires before!”

“Didn’t you?” The dark angel smiled and reached out to grasp Vincent’s upraised knees. “You can’t lie to me. You can’t lie at all. You never could.” He tugged and Vincent’s knees parted. “You may have learned to hold your tongue, but that doesn’t change the fact that when you respond to a direct question you will always answer with the truth.” He moved forward, sliding between Vincent’s knees his hands framing Vincent’s body. “You have always been truthful. You will always be truthful.”

Vincent fell back among the sheets, powerless to stop his own trembling submission.

Sephiroth rose over him his lips curved in a smile that held far too many long teeth. “You’ve lusted for me since the first moment you saw me in the tank across from yours. I knew it then, I know it now.”

Vincent looked away, scowling. “I do not lust after children.”

“I’m not a child anymore.”

Vincent glanced at him. No, this was no child.

“You want me.” Sephiroth leaned down, his belly and his erection brushing against Vincent. The heat of his body rolled across Vincent’s skin. “Admit it.”

Vincent shuddered and bit down on his lip. He did. Gaia help him, he did want him. He was shaking with want for this demonic creature, but he was the enemy. Vincent turned away.

Sephiroth grabbed his chin and snarled in his face. “Say it, damn you!”

Vincent snarled right back. “I won’t!”

Sephiroth lunged forward, his fingers digging in to Vincent’s shoulders, shoving him down to take Vincent’s mouth in a brutal kiss.

Vincent couldn’t help but parry the tongue invading his mouth.

Sephiroth pulled back and licked his lips. “Fine. If I can’t get the words out of your mouth…” He caught Vincent around the thigh and pushed, forcing the knee up high. “I’ll fuck them out of your body.” He reached back to grasp his own cock.

Vincent jerked. “What…?” He shifted to move away but Sephiroth was already between his legs. Something thick and hot pressed against his anus, and shoved, hard. Vincent tensed against the invasion. The pain was sharp and immediate. A gasp was torn from his throat.

Sephiroth leaned over him scowling, his cheeks flagged with deep pink. “Push out, you stubborn bastard!” He pushed Vincent’s knee higher and shoved harder.

Vincent arched his back and pushed out, just to stop the pain. His body opened. A hard, hot, and thick weight entered his ass, and forged deep. A low guttural cry escaped his throat.

Sephiroth propped both arms under Vincent’s legs, shoving them forward as he leaned into the man under him. His eyes closed and he groaned. “So fucking tight!”

Vincent grabbed the sheets under him, groaning with the rigid weight of the cock spreading and filling his ass.

Staring straight into Vincent’s eyes, the dark angel licked his lips. “Whether you choose to admit it, your body is mine, and we both know it.” He arched, pulling his cock back, then flexed surging back in hard enough to slap sharply against Vincent’s ass.

Vincent gasped more from surprise than pain. The fullness was far from comfortable, but it wasn’t unendurable. It was however, painfully mortifying.

Sephiroth rolled his hips and struck against something deep in Vincent’s ass.

Pleasure pressed hard behind Vincent’s balls and jolted him all the way up the back of his skull. Vincent shuddered hard and cried out.

The dark angel grinned. “Oh yeah, I got it now.” He thrust again, only this time he made sure to strike that spot in passing.

Cruel delight speared through Vincent and he cried out again, completely unable to stop himself.

Grunting, the dark angel took him, and took him, with long fierce strokes. Each thrust struck in passing that violently delicious place, hammering the cries from Vincent’s throat.

The pleasure intensified within Vincent, building toward a ferocious crescendo that threatened to swallow him whole. He reached up and clutched at Sephiroth’s shoulders, hanging on for no reason that he could name. Tears streaked down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them any more than he could stop his hoarse cries.

“Yes.” The midnight velvet voice brushed against Vincent’s ear. “That’s it.” He groaned. “Show me how much you want me.” He reached down, between their bodies to grasp Vincent’s cock, and stroked in time with his thrusts. “Cum for me, Vincent.” His hand was hard and merciless. “Cum now.”

Vincent couldn’t hold out against the voice, the hands, or the shaft pumping into him. Climax exploded, wringing a howl from his throat. He shuddered under the onslaught of searing delight that blazed through him and out of him, spattering both their bellies with jets of hot thick fluid.

The dark angel flashed a grin, closed his eyes, thrust, thrust again, shuddered, and sighed.

Vincent gasped for breath, his mind washed clean of every thought, and yet there was no mistaking the cock flexing within him, filling him with another man’s cum.

The beast sharing Vincent’s soul stirred. Black streaks appeared all along Vincent’s skin. Vincent’s third eye opened showing Sephiroth in shades of iridescence with a blood-purple halo and blue-violet wings.

The beast inhaled, savoring the orgasmic life-force pumping into its body. It didn’t care that Vincent had been taken by another man. It only cared that orgasm had been achieved and food had been delivered.

Vincent arched and moaned. Energy blazed through him, revitalizing the wings that had been dormant against his back. His left hand burned with vibrancy, blackening the edges of the wrappings.

Sated, the beast slipped back under, and the jagged stripes disappeared leaving Vincent pale and shaken among the sheets with cum spattered all over his belly and between his thighs.

Vincent rolled onto his side trembling with spent passion.

Arms closed around him from behind, pulling him back against a warm chest. “Sleep, Vincent.” The sheet was drawn up and a kiss was pressed to his shoulder. “Don’t think about it, just go to sleep.”

Vincent closed his eyes but there was no escaping his thoughts. He had been well and truly fucked. And he’d enjoyed it.

~ * ~

#Diabolic FFVII #ffviiac #ff7 #vincent valentine #sephiroth #fan-fiction #fanfic

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