#and without even looking he drops the smile and the friendliness and just kills him

[bewitched-hours]

Hai :D

Could you do a Ghost!Reader x Noob( and other characters if you want)

Basically, spectre at one point before the first survivors came about, screwed up and brought a very very vengeful ghost into the realm so they bound them to the main cabin. Now back to current timeline, weird shit has been happening, power going up, stuff which the survivors swore they placed somewhere else ending up in different places. The others don't seem fazed cos their in a killing game. But Noob is terrified.( I'm yapping a bit so imma shorten in right here) Noob bumps into Reader and Reader decides to move to Noobs Cabin cos noob is fun to be around And Paranormal stuff ends Yay!

Awww, that gave me an idea because what if Noob manages to calm the vengeful energy and essentially earns himself a ghost wife for it-

Reader gets She/Her~

So long and still you felt vengeful...

The Spectre really fucked up when it plucked you from your grave to participate in a game of life and death... And realized you were unable to participate because... The fuck would a ghost do?!

You've seen survivors come and go and didn't care for why the Spectre kept you around. It only fuelled your frustrations and satisfaction upon seeing the survivors first deal with your tantrums.

But this time... There was someone that seemed to be more of a scaredy cat... An easy target.

You figured since Noob was such an easy pick, you might as well have fun with him while trying to surprise the other survivors occasionally.

Obviously you weren't so happy when they stopped reacting and even tried to interact with you... Who did they think they were?!

But in the end, it happened to be Noob who found your ghostly form first.

It was the middle of the 'night' as the survivors called it. Though this realm had no day or even a real cycle to go by, it was a little interesting to see the survivors figure out a schedule to go by.

Back to the plot- Noob had simply wanted a glass of water and figured it'd be a quick trip to the main cabin and back... Until he saw you sitting at the dinner table.

You were in one of your rare moments where you were just deep in thought and just staring at a glass floating in front of you. You figured there was no need to make a fuss.

"Y-you're..." His whispered voice carried out over to you, almost making you drop the glass when you realized he saw you.

Welp, no more use hiding as you sighed in defeat and nodded. "Yeah yeah, I'm the ghost that haunts the cabin..." You muttered with a bored tone, looking back to see a faint blush on his cheeks.

"A b-beautiful o-one..." He sheepishly admitted.

Right, you had died in your sleep so you were eternally stuck in your night gown. Though his compliment did bring a slight smile to your face. "Thank you... You're pretty cute yourself..." You couldn't blush but your ghostly body still imitated it so you got a bit shy yourself.

"OKAYTHANKYOUBYE-" He clearly panicked, rushing out without his glass of water... Leaving you to chuckle and feel a rare warmth in your ghostly heart.

When everyone awoke again, you were surprisingly more friendly. Not beyond your usual chaos but you were more gentle and the survivors took note of how Noob seemed to react to it.

Of course, he spilled everything the moment he was questioned and you listened in on his description of you. It was surprisingly detailed but all with a hint of flattery that would usually give you goosebumps if you could still feel them.

So you'd secretly hope for him to come by at night more often. To visit you when you allowed your form to be perceived.

Maybe you were letting your walls down a bit too easily but who could blame you? The compliments come from someone who had previously been terrified of you so you were convinced your figure wouldn't be attractive enough to suddenly take away that fear.

Sometimes he'd be back to talk for a bit, some nights he even came just to talk. It was sweet and talking with him made you feel alive.

It was in an unexpected way too. Rather than feeling lively through adventure and excitement, you felt alive through warmth and comfort.

You felt like you could give love a second chance after all...

The survivors were shocked on the first morning of your disappearance. Though they figured the Spectre must've finally allowed your soul to rest and mourned a little, considering your chaos even provided a bit of comfort in the main cabin. Like there was always someone waiting for them at the end of it all to just have fun with.

Even Noob hadn't realized the reality of the situation until that night.

When he entered his cabin and saw your gentle smile as you sat on his bed. He could've sworn his heart exploded right then and there...

But he also noticed you weren't causing chaos in his cabin. Rather, you were helping him relax.

"I hope you don't mind but I figured I should probably make things easier for my favourite person~" Your words made him only more flustered as he'd stammer out gratitude and flattery that could have you melting in place.

Oh, if only you could touch his cute little face and pepper it with kisses~

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[ninemelodies]

maaaaan christmas invasion….

[cressidagrey]

Mr Oblivious

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri is absolutely oblivious to the fact that people try to flirt with him. It drives Lando nuts. Felicity finds it very amusing though. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Lando Norris had a very simple opinion about Oscar Piastri:

The man was smart, fast, loyal to a fault — And completely, hopelessly, oblivious.

Especially about certain things.

Like, say, the fact that every now and then, some thirsty influencer or overly-friendly interviewer decided they wanted to test their luck around one of McLaren’s golden boys.

Case in point: today.

It was supposed to be a simple media day.

Smile, wave, answer a few questions without accidentally swearing — easy stuff.

And then she showed up.

Some influencer.

Lando didn’t catch her name.

Didn’t want to.

Her outfit was orange enough to suggest she'd Googled "McLaren colors" five minutes before showing up.

 Her laugh was the kind that made Lando want to put himself in an ice bath.

But what really got him was the way she locked eyes on Oscar from the moment she walked into the room.

Like a hawk spotting a particularly delicious rabbit.

And Oscar — sweet, pure, unsuspecting Oscar — stood there politely, posture perfect, nodding like he was about to explain suspension geometry to a cactus.

She sidled up to him with all the grace of a Bond girl in heels, flashing teeth and dimples and Lando could see it coming.

Could see the slow-motion train wreck unfolding with the inevitability of a Ferrari strategy call.

She sidled closer.

Tilted her head. Big fake lashes, even faker laugh.

"So, Oscar," she purred, "looking very fit this season. What's your secret?"

Lando, standing just off to the side, already felt his skin crawl.

Oscar, meanwhile, nodded thoughtfully like she’d asked him about chassis balance.

"Consistency," he said, serious as anything. "And good hydration habits. Also core strength. That’s really important for maintaining control in high G-force corners. I’ve been working with a new strength and conditioning coach. Core engagement and flexibility training. Lots of functional range mobility exercises. Very important for endurance."

Lando nearly dropped the can of Monster Energy he was carrying.

He physically turned away, took a moment to compose himself, and turned back — and she was still going.

She giggled — the kind of giggle Lando associated with botched lip filler and red flags — and twirled her hair like they were in a teen movie from 2004.

"Flexibility, huh?" she said, her voice doing That Thing™. Then winked.

WINKED.

Oscar, God bless him, nodded solemnly.

"Yeah. Critical for cockpit comfort. Limited hip mobility can lead to premature fatigue during longer races."

Lando just stared.

The influencer stared.

Oscar stared earnestly back. Oscar blinked at her with the open innocence of a Labrador Retriever about to explain knee cartilage.

It was like watching someone flirt with a toaster.

And then — then — she tried it.

She went for the kill.

"Well," she said, laughing in a way that definitely wasn't natural, "maybe you could show me some... flexibility exercises later?"

Lando choked on air.

Oscar, bless him, just looked mildly puzzled.

Lando’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Oscar thought she wanted workout advice.

Meanwhile, this woman was basically trying to climb him like a tree.

"I mean," Oscar said, frowning thoughtfully, "I guess? If you’re interested in physiotherapy protocols? There's a lot of hip flexor and thoracic mobility involved."

He paused.

"Although," Oscar added very seriously, completely unaware he was standing in a verbal minefield, “you should always get a doctor’s clearance before starting any high-intensity exercise program.”

The influencer blinked.

Lando stared at the heavens.

Why.

Why had the universe given this man a marriage, a child, and a heart of gold, but no flirting radar whatsoever.

Lando was so angry on Oscar’s behalf he actually saw red.

Because it wasn’t just the flirting.

It was the disrespect.

Oscar — who had a wife who fixed racing models better than half the paddock. Oscar — who had a four-year-old daughter who beat engineers at Sudoku. Oscar — who literally carried his entire family in his heart wherever he went.

He wasn’t available.

He wasn’t interested.

And he damn well deserved to have people respect that without needing to tattoo MARRIED. TAKEN. HAS A BUMBLEBEE-OBSESSED DAUGHTER across his forehead.

And then — because clearly the universe wanted to personally test Lando’s self-control — the influencer winked.

Like, full-on, slow-motion, cartoon-style winked at Oscar.

Oscar blinked back, confused.

Then said, very seriously:

"You should also stretch regularly to avoid cramping."

Lando actually made a noise — somewhere between a groan and a dying animal.

The influencer tried to recover, laughing awkwardly, but Oscar had already turned — calm, unfazed — and was politely thanking the PR rep for organizing the media day.

Lando stormed over, practically vibrating with protective rage.

"Mate," he hissed when Oscar finally wandered off-stage, "you realize she was hitting on you, right?"

Oscar frowned. "Was she?"

"YES," Lando hissed, arms flailing. "She was basically ready to throw herself at you!”

Oscar looked genuinely perplexed.

"But... I’m married."

"YES," Lando repeated, louder, like he was explaining quantum physics to a pigeon. "You are married. You have a kid. You are the dictionary definition of off-limits."

Oscar scratched the back of his neck.

"Maybe she didn’t know?"

"She definitely knew," Lando muttered darkly. "You are actually wearing your wedding ring for once and Bee’s little bead bracelet. You might as well walk around holding a sign that says 'I love my wife and daughter more than oxygen.'"

Oscar shrugged, entirely unfazed.

"I mean... it’s true."

Lando stared at him.

Somewhere between admiration and absolute rage.

When they reached the McLaren motorhome, Felicity was there — perched on the couch, Bee asleep with her head on Felicity’s lap, Button the Frog tucked under her tiny arm.

Oscar’s whole face lit up like a sunrise.

He crossed the room without hesitation, dropped a kiss onto Felicity’s hair, and gently stroked Bee’s back.

Felicity smiled up at him, all soft and warm and easy, like they had a language no one else could hear.

Lando stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching it all unfold.

Watching how Oscar's whole world just locked into place around them, without hesitation, without second thought.

Yeah.

Let them flirt. Let them try.

Oscar Piastri had everything he needed right here. And he was smart enough — good enough — to never even glance anywhere else.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1TeaSpill: BREAKING: Influencer tries to flirt with Oscar Piastri.

Oscar responds with “core strength” and “doctor’s clearance.”

Meanwhile, Lando Norris nearly combusts in the background.

[attached: video clip]

@/pitlanechaos: Not Oscar offering that woman a PHYSIOTHERAPY REFERRAL I’m losing it. He thought she wanted professional advice. He’s too pure for this world.

@/felicityfanclub (pinned tweet):

‼️OSCAR PIASTRI IS MARRIED

‼️HE LOVES HIS WIFE

‼️HE LOVES HIS DAUGHTER

‼️HE IS OBLIVIOUSLY LOYAL

‼️AND WE ARE HERE TO DEFEND HIS GOLDEN RETRIEVER ENERGY

@/formulawoah: This man said “consult your doctor” instead of realizing she was flirting. He’s not oblivious. He’s loyal at a molecular level.

@/landohmygod: Lando Norris being 1 second away from lunging across the paddock like an angry chihuahua deserves its own Emmy. He was FIGHTING for Oscar’s honor.

@/suspension_nerd: If I was that influencer and Oscar hit me with “thoracic mobility is important” when I was trying to flirt, I would simply evaporate on the spot.

@/gridgossip: This man has a wife who fixes telemetry errors in her sleep, and makes him bento boxes everyday. AND A DAUGHTER WHO BEATS ENGINEERS AT SUDOKU. What did you THINK was going to happen??

@/F1psychology: Watching Oscar Piastri react to flirting like it's a sports injury safety video is the most fascinating psychological case study I’ve ever seen. Also, Lando's visible rage is priceless.

***

Oscar waited until Bee was down for the night.

She’d fallen asleep curled up around Button the Frog, one arm flung dramatically across her pillow like she was staging a nap-themed protest. He’d kissed her forehead and tucked the blanket under her chin, switching the night light to its soft pink glow before slipping out of her room on quiet feet.

He figured... if Felicity was going to hate him, she probably shouldn’t have to do it in front of their daughter.

Which was stupid. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

But the pit in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

He was sweating, suddenly aware of how clingy the collar of his t-shirt felt. His hands wouldn’t sit still — twitching, tapping, twisting his wedding ring around and around until the skin beneath it burned.

He felt fifteen again. Awkward and uncertain and too full of words he didn’t know how to say.

And then Felicity padded into the living room, hair twisted into a lazy bun, bare feet soft against the floorboards, wearing one of his old McLaren hoodies that hung off her like it still didn’t understand how it ended up lucky enough to be wrapped around her.

She looked soft. Tired. Safe.

She smiled when she saw him, sweet and a little sleepy, like she was expecting him to ask about what tea she wanted or whether he’d remembered to order oat milk.

Oscar nearly chickened out.

Instead, he sat up straighter — awkward and abrupt — and blurted:

"Someone tried to flirt with me today."

Felicity blinked.

Tilted her head slightly, eyebrows raised — curious, not alarmed.

"Okay," she said, in the same tone she might use if he told her they were out of clean towels.

Oscar frowned.

"No, like — really tried. At a media thing. In front of cameras."

She just blinked again. Still calm. Still patient.

Still not mad.

Just... waiting.

Oscar swallowed.

"And I didn’t realize it was flirting until Lando nearly had an aneurysm."

That earned him a real laugh — soft, sudden, surprised. The kind of laugh she gave him when Bee said something absurd or when Oscar accidentally fixed something in the kitchen by whacking it with a shoe.

It went straight to his chest.

God, he loved her.

"And I was worried—" he continued, words stumbling out now like they’d been dammed up too long, "I was worried you’d think I was — I don’t know — encouraging it or — or being stupid, or not noticing because I wanted to miss it—"

Felicity crossed the room in three quick steps, not breaking eye contact once.

She dropped onto the couch beside him, slid her legs over his lap like she did every night, and tucked herself against his side like she’d always belonged there.

"You thought I’d be mad," she said, amused, "because some random influencer tried to flirt with you?"

Oscar nodded miserably, guilt still clinging to the back of his throat.

Felicity pulled back just enough to look up at him.

Eyes shining. Smile small and full of something dangerously close to laughter.

"Oscar," she said slowly, "I saw the whole video. You tried to offer her hydration advice."

He groaned, already regretting every decision he’d made since opening his mouth.

"Please don’t remind me."

"You told her to stretch her hip flexors," Felicity said, delighted. "Oscar, you sounded like a yoga instructor trying to scare off a client."

"Bee probably would’ve handled it better," he muttered, rubbing at his face.

Felicity laughed — a real one this time, head back, eyes crinkled, full-body kind of joy.

Oscar melted a little.

She curled closer, arms winding around his waist like she didn’t intend to let go anytime soon.

"I’m not mad, love," she said gently, brushing her nose against his shoulder. "She never stood a chance."

Oscar blinked down at her, stunned. A little breathless.

Felicity grinned up at him.

"You are so... mine, it’s not even funny."

She said it like a joke. She said it like a truth carved in stone.

Both were true.

Oscar let out a long, shaky breath, tension finally bleeding out of his chest.

"I just didn’t want you to think—"

She kissed his cheek, quieting him with the ease of someone who knew every version of him — the champion, the kid from karting, the dad who braided Bee’s hair with frog clips.

"I married you," Felicity whispered. "I know exactly who you are. I trust you with my life. And frankly, if anyone tries to flirt with you again, I might just send them a condolence card."

Oscar laughed, startled and in love and still trying to figure out how he’d ever ended up this lucky.

"And also," Felicity added, smirking like a fox who had absolutely won, "it’s way too funny to be jealous about."

He buried his face into her neck, overwhelmed by the warmth of her, by the sharp edges of her wit and the soft edges of her love.

"You’re ridiculous," he mumbled, muffled by her skin.

"And you," she said, threading her fingers through his hair like he was something precious, "are very bad at realizing when people want you." A beat. "And your brain is permanently stuck on ‘wife good, daughter best, car fast.’"

Oscar smiled, eyes closed, letting her steady him with nothing more than her heartbeat and her presence.

"You really aren’t mad?" he asked, still half-disbelieving.

Felicity leaned back, just far enough to look at him fully — bright-eyed and ferociously sure.

"Oscar," she said solemnly, "you are the most obliviously loyal man I’ve ever met. If I had to design a loyalty test, it would look like you."

Oscar kissed the curve of her throat, slow and reverent.

"Good thing I only ever wanted you," he murmured.

Felicity’s arms tightened around him, like she could will him into her bones.

"Exactly," she whispered.

Exactly.

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Ellie and Dan, but Danny was reincarnated as Damian Wayne

Danny Damian because he was Damian now, wasn't he? He remembers now the Fentons, the GIW, Sam and Tucker, jazz. He wonders if they could have also followed him here. A part of him longs to see his fraid again, but are they his fraid still? He was a new person. Son of The Bat and Heir to the Demon Head. Something Dami he remembers reminding people of. If only Sam could see him now, he knows she'd love that. "Who's edgy now?" He can picture her saying. He can almost see Tucker laughing so hard he'd fall out of his seat.

Crack

The sharp sound of the thunder brings him to the present. He looked over at his clock, 3:00 A.M. The witching hour he can hear Ellie tell him with a mischievous smile on one of their flights around Amity Park. She loved to drag him and Dan sometimes Vlad if he was feeling friendly. Dan, his future evil self tormented by the deaths of all his family and friends, so hurt he got Vlad to rip his human half out so he didn't have to feel the pain. Ellie, his clone, created by Vlad to be the perfect son, too bad she was a daughter. Looking down at his stomach where their cores are now incubating, he couldn't help but wonder if Vlad had anything to do with this.

He shook his head as if that would rid himself of that thought. Vlad was a real fruitloop,but he would never purposefully endanger Dan or Ellie. Vlad, in his twisted and weird ways, did love them in his own ways like kidnapping and keeping him hostage to save Ellie. He had forgiven vlad for the desperate attempt to save his daughter, but incubating Ellie and Dan's cores would make him their father now, too. Ew, coparenting with Vlad does not sound like a fun time. He glanced down and lifted his shirt hesitantly. If he focused on his stomach, he could see a faint blue and red glow emanating from his stomach. Red, Vlads' color, he thought distantly. Hopefully, it didn't mean much. As if signaling him, the envelope they had carried with them to him fell off the bed carried to the floor by the slight breeze.

Lighting lumineating the bedroom, making the crisp white color shine for just a second. He tentatively reached down to grab it. He was being a baby. He was a trained assassin from birth, and his fear trained beaten out of him a long time ago. Some part of him whispered his father and Richard's teachings of being brave but not without fear.

He paused. Father would want to know everything. His past life, Ellie and Dan, the ghosts, being a halfa. He wouldn't understand, Richard would try to, but not even he could never really understand. He couldn't subject his babies to that. He couldn't live with the threat to being ripped apart molecule by molecule. His father's lack of emotional intelligence certainly would not help young halfas. He was fourteen again the age he was killed in his first life. The age he started facing ghosts from another dimension.

He started younger in this life. Killing younger, he learned to fight his whole life. Jazz would hate that. Jazz... he wondered if she was alright if she survived the attack... no, there's no time to think of that right now. He ripped open the envelope( like a band-aid, Richard would remind him), and he noticed Vlad's familiar fancy fruitloop writing immediately(he had fancy fruitloop writing now, instead of the chicken scratch Jazz chided him over). So he was right about one thing this had vlad all over it.

Dear Daniel,

Though I understand you might not be Daniel when this letter finds you. I have been reincarnated into another life as I believe you have as well. My new name is Alexander Luther. I own a corporation called Lexcorp. I unfortunately can not change the name according to my board. The idiot lot of them.

He snickered at that. His smile dropped immediately. Vlad was Lex Luthor, the archnemesis of Superman. Jon would most certainly not like this. He forced himself to read on before he spiraled further.

I regained my memories after an experiment went wrong. I know how original. My new incarnation was able to open a small portal that grew in size, and eventually, somehow Danielle and Dan fell through. The portal then exploded, and I regained my memories. Unfortunately, it destabilized their clone bodies. I couldn't grow working bodies in time, and eventually, I had to hope they could find you. I hoped somehow that the yeti doctor would have imparted some of his strange knowledge onto you that might save them.

Vlad, no Lex still wrong. Vlad was somewhat right about that. During one of his all things ghostly lessons from Frostbite, he told him of how in the old ages ghosts often incubated their ghostlings. A protective measure back when magic and spirits were more prevalent. He didn't really understand it back then, and he doesn't understand it much now, either. Apart from the fact he was doing it, he supposed. What if he did something wrong and he lost them? He doesn't think he could live out his half-life if he lost them again. He needed to get to Vlad, and quickly too so they could start building a new portal to the infinite realms.

If this letter finds you. Come find me immediately at these coordinates. I've gone deep underground to escape my new archnimesis's suoer senses. I've m started research on a new portal, but I'll need your endeneering skills. This world is severely lacking in ectoplasmic science and engineering. I am once again forced to start from scratch on my own. Once we get the portal open, you'll need to go straight to The Far Frozen.

It's as if he's reading my mind, I think jokingly.

P.s. One of my experiments may or not have regiven then my new DNA in an attempt to restabilize them.

Only Vlad.

Well, it looks like they actually were going to be coparenting after all. This was going to go great.

I sigh and lean my head back down on my pillow. He committed the cords to memory before lighting the letter on fire with the lighter he kept in his bedside drawer. Point to assassin training. Jason would be proud. He supposed he could stay for a month or so before leaving, which would give him enough time to get away or think of some kind of mission to give himself. He shoots up. Todd had died and came back. He was a revenant. He couldn't stick around if he were to visit he'd know something was wrong immediately even if he didn't understand it.

He sprung out of bed quickly, but quietly, his foot steps perfectly silent despite his rushed mood of packing a bag. He packed a few pairs of clothes and lots of hidden weapons, some snacks he kept hidden for that should keep him fed on his journey but leaving any sentimental things behind. He glanced longingly at his sketch pad, but Vlad was most likely under the water judging by the coordinates he was given. Who knows if it would survive.

He checked the pack, making sure he got all he needed. He promptly checked it again. Twice. After deeming it sufficient, he willed himself to open the door. He mentally cataloged everyone in the manor. Pennyworth was most likely still in Father's room, making sure he actually listened to his insructions. Richard and Todd in Bludhaven and Crime Alley, respectfully. Cain and Brown in Hong Kong. Thomas was sleeping after his dayshift.

Everyone accounted for except Drake. He was most likely using Pennyworth's attention on Father to work cases. He just had to take the risk. For his ghostlings, for himself, Vlad. He crept down the hallways. He was opening the grandfather clock in record time. He went slower this time. He would use his powers, but his father had supernatural wards of all kinds in the cave. Who knows what they did. He was also admittedly trying to save his little energy for his voyage on the open sea. Light snoring hit his ears as he peered around the corner.

Thank ancients.

Drake was sleeping at the batcomputer, still in his Red Robin suit sans mask surrounded by his poor choices. Empty coffee cups and files spread around. He would still need to be quiet, Drake was a light sleeper, as was everyone else in his family. He grabbed the keys to his bike quickly, sneaking by. If he wasn't ditching his bike at Gotham Bridge, he would have disabled his trackers. He checked the gas and made sure he could make it. That's when he made his first mistake.

Putting the gas jug back down, he accidently hit another of one of his siblings' tools to the floor. He tried catching it without success, but it fell anyway, the loud clang echoing. Mistake number two.

Shit.

"Huh? What's happening?" Drake arose sleepily rubbing his eyes.

He froze. Mistake number three.

"Damian? What are you doing down here?" His eyes landed on him, and he spoke confusedly with his voice heavy with sleep or lack thereof.

He panics. He's blaming the pregnancy hormones on this.

He runs.

"Damian!" Drake responded to his dead sprint with his own. "Stop!"

He reaches his bike, and he turns the keys and prays. Luckily, it comes to life. He fumbles with his helmet it would hide his tears he needed it. who knows if he'll ever get to see them again. He shoots off down the tunnel. Flicking the cave door open remotely.

Another bike rears to life behind him. "Damian wants going on?" Drakes voice echoes in his ears. He can almost taste the concern in it amplified by the helmet. He ignores it and accelerates. He ignores the returned acceleration behind him.

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

Tim has no clue what made Damian panic enough to run away. He quickly ran to his own bike while swearing. Damian is already gaining distance on him. After another attempt at getting Damian to calm down and talk, he calls the only person Damian would actually listen to.

He hopes Dick will forgive him for waking him at five o'clock in the morning on his day off.

[yandere-sins]

This idea came to me and I've waited a long time to actually write it, but the time is finally here!! I dedicate it to the Tsaritsa's handmaiden!reader anons, I got so overwhelmed back then that I just dropped the topic which was really not fair of me. Hope you guys enjoy!

Characters: Yandere!Childe (Genshin Impact) x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Exhibitionism, Public sex, Non-Con, Pregnancy/Impregnation Kink Mention, Needy Male, Biting), Blood Mention, Possessiveness

Snow never tasted so bad in his mouth.

For as long as Childe could remember, snow had always been bland and froze his tongue as he shoved handfuls of it into his mouth. It was iron-y from the taste of his own saliva, cold like the lonely nights.

To him, it was home.

But he couldn't say the same about it anymore as he marched into the Tsaritsa's palace, a building frozen over with her grief and suffering. It was beautiful in its own way, and yet, no concern of his. The snowflakes caught in his mouth as he had conquered the snowy path to the entrance, had not tasted like home. They tasted like an attempt to dissuade him, slow him down to get to the one true warmth he longed for.

It's been months since the last time he buried himself in your cunt.

Months of loneliness, of longing. Months that Childe spent palming his cock in the most indecent places, imagining you were there to take care of his need instead. But your image wasn't enough. It didn't thrill him the same way as chasing you did. Didn't fulfill him like the nights he spent searching every nook and cranny for you, only to be unable to find you, so he would go to your place of rest to fuck your pillow instead to release the tenstion.

It was nothing like that one time he managed to pin you down into the snow, push your skirt out of the way, and sink into you for only a moment. A brief moment that he was carelessly lost in the pleasure of your sweet, warm pussy, making it easy for you to escape out from under his grasp and disappear into the night without him fucking you properly. He could remember what it felt like to be buried inside you, but could never replicate that feeling with anyone else. Childe had been sent on this awful, long mission before he could finish what he started, all while longing for you.

Even now, he wasn't sure if the sight of you, standing behind the Tsaritsa's throne, would make him lose all control. If he could keep his composure in front of his boss when his cock was ready to burst at the smallest glimpse of you. Even if his memories grew hazy, his cock would always remember the feeling of being enveloped by you, longing to return to and unite with your sex.

Imagine the surprise when he entered the great hall, brilliant blue eyes scanning the even more brilliant white everywhere for a speck of warmth reflecting from frozen pillars, only to find none. "Tartaglia," the Tsaritsa called out, a polite, kind smile on her lips even though nothing about her screamed friendly, and he winced, forced to direct his focus where it mattered.

Even though everything screamed at him to go find you.

It was a long, unnecessarily edging meeting. Childe could barely contain himself, the nervousness of knowledge that you must be around somewhere as the Tsaritsa's handmaiden, killing him from the inside. There was an unusual sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead as he occasionally dared to look away and scan the room. It was so unlike him to be this much on edge, as if he was high on drugs—which you were to him—but the throbbing of his cock never let him live down the idea of finally burying himself in you.

"That will be all."

These four words were enough to make him snap. He uttered a barely audible, "Thanks, bye," before storming back the way he came from, leaving everyone in attendance a little more confused than before. There was always so little time to catch up to you, the chase neverending as you had proven over and over. In the hallway, servants were mingling, cleaning and repairing things, all of them faceless and looking the same to him, not worth bothering with.

Childe weaved between the countless maids and butlers, the guards standing around straightening up ever so slightly as he passed them by. He caught glimpses of everyone but dismissed them as soon as he realized they weren't you. He'd have known you from the tip of your nose, even though everyone wore the same clothes and headwear, looking almost like Dottore's clones with hardly any distinctions. Normally, Childe didn't care for the servants, but at that moment, he hated them. No matter how good he was in figuring you out, every second he could save from searching could be spent with his cock between your thighs.

People came and went as he scouted through the hallway, checking over his shoulder as if he was the one being hunted. Haunted, was probably more correct, as the thought of you was like a ghost that ran shudders down his back and made his cock throb. The hallway was branching off into smaller, less crowded areas. Fewer servants, fewer guards, more places to sneak into and hide as you always did.

He was desperate to find you, but without even a hint, Childe grew restless and hopeless at the same time. It wasn't often he felt the latter, his shoulders sacking ever so slightly as he raised his eyes to the ceiling, mustering the intricate, frozen decorations made on the building. They were beautiful. Like you. Rarely seen and yet, ever so perfect and admirable. But they also left him with a sense of longing as they were so unreachable. Would it be the same for you?

Taking a deep breath, the cold managed to clear his mind, thoughts so heated from his desire that he hadn't been able to really focus. You had to be somewhere, even if hidden from his sharp eyes. But no matter how well you could hide, Childe had long figured you out enough to find you anywhere.

Squeak.

He smirked.

He knew the sound better than anyone. It was a sign, obviously, as you still wanted him to come and find you. Otherwise, you'd have thrown away your old shoes in favor of new, not squeaky ones to break in before his arrival, regardless of the fact that they had been a gift of the Tsaritsa. The cold had already crept into his bones as he turned his head to the left, one squeak enough to tell him which of the countless, branching hallways you were in.

Even with everyone else moving around him, time seemed to slow as he took soundless steps towards where you dusted an old, unlit fireplace. He imagined this chase after his long absence to be grand, to completely wear you two down to the point you'd be lazily fucking in an empty room from exhaustion. But you had chosen a more direct approach, hiding in plain sight and yet, still apart from the crowd.

Childe could tell from the way you dusted that fireplace, your posture straight, head held high, lightly flicking the feather duster over the stone, that it was you. Undoubtedly. He saw the slight flinch in your posture as you noticed him from the corners of your eyes, his presence too strong to ignore with his fiery gaze burning holes into you. You turned, ready to leave in a hurry again and make him hunt you down like you seemed to love so much, but Childe was faster.

You must have underestimated what an obsessive need could do to someone's ferocity. Especially someone like Childe, who was out of control even without your influence. He crossed those last few steps without a sound, and yet, faster than you could step away from the fireplace, one of your gloved hands landing on the intricate stone rim as Childe's arm wrapped around you, his hand gripping between your thighs and pulling your ass against his fully erect cock.

A moment of complete silence passed you both, neither moving but waiting for the other to make a mistake that would either make or break this closeness. It was Childe who broke the silence first, taking a deep, audible breath before breathing it out, his face burying into the nape of your neck, pressing his lips to the small rim of skin above your collar.

"Found you. Missed you," he whispered, his grin widening while he placed his legs next to yours, forcing you to face towards the fireplace again and caging you there. His hands driving down your sides, you made a push backwards, your strength immaculate, especially when it caused your plush asscheeks to wrap around his shaft. Childe bit his lip, almost ready to explode from that alone, but luckily, the layers of fabric between you two took out some of the edge.

No one stopped to help, even as your hands curled into fists, and he gripped the fabric of your skirt, bundling it upwards. Childe cared very little for the servants passing by you two, unable to see much but they weren't stupid enough to interfer, stearing clear of him. He could feel the intricate fabric of your stockings, hooking his fingers around the garterbelt that kept them up and letting it snap back in place, making you flinch.

You must have been infuriated, body shivering ever so slightly as you tried to wring yourself out of his hold, Childe's fingers digging so deep into your skin that he was drawing blood. He couldn't see your face, but Childe knew it took everything you had to keep your composure, your little promise to the Tsaritsa already known to Childe. You couldn't kill him, even if you wanted.

Honestly, it excited him even more thinking about you trying to stab him.

Fingertips grazing your panties lightly, Childe felt the shape of your cunt, applying pressure to open your lips so he could test the waters. Did you miss him, too? Did you anticipate this as much as he had? Would he find you wet and ready for him after all this time apart? Childe couldn't imagine that the thought of his return didn't excite you even just a little. That your heart didn't race knowing you'd have to tiptoe around him again.

Eagerly, he curled his fingers over and over, thumb flicking your clothed clit as he caressed your pussy. Despite his own cock straining and pressing against his pants like crazy, demanding to be freed from its prison, he made sure to prepare you first, willing to wait if it meant you were ready to take all of him immediately. Who knew how much time he had before bursting. Everything had to be perfect this time.

You twisted in his hold, his hand grabbing your breast and squeezing it hard to secure you in place. It gave him the pleasure of hearing you whimper once as you straightened instead, his weight at your back pushing you towards the cold stone in front of you as he played with your breast, making sure the cold would stimulate you.

With his free hand, he loosened the buttons on your blouse, making the collar drop enough so he could pepper your skin with kisses, suckling at your nape before giving it a possessive bite. You shuddered, not allowing your sweet voice to ring out even if it hurt you, but to Childe, this was a necessary evil. A mark you couldn't erase so easily, proving to everyone and himself that you belonged to him.

"Mr. Ta- Tartaglia," you breathed out his Tsaritsa-given-name, and it had never displeased him so to hear it than when it fell off your lips.

"Ajax," he corrected, and you shook your head ever so slightly in refusal, angering him.

"This is inappropriate, please mind you manners," you tried to reprimand him, and Childe simply huffed a laugh into your ear, raising his hand with which he had petted your pussy to show you the strings of juices dripping from them.

"Don't try to be all goody-two-shoes when I felt you grinding against my hand."

"It's because this position is uncomfortable! Don't be crude!"

"Sure, if you say so."

Reaching between your legs again, you flinched as he dragged the nail of his thumb through your folds before disappearing to reach for his belt. Even with his patience, Childe had long surpassed his limits. The longer he waited, the more time he gave you to escape. You talking to him was rare enough, a clear sign that you were already plotting how to get away, and Childe realized he couldn't take another chase with his cock so painfully hard between his legs.

Like always, you struggled as you felt his shaft slip between your thighs, your plush skin welcoming him, and he groaned into your shoulder, ready to burst. Everything about you was so perfectly made for him, able to make him come in mere seconds. But if he had the choice between your legs and your now sopping wet cunt, he'd take the latter for now, your thighs a delicacy for another day.

He had to take the chance for as long as he could.

Drawing back his hips, he angled his shaft upwards, quickly using his hand to pull your underwear to the side. You gasped as, without warning, he snapped his body forward, burying himself deep inside you with no regard, your insides clenching and holding on to him with a tightness that could only belong to you.

You were deliciously upset, trying to lift yourself off him, which he allowed, plunging you back down at the last second. Childe felt the pearls of precum rise and leak into you, his cock ready to give you a perfectly good reason to stay with him forever. A family sounded like such a good idea now that he was back and ready to settle with you after the endless chases you two had in preparation for this moment.

Pushing you forward, Childe forced you up on your tiptoes, your knuckles turning pale as you gripped the rim of the stone fireplace in front of you. At the same time, your other hand had reached back, fisting his shirt to the point of ripping at it. Did you want him to not leave you so desperately? Adorable.

"So... good..." he mumbled into your shoulder as he pressed his cock even further inside you. Hilting you simply wasn't enough; Childe wanted to fill every inch of you, leaving no space for anyone else in your head and body. "You feel so good around my cock, baby."

"S-Stop!" you demanded, your voice cracking as Childe slammed his cock forward.

"I've waited so long for this, no chance I can stop now."

With very little movement outwardly, Childe humped you, reaching always an inch deeper every time he lodged his cock inside. You clutched his clothes, trying to tear them away and him off you. Still, he kept going, grunting softly into your shoulder, anticipating every sweet sound you suppressed by biting your tongue.

"S-Sir!" You wanted to sound stern, but instead, you mewled.

"Ajax," he growled back, picking up the pace as punishment for calling him the wrong name again.

Everyone could see what was happening between the poor maid and the Harbinger, but no one dared to say anything. Childe made sure that they couldn't see anything they weren't supposed to, by hiding you from view with his body and cloak. But the sounds you two made, albeit muffled, made most of the staff scurrying around you two blush and hurry by.

He didn't care.

All that mattered was your soft, squelching cunt opening up for him and swallowing his cock like a playful little temptress. He could kiss your soft skin and smell the expensive scents that the Tsaritsa made you wear, all while nibbling, assaulting, and marking you like the madman he was. You were everything, capturing every thought and sense of his as Childe felt himself come undone.

"So tight," he groaned, leaving almost no space between your bodies.

His hips picked up the pace, more desperate and eager than before. Soon enough, he lowered the arms he had caged you with, digging his fingers into your hips instead, guiding your flesh up and down his shaft to get himself off. Soon, he'd give you a beautiful little family and you'd forever warm his bed, ready to take his cock at any given time. The chase, although he'd miss it, would come to an end if your belly was round and swollen with his child and he'd get to take a different job around Snezhnaya so he could go home to you and the kid every evening and proceed to fuck you senseless every night. It would be a dream come true—a final, successful hunt.

You were letting out the prettiest gasps as you reached for his wrists, trying to break them with how crushing your grip was, but even so, Childe wouldn't let go. He was obsessed with finally finishing inside you, claiming you in a way no one else had. You were a shuddering mess impaled on his cock and he'd have not wanted you any other way.

Your cunt was dripping with juices by now, letting Childe know you were ready to cum and welcome his seed; ready to finally cave and become all his. You'd be such a pretty mommy, carrying his child and making him a daddy, all while trying to explain to everyone you worked with that you didn't get pregnant while you were assaulted in the hallway. You'd admit you did it with him on other occasions just to save face.

Childe would happily help this lie be more convincing.

Between grunts, he couldn't help but whimper as his thrusts became irregular and hard, all with the purpose to go as deep into you as possible and feel you completely. You were helping him, rocking your hips high and teasing his tip with your shuddering walls until he was finally close enough to taste the sweet release.

Childe groaned loudly, feeling his cum rush through his shaft when you suddenly pushed away from him. There was too much to think about and focus on, and his brain was overwhelmed with all the tasks, giving you the chance to escape. Your breaths were heavy as your cunt slipped off his dick, and you let out a soft gasp before pushing your skirt down and walking off quickly with your gaze lowered, not looking at anyone or anything.

You left him behind to fend for himself.

Unable to stop it, Childe spilled his cum all over the freshly cleaned fireplace, strings of white seeping into the stone pitifully as his seed was wasted on it. He couldn't think straight; he just kept coming pitifully, with his head fallen back and his hips jutting into the air.

You fucking minx.

Leading him on and then disappearing. You waited until the last moment for your escape, ruining everything Childe had built up to. What about your orgasm? Your pleasure? Could you just endure leaving without? Would you get it from someone else?

Panic and anger zapped through him as the last of his cum shot pitifully out of him. He'd not let anyone else make you orgasm. Not another servant, a lover, not even the Tsaritsa! Maybe he didn't finish like he wanted, but that gave no one else the right to enjoy themselves with you. You were his and his alone.

A grin spread over his lips as he stared at the cold, intricate patterns on the ceiling once again. Now, they looked so much more beautiful, even as they were unreachable. Because you weren't. He found you once and he'd find you again, his cock twitching as anticipation spread through him. He'd make you cum so hard, you'd see stars. And then again and again until you could think of nothing else but him, bewitching you in the same way you had him. You'd want no one else, unable to think of anyone beside Childe and his cock when he was done with you.

Once more, the chase was on.

And Childe wouldn't want it any other way.

[supercutszns]

Hi!! Just had to drop in and say I LOVED your Luke fic and I can’t wait for more. I would love protective Luke with hurt/comfort, if that sounds interesting at all. Thanks for sharing your writing!!! 🌸

fighting chance; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 4.2k, luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader

synopsis: when an enemy takes advantage of your kindness during capture the flag, luke intervenes with a sword in hand.

warnings: a creepy boy👎, threats/harm to reader, she’s going through it, blood/injuries (nothing major), angry ANGRY luke, violence, lots of fluff/reassurance at the end<3

notes: thank you SO much for your kind words & your request!! hurt/comfort is my bread and butter my favourite fic genre of all time i think. & protective luke is just a bonus bc he’s already crazy so it can go as far as i want🤭 i’m not exactly sure what this turned into but if i fix it any more i'm going to go insane so hope you like it!

You’re not much of a fighter.

That alone is a normal thing to admit—plenty of people don’t like violence, the frisson of a challenge, the bruises that come with them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Unless you’re a child of Ares.

People at camp often ridicule your gentle nature when they see you with your half-siblings. They’re all gritted teeth and sharp edges, born warriors that take up all the space they can get. You, on the other hand, are lousy with weapons and even lousier with your fists. You’re quiet, attentive. While your siblings charge into battle without second thought you stay back, flitting around to adjust armour, change out weapons, oversee the terrain. Planning isn’t Ares’ style so you’re pretty much useless but nobody wants to admit it. You’re usually mistaken as a child of Hephaestus or Athena.

Unfortunately, you are a child of Ares, through and through—just in none of the ways that matter.

There are rare times your father’s influence peeks through. Not with bursts of rage or fists flying, but with thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts turn into words. Well, not sometimes. One time. This one.

The evening before the camp’s Capture the Flag game, every cabin gathered around the bonfire past dinner. To burn offerings, to chat, or in Luke Castellan’s case, to admire.

He watches you laugh with Clarisse from a distance. The Ares cabin leader always had a certain fondness for you. When Luke first started dating you he had to ask Clarisse for her blessing beforehand just to be sure she wouldn’t kill him. He’d do it a million times over just for the moment you look back, your face warming when you catch his stare. He rolls his eyes at you to lessen his smile, but he’s not sure it works. You giggle and turn back to your friend.

He’s always loved your softness; your capacity to defend and not attack. Your body rejects any skill you could possibly develop for violence. Believe him, he’s tried to teach you sword fighting, but the last time he gave you a lesson you nearly impaled yourself thirty seconds in. He loves your wit and your tenderness, your proficiency at preventing conflict, your refusal to argue. But a selfish part of him loves the fact that he’s your protector even more.

The night wears on with the flickers of fire and friendly banter. One of the times Luke looks back at you, his brows wrinkle. There’s a guy talking to you. A group of them, actually, but there’s one clearly leading the pack. Some Aphrodite kid. Luke’s jaw twitches.

“Hey, princess,” the voice makes you pull away from your talk with Clarisse, but you’re confused. Luke is the only one that calls you that.

“Um, me?” You ask when you see the boy in front of you. He’s tall, chest puffed out. It’s not an endearing silhouette. “What’s up?”

“You wanna be on my team for Capture the Flag tomorrow?” He asks nonchalantly.

You laugh politely, “Sorry, but I don’t think we’re allied with Aphrodite tomorrow. That’s your cabin, isn’t it?” You feel bad that you can’t remember—his face is so … plain.

He chuckles back, but it’s a lot less nice. “No, doll, that’s not what I mean.” He steps a little too close, and even though you know Clarisse is behind you it feels like she’s a thousand miles away. “Well,” he drawls, a smirk drawn out, “you meet me in the forest after we start, and then we can … you know. Confer.”

“Confer?”

“Yeah. You get what I mean, pretty girl, don’t play dumb.”

A revulsion coats your gut. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that,” you say as firmly as you can.

“What, pretty or dumb? Why not both?”

It’s demeaning, the way he says it, and it stirs a temper in your stomach you know you inherited from your father. You’re not big on confrontation. Or embarrassment. But this weirdo is talking to you out in the open and people are starting to stare. He wouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it, right?

“I’ll pass on your offer. I have a boyfriend and I’m actually on his team tomorrow, so I’d rather confer with him, sorry.” Your hands wring together but you do your best to quell them, imagining it’s the string of Luke’s camp necklace, threaded between your fingers. You try to look for him out of the corner of your eye.

He snickers, even though it’s common knowledge you and Luke have been together for months now. “So you are dumb, huh?” He tries to smirk and you assume is supposed to be sexy, but it’s just gross. His hand tries to slide around your waist.

“Don’t touch me, please,” you hit his hand away. Your skin is crawling and the knot inside you tightens.“Just leave me alone. People are looking, you know.”

“We could go somewhere where nobody looks,” he sneers, and the grin on his face is so sleazy that you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pray to your father for strength. And to yourself for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, are you stupid or something? I told you, no.” You snap. “Maybe you’re the pretty dumb one, but for a child of Aphrodite it’s shocking how little the first one applies.”

His eyes are wide, and the posse he’d assembled behind him has attracted quite the view. You almost feel like crying, all these eyes on you, but you’re so sick of people thinking they can walk all over you just because you’re not like your siblings.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice—” He grabs your wrist as you leave but you yank it hard.

“Don’t. Touch me.” People are staring at you now, but the only one you care about is Luke, who looks equally ticked and equally proud, and all you want to do is kiss him. “Hope the only time we confer tomorrow is if somebody’s sword is at your throat.”

It’s the last thing you say to him. He starts to go after you but Luke is already at your heels. “Back off, man.” You can spot how all his muscles are already rearing themselves for a fight. You wrap a hand around his wrist, and he meets your eyes. Not now.

The altercation is lost the second the two of you leave the bonfire. Nothing matters when Luke has you in his arms, kissing you outside of your cabin, telling you how damn beautiful you looked.

You’re fixing a new Ares boy’s armour when Luke finds you. “Hey, angel,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. He relishes in the way your face heats up. “You ready for battle?”

You smile, “Always.” You pat the kid on the cheek and send him on his way. He gnashes his teeth and roars, joining his siblings at the front. Luke catches the longing in your expression.

“All good?” He asks gently.

It takes you a second for your eyes to meet his. “Mmhm,” you swallow. “Just hope his armour doesn’t fall off.”

Luke sighs for a moment, then wraps his arms around you. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Be safe, okay? Stay close.” He kisses your temple, rubbing circles on the nape of your neck.

“Yes sir,” you reply against his chest. His insides flutter.

He pulls your face up to his and kisses you, tender and wanting. “Let’s show these hooligans who’s boss,” he quips.

“You’ll show them. I’ll hide in the woods until some idiot comes along and tries to ambush you.”

Your dulcet tone has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. “You’ve always got my back,” he croons, kissing your brow.

“And you’ve always got our flag.”

You kiss him again and he lets you slip out of his arms no matter how badly he wants to keep you there forever. He watches you vanish into the trees, and his heart goes with you.

He gears up with his team and the horn sounds. Game on.

There’s yelling, sweat, adrenaline, and Luke embraces it all like a man starved. This is his chance to be ruthless, to let all his untapped rage cycle through him. This is why he’s unstoppable. This is why he’s the best.

Clarisse is unusually cooperative today, but competent as always, and whenever someone’s weapon breaks or they lose their team she just barks at them to go find you. You, the smartest person in Ares, who can mend a weapon with nothing but blades of grass and determination. Luke is pretty sure your cabin would be lost without you. He wonders if you know.

The groove of the game has fully enthralled him. He’s alert, his wrist nimble, his sword a living, breathing part of him. There’s almost nothing that can take him out of his victory path until he hears one of the younger campers tell Clarisse he can’t find you anymore.

Whatever nincompoop he’s dealing with is left groaning on the floor. “What?” He barks, hand flexing around his sword. “Where is she?”

“Probably just moved,” Clarisse grunts as she kicks back an opposing camper. “She knows where everything is. Maybe she’s—oof—safer.”

“But how am I supposed to fix my spear?” The kid frowns.

Luke runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, dry and laden with salt. He told you to stay close. Where would you go? “I’ll find her,” he decides, already sheathing his sword to walk towards the trees.

“Luke—”

“I’ll find her!”

He barely pays attention to the calamity going on around him. With a flick of his wrist he knows he can take out any person he wants. The second he gets to the trees, where the air is cooler, it’s startling how much quieter it is. No wonder this is your preferred hiding spot.

He thanks the quiet a thousand times over because if it had been any louder he wouldn’t have heard you scream.

It’s so short it’s almost indiscernible, but he knows it’s you based on how his body movies before his brain does. It snaps something in him, the adrenaline transformed into something acerbic, determined.

“Don’t fucking scream again.” A cluster of boys are stationed around you. You’re leaning back in the dirt. You barely feel the earth sticking to your skin. Just your heart jostling madly, your fingertips shaking in the ground beside you. “Okay, I won’t, just put the sword down—”

The snarling Aphrodite boy from last night takes a swing at you, and you scramble back just enough to avoid it. “No can do, doll.” His face is twisted with rage. The lackeys he had when you told him off are there too, cornering you against a cluster of trees like you’re some caged animal. There’s a dagger clenched in one of your dirt-ridden fists but you know it won’t do you any good. You can’t fight; you don’t have it in you. But these boys do. And they’re angry.

“Tell me where the flag is,” he orders. The tip of his blade comes under your chin, fogging up with the labours of your breath, your head pressed against the trunk of a tree.

You stutter, “You’re not—You’re not supposed to threaten like this—”

“You embarrassed me in front of all those people yesterday,” he cuts you off. “Thinking you’re so fucking smart. I didn’t even say anything that big a deal but you run your mouth to the entire camp and make me look like the idiot. I thought you were nice.”

The words are laced with poison. You know from the wild look in his eyes that this isn’t about the flag at all.

Tears sting your eyes and the sword grazes your throat. Of course this is happening to you. The one time you feel your father’s rage, when you exemplify the thing you’re told to be, you are punished.

You are never going to be the right kind of daughter.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you try to say it evenly, but your breath is so ragged it’s barely audible. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.” You mean it, but they won’t care.

The boy’s face looks pleased at your tears. It makes you inexorably ashamed. “Some fucking Ares kid,” he snorts. “Can’t even fight, can you? Can’t even pretend to.” His sword leaves your throat and travels up to your quivering jaw. You’re wordless, white-knuckling the dagger at your side, praying that Luke is somewhere nearby.

“No wonder they stash you back here. You’re useless.” His eyes scan every part of you, and the idea of him knowing what you look like forever is so revolting it makes you want to vanish. “Too bad you’re alone, though. Nobody’s gonna know I was here because nobody’s gonna hear you.”

Your eyes get wide, and something in your mind rumbles through you like an engine. An urge buried in your blood.

Your dagger tears into his leg just as his sword dashes your arm. The pain is sharp, stinging, but the boy winces and you know you hurt him too. It gives you just enough time to roll out of the way as he lurches forward. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He swears.

Blood drips onto your shorts, splotched with tears. You know you can’t go anywhere because his friends are here and you’re almost certain you’ll be maimed, but you tried. At least you tried.

The Aphrodite boy picks his sword back up, stalks towards you, and then freezes.

Because Luke has just spotted you. And he’s spotted the boy that has you on the ground.

And he’s the best fucking swordsman Camp Half-Blood has seen in three hundred years.

“If you don’t get away from her right now I’m putting this through your skull.” He emerges from the foliage, his sword raised, sweat dripping down his face. You have never seen anyone look angrier. He has never felt angrier.

The boy blanches, and Luke sees how easily his lapdog friends shrink in his presence. Good.

“Woah, easy,” the boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and tries to flash a smile but it’s just fucking pathetic. His arms are shaking and his throat bobs about a million times. “We’re just playing the game.”

“Like hell you are,” Luke spits. “You gang up on my girlfriend and you expect me to believe this is fair play? Want me to tie you all together and push one of you off a cliff to keep the spirit going?”

“Didn’t know she was yours,” the boy tries to shrug but again, it’s a miserable attempt that only makes Luke feel stronger.

“Not that it matters but yes, you do,” Luke chuckles thickly. “I beat your ass in sword training last week. You know exactly who I am. And I’m sure you know who you are, so it’s obvious you’re playing out of your league here.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you still cowering, blood dribbling down your arm. He wants to tear the world apart. “Apologize and maybe I don’t send you to the infirmary.”

“We just want the flag, man,” the boy swallows.

“And I want your head on a stick. Want to see who gets what first?”

It’s too provocative an insult for a moron like this to ignore, so soon Luke has the pleasure of disarming five bitter boys that have clearly never been good at a single thing in their life. He tears through them like sheets of paper, knocking them to the dirt, ripping their clothes. He thinks of you, just you, your honest heart and patient hands, and it’s enough to fuel him for a millennia.

The last boy, the leader, is at Luke’s mercy, and he has none to give. The flat of Luke’s blade is pressed horizontally against the boy’s neck, an angering similarity to the position he had you in earlier. “If you ever do this again, I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re—fucking—crazy—” The boy wheezes, the length of the blade squeezing his throat against a tree trunk. “I’ll—I‘ll tell Chiron.”

Luke has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep him from doing something he regrets. “Oh yeah? You want me to tell Chiron how you harassed and terrorised a girl in the middle of the forest all in the name of play? Want me to tell him what you said to her last night at the campfire? Because I’m sure it won’t take much for him to get rid of your ugly face as it is, and I’m a camp counsellor.”

He knows it’s not the most morally correct use of his title. He knows he might be stepping over the line. But he also knows you’re always being ignored or trampled over and he’s tired of pretending like he doesn’t give a damn. He’s tired of people trying to force you into something you’re not. Of you crying in his bed at night because they’re trying to drag a violence out of you that isn’t there. Always in the name of fucking play.

Luke takes the sword off the boy’s neck and shoves him backwards. His calf is bleeding, not a deep wound, but a wound nonetheless, and Luke is full of pride when he realizes you did that. The boy’s bad leg makes him wobble and fall at the force of the push. Luke enjoys watching the scramble. “I—I was just trying to be nice, it’s not my fault she took it the wrong way!” The boy flails his hands in the air, rising to his feet again, and Luke shoves him down twice as hard. A piece of his shirt tears off in Luke’s hand.

“You’ve gotta stop talking or I really am going to kill you,” he seethes. “Don’t touch her ever again. Go.”

Luke is sure he looks homicidal right now because the guy finally tumbles his way down the hill. His body fades into the distance, swallowed up by shrubbery and sweat.

The second he’s gone Luke tosses his sword and armour and gets back to you. “Shit,” he mutters, kneeling down. You’re still shaking, your head in your arms, and all his hatred morphs into a love so desperate it terrifies him. “Angel, come here. Let me see.” He lifts your face with his hands and scans you rapidly. “Did he hurt you anywhere else? Anywhere?”

“Just my arm,” you whimper. “My arm.”

He knows it’s not the cut that’s hurting you; it’s long, but thin, and it’s not bleeding too thickly. He takes the cloth from the Aphrodite boy’s shirt and wraps it around your arm, knotting it at the end. “All right, that should be better.”

You look at him with watery eyes, and he knows all you need is for him to hold you. He folds you in his arms and leans against a stump. You can’t get close to him fast enough. The tip of your nose buries itself in his neck and he feels the dampness of your cheeks on his skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Guilt swaths over him for a brief moment; he wonders if he shouldn’t have done all that, if he should’ve been more sensible. Then your lips form a ‘thank you’ against his skin and all is forgotten.

You feel so small. The shock is still running its course, so all you can do is cry it out. Your hands still shake when you thread your fingers through Luke’s necklace to steady them. He soothes you the best he can, running his hand along your spine, all the sharpness of his voice softened just for you. “You’re all right, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay like that for a while. The sounds of the forest return to you; leaves in the wind, birds chirping, Luke’s breath tickling your hair. You crane your head up to nuzzle your nose against the faint stubble of his jaw. “My hero,” you murmur, and feel his skin shift as he smiles.

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Saw the cut you gave him on his leg.” He kisses your temple. “I hope it gets infected.”

You giggle weakly no matter how you try smothering it in his chest. “Gods, you’re awful.”

“He deserves it! I probably should have killed him!”

“You came pretty close, didn’t you?” You mumble. Luke’s expression is wary, but you smile to yourself and it dispels everything. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Good. Serves them right, messing with you like that. Fucking idiots.” He kisses your face again for good measure, “You sure they didn’t get you anywhere else, princess?”

You nod but you know you look wounded. You nudge into the crook of Luke’s neck again. “They … you know, it’s just … the usual stuff.” Every word weighs a pound as it comes out. Your heart feels sore.

Luke tenses again instantly. “What usual stuff?”

“Um, just—” The shame gets caught in your throat. “They all think I’m useless, Luke. Why can’t I do this right?”

You start to cry again, but he just holds you closer. Sometimes it surprises you how much patience he has. He prides himself as the harsher one between the two of you, but you don’t know who he’s fooling with the way he always knows how to comfort people.

“I don’t know what to do,” you continue, blinking back tears, “I’m not—I’m just not good at this, I don’t know why I’m in Ares, I don’t know why I can’t … be that. Why is he my father? I’m no good at being angry. I want to be angry.”

Luke’s quiet for a moment. Nothing changes except his hand rubbing circles on the nape of your neck again. Then he sighs deeply and says, “You don’t owe your father a damn thing. You don’t owe anyone anything.” He’s resolute, firm, a sharp contrast to his gentle kiss on your hairline. “You’re the smartest, most generous person I know. You need those people in battle. You’ll lose if you don’t.”

The warmth of his skin prompts you to look up at him. He looks different so often, the way he can shift between so tough and so gentle. Sometimes, like now, he’s caught in the middle, the remains of a furious sweat hardening his face, but his eyes are nothing but tender. You think it’s how you like him best.

“Besides, we’re not our parents, right? Who cares about Ares anyway?” Luke shrugs.

“Luke! Don’t say that!” your tears turn into a giggle. “The Gods might punish you!”

“I’ll handle it. There’s enough fight in me for the both of us.”

“Okay, tough guy,” you mutter with a weak smile.

You’re still sniffling. He runs his thumbs across your cheeks, and his gaze softens. “You’re an Ares kid because you are a fighter, angel. You just fight a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. Best one I know. Well, other than me.”

It makes you smile. “So second-best?”

“Tied for first.”

He kisses you with that stupid roguish smile. It’s salty with tears and sweat, but it mends your heart anyway. There is nowhere in the world you’d feel safer.

“I love you,” he says against your cheek. “Be as sweet as you want. If anyone has anything to say about it I’ll mess ‘em up good.” Your face warms as his voice drops to your ear, “And I know you’re an Ares kid because you’ll encourage it every time. You might not have a violent bone in your body, but you sure don’t have a problem with me using mine.”

“Diplomatically, Luke. Diplomatically.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re not entirely sure why he loves you so much, why you love him so much, but you never feel quite as secure as when you’re with him.

Cheers boom from the other side of camp. Luke’s head perks up like a dog, and you turn back to search for spots of red or blue. “Did we win?” You ask, craning your head to get a better view.

“Don’t care,” Luke says.

You look back at him. His anxious face says it all. “Yes, you do.”

“Okay yes, I do, and I need to see if those douches found our flag so I can choke them out with it.”

You laugh, standing so Luke can jog off to see the state of your team. But before he goes, he picks you up and smothers you in kisses, holding you like you’re his prize.

You are not a fighter, but your boyfriend sure is. And you’re perfectly okay with that.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

Note: I asked about husbands and all your hoes said Bucky (with a few Sy's in the middle). I wasn't intending on a whole series but I thnk it would be fun to have husband!Bucky turn a bit desperate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Living alone is tough. You've always found that it's best to keep a routine. Not too strict, you have to make room for spontaneity. You can't let the days turn grey. Take them one at a time but don't count them.

You haven't been to the cafe in a while. It's been longer since you came alone. Still, the house was too constricting, your home office like a cell, You can get some work done over a cappuccino, maybe even get a bit of pep. 

Lately, you've been exhausted and you shouldn't be. You're in bed so early that you're usually knocked out around eight or nine. You fall asleep in the glow of the television, watching some ridiculous syndicated drama. It's just enough to keep your frustration from fermenting.

Routine. Wake up, ready, eat, work, forget to stop for lunch, only walk away from the screen when your eyes are dry and you can't stop yawning, give up on the healthy home meal and order in. Sleep alone with your rings on the nightstand.

You taste the cappuccino and sigh. It's sweet but the delight it brings is bitter. That's the happiest you've been in weeks and it's because of a damn espresso.

You pick up your pen and go back to shading. There's nothing there. It used to be that your work made you smile. Art used to be your haven. Now it's the only thing keeping you from thinking too much.

"Oh, what are we working on?" The stranger asks as he nears your table. You retract your pen and reluctantly look up. "An artist in the wild."

Ugh. You should be flattered. It's obvious the man in his cycling gear is flirting. Or trying to.

"Just work. Need it done by three," you explain curtly, hoping he takes the hint.

"Oh, wow, you get paid for that?"

You hesitate, "um, sure."

"I don't mean--" He cringes, "anything by it. It's good. I just... most people would love to be paid for their passion."

Passion? What even is that? You look down at the panel and shrug. The series needs to be killed. It was well past sense long ago. Now the writer is only writing for the paycheck and you're not doing much different.

"I know you already have a drink but maybe I could treat you to something from the bakery. I love their scones," he suggests.

You have to swallow a scoff. The guy's nice. He's not doing anything wrong. It would be flattering if it was another time, another context. If he wasn't offering to add another layer to padding around your middle. The rolls you can't even call love handles because they only make you hate yourself.

"That's sweet but--"

"But she's married," a deeper voice undercuts.

You flinch. You glance up as Bucky approaches. He could probably hear the awkward interaction before he even entered. You're not concerned about that, but you are unnerved to see him there. To see your husband for the first time in a month without warning.

"Oh, uh," the guy rubs his neck and backs up, eyeing Bucky's metal arm. "Sorry, I--" The man chokes on his tongue and quickly flees, forgetting the bakery treats as he flits through the door. He fumbles outside to unlock his bike and you watch him with a frown.

"He was being friendly--"

Bucky drops into the seat across from you, "to my wife."

"I was about to tell him," you set the pen against the tablet so the magnet snags.

"Oh, about to show off your rings?" He nods to your hand. Naked. You left the bands by the bed.

"I forgot. Late night," you shrug. "You didn't tell me you were on your way back."

"I wanted to surprise you," he leans forward and puts his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. "Looks like I got the surprise. You're not home. You're here, flirting with bike jockeys."

"I wasn't doing that," you shake your head. 

The accusation is scalding. Does he not remember the girl who didn't realise he was flirting for a whole year? Not like he was ever very good at communicating.

"How was the mission?" You ask evenly. You hold back the resent, tamp down on the promises he made that he wouldn't be away that long again. It's not use hiding, he can hear your pulse, but you still do.

He sighs and reaches for your cappuccino. He takes a sip. His thoughts weave between his brows as he tastes it and gulps tightly. Another thorn in your side. He could eat the whole damn display's worth of scones and muffins and not gain an ounce. That small coffee will cling to you.

"Long. Bullshit," he answers. "Good to be back."

You nod. You can't speak. If you open your mouth, it will all tumble out. He won't apologise so why are you going to make it an issue?

"Well, I'm almost done here," you fold over the cover of your tablet. "If you wanna finish that," you point to the cup.

His cheek ticks. He squints. He leans in further and slides the cup back to you.

"'Welcome back, honey. So happy to see you,'" he snarls derisively, "'I love you, husband.'"

The last consonant is sharp. You wince. You shrink in your chair as you keep your hands on the tablet.

"You surprised me, Bucky. Really." You sniff, "I missed you."

He stares at you. That same look that convinced a young girl he was annoyed by her. That assured you he didn't care about those stupid lines you made on paper, the drawings of Victorian figures and fantastical maidens. The one that melted away drop by drop. The ice is back in his eyes. Or maybe this time, it's in yours.

"Miss you too, babe," he pushes himself back in the chair.

You grab your bag and slide the tablet inside. You rest it in your lap and grab the cup. You drain it as the flavour turns sour in your mouth. Bucky huffs and stands before you can.

"Come on," he says, "let's go find those rings."

You stand and hook the strap of the bag over your head. You send him a look, "really, I forgot."

"Seems like," he grabs your hand. "Forgot a lot."

He drags you to the door. You put your head down as you let him. The insinuation in his words strangles you. Is he really that obtuse or is this projection? You're not the one who forgot this marriage.

[petals2fish]

Now I'm imagining the events during Chamber of Secrets, when Hagrid is taken to Azkaban. He’s thrown into a cell across from Sirius Black. They don’t speak, just stare. The dementors aura have reduced Hagrid to a state of silent, wide-eyed terror. Sirius, though gaunt and wasting away after eleven years in prison, recognizes Hagrid. He knows who Hagrid is—remembers him as the one who carried Harry to Dumbledore all those years ago. Sirius knows that Hagrid must know Harry.

But time has changed Sirius. He’s no longer the man Hagrid might have recognized. It’s clear the half-giant doesn’t realize who is sitting across from him behind the bars. A few hours go by and Sirius can’t help himself.

"Is he safe?" Sirius rasps, his voice rough and cracked from disuse.

Hagrid jerks his head up, startled. His thick eyebrows knit together as he stares at the man, the familiarity of his face finally clicking. Recognition dawns, but Hagrid doesn’t speak. Instead, he turns his head away, refusing to meet Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius, ever relentless, doesn’t back down. "A bit of advice from a friendly convict; time passes faster in this hellhole if you talk."

"I’ve nothin’ ter say ter you," Hagrid growls, his voice dangerous.

"I know you think I killed them," Sirius replies evenly. His tone is calm, almost resigned. "I good as did. But the guards whispered before you even got here. They say you’re here because of students being petrified. I’m not stupid enough to believe you actually killed anyone. But something in Hogwarts is targeting the kids." Sirius’ voice drops to a whisper, heavy with desperation. "Is the boy safe?"

Hagrid turns his head again, his voice dripping with disgust. "Unfortunately for you, the boy lives."

"I know he lives," Sirius snaps, his tone sharp. "Is he safe?"

Hagrid hesitates, thinking of Dumbledore’s recent dismissal from Hogwarts. The board of governors voted him out after Hermione went under. Not that the board of governors gave two shits about Hermione. Without Dumbledore there, Harry is exposed, vulnerable in ways Hagrid doesn’t want to think about. Slowly, his anger softens, replaced by a deep, gnawing worry.

“He’s like his mother,” Hagrid murmurs into the gloom of the cells, his voice heavy with affection. “Kind, empathetic, and a bit cheeky when he needs ter be.”

For the first time in eleven years, Sirius feels tears sting his eyes, the words cutting through his despair like a blade.

Hagrid continues, his voice quieter now. “He plays Quidditch like James—only he’s a Seeker. And he’s brilliant at it. Does well in classes, too. He’s got his father’s courage, through and through.”

Sirius’s voice wavers as he asks again, for the final time, "Is he safe?"

Hagrid meets his gaze, his own grief barely concealed. “No,” he says, his words laced with bitterness. “He’ll never be safe again. No thanks to you.”

Sirius remains silent until the human guards return, their heavy footsteps echoing through the grim halls. They stop at Hagrid’s cell, unlocking the door with a loud clang. One of them is an auror Sirius recognized. Moody.

“Harry Potter cleared your name,” Moody says gruffly, “Albus Dumbledore and the board have asked we escort you back to Hogwarts, Hagrid.”

“Harry?” Hagrid gasps, taking in a deep breath. “How?”

Moody flicks a look back to Sirius cell, knowing exactly who Sirius is, before glancing back to Hagrid as the half giant stood up. “It seems Potter has once again defeated a dark wizard. I might as well set up a desk for him at the Ministry, he’s got more balls than half my team.”

No one sees Sirius’ mouth lift into a smile in the shadows.

As Hagrid is escorted out, his massive frame stooped under the weight of the air thick with dementor despair, Sirius finally speaks.

“I’m glad I gave Harry to you that night,” he says.

Hagrid pauses mid-step, his shoulders tensing. For a moment, he doesn’t turn, doesn’t respond. Moody places a hand on Hagrid’s forearm, glaring back at Sirius’ wasted form. Then, without looking back, Hagrid lets Moody and the guards lead him away into the shadows.

A few weeks later, Sirius asked the Minister of Magic politely for the crossword.

And the rest of this is history.

[tttabii]

—박종성 with or without you ; jay

pairing ꪆৎ stalker obsessive!jay x innocent!reader. genre: suggestive, slight angst, fluff, sensitive topics like murder. jay steals reader's undergarments. word count: 4954.

YOU WERE THE TYPE OF GIRLS THAT TURNED HEADS.

Not because you were loud. Not because you were trying to be. But because everything about you demanded people look at you in the softest, dumbest way. 

Your short skirt twirled around you as you laughed with your girlfriends, your cardigan had slid off one shoulder, and your lip gloss glinting in the sun like it was made just for you. You weren't exactly dumb. You just didn't see stuff—you didn't really see it. You didn't notice the way guys looked at you like you were a walking, talking invitation. You thought they were "just being friendly."

You were that kind of dumb. 

But not to him. 

Jay saw you.  

Really saw you. 

And not just on that Saturday, but when you were walking down the street as if you had no idea the world could swallow you whole.

Your heels clicked-on-the-pavement while your friends teased each other and you giggled behind your hand, swaying slightly in that stupid little dress. 

He was already in the café, tied his apron around his waist, pretending to care about his shift. He didn't need the money. He didn't need any of it. He just wanted to have a reason to be close. Close to girls like you.  

He understood your type: naive, glitzy, perhaps a little soft on the edges. The type that thought it was alright to hand out their number "just to be nice". The type that had no idea how dangerous that kind of behavior could be.

You had barely stepped foot in the door when some dork of a dude—tall, wearing a hoodie, and slipping off of him like wax was poor intentions—was checking you out like you were dessert. Jay felt it before he even saw it. He felt that same itch at the back of his skull. And that familiar crawl that went under his skin.

You asked your friends if they wanted anything.

They said no.

So you had walked in alone.

And in that instant, Jay memorized all the angles of you. The gloss of your lips. The shade of your natural blush on your cheeks. The way your dress clung too tight in all the wrong places. You had no idea what you looked like to people like him. People who'd kill for something that pretty.

Literally.

You ordered something stupid and sweet. Of course you did.

While you waited, Hoodie Dude slithered in beside you. Jay's jaw tightened as he listened.

"Hey," he said casually, "you're pretty cute. Do you study around here?"

You looked at him with a small, polite little smile and said, "Yeah. I go to college nearby."  

He asked for your number.

You cocked your head to the side. "Oh, I'm not really—"

"Just as friends," he said quickly.

And you being you handed it over.

Jay didn't blink. Just moved to the prep counter like the passing moment was non-existent. But he heard everything.

And his hand slid toward the flask in his pocket—one of many little solutions he kept for moments like these. Moments when someone crossed a line they weren't supposed to cross.

A drop.

Not enough to kill someone instantly.

No. Jay was patient.

He liked the slow burns. The kind you couldn't trace back, and no one would ever be suspicious. Ten hours from now, Hoodie Guy would be found collapsed somewhere without an explanation and no one would know it was because of the iced mocha from earlier. The cup would be long gone.

Just like him.

"Order 118," Jay called, voice smooth.

You turned your head with a bright smile as you walked to cash and the counter. Your hands brushed against his as you grabbed your drink. Your hand and your touch were fire.

"Thanks," you said, bright and innocent.

Jay didn't answer right away.

He watched your lips part, the gloss catching the light.

He watched your lips part, the gloss catching in the light. Watched you walk out the door like you hadn't just been seconds away from danger. He smiled faintly.

"Anytime," he murmured.

His gaze didn't leave you.

Not even after the door shut.

Because you were his now.

You just didn't know it yet.

When you arrived home that night, there was a strange feeling in the air—not anything overwhelming. It was not the kind of unsettling feeling that screamed danger or even panic. Just stillness. Your phone was dry. Not a single message since you waved goodbye to your friends a couple hours before. Nothing in the group chat, no "wyd" text from that guy who normally walked you to the library, not even a meme from your roommate.

You blinked at the screen, confused for a moment. But then you shrugged. Maybe everyone was just busy. You flipped it face down and didn't think of it again.

The water was warm in the shower. You hummed a little to yourself while washing your hair, thinking about your classes tomorrow, which outfit you would wear. Maybe your ruffled mini skirt would work with the sheer tights if it wasn't too cold.

You didn't really notice when eyes watched you through the crack in your dorm's hallway blinds. You didn't feel the weight of obsession perched in the shadows outside your window.

But he was there.

Jay always was.

Lately, your campus felt tense.

More tense than usual.

The news was everywhere—a series of senseless and disconnected deaths. Just random, mostly men, mostly young. Some in apartments. Some near the park. Some just on the street. There were whispers in the corridors of lecture halls and girls were clinging closer to their guys. Lockdowns were getting talked about.

You were starting to notice it too—especially today.

Because one of those guys that usually offered to walk with you toward the library? The nice one, with the fluffy hair and shy smile?

Gone.

Not seen in days.

You only found out when his friends took you aside by the vending machine in the science building. Woo Min was scratching at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "He... he really liked you, y'know," he said, nervously. "He talked about you all the time."

You blinked. "Huh?"

His friends told you what happened. The murder. The body. That he had been walking around on the street a few hours before he was murdered—a couple blocks from your campus. You just stared, silent, lips slack.

"Oh... I had no idea he felt that way," you said, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I didn't mean to—I mean, I just thought he was being nice."

"We know..." one said quietly. "It wasn't your fault."

You bit your lip.

It wasn't, right?

Probably just an accident. Bad timing. Just wrong place wrong time. But damn, the chill creeping up your spine.

You were still thinking about it when you went out again that evening... just restless enough to leave your dorm. The city usually helped you sort things out, and the café wasn't far—same one as yesterday. Same barista, who you distinctly remember had a very sharp jawline and pretty hands.

Jay.

You pulled into the café, fingers in your cardigan sleeves. The jingle of the bell over the door rang above your head. And he looked up.

No one else inside—just him behind the counter. He smiled when he saw you, one of those smiles that wasn't fake or forced, but just... soft. His eyes ran over your frame a second too long before he tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

"Back again?" he asked, leaning forward. His voice was calm; smooth like velvet. "I thought you'd be scared to go out these days."

You blinked. "I kinda am."

"Then why come here?"

You hesitated. "It's quiet. I feel... safer here."

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

And then he smiled wider. "Good."

You ordered something different this time—an iced latte, something sweet to calm your nerves. Jay started working on it without breaking eye contact, like he already knew what you were going to say.

"You seemed off today," he remarked inconspicuously. "You worried about the news?"

You nodded slowly and fiddled with the strap of your bag. "Yeah. One of the guys I knew was... well, he's one of the people who... you know."

"That you knew well?" Jay's back was toward you as he worked the machine.

"Not really," you said. "He just walked me to the library sometimes. But I didn't know he liked me. His friends told me today."

Jay said nothing.

The machine hissed.You continued rambling."I thought it was coincidence," you said, quietly. "But I don't know. It't creepy, like someone's-"

"Watching?" he interrupted as he turned back to you, drink in hand.You blinked.His eyes were bright.

You nodded slowly. "Yeah. Kind of."

Jay sat the drink on the counter. Your fingers brushed his as you reached for the drink again, then you looked to his face.

"So, what happened to that guy the other day?" he suddenly asked. "The one who hit on you here?"

"Oh. He still has me on delivered," you said with a half-shrug, and small laugh. "Guess he was just trying his luck."

Jay tilted his head. "That's a shame. He seemed like the type who could have done worse things."

You smiled nervously.

He kept his gaze on you for a beat longer than needed; then, quite suddenly, the bemused expression slipped from his face like a mist on the morning sun.

"Forget it. Just forget all of it," he said softly. "Just be careful. Okay?"

You looked up at him, surprised by how gentle, almost protective, he sounded. "Okay."

Jay watched you take a sip of your drink. His eyes were glued to your lips. You didn't see the smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth. You didn't notice how he was looking at you like he already owned you.

Because to Jay, this wasn't with or without you.

It was just with you.

Whether you wanted it or not.

        愛 ♡

Your room was supposed to be your safe place.

Your sanctuary.

But it wasn't anymore. You didn't know that while you were in class—exhausted and yawning, trying to pay attention to the lecture—someone had been inside.

Inside your room.

Rummaging through your drawers.

When you got back, your bed still looked tidy. The lights were off. Nothing broken. But there was something wrong. You felt it like a crawling itch on your skin. You didn't notice the missing pair of underwear right away.

Or the hoodie that smelled like your perfume, the one you wore last week.

Or the fact your socks were slightly out of place.

You were too tired. You dumped your bag and changed into pajamas without thinking too hard.

You made ramen—you were hungry for something hot and salty—and while the water boiled, you sat on your phone, your brain still half-dead. That's when it happened.

A note slid under your front door. You heard it. That dry, slow shuffle of paper across linoleum. You turned, blood freezing.

Someone was outside your door. You immediately threw it opened to find no one there.

The hall was empty, enveloped in eerily quiet. The girl down the hall who was usually watching Bloodhounds and squealing over Woo Do-Hwan at this hour was silence.

Just the humming of the vending machine.

You swallowed, slowly reaching for the letter. The letter was folded perfectly—like a love letter—but there was no name, no address. Just a sharp, handwritten line in smeared dark red ink. Not blood. But it looked close enough.

You opened it with shaking hands. Just one sentence.

"You're always forgetting to lock the balcony door."

Your lungs froze. You had locked it. You were sure. You always checked it twice. You spun around, ran to your bedroom—and there it was.

Unlocked.

The wind had pushed it open slightly, a creak so soft it made your stomach twist. You stared, trembling, ramen completely forgotten.

You didn't sleep. Couldn't.

The shadows felt darker tonight. The wind more menacing. Every creak had you flinching. You hardly remembered brushing your teeth or checking the corners of your room five times. You even asked someone who lived on your floor the following morning—a quiet girl from across the hall.

She blinked when you asked her if she saw anything weird last night. "Actually..." she said slowly, brushing hair behind her ear, "I think I did. I came back up around 11, and I swear I saw some guy coming out of the elevator in a rush. Hoodie, black cap. Didn't look at me."

Your heart sank.

That was around when the note came.

You nodded, thanked her, forced a smile—then immediately left.

You went to the café again. It felt like the only place that your brain wouldn't spiral. Somewhere warm, with actual light and people. Jay was there, of course, behind the counter, looking calm and relaxed, eyes on you the very second you entered.

He froze when he saw your face. You had dull eyes. Dried out lips. Your hair was slightly frizzy. Bags under your eyes, you looked haunted. He smiled meekly, "Rough day?"

You chuckled softly, "Rough night too."

He tilted his head. "What happened?"

You hesitated. You didn't know why you were telling him, but it felt easier in some form. Perhaps because he was listening. Maybe because of the way he made you feel... seen. "There's someone who... I don't know.

Someone sent me a note. It slipped under my door while I was cooking. I've been thinking someone is watching me. I've lost some clothes, the other day my balcony door was open even though I locked it because I know I did."

Jay's face transformed into grim disbelief. He leaned into the counter. "Are you serious?"

You nodded. "And... this other guy just died," you added quietly. "Someone my friend knew."

Jay whistled low under his breath. His jaw clenched slightly. "That's messed up."

You gave a weak nod, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I thought about reporting it," you said softly. "But the letter said not to."

His face went blank. "The note said that?"  

You nodded. "Don't go to the cops."

That's exactly what it said on the back of the paper. You hadn't told anybody else. Jay took a slow breath. He shook his head with a pursed frown and softened his eyes. "That's dangerous. But... if you can't go to the police..."

Jay's finger tapped the counter. "If it makes you feel better, " he said almost shyly, "you could crash at my place?"

You blinked at him, startled. Jay shrugged. "Just until your roommate gets back, you said she was with her boyfriend, right?"

You nodded again. You were feeling uncertain.

"No pressure," he said softly. "But honestly, I'd feel better, knowing you were "safe".

He gave you a smile, sweet, charming, harmless. But deep inside his head?

Oh, poor you. So naive.

He remembered the smell of your clothes, the feel of your hoodie in his fingers. The lace he took just last night. He remembered how you looked when you were asleep—peaceful and blissfully ignorant, him standing just outside your glass balcony door, watching for hours.

Of course. 

You should stay with him.

After all, it's what he's always wanted.

He mentioned he lived in the city, which was odd enough, but once you felt the smooth pavement beneath your feet in his neighborhood, you were shocked. The place was one of those areas: quiet, gated, wealthy.

Big windows. Neatly trimmed hedges. Actual wealth. You felt a little out of place dragging around your duffle bag in your flip flops with your hoodie sliding down one shoulder as the soles of your feet absorbed the dimmed warmth of the stone pathway leading to his house.

Jay was out in the yard throwing away trash when you pulled up. Once he spotted you, his face lit up with that goofy smile that eased the tension in your chest for a few seconds. He walked up to meet you halfway, effortlessly lifting your bag from your shoulder and brushing off your protests.

"You shouldn't be carrying this heavy bag by yourself," he said quietly while walking to the door with you, "not when I'm here."

His house was pristine—unnaturally so. The floors looked freshly polished, and the air smelled slightly floral and clean, similar to lilies. You weren't sure why, but it felt more like a show house than somewhere Jay lived.

Still, you were too mentally exhausted to think anything of it. You sunk into the plush couch like dead weight, arms hugging your knees, and sighed.

Jay's voice was soft. "Want to take a shower? I know you've had a long day."

You nodded. The hot water sounded like a blessing.

He pointed toward the bathroom and told you he bought a new shampoo "just for you." You paused mid-step, blinking at him. "You didn't have to..."

"I know," he said with familiarity. "But I thought you would want to feel comfortable here. Like home."

That last word lingered in your throat a bit. Like home. You weren't sure why that caused a skip in your heart, but you nodded again and walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind you. The shampoo was branded with your favorite smell. You didn't even remember telling him that.

You thought for a second if you had—in passing perhaps—and just attributed it to that. You were too mentally fatigued to ponder deeper any more. Maybe it was all coincidence. 

When you came out, hair damp and clinging to your shoulders, wearing one of his robes, he was in the kitchen humming something deep under his breath.

It wasn't anything you recognized. Something about it made you feel like it would be crossing a line to ask for a name. The humming stopped the moment you entered the room.

You gave a weak smile. "Smells good."

Jay glanced over his shoulder at you, still in the apron, and his smile came back to him easily again. "I made you gyudon. I saw you skipped meals too, right?"

You stared. "...How did you know?"

"You hardly touched your food at the café the past two days.

"I notice things.."

It should have weirded you out. But it didn't. Not fully.

Maybe because you were starting to crave someone noticing. Anyone. You were scared. People around you kept dying. You had nightmares last night. Your roommate hadn't texted back. You were shaking when you showed up. And now there was warm food and someone smiling at you like he wanted nothing more than for you to eat.

You dug in.

It was pretty good. Really good.

Jay sat across from you quietly taking you in, barely touching his plate. His eyes traced the movement of your mouth with a kind of gentle reverence that made you swallow slower, more aware. He smiled every time you brushed your fingers across the spoon, like he was trying to memorize the way you held it.

"You live here alone?" you said softly, trying to break the strange quiet.

His eyes didn't leave you.

"Yeah."

"What about your parents?"

His smile didn't change, but something in his eyes... cracked.

It was small. Barely perceptible.

"They're overseas," he said simply. "They've been gone for a long time."

You nodded.

You didn't prod further.

Because you didn't know they were buried in the back garden. That he'd killed them when he was fifteen and inherited their wealth through some falsified documents and a charming lie to the courts. That no one asked too many questions—not when his parents had always been so strict and he had such a promising future.

He stood, taking your empty bowl. "I'll clean this up. You can get ready for bed."

You thanked him again, pulling the sleeves over your hands as you stood awkwardly in the living room. You wanted to ask where you were sleeping, but before you could, Jay's voice cut in again.

"You can wear my shirt, if you want," he said, "I left one on the bed."

And you did find it, folded on the edge of the bed, a black shirt that smelled just like him. You changed and curled up under the blankets. Your eyes were heavy. His room was warm and you had a fleeting sense of peace, your body was too tired to worry about any of it anymore.

You didn't notice the door creaking open thirty minutes later.

You didn't see him, standing half asleep and barefoot over you.

You didn't feel the way his fingers hovered just above your hair, brushing without touching and his breath shallow.

You only sighed in your sleep, shifting ever so slightly.

He stood there for a while.

Watching.

He mumbled something you didn't hear—too quiet to decipher—and then he slipped something small and cold under your pillow and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You wouldn't find the photo for another few days.

A polaroid of you.

Asleep.

From your dorm balcony.

You'll tell yourself it's just a prank when you find it.

And he'll hug you tight, assuring you are safe with him.

The nightmare was suffocating. A black figure chasing you through hallways that bled into each other, twisting, growing darker the further you ran.

The faster your feet moved, the heavier they felt—until finally something grabbed your ankle, pulling you into a void of whispering voices and shadows with human faces.

One of them smiled. It was wearing Jay's face.

You jolted awake, gasping for air as beads of sweat clung to your body and your shirt stuck to your spine. The sheets were tangled around your legs leaving you feeling restrained, as though the sheets were also wrapped around your body.

The air felt still. Too still. It felt like the house itself was holding its breath.

You sat up unsteadily, kicking the covers off, and planted your cold bare feet on the freezing ground. It shocked you for a second.

Not real, you told yourself. Just a nightmare. You stepped out of your room quietly, and the hallway was illuminated by gold sconces light. The hallway felt eerily quiet, and you walked slowly, your arms hugging yourself.

Then you slammed into a broad back and your instinct was to scream. The person spun around and you caught your breath.

"Woah," Jay said, blinking. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah," you stuttered, hand pressing against your chest as your heart thundered in your throat. "Sorry. Just a bad dream."

He regarded you carefully, eyes scanning the sweat that glistened in your hairline, your shaking arms, and your bright red cheeks.

God, you must've looked like a ghost, and he must've been worried. His lips parted, as if he was going to say something, but instead, he reached out and grabbed your wrist. His palm was warm. Much warmer than yours.

"Come," he said softly. "You're tense. Let me help."

He led you into the kitchen again, gently set you on the stool, then turned to boil the kettle. Everything was measured and deliberate—the kettle clicked, the cabinet opened smoothly, he'd elegantly poured a steaming liquid into a ceramic mug. 

He brought it to you. Chamomile. Soft and fragrant. 

You held it, your eyes still a little unfocused, until you felt his fingers trailing merciless up your arm, warm against the cold sweat. He then settled behind you, his thumbs pressing gently where the knots were in your shoulders, worked them out with ease and practiced motion.

"You're okay. I'm here." His voice was low, just above a whisper.

You let out a shaken whimper, and he leaned just a little, thumb brushing over your hand as he said it again.

"I'm here."

And in that moment, you believed him.

You mumbled something about needing the bathroom and stepped off of the stool. He nodded, telling you to take your time, and you gave him a weak smile before heading down the hallway. But then you passed the door to his bedroom—ever so slightly ajar.

And that's when you saw it.

His laptop—open with the screen still lit up. There was a folder window open. Your name was in the title. Your heart stumbled. It had to be a coincidence.

Then, your gaze settled on the laundry basket in the corner.

And there it was. Your underwear. One you hadn't packed. You hadn't even seen it since last week when it vanished from your dorm. Your fingers acted faster than your brain could check, clicking on the folder.

There were pictures.

Videos.

All of you.

In your dorm. Changing. Sleeping. Getting dressed. A close-up video of your hand reaching for your cell. A clip of you brushing your teeth, and another of you crying in your bed. You were filmed in a different angle every time, it was as if he had multiple cameras discreetly placed.

You clicked into another folder.

Target Eliminated.

Your breath caught in your throat. Names.

And faces. Some you recognized, vaguely. A guy from your lecture who always says hi. The tall guy you caught staring a little too long at your thighs when you wore shorts to the library. The student athlete you danced with at that party.

Dead.

Gone.

The nightmares, the news articles, the rumors... none of it was random.

You stumbled backward in a daze, landing on his bed with a soft thud, trying not to scream. Your vision blurred as you struggled to piece anything together. Your throat was dry.

No. No way. It couldn't be Jay. He was kind. He made you tea. He was warm. He—he—

Your mind was blown apart as a shadow fell across the floor.

You looked up.

There he stood in the doorway. Arms folded. Cold. Unfazed.

"I was calling your name in the bathroom," he said deliberately, in a steady tone. "Only to find no one was there." "Your tea is getting cold."

Your blood ran cold.

His gaze held yours, picking up the twitch of panic in your eyes, but he stood still. Just waiting.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, trembling slightly, but you didn't fight him when he took you by the hand.

Jay's hand slipped to your lower back, warm and firm, and he led you out of his room, as if nothing had happened—as if you hadn't seen a file with your name on it and proof that people had been erased from your life.

The hallway suddenly felt longer, dimmer, like the air thickened around you. But you let him take you back to the kitchen anyway. After all, where else did you have to go?

You hesitated before sitting down, your legs shaking, and you wrapped your fingers around the warm ceramic mug again. Holding it up to your lips, you took a sip—the tea was still warm, still soothing, but this time it tasted different too.

It tasted like control.

He leaned back against the counter with his arms folded, muscles straining against the black shirt, watching you too closely with his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, head cocked slightly to one side. He had you pinned in place under his stare, and your heart raced, and not entirely in fear.

You hated how your body reacted.

Hated that part of you warmed under his scrutiny.

"Y-You didn't-"

You cut yourself off. The question got stuck in your throat like thorns.

"Come on, baby," he murmured, soft, sweet—mocking. "Tell me."

You met his gaze, eyes wide. "The guys... the videos... why do you have these?"

He wouldn't even blink.

"To make sure you're safe," he said, voice steady. "I just removed the distractions. They were in the way."

You stared at him, unable to look away, as he reached out to your hair and curled a strand of it between his fingers, twisting it ever so slightly. His hand moved to your jaw, and his thumb brushed along the soft skin just beneath your cheekbone.

You shivered under his touch. Jay stepped closer, now looming over you, and you felt something flutter in your chest—part fear and part something shamefully warmer.

You should hate this.

You should scream.

You should run.

But you didn't.

Because he was so close. Because he smelled clean, dark, and intoxicating. Because part of you—some deep, naive part—wanted to be taken care of.

"You don't have to think so hard, sweetheart," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "You just needed someone to show you, right? Someone to make sure you were doing the right thing?"

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something but nothing came out but a trembling breath. That was all he needed. He slid his fingers along your shoulder and circled behind you again, feeling each inch of your warmth press against your back.

"I've been watching you for a long time," he whispered near your ear. "and I know what you need better than anyone else."

Your instincts flooded your mind—you tried to move, you tried to run. But hardly had you made it a step before he caught your wrist again—not aggressively but firmly. He trapped you between himself and the counter.

Your breathing stuttered.

"Jay-"

"Shh," he whispered, brushing his knuckles down your arm. "Don't be scared. I'll never hurt you. I only ever did what was necessary. You know that, don't you?"

His fingers stretched along the sides of your waist, and the touch nearly felt soft. You whined, the sound coming out before you were able to swallow it down.

"You like this," he said lowly—and you thought you could hear a hint of amusement. "You don't want to admit it, but you do. Your body always tells me the truth."

You clenched your jaw, fighting all means of response - fighting all means of your body reacting, but it did. Heat

You gritted your teeth, doing your best to not respond—to not let your body react—but of course, it did. Heat blossomed in your stomach. Your thighs clenched.

Jay leaned in, his lips barely brushing your temple. "You were meant for me," he said, his voice improved with conviction. "That is exactly why, no one else gets you. That is why you are here now. Safe. With Me."

He tilted your chin up again, your eyes locking with his. You didn't even realize how close your lips were to his until he smiled, slow and sure, like he already knew you were his.

And you were.

Even if some part of you still wanted to run, another part wanted to stay.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Too Late (Azriel x Reader) Part 3

Part 1 , Part 2

Azriel and Y/N finally talk, and she realizes that maybe the feelings weren't one sided after all these years. Is it too late?

               You tried to grow used to the life at the house of wind, but you could feel the awkward silence fill up every room you entered. Feyre was friendly, but you could tell she didn’t agree with what you had done. You spent a lot of time with Cassian, who was the only one who would really talk to you, Azriel hadn’t spoken to you since that night.

               “Hey Cas,” You peered up at him, you both stretching on the mats outside. “Could you…” You weren’t sure how to form the question, “Where is it?”

               He froze; his face unreadable. You tried to use your gift, to see what he was feeling, but you couldn’t seem to reach him.  

               “I think it will help me.” You whisper, “I want to help you, I want to be this secret weapon you need me to be but I can’t without any power, you must see that.”

               Cassian nodded, moving one arm across his chest as he stretched. “It’s by the river, I can fly you down there but…I don’t have good memories, I don’t want to stay.”

               You nodded, leaning back on your hands and staring at the bright sky, sun causing you to squint.

               “I’m sorry about Azriel.” Cassian started, and as you went to reply he held his hand up to stop you. “Azriel- I shouldn’t tell you this but I feel like you should know. Azriel went crazy when you died, or didn’t die, or whatever.”

               You held your breath as he spoke, feeling the guilt rise in your chest. “When we found him after the battle, he was covered in blood. I think he had gone through every body in that field looking for you, he was…it was horrible.” Cassian sighed, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms loosely around them. “He stayed for days, he didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, we had to drug him to get him to leave, and he almost killed us when he woke up.”

               “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “I wanted to come back, but…I was useless. I had grown too attached to Azriel- and when…I tried to tell him how I felt and he made it very obvious he did not feel the same way. Then that on top of me losing my powers, I just didn’t see a point.”         

               “What do you mean?” Cassian asked, and you sighed.

               “Before the battle, I tried to tell him that….that I loved him, but I wasn’t brave enough. Before I lost my gift I could feel emotion and I could feel nothing from him, just my own.”

               Cassian nodded slowly, looking around the empty training yard. “I’m sorry about yelling at you, by the way.” You squeezed his hand again and he gave you a sad smile.

               He nodded, “It’s okay.”

               He dropped you off by the river, pointing in the general direction of where your destination was. You walked, admiring the rush of water with the mountains surrounding you. You trecked along the cobblestone until you found a narrow path, following it until you came up to a stone secured into the ground.

               You squatted down, examining it closely, tracing the carved words in the stone.

‘Beloved Y/N

The light in the darkness,

I will carry you with me, always,

My heart will never let you go

Until the stars call me home’

               You gazed at the words, the emotions in your chase rising like a wave, impossible to control. You slowly sat on the ground, your eyes falling to the flowers beside you, placed there only days ago. Your eyes drifted to the view of the city and the river flowing through it, the stones from the bridge reflecting the sunlight in almost a blinding twinkle.

               You couldn’t help the thoughts of what life could have been- if you had told Azriel the truth, if you hadn’t run away, or even if you had died. The version of you that died deserved this headstone, deserved the beautiful words and beautiful flowers, but the person you had become- the one sitting here- didn’t deserve it.

               You sat in silence, the only sounds the occasional pattering of footsteps or the splash of a fish jumping from the water.

               “Every starfall, I only had one wish.” Azriel’s voice cut through the silence, and your head whipped behind you to see him standing, hands in his pockets. He made a motion with his hands, like a falling star. “Every year, I had the same wish. I would stand outside and look up at those stars and just wish so hard.”

               “What would you wish for?” You whispered, and Azriel turned to look at you, his eyes almost gentle.

               “Can I sit?” He asked, and you nodded, scooting over. “How do you like it?”

               He nodded towards the grave, and you gave him a tight smile, looking back over the light gray stone. “Honestly, it’s beautiful and more than I deserve.” You waited a couple seconds, “Az, I’m…I’m  so sorry.”

               “I didn’t understand at first.” Azriel whispered, looking out at the river. “The first thing I felt when I saw you- of course it was relief, but then it was betrayal. I couldn’t believe that you would put me through all of that.”         

               “I- I didn’t really think it would be that hard.” You whispered, pulling your legs up to your chest. “It was war.”              

               “It wasn’t just a war, we weren’t just part of the war.” Azriel turned towards you, and for the first time, his eyes weren’t guarded. “And I was so mad, when I saw you, the anger I felt is like something I have never felt before.”

               “Then once I was finished yelling at you, I came out here.” Azriel sighed, “After sitting here for a couple hours, I thought about blasting this thing to the ground, to be honest. But, I realized, the reason I was so upset when I thought you were gone-“

               Azriel stopped, looking away. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. He looked at you, the pain of loss still fresh on his face despite the decades that had passed.

               “The reason…The reason I was so upset was because I was never brave enough to tell you how I felt, hell, I never even got to say goodbye.” Azriel pulled his arm away to run through his hair again, and you moved your hand back to your knee. “I had the perfect opportunity, we were both there, but….I didn’t know if someone like you could ever love someone like me.”

               Your heart froze and possibly skipped a beat as you processed his words, you stared at the river and felt the relief flow through you. “I know it’s been decades, but…I still thought about you every day, I thought the pain of losing you would kill me.”

               “You…loved me?” You whispered, turning to him. His face, for the first time, was free of his grim expression and his eyes shone with vulnerability.

               “I’m not going to make the mistake of not telling you how I feel a second time, Y/N.” Azriel whispered, “I spent 140 Starfalls wishing I could just tell you that.”

               Tears filled your eyes as you stared forward, memories coming back to you in a rush. The way Azriel ran to you in the war, the words on his lips, ‘I love you’. The pain in your chest that never went away, that was him, that was his pain.

               “Azriel-“You choked, turning towards him and wrapping your arms around him. He took a moment to return to hug, but quickly wrapped his arms around you, breathing in deeply.  The pain was finally gone, free from your chest, and you let out a short laugh.

               He pulled back, unsure. “Before the battle started, I wanted to tell you that I loved you, but I wasn’t brave enough.” You cried, laughing at your own stupidity. “I thought you couldn’t feel anything because I couldn’t feel anything from you!”

               “How could you think that?” Azriel grabbed your face in between his hands, the rough skin gently touching your cheeks. “Y/N- you can read emotions; I assumed that you were reading mine and choosing not to reciprocate.”

               You cried harder, pulling him back into a hug. “I thought those were my emotions; I thought my powers were gone when you were nearby. Azriel- I was so in love with you, I am so in love with you.”

               You realized, that every time you felt the overwhelming and all consumer feeling of love for Azriel, it wasn’t just your love for Azriel, but his love in return. All the pain, the constant ache in your chest, that was yours to share over the years as well. Your powers were never gone- they were just so connected to Azriel that it overpowered everything else.

               “You are the light in my darkness.” Azriel whispered, pulling a piece of hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “I will carry you with me, always, because my heart will not let you go.” He pulled your hand to his chest, so you could feel the thuds underneath.

               “Until the stars call me home.” You whispered the final line. He leaned in, his mouth brushing yours tenderly. As you felt his lips on yours, his warm breath on your bottom lip, you pressed into him harder, placing your hand on the nape of his neck and trying to pull him closer to you.

               He pressed into you, lifting you easily and placing you on your back in the grass. You gasped, laughing as you looked up at him. A true smile found his face as he stared at you, and he pressed one hand to your cheek. “I am never letting you go again.”

[urinarythreatinfection]

Wider View

Shanks x Woman!reader. Very suggestive. 589 words. Bottom Shanks. Outside POV.

a/n: can be read as transfem probably. posting early bc impatient

It’s a slow day for an adult store, the shop owner, bored, looks around. They already don’t have a lot of people that shop in person, but there is the occasional person or delivery person. Today though, nothing, and the sun has almost set. They perk up when the little bell rings as someone walks inside, finally something to do. “Welcome!” They say happily, which falters when they see a sudden 6’6 man walk in. Scar over his eye, muscular, even missing an arm. He looks like bad news. His blood red hair moves as he does, making them nervous. ‘He wouldn’t try to rob an adult store right? Maybe the register? Should I call someone?’ Their mind runs through options as he peruses around. He seems to sense their unease because he turns to them and gives a friendly smile.

“Hello! Do you have this in a bigger size?” He asks, holding up sexy red lingerie. So he is here to shop, and that smile didn’t look fake.

‘Is he getting something for his girlfriend? That’s bold.’ They think to themselves before answering. “Yes! It should be in the back, how big would you like?”

“An extra large, and if you have the stockings longer that would be good too.” He explains and the shop owner goes to the back.

‘He’s got a big lady, I guess he could handle something like that.’ They grab the larger size and go back, handing it to him. He looks it over, then goes to a mirror and puts it to his body. ‘He’s gay!?’ Their eyes widen in shock, the man unknowing as he smiles looking at himself. ‘I would’ve never guessed..’

Ring ring

“O-Oh, welcome!” They snap out of it and spot a woman.

“Yes, is my husband here?” She asks and then spots the redhead, who quickly hides the lingerie behind him. The shop owner’s heart tightens, is he hiding his sexuality from her? A secret gay lover? “Shanks, there you are!”

“Sorry, love, just buying some condoms.” He lies and she hums.

“Well okay, hurry up because I already made a reservation for the restaurant.” The shop owner looks away, they can’t watch this. Telling her feels out of the question too, he looks like he could kill them in seconds. Their eyes go back when she continues. “Oh, and buy more lube. I don’t think even a slut like you could handle getting fucked rough without it.” Their eyes widen when she gets closer to him, her hand trailing to his ass and giving a small squeeze. “And I’m not slowing down even if you cry~” He shivers with a shaky breath.

“Yes, love.” He says submissively and she smiles.

“Good boy, I’ll see you at the restaurant.” With that, she leaves and the man takes a moment to catch his breath before grabbing lube and condoms. He places the items on the register while the owner is frozen. They manage to tear themselves from their mind and ring the items up. While the man is giving the berries they make eye contact, and he suddenly gives a mischievous smile.

“I hope it surprises her as much as it did you.” His eyes go dark, and the owner is suddenly reminded of those demons in legend that feed off of sexual energy. “See you later~” He winks and leaves the store, leaving the store owner with a dropped jaw and flushed cheeks.

‘Well. I’m glad they’re happy.’ They think, but their world has definitely gotten larger.

I got too excited. Anyway, this can be read as transfem reader, but i didn't really know how exactly to tag that since ive never read about transfem reader stories. Anyway either fem with a strap or transfem no bottom surg. Taking everything in my body not to just post the rest. im a little nervous.. what if i hyped this and its trash.. its just a drabble.. gotta remember to keep my head on straight.

[n3ptoonz]

'Shape of You'

THANKS FOR 600+!!🩷🩷

Pairing: Laios Touden/F!Monster!Reader

Fandom: Dungeon Meshi/Delicious in Dungeon

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explciit! Riding, reader is a shapeshifter, reader is implied to be thicker, reader is tall, reader has larger breasts, mating press, creampie, msub to mdom, fdom to fsub, half proofread, plus size friendly, might've missed a few tags

Word count: 2.1k+

aye this might not even get much traction but i did promise to write this a long time ago, so whoever is interested, i hope you enjoy and thanks in advance for reading!

the reference that launched me into overdrive to write this (like i took a shot of crack and heroine at the same time)

Laios' party made a quick stop by a shop on a lower floor of the dungeon--they were in desperate need of food and supplies. Thankfully it wasn't as packed as the ones on the upper floors, but the prices were a tad more expensive. And most of the vendors were...monsters. Or some variation of one.

"You're ten coins short," you said, quite flatly too. It was all too often that people would come through with not enough currency in their pockets to get by via these shops. Funnily enough, you couldn't help but take notice to the armored Tallman that was a bit unfazed by your statue. Most that come to and fro from whatever land shake in their boots, sometimes walking away without buying the things they need to continue. You even had to get a shorter stool at your kiosk so customers wouldn't faint or run off.

You were a tall female Beastman--well, taking the form of one--and your bangs covered your eyes. Clad in slightly revealing attire, but to most this was considered normal.

You could overhear the shorter blonde elf asking the rest what they can do since they really needed those supplies. The Tallman walked back over to you, some pep in his step and a genuine smile on his face. He really looked like a sweetheart. He looked like one of those kinds that took interest in monsters, and you've seen it all before. He might try to distract you, ask you questions about your species or life while the others attempt to steal the items and-

"Is there perhaps another way to pay?" he said, "We really need these supplies and I've gotta know my options...Please?"

In his mind, he was taking a shot in the dark. Being unable to read your facial expressions, especially unable to read your eyes was killing him. But he at least had to try.

You were pleasantly surprised. Not many customers pressed on this far. Not one was successful. Standing up, now being a generous four inches taller than him, you watched his jaw drop slightly. But not in a "I fucked up" way. No...He was practically drooling.

How can a monster be so...beautiful?! From your rigid horns to the patterns on your skin, and your rich voice that rattled around his brain, let's just say it's a good thing Laios would never eat a beastman. He could die happy just at the sight.

"This way," you said while gesturing to the hall that led to a spot closer to your habitat. Laios nearly broke into a sweat as his cheeks turned a deep red, clearing his throat and turning to reassure his party.

"I will be right back guys. Don't worry about me, I'll handle it."

Did he believe that? Maybe? I mean, surely if he had to fight for his life he'd have a better chance of winning if he wasn't walking behind you and taking in your figure. The confident sway of your hips. The silhouette of your thick thighs through your skirt...Woah! What is he thinking? Is it hot in here? Or rather, out here?

At the end of the hall, it was foresty and damp place that honestly looked enchanted. Like an untouched land filled with nothing but dreams. Though, that was the entire point. What use would this place be if you couldn't eventually carry out an...alternative transaction here? It's only been three months since the walls shifted and allowed your escape to this part of the dungeon. Make the most of it.

And make the most of it you will.

Once further in, the environment became more misty. The vines surrounding most of the area released some opaque vapor into the air, causing Laios to feel funny. His vision became wonky and he couldn't stop giggling to himself.

"Something funny?" you said stopping in front of him with your back turned. Your...really nice back. He couldn't help himself. He kept imagining what you looked like naked, but in his defense it's what happens when he's nervous! You know, like what you looked like without that piece of cloth just barely holding up your breasts. Just what you looked like hovering over him with not an article of anything on except for those pretty shiny beads around your waist...

Damn it.

He blushed hard and leaned on a nearby tree to compose himself before attempting an answer. If he spoke now, he didn't know what sound would come out his mouth.

The second he looked up in your direction you turned around and looked him dead in the eyes with your bangs out of the way. His pupils grew and the shine in his eyes was gone.

"Traveler?" you said in a feigned innocent tone. Laios blinked a few times and groaned, holding his head. His ears were ringing and he was sweating just standing there dazed as ever. His pants were getting tighter. He could barely look at you or register anything going on as your voice echoed in his head.

-

The weight of his limbs felt like bricks. But his legs only felt like that because you were sitting in his lap, and right atop his crotch.

"I have a challenge for you," you whispered in his ear, shifting your weight forward to wake him up more. He inhaled sharply as his eyes widened. He so badly wanted to touch you. Grab your hips. You shoulders. Anything! He could only just look at up you with hazy eyes and nod slowly.

"I accept," he muttered. His words may have been a bit slurred but he was well aware of the situation. He had to get supplies for his party, and if this was the only way, then shit, so be it! He was the last man to complain.

You smiled at him and sat up to push his pants further down his legs, softly gripping his shaft and hovering over it.

"All you have to do is ejaculate," you said. "I'm going to ride you until you do so. Clear?"

You could feel him twitch in your hand in response. So, with that, you sat right in his lap with zero preparation or warning. You had the ability to shape shift, so this kind of thing was never a bother. Although he was beneath you and locked up as soon as he registered your warmth around him. It was like a wet heating pad.

What you chose to omit was once inside of you, his system would slow down. The point was for it to be difficult, just take longer for him to cum. Also for him to not be able to speed up the process with whatever strength he may have. Not a soul has been able to do this without tapping out because even though it's taking longer, the sensitivity is still there. Stronger than ever before.

The hands that were lying helplessly at his side were generously placed on the fabric that covered your ass while you rode him. It was a normal pace but to him it was excruciatingly slow, but that didn't stop that goofy lazy smile from forming on his lips.

Every thought of his walking down that hall came true--which wasn't too many. You holding his head up let him just sit there with your tits bouncing in his face. This was not helping in the slightest. Oh the things he could say. The things he could do! Which was really...not a damn thing.

"Three minutes. Impressive." you said. Three minutes passed already?!

"I'm so sad..." he mumbled, more like whined.

"Why's that?"

You could feel his fingers wiggling, trying to gain some kind of control again. "Your breasts...so nice..." he huffed and a single tear fell down his face. You could almost laugh.

Wiping his tear with your thumb, you leaned forward to stuff his face in your cleavage, and you just couldn't help but chuckle at his groan of relief; your arms wrapped around his neck for balance. His tight muscles easing just a bit even as you rode faster, this time for your own pleasure. You could feel his hands gripping and kneading at the skin between his fingers. The pace his hands moved was oddly faster than before, but you were too caught up in your own world to care.

He was one of few that was decently sized when erect, which was the most exciting part. Each up and down slide better than the last, if that made any sense. To you it does, be as it may, you don't get this opportunity often.

He groaned again as he finally got the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach, his muscles a little less tense than before. Laios had to keep reminding himself why he was here. Why he agreed to this besides getting a nut off with a scheming, gorgeously thick monster that was taller than him. Whatever hit him, whatever newfound purpose reached up and slapped some sense into him moved his arms up to hug your waist, but not enough to trap you against him. Not yet anyway.

You were still coming undone. Your eyes to the sky and moaning to your heart’s content. It was now you who forgot what the purpose of all this was. Ten measly coins? What an excuse…or a lie.

But there was no time to think about it as your hips suddenly slammed into his lap and were unable to move. You panted in irritation as you looked down at him, feeling him trap you against his chest as he mustered every bit of strength to roll over so you were on your back. He hovered over you and caught his own breath, his arms shaking as he held himself up for a moment. You looked at him in pure shock. Of the few individuals that went through this “trial” of yours, it was just the typical process of you using them. However, now, as you watch him sit up straight and press your thighs to your chest, flushed cheeks and all, you couldn't tell if you should be upset, or thrilled.

If you were annoyed before, then it completely vanished the second his hips connected with the back of your thighs. A guttural, yet pleasurable shriek leaving your lips and echoing throughout the damp, dreamy forest. Your bright colored eyes wide and your fangs bore in its wake. Laios was determined to make this worth it and just move the hell on. It must've been the angle—it was—because now the heavy, dead feeling in his limbs was free, and he thrusted like he had nothing to lose yet all to gain, which was true.

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life. It's like the rush one gets when having a worthy opponent. The intensity running through your veins caused your form to change mid thrust, and you were focused on nothing else but the both of you reaching climax. You were already close to it, and especially Laois now that he just watched you shift like that because of him. He cursed under his breath and thrusted harder.

“You're…you are gorgeous,” he said breathlessly, his eyes taking in a totally different version of you. He groaned loudly once your tail wrapped around his neck. “In every form,” he added in a strained whisper.

He finally snapped. That sticky, warm substance filling the caverns of your core was almost never ending. You bucked and shook under him, shifting a few more times as your orgasm hit you like a weighted blanket in the cold. His hips finally stilled and he panted like a dog, shakily removing himself and watching his cum leak onto your now bigger tail from the new shift. You let out a sigh as your body relaxed, letting your legs thump against the ground.

“Traveler,” you said with a breathy laugh and looked at him while sitting up. “Take whatever you need.”

He helped you stand, silently marveling at the feeling of your hand in his since this shift gave you claws. Oh, how he wishes he could stay guess what you turned into post-Beastman form, but he had duties and a party to lead. He watched as his own cum evaporated from the ground, so he could only imagine at this point what it looked like after coating those walls of yours, like something he'd never felt before. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and stood upright, seeing the blush form quickly on his cheeks.

“It’s on the house.”

-

A/N: hello my tooniez <3, LOL, i hope this is not garbanzo beans. i been gone QUITE a bit, im not fully back yet cause college drained the hell out of my writing desires. i have my ideas but taking classes that involve writing really slapped me around 🗿 anyway, thank you for 600 hello?? i'm trying to release the old requests sitting in my drafts for y'all and i won't open requests until i get that done, so it may be a while. thanks for being patient if you've been waiting/haven't forgot about me :3

i've been reading a lot too so hopefully it improves my writing style? who knows!

[ninii-winchester]

But daddy, I love him

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Demon!Reader

Word count : 3.6k

Warnings : angst (if you squint), foul language.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean was bored. No, he was beyond bored. There were no cases and Sam was, well, being Sam. He had his nose buried in some book and he refused to acknowledge Dean's situation. He kept throwing paper balls at Sam just to annoy him and he finally succeeded when Sam slammed his book shut and glared at his brother.

"What the hell is your problem.?" He snapped.

"Ah so nice of you to notice." Dean started sarcastically, "in case it wasn't obvious. I'm bored."

"If you're bored read some lore books." Sam suggested with a shrug.

"I want to kill my boredom not die myself." Dean rolled his eyes. Sam made a bitch face before answering,

"Go out to a bar or something." He got up from his chair and left the library. Dean perked up,

"Good idea Sammy. I'm heading out." He announced leaving the bunker.

He arrived at the nearest bar, settling on one of the barstools he ordered himself a drink. His eyes search the space, trying to find something or someone interesting, his eyes dropped a figure a few seats to his left. She looked familiar. He looked at her for a few seconds before it clicked, he'd hooked up with her years back.

Now normally he wouldn't be able to recognise anyone he hooked up with several years back, but he remembered her because she looked exactly the same. It had been years and she didn't change even a bit. And the fact that he thought about her quite often. More than he'd like to admit.

He couldn't help but think if she remembered him. He wouldn't know if he didn't ask. Besides he didn't have anything better to do so he approached her.

"Hey." Dean said sitting down beside her.

"Hi." She smiled looking at him. It was hard to decipher if she remembered him or was just being friendly. "I know you." She added making his release a breath.

"So you do remember." He smirked at her.

"Do you really think you're forgettable, Dean?" She questioned with a sly smile on her face. He laughed at her comment, shaking his head.

"I must say, you haven't aged a day since I've last seen you." Dean spoke gulping down his drink. "And it's been like what? Nine years?"

The two had met when Sam had left for Stanford and John had gone God knows where, and Dean was free to do whatever. He was hunting a werewolf. After he killed the creature, he found a bar and ended up her in bed. They spent three weeks together before John called Dean back.

"Nine years." She nodded. "But you haven't aged yourself." She replied glacing at him.

"No really, you're just exactly how I remember you." He said looking at her in amazement.

"Yeah? Above you or beneath you?" She whispered leaning closer to him. He wasn't expecting her to be this straight with him so it caught him a bit off guard.

Dean quickly collected himself and answered with a smirk. "Both."

"Good to know I'm not the only one who still thinks about it." She added and he nodded.

The two had spent weeks together but it wasn't just hooking up. Dean took her out on dates and she cooked for him sometimes. They cuddled, played games, talked about anything and everything, music, movies, dreams. Everything except their personal lives. And they had sex. It was as if they were together but without any labels, and when Dean left there were no hard feelings.

"So what brings you to Kansas?" Dean questioned, looking at her with curiosity.

"Ah you know me, i go where the wind takes me." She replied with a shrug.

"So you mean you're still wandering around?"

She nodded her head before speaking.

"And you're not?" She laughed.

"Nah I've got a place now. With my brother." Dean replied vaguely, not wanting to drag her into the mess called 'hunting life'.

"Cool." She bit her lip, she completely turned her body towards him. "Do you wanna get out of here? My motel is right infront of this place." She added seductively, her hand placed on his chest.

"With pleasure, sweetheart." Dean said helping her stand, he threw a few bills on the counter which were more than enough to cover both their drinks, he pulled her out of the bar.

The moment she entered the room her back was slammed against the door and his lips were attacking hers. She moaned in his mouth, his hands touching everywhere he could. He picked her up and dropped her on the bed. Clothes were ripped and thrown haphazardly. Their kiss was hungry and needy. For the next few hours the only sound that could be heard was of the slapping of his skin against hers, her moans and his groans and the filthy words he spoke that she loved so much.

"Fuck, I thought you were good back then but now you're just..." she trailed off panting, laying on top of him.

"You're one to say." Dean replied, his own breathing ragged. He dragged his fingers on her bare bare soothingly. "Missed this." He spoke after a minutes of silence. "Missed you."

"I did too." She said leaning up to peck his lips. "This is cozy." She added snuggling up to him. He wrapped his arms around her firmly. She laid her head on his chest when she noticed his tattoo. "Hey. I like your tattoo, what does it mean?" She said tracing it with her finger. He froze for a second.

"I don't know actually, I uh.. I saw it at the tattoo shop, and I just liked it." He lied through his teeth. She nodded laying her head back down.

The next morning, Dean woke up by the sound of his phone ringing. He groaned before answering his phone. It was Sam, asking where he was and that he needs to be back. Y/n felt Dean move beneath her and woke up.

"I have to go." He said sitting up, she pouted clutching the sheets to her chest as she watched him put his clothes back on.

"So soon?" Dean chuckled lightly before kissing her.

"We could do this again, for as long as you're here in Kansas." Dean said tying his shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed. She moved closer so she could hug him from behind.

"De." She said resting her head on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her. She was quiet for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I meant it when I said I missed you." She mumbled against his shoulder. He tilted his head to look at her better. He gave her a confused look not getting where she was going with this. She unwrapped her arms from his torso and shifted to his side, and straddled his waist. He leaned back a bit so she could sit comfortably. He gripped her hips, holding her gaze. "Dean, those three weeks were the best days of my life. I never thought I'd ever meet you again. In my entire life no one has ever made me feel the way you do, can we.. could we try-" Her heart dropped the moment his grip loosened and he avoided eye contact. She whispered a quiet "oh" and quickly got off his lap.

"Y/n-"

"I get it, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She was embarrassed, she really thought he felt the same.

"You didn't. It's just... it's complicated." Dean said standing up from where he sat on the bed.

"Yeah, no.. I get it." She nodded not meeting his gaze. Before either of them could say anything else, Dean's phone rang again. He sighed before answering.

"Yes Sam, I'm on my way. Yeah." He spoke into the phone before hanging up. He gave her one last glance before walking out of the door.

It had been three days since Dean walked out of her motel room and she felt pretty shitty. She basically asked him out and he outright rejected her. She sat at the small table, nursing a glass of scotch when she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door expecting anyone but Dean, yet here he was.

"Not gonna invite me in, sweetheart?" He asked leaning against the doorframe.

"Find someone else to wet your dick." She rolled her eyes, closing the door but stopped it with his foot.

"C'mon don't be like that. I just want to talk." He said softly, prompting her to open the door wider. She walked back and he entered inside. "Look, I know I was a dick last time you saw me, but like I said it's complicated." She didn't speak or even acknowledge his words. "I would love nothing more than to be with you but it'd be hard." She raised her brow at him and he rubbed his face. "I'm gone, alot. I wouldn't be here everytime you need me. And you, you never stay at one place for a long time. I'm willingly to do this if you're okay with it."

"You really think I wouldn't stay, if you'd ask?" She said walking towards him. "Dean, the last time I felt something, felt alive was nine years ago. I was callous before and after you." She said honestly and her words couldn't have been anymore true. She was a demon. She hadn't felt, feelings for as long as she can remember. But with Dean, she felt everything there is.

"Let's do this." Dean leaned down kissing her softly. For the past three days all he did was think. He still wasn't sure what prompted him to give in to her, but it's time he started living for himself a bit.

Months passed, Y/n had gotten herself an apartment in Kansas, her and Dean had been going strong. They went out for drives, Dean stayed over sometimes, and had phenomenal sex whenver they could. Y/n had yet to visit his "place" since his brother doesn't know about them and she was fine with it. Part of her was relieved Dean couldn't stay longer. She didn't have to keep her "human charade" up.

Unbeknownst to them, both of them were hiding a significant secret from each other. But that was until,

"Princess, you can't go in there, his majesty is in an important meeting-" A measely demon tried to stop her from entering the chamber Crowley has his 'throne' in.

"Shut up before I disintegrate you into nothing." She sneered, her eyes turned completely black. She knew she wouldn't do but that demon didn't know that nor did he need to know. She pushed open the door, her father sitting on his so called throne while two men stood in front of him, their backs to her. She was too angry to recognise the silhouette of the body in front of her. "How many times do I have to tell you not-"

"Darlin' I'm a bit occupied at the moment." The man with the Scottish accent interrupted her. The two men turned around and her eyes widened.

"Dean, What're you doing here?" She questioned. His face seemed like he'd seen a ghost. He was shocked and confused. The other man, she assumed his brother, Sam raised his brows in confusion as well.

"Squirrel, you know my daughter?" Crowley questioned standing up.

"Your daughter?" Dean's jaw clenched as he looked back and forth between the shorter man and his daughter. She was flabbergasted and didn't know if she could get out of this situation. When she saw some demons following her, she confronted them, they revealed her father had sent them to keep an eye on her. The only reason she was here was to tell him to back off.

"You're on nickname basis with the King of Hell?" She joked looking at Dean. He glared at her and her grin dropped.

"What exactly is happening here?" Sam questioned feeling completely out of loop.

"That is exactly what I would like to know!" Crowley demanded looking at Dean and Y/n.

"What is happening is here, I just found out I've been sleeping with the Princess of Hell." Dean gritted his teeth. "You put her up to this, didn't you?" He glared at Crowley.

"She's my daughter, not some hooker. And why would I even do that? We're besties, aren't we?" He said as if they had been childhod buddies. "Wait a minute, you're sleeping with Dean Winchester?" Crowley looked at his daughter, disappointed. "He's a goddamn hunter."

"You say as if it's a bad thing." She mumbled "I didn't know he's a hunter." She shrugged. "I didn't even know his last name until now."

"You've seen him naked, you didn't see his anti possession tattoo?" Sam asked, clearing getting a kick out this situation. Dean glared at his brother.

"Well I asked him about it he said he didn't know what it was, the last time I choked a guy half to death because of that tattoo and turned out it was some nerd book thing, Supernatural or whatever." She countered throwing her hands in the air. Sam shook his head at the mention of the Supernatural books.

"How could you hide this from me?" Dean questioned the look of betrayal all over his face.

"Yeah sure, I could've just walked up to you and said, hey Dean I'm a demon." She rolled her eyes. "You didn't tell me you were a hunter either. Had I told you the truth you would've killed me."

"This is different." Dean replied.

"Alright Romeo Juliet. Whatever it is, this is done here. Y/n, I forbid you to see him." Crowley intervened.

"But Daddy I love him." She replied and the three men present in the room froze.

"I need a drink." Crowley said.

Dean looked at her wide eyed, still processing her words. A demon is in love with him, before knowing her real identity, Dean himself felt something for her but right now he wasn't so sure. Y/n bit her lip, looking at the green eyed hunter.

"We should talk." She said walking over to him. "Privately." She added loudly looking at her father. Crowley rolled his eyes before snapping his fingers, him and Sam disappearing from the room. Dean looked surprised Crowley didn't throw a fit when told to do something. "He loves me." She said as if she had read his mind.

Dean was silent for a moment and the everything came crashing into him at full speed, his supposed girlfriend is a demon, not just some demon but she's the daughter of the King of Hell. He's been sleeping with the Princess of Hell and apparently she's in love with him.

"What the fuck!" Dean exclaimed, extremely pissed.

"Dean, let me explain. I promise I won't lie about anything."

"You're a demon, demons lie all the time, you've been lying to me this whole time." He snapped at her.

"I didn't lie about anything, I just hid one fact. Besides you're the one who approached me at the bar, both times." She felt herself getting defensive. "I'm not like other demons you've met. I'm not evil. Hell I didn't even ask for this." She felt herself tear up.

"I don't even know who you are!" Dean exclaimed. "Who's body are you even wearing."

"It's mine." She replied.

"That's not possible, if you're Crowley's daughter you're atleast over two hundred years old how'd your body even..." he trailed off. "What do you mean you didn't even ask for this?"

"I'm the reason he's what he is." She started. "If you know him closely you'd know his relationship with his mother." Dean nodded urging her to continue, "so when I was born he swore he'd be the parent he never got. He gave me everything he could, loved me too much." Her voice cracked, "When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with a terminal disease, and we're talking centuries back, I was gonna die. So my father, Fergus made a deal. My life for his soul. Ten year later they took him. He became a demon, kept an eye one me. He was happy that I was alive, When I was twenty seven I got into a fatal accident, I died. And he couldn't bear that so he transformed me with magic or shit I don’t know. He made me a demon. That way I would be with him forever."

Dean hadn't taken Crowley to be a man capable of love, he always thought of him as an evil son of a bitch who was the King of Hell and was there to cause trouble for him and his brother.

"He became the King of Hell because of me, just to give me everything I could ever need, he didn't realise by doing he kept me alive, but over the it made unhappy and lonely. I could never find love, I could never feel a thing. But nine years ago I met you, and I felt something, I don't how or why but I did, then you left." She whispered staring at him. "And then we met again, I thought I could finally get what I wanted, but I was naive to think it would work. I'm sorry Dean I never meant to hurt you, I just thought you're just a guy that I'll outlive and you'd never find the truth."

"This is a lot to take in." Dean said shaking his head. "I'm sorry about what happened to you." She nodded her head not knowing what else to say. "Is it true? What you said?" He asked cautiously.

"About loving you? Yes. I mean I don't know what love feels like, it's been a long time, but you do make me feel like I did when I was human. So yeah I do love you Dean. And I know you might not want anything to do with me after all this. But I'd do anything for you." She replied honestly. She'd been lonely for the past centuries, she's willing to do anything to feel something again.

"I did...uh" he cleared his throat before speaking, "I did feel something for you before this whole ficasso and I'd be lying if I said you being a demon changed it." Dean took a step towards her, "you said you're willing to do anything for this to work?" She nodded her head in affirmation, her eyes filled with hope. "We know how to cure a demon, make them human again."

"You do?" She asked looking surprised.

"Yeah, your father didn't tell you? We almost turned him human!" He chuckled.

"I told you I don't keep up with his evil shenanigans. If I did I'd have known all about you." Dean nodded in understanding.

"So do you-"

"Yes." She didn't even let him finish. "I'd do it."

"It might hurt." Dean warned "and what about your father?"

"Dean, I'm tired of being lonely for centuries. Yes I love my father but he has to let go someday. I can't live like this anymore."

To say Crowley threw a fit when he heard Y/n's decison was an understatement. He was beyond pissed. He went off on Dean, cursing at him, telling him he's always causing problems for him. It took Y/n a while to convince him but he came around when he realised this is where her true happines laid. Even if he was the King of Hell and Dean was his frenemy, he was still Y/n’s father and did gave Dean the 'you hurt her I'll kill you' talk.

The Winchester brothers took her to the Bunker and Sam prepared to cure her. They cuffed her to the chair in the dungeon inside the devil's trap. Sam had gone to bring the human blood, Dean kneeled infront of her. He cupped her face in his hands.

"It's gonna be okay. I'm right here."

"I trust you, Dean." She smiled at him. He placed kissed on her forehead when Sam came back.

Hours later, Y/n was screaming and groaning as they continued to inject her with human blood. Dean felt bad, wanting it to be over soon. When Sam was done, Y/n was sweaty and her head lolled to the side as she threaded on the edge of consciousness.

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean patted her cheek lightly. She slowly opened her eyes, her black eyes now y/e/c, full of life. She gave him a tired smile.

"Hiya, Dean."

Dean moved aside allowing Sam to pour holy water on her and she flinched at the sudden splash.

"Sorry, Y/n. It's Procedure." Sam apologised. She nodded lightly, she would've waved him off but her hands were tied. Her flesh didn't sizzle and the two brothers nodded at each other. She blinked a couple of time to adjust her eyes. Dean uncuffed her hands and helped her stand.

"Hi baby." Dean said holding her waist. She didn't waste anytime, pulling him for a kiss which he gladly returned.

"I didn't need to see that." Sam said loudly making them pull apart. "Congratulations Y/n, you're human now."

"Thank you for helping me, Sam." She told the taller man and he smiled at her.

"Thanking just him?" Dean complained.

"Well I thought I'd thank you some other way but if you just need the words...." Dean didn't let her finish before picking her up and making his way towards his bedroom.

Tags:

@deans-baby-momma @bansheesandbutterflies

[chvoswxtch]

part four: the massacre

[series masterlist] | [previous part] | [part five]

pairing: billy russo x fem!reader

summary: your security has been increased, but are you really safe?

warnings: swearing, mentions of past abuse, graphic violence & gore (this is a slasher people)

word count: 4.4k

a/n: I told y'all this was gonna get real insane real fast. the kill count is upped this chapter, as is the intensity. I want to reiterate that this is a slasher. if gore is not your thing, or even reading about it makes you squeamish, this is your final warning before you get into this part. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

A few days had gone by since Billy had installed the cameras. The detectives still had no updates about the case. You hadn’t received any more phone calls, but that didn’t ease your nerves. If anything, it made you more on edge. It felt like you were stuck in a purgatory of waiting, wondering what the next nightmare would be. Roman had never been the type to give up or let anything go. He enjoyed toying with you and fucking with your head. You didn’t know where he was, but you knew he was watching, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you turned off your computer and stood up from your desk. It was a little past five-thirty, and the sun would be going down soon. Grabbing your long black wool coat off the hook next to your office door, you slipped it on and tied the belt around your waist. The last few days you’d essentially been on autopilot, just going through the day to day motions, immersing yourself in any distraction you could find.

After slipping a thick manuscript into your bag, you slung it over your shoulder and flipped the switch to turn off the lights in your office, shutting the door quietly behind you. When you took a step forward, you abruptly paused, noticing that John’s door at the end of the hall was closed and the lights were off. He hadn’t been in the office in two days. It wasn’t like him to just disappear without saying anything, but his assistant had said something about a last minute business trip.

Pushing through the revolving glass door, the brisk chill of autumn air nipped at your face, and the sharp contrast in temperature compared to your warm office made you instantly more alert. The second you stepped out onto the sidewalk, an older man that you’d come to be familiar with got out of an all black SUV that was parked right in front of the publishing house. He came around to open the back passenger door for you, walking with a faint limp. He was dressed casually as usual, but you caught sight of the holster on his hip beneath the brown jacket. 

Billy had insisted on making sure you had an escort to and from work, and even though you still felt guilty he was doing all of these things for you without letting you give him anything in return, you couldn’t refuse the peace of mind.

Walking towards the open car door, you looked up into his kind brown eyes with a soft grateful smile. 

“Thanks, Dwight.”

He gave you a faint nod in return, a friendly smile stretching across his lips. Despite the streaks of gray in his dark brown hair, and the salt and pepper beard, he looked younger and less weary when he smiled. You could almost see a hint of the boyish charm he must have had in his youth.

“Of course, ma’am.”

»»———　　———««

After being dropped off in front of your apartment building, you quickly made your way inside. The golden hour had already dipped beneath the Manhattan skyline, and with the darkness of night came a crisp wind that prickled your exposed skin as the temperature dropped along with the sun. 

The elevator ride up to your floor felt like it lasted an eternity. With each floor it ascended, more and more weariness settled in your bones. From the moment you left your apartment every morning, you felt stuck in a state of hypervigilance. Every sudden noise, every stranger that looked in your direction, every time your phone rang, your brain perceived it all as a new threat. There was so much cortisol pumping through your bloodstream throughout the day that by the time you returned to the sanctuary of your bedroom, you thought your heart might finally give out from the stress and the constant feeling of teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

This was almost worse than the abuse. At least then, you knew what to expect. You got to a point where you could tell when it was coming by the shift in Roman’s tone, the rhythm of his footsteps, even a slight change in his breathing pattern. Even when he caught you off guard with it, you knew the routine. As soon as it was over, he would leave you to pick up the shattered pieces of yourself, and then he’d come back demanding forgiveness with a false promise of change.

But this…this waiting and not knowing…the psychological torment was worse than the physical.

Typing in the code on the keypad of the door, a little succession of beeps sounded before the lock shifted. Stepping through the threshold, you closed the door and locked it behind yourself, setting your keys in the little green bowl on the side table. Untying the belt of your coat and slipping it off your shoulders, the muffled jingle of your phone ringing sounded from the bottom of your bag.

The sound caused an uptick in your heart rate, as it usually did lately, and your stomach dropped like you’d just swiftly plummeted from the highest point on a roller coaster. Slowly slipping your hand into your bag to pull it out, a breath of relief escaped you seeing the caller ID, but then a curious pinch formed between your brows.

John Altieri.

It wasn’t the first time he’d called you outside of work hours. You just hoped this time he hadn’t been drinking. Letting out a deep sigh, you pressed the green button with your thumb and brought the phone to your ear.

“Hey John, can I call you back in the morning? Now isn’t a really good-”

“Scary night, isn’t it? With a killer on the loose and all.”

Immediately you froze. That wasn’t John’s voice. It was the same one you’d heard on the other end of that call that had tipped your world upside down. 

“How did you get his phone?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. John’s ties to your life have been severed.”

The color instantly drained from your face, and you reached out to grip onto the edge of the side table to steady yourself. Closing your eyes, your voice was shaky when you finally spoke.

“You’re lying.”

A dark and sinister chuckle sounded from the other end of the line.

“Now why would I lie about that? You saw how knife happy I got with Adam. You think I wouldn’t do the same with a man whose stare always lingered a little too long? Who was always a little too…friendly? C’mon, Cass-”

“That is not my name anymore.”

A rush of anger layered over your fear at the mention of the identity you’d worked so hard to bury. You weren’t that girl anymore. You hadn’t been her in a long time. The person you were now had been born out of necessity, carefully crafted to be everything the other version of you hadn’t been. The sinister voice just chuckled again.

“You can’t run from who you really are. Besides, I did you a favor, and you know it. And now there’s one less person standing in between you and me.”

“You sick, twisted son of-”

“As a matter of fact, there’s three less people standing in between us now. Four, if you count lover boy.”

The taunting tone of the deep voice made your blood run cold, and a furrow of confusion nestled between your brows. If he was insinuating John was dead, then that made two victims, not four.

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you alone in the apartment?

Your eyes darted back and forth as your brain tried to process the implication behind that question. When you glanced down at the side table you still had a tight grip on, you noticed that Annie’s keys were in the bowl beneath yours. Turning your head slightly, you saw that Derek’s boots were by the front door.

Slowly, you turned around towards the living room, seeing that it was empty. Annie’s purse was on the coffee table, but there was no sign of her, or Derek. Walking further into the living room quietly, you cautiously stepped around the corner to look into the kitchen, but it was empty too. 

“Anyone home?”

Gripping tightly onto the phone in your hand, you grit your teeth as the voice taunted you once again with another dark chuckle. Fury suddenly blazed within you, causing you to snap and grit through your teeth.

“Fuck you.”

Abruptly hanging up on him, you swiftly pressed your thumb on your phone icon, and when the keypad appeared on your screen, you rapidly pressed the nine and the one twice. But before you could hit the green call button, the sound of a door shutting echoed from down the hall. Instantly, your head snapped up. A few seconds of silence went by before you timidly called out.

“Annie? Derek?”

The lack of response from either of them had a shiver of dread cascading down your spine, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The sinister silence caused anxiety to knot in your gut. Hesitantly taking a few steps towards the opening of the hallway, you glanced down towards the end of it, seeing that Annie’s bedroom door was cracked open and the light was on.

That little voice in the back of your head was screaming at you to run and call the police. It could be a trick. Roman could be waiting for you, ready to punish you for running from him, for hiding from him all these years. He’d brutally murdered Adam, and he hadn’t even known him. Whatever he had planned for you, it was going to be way worse.

But what if Annie and Derek were hurt? What if they needed help? What if they were-

Swallowing down your nerves, you let out a shaky breath and cautiously took slow steps down the hall, keeping your footsteps silent. Abruptly you paused, turning your head towards the kitchen. Stealing another glance at Annie’s bedroom door, you quietly took a few steps backwards and took a detour into the kitchen. You silently slipped the largest knife out from the wooden block on the counter and gripped it in your hand. If it was a trap, you weren’t walking into it defenseless.

You could hear your heartbeat starting to pound in your ears as you continued your soundless steps down the hallway. You kept your eyes locked on the cracked door, and your palms became clammy as your hands trembled with fear. Your nostrils flared from how heavy you were breathing, and when you reached the door, you paused for a moment, trying to will the courage to open it. 

Reaching out with your shaky hand that still grasped your phone, you pressed your index and middle fingertips against the cold wood, and a slow creak from the worn hinges disrupted the ominous quiet. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what was on the other side of the door.

A scream of sheer horror ripped through your lungs, burning through your vocal chords, and your eyes doubled in size in unfiltered shock. 

The pale lavender bedspread was stained with dark splotches of deep maroon. The cream colored walls were streaked and splattered with blood like some kind of grisly abstract painting. Annie’s lifeless body was in the middle of the bed, contorted in the fetal position, and a swell of nausea rose in your throat seeing that her stomach had been carved open, leaving her intestines to spill out in a messy pile of pink and red ropes. Streaks of her golden blonde hair had turned bright red, and her clothes were torn and soaked in blood.

Derek’s body was face down on the floor, a dark puddle of crimson surrounding his head. There were several tears and holes in the back of his blood stained gray shirt where he’d been stabbed, patches of his denim jeans drenched into a dark shade of purple, and you could see the jagged flesh where something had pierced right through his left hand. The sheer carnage and brutality of the scene shocked you to your core, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs. 

A choked sob caught in your throat as your eyes welled up with thick tears that blurred your vision, and your hand flew up to cover your mouth in absolute repulsion. The depravity of the scene in front of you was so gruesome, it didn’t even look real. It looked more like the set of some gory slasher.

Abruptly the closet door slammed open, the sound of the knob hitting the wall as loud as a crack of thunder, and your eyes snapped up as a tall figure dressed in all black stepped out. A sharp gasp caught in your throat, and your mouth dropped open as terror blew your pupils wide open. The glint of a blade caught in the light as it appeared in the figure’s gloved hand, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the mask covering their face.

The one that had haunted Woodsboro for nearly thirty years.

As soon as they took a step forward, your fight or flight kicked in, and you swiftly spun around and took off running. Racing towards the door, you could hear their heavy boots rapidly thudding against the hardwood, chasing right after you. Running right into the front door, you dropped the knife you’d been holding, your trembling fingers trying desperately to turn the locks, but your hands were sweaty and your fingers kept slipping. Turning your head to look over your shoulder frantically, you screamed when the ghastly figure went to strike, ducking right as the knife embedded into the thick wood of the front door.

When their black gloved hand gripped at your arm, you quickly reached for the green bowl on the side table and smashed it over their head, causing the figure to grunt and let go, staggering backwards. He only faltered for a moment, and then he reached out to grab your arm again, his other hand grabbing your throat to slam you back against the front door, winding you momentarily with a wheeze. Reaching up with your right hand, you blindly grasped at nothing until your fingers slipped over the solid black handle of the hunting knife, tugging at it to try and pull it loose. Releasing one of his hands from around your throat, he reached up to grab the handle before you could pull it out, and you swiftly brought your knee upwards that was right between his legs as hard as you could.

A loud grunt left him as he stumbled back and doubled over slightly. Pulling the drawer completely out of the small table by the front door, you swung and smashed him over the head again, the wood splintering into pieces, causing him to drop to his knees with another noise of pain. Taking advantage of the moment, you ran as fast as you could towards your bedroom, dashing into your bathroom and locking the door. Your lungs were burning and the adrenaline was making your entire body buzz like you had been struck by lightning. 

Panic skyrocketed in your bloodstream when a loud banging began to sound against the door, the person on the other side trying to break it down with deep grunts of effort. Frantically glancing around your bathroom, your shaky hands tugged open drawers, feeling a stone of helplessness sinking in your stomach. You had nothing in here to defend yourself with.

A shrill scream ripped through your throat when the knife suddenly pierced through the wood of the door before being ripped out, stabbing through it again and again five more times. Without thinking, you smashed your fist against your bathroom mirror, ignoring the pain of glass splitting through your knuckles. Grabbing the biggest jagged piece that fell into the sink, you gripped it in both hands and stumbled backwards until your back met the wall. Each wave of terror felt like it was pulling you further and further beneath the tide, and you could hardly breathe.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you screamed at the top of your lungs.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

All at once, the banging stopped, and it went dead silent. Sliding down the wall, a sob bubbled up in your chest, and it burst through the fear and panic in overwhelming streams. This was it. He was going to find something to break the door down with, and you were gonna die. Once again, you were weak, and you were helpless. This time when he tried to kill you, he was going to be successful.

You barely even registered the sound of shouting voices a few minutes later. You’d started to hyperventilate, and you couldn’t hear anything over your own panicked breathing and blood rushing in your ears, not even the sound of a familiar voice calling out your name.

The door burst open all of a sudden, and you screamed as you held the jagged piece of glass so tightly it bit into your palms, holding it out in front of yourself as a weak defense. Billy’s hardened expression softened the second he looked at you, and he swiftly lowered the gun he had grasped in his hands that had been aimed at you. 

“Shit.”

A fresh wave of thick tears soaked your cheeks, and your voice cracked in desolate sob.

“He was here. He was here. He-”

Billy abruptly set his gun down on the bathroom counter and crossed over to you in three short strides, kneeling down in front of you.

“Shh shh shh, he’s gone. He’s gone.”

Billy gently pried the glass away from you, and you didn’t even flinch as he pulled it from where it had been deeply embedded in the torn flesh of your palm, causing a stream of blood to flow freely from the wounds. Reaching out to rip the hand towels off the rack, he carefully wrapped each of your hands that were bleeding profusely.

“He killed them, Billy. He killed them-”

Billy pulled your shaking form into his chest, wrapping one of his arms around your back firmly and placing his other hand on the back of your head, tucking it under his chin. He rocked you back and forth gently, carding his fingers through your hair and speaking softly into your ear.

“Shh shh shh, I know. I know, sweetheart. Just take deep breaths for me.”

“He was here-”

“He’s gone, baby. He’s gone, I promise. Just breathe, sweetheart. It’s gonna be alright, just breathe.”

»»———　　———««

While the nurse finished up the final stitch on your right palm, four of Billy’s men were standing in front of him with apprehensive looks on their faces. He’d been primarily focused on getting you to the hospital, but now that you were safe and being treated, his concern for you had turned into pure wrath for his employees.

“What the fuck happened?”

None of his men wanted to meet his furious glare when his angry voice boomed in the hospital room. Even the two police officers standing off to the side flinched at the animosity in his tone. One of Billy’s men cleared his throat before speaking.

“We don’t know sir-”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know? There’s six goddamn cameras in that apartment and not a single second of footage.”

The fourth man lifted his head to speak up.

“He cut the cameras, sir. They were offline.”

The edge of Billy’s lips was curled up into a faint snarl as he snapped his heated glare in the direction of the man who had just spoken.

“And how the fuck did that happen?”

“We’re looking into it sir-”

“Look faster. Go.”

Billy’s men all nodded and mumbled out a ‘yes sir’ when he barked out his orders, shuffling out of the room in a single file line. His hardened stare followed them until they were all out of sight. Once he turned his attention back to you, his sharp features visibly softened. He took a few steps closer towards where you were sitting on the edge of the patient table, placing his hand protectively against the small of your back as he glanced down at the gauze being wrapped around your hands.

“These dissolvable?”

The nurse lifted her head to look at Billy, nodding in confirmation. 

“Yeah, they’ll last for a few weeks.”

Billy inhaled sharply with a curt nod, lifting his gaze to look at the older woman.

“And for the pain?”

“We’ll send her home with a prescription.”

When the nurse left you and Billy alone in the room, he stared at you silently for a moment. You hadn’t said a single word in the past hour. He slowly came around to stand in front of you, gently grabbing your chin between his index finger and thumb to lift your head. His dark brown eyes searched your face. There was a bleak look in your eyes, and your face was shrouded in despair. 

“I’m gonna find him.”

Billy’s voice was firm and unwavering, and the look in his eyes told you he meant it. This was personal for him now. All you could manage was a weak nod. Billy let out a deep exhale through his nose, gently cupping the back of your head as he took a step forward to stand between your legs, hugging you to his chest.

“C’mere. It’s gonna be alright.”

Closing your eyes, you buried your face into Billy’s crisp white dress shirt that had been stained with the blood from your hands. He was the only person you had left in New York now. 

A moment later, a knock sounded on the door, and you and Billy both turned your heads as Detectives Craven and Williamson walked in. Detective Craven had a manila folder in his worn hands, and his sympathetic brown eyes washed over you as he let out a weary sigh.

“You okay?”

“I’m not dead.”

The older man faintly winced at the edge to your voice. Rubbing his hand down his face, he let out another deep sigh as he opened the thick folder.

“Is this what you saw?”

When he held the photo up, you bristled and your blood ran cold. It was a crime scene photo from the original case that had shocked the once peaceful town of Woodsboro back in the late 90s. Two teenagers had terrorized the town, commiting a series of brutal murders, all while wearing a costume that had become infamous, and synonymous with the killings. In the crime scene photo was the original bloodied ghostface mask that had been worn by the two men.

The exact same mask you’d seen Roman wearing when he’d attacked you.

Swallowing thickly, you looked away quickly and nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Have you contacted Woodsboro PD?”

Billy glanced between the two detectives, his sharp features morphing back into the more stern expression he’d given his men just moments ago. 

“That’s privileged information.”

Billy’s dark brown eyes flickered over towards Detective Williamson, and he arched one of his dark brows as he stood up straighter and turned to face him.

“Considerin’ my company is the one protectin’ her since neither of you could be bothered to lift a goddamn finger, I’d say I’m privileged to it.”

Detective Williamson prickled at Billy’s accusation of inaction, firmly crossing his arms over his chest as he narrowed his icy blue eyes.

“Well thank God for you. I mean, without Anvil, we wouldn’t have a single shred of evidence about what happened in that apartment. We look forward to you sharing that helpful footage with us.”

A muscle feathered beneath Billy’s bearded jaw from the younger detective’s jab about the cameras. Detective Craven shot his partner a warning glare.

“Kevin-”

“With all due respect, Mr. Russo, this is a police investigation. We can’t afford bias or coincidence-“

“Coincidence?”

Billy took a few steps closer, towering over Detective Williamson with a menacing look in his eyes. Detective Craven lept into action, slipping his arm between the two men.

“Guys-”

“You think it’s a fuckin’ coincidence that son of a bitch was wearing the goddamn mask associated with the most notorious murders in her hometown? In his own hometown?”

The older detective pushed at his partner’s chest, forcing him to take a step backwards. Detective Williamson looked at him with incredulity, gesturing towards Billy. 

“C’mon Wes-”

“Shut up, Kevin.”

Detective Craven snapped, raising his voice for the first time since you’d met him. His younger partner immediately closed his mouth, clenching his jaw, clearly displeased with being chastised in front of you and Billy. Whether it was due to respect for the older man, or because he knew not to cross him, he stayed silent. Detective Craven turned to look up at Billy, holding his hands up in a placating gesture as he spoke more calmly.

“Mr. Russo, I assure you we are doing everything we can right now. We’ve got three dead bodies, and a missing person. That constitutes being able to skip over the, ‘red fucking tape’, as Miss Y/L/N so accurately described it.”

Detective Craven looked over in your direction, giving you a knowing look, and you could detect the faintest hint of a smile. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but give him a faint one of your own. You knew from that first meeting in the precinct, he’d been trying. It wasn’t his fault he’d been restricted on what he was able to do without any concrete evidence. He’d been on your side from the beginning, and you were grateful for him. His partner, however, could be Roman’s next victim for all you cared.

Detective Craven turned his attention back to Billy with a more serious expression.

“I put out an APB for Roman Walker. Every cop in New York has been sent a photo of that mask. I have several units out looking for him.”

Behind him, Detective Williamson rolled his eyes and let out dry scoff, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So we’re looking for a guy in a mask the day before Halloween, in New York City. Great.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @ferns-fics @danzer8705 @to-thelakes @simonsgirl @sweetserendipity65 @zomtart @day-dreaming-goddess @caroblogsthings @thomasshelbyswife @snowkestrel @hallowedtangerine @ameliaswife @dreadfulxives18 @ebsmind @lllla717 @slumnit @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @nolita-fairytale @oliviaewl @r1kk @unlikelystarlightcowboy @imperihoe-writes @dumb-fawkin-bitch @merc12-us @moonyinthestars @sweetttart @i-caught-a-pidge @fruityfucker

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[ruby-red-inky-blue]

So, uh, to recap on the ladies of Andor, the pinnacle of progressive writing according to internet consensus:

Bix: After her character consisting only of "good at mechanics", formerly crafty (in the first Ferrix arc) and "traumatised", Bix gains a new character trait this arc - helpless rage and ✨✨✨drug addiction✨✨✨! Goodie. I'm so mad at this arc for her. We never see this woman happy independent of her trauma. We see her make happy for men - the shopkeep, Cassian occasionally, Brasso and co. in the first arc - but the only time we get an unobserved smile is when she gets her big Girlboss Yay Feminism revenge. And the featurette has everyone going "oh this is her moment", "this scene is about her" - IT'S NOT!! It's about Gorst! It's more trauma porn! Her happiness and functionality once again are dependent on men! She couldn't save herself from her trauma - she needed Cassian to help her get the drop on Gorst (and let's ignore how fucking improbable all that is for a moment, how does he even know where Gorst is???), and her happiness is fully dependent on Gorst living or dying. Her character does not EXIST without him this season. Why do we only ever see her take charge of her life to kill her abusers? The only other positive thing she's done for her life this whole season is to clean up the apartment, and she was doing that to *checks notes* hide her drug habit from her overprotective boyfriend. Feminism!! Please don't read this as an indictment of people struggling to cope with trauma, or substance abuse - I'm just so tired of everyone acting like this is such an uplifting, empowering narrative for this character, because I really, really, really don't see it.

Bringing up Maarva and Kerri as people Cassian failed to protect and nothing else is so telling. That's not even what happened! He was abducted as a child, he didn't abandon his sister, and what was he going to save Maarva from? Old age?? But that's their whole narrative purpose to the writers I guess...

Mothma: Well, I know the constant political downward trajectory is her whole thing, but we really spend the whole arc seeing her do nothing but failing to convince other politicians (mostly men) of anything and being made to look like a fool for even bothering. So far all we've given her this season is being too soft and emotional (which, by the way, is why it's a little odd to me they're pinning the same thing on Cassian - why do we need this narrative redundancy here?). And her one "big moment" (read: over thirty seconds of uninterrupted talking) she gets to have this arc is either a front for Kleya's and Luthen's business or a pointless and reckless lashing out at Krennic's overt imperialism and propaganda.

Dedra: Yeah, she's holding all the strings, but in a weird way, her whole narrative is dependent on Syril now, and I have a bad feeling this is all leading up to him being butthurt about being used. It's a great spy storyline, but just like Mothma's part, great as it is, in combo with the deeply uncool treatment of Bix, it starts to feel like an unfortunate pattern.

Cinta: I actually liked her scenes a lot! Especially the scene in the café - it had an interesting ambiguity, for a moment there I was wondering if Cinta was running Vel, getting back with her to keep her on track on someone's orders. I think I may be giving the script too much credit here, given how weirdly stilted the other two romances were handled this arc it might have rather been a case of "the writer really thinks lovers talk that way". But even if it was an accident, I think that would be an interesting feature in the show, because they're the one couple who genuinely seem to be compatible and on the same page about what they want! And I get that they were making a point to get her killed so uselessly, by friendly fire, on accident. But man, this show refuses to give a woman happiness, even for the span of a timeskip. Whenever any of the ladies seems happy or get something she wants for herself, you can already be sure she's about to die or have something incredibly heinous happen to her immediately after. And the execution of that scene pissed me off, because if that scuffle had even just been relocated to the tunnel entrance, I would have bought it. But no, they're in a really wide, mostly empty alleyway, the blaster was mostly pointed at a wall and trapped between the two men wrestling for it, and you don't even see anyone being close behind them, and yet Cinta not only manages to get hit but instantly killed - what are the fucking chances? And yes, it's a metaphor, but again, with the overall bad aftertaste, it feels targeted and cruel at this point. With how little we got to see of Cinta, it really made her death seem like an afterthought. Like Brasso, this could have packed a punch, but we knew so little about her and had seen her even less, so it just fell flat.

My only positives(ish):

Vel: Her character is really growing on me! She has such a nice, well-executed, subtle development compared to most other characters on this show. She's clearly learned from Aldhani, and she's learning from Mothma and Luthen, too, and her resentment at the life she's leading is so beautifully expressed by her last scene: The greatest punishment she can imagine is recruitment to her cause. Because that's what she's doing to this guy. Recruitment. This is on you forever, this is all your life is now, you owe me and everyone whatever you have to make up for this. That's so heartbreaking, and so real. Am I pissed that Vel is constantly and pointedly denied happiness at absolutely every turn? Yeah! But at least for her, it feels like there is a little more agency, because she chose this life, even though she clearly has options. For her, it feels a little more tragic and narratively weighty, and less like a pointless onslaught of misery.

Kleya: I love her so much. And I could (and should) point out that it feels a little shallow to have her be completely reduced to "being the only competent person among men who are losing their shit at all times". We know nothing else about her, other than that she is Girlboss(TM). But, unlike with Bix, we actually see her be outstandingly competent completely on her own merit all the time, and even though the script neglects her, too, there is an implication that she has actively and deliberately sacrificed the rest of herself to be this spymaster - instead of the writers simply forgetting to give her anything more. And I just think Elizabeth Dulau is KILLING IT. In a weird way, Kleya is giving me the power fantasy that most Star Wars gave to little boys. It's not exactly a win for feminism - it's yet another flavour of "women can either be competent and powerful OR express their emotions and be vulnerable with people" - but I do have a soft spot for her, and her moment at the exhibition was the tensest shit I've seen this whole season. Nothing more gripping so far than watching this woman attempt to turn a screw.

[allfearstofallto]

Okie so we've had childe meeting scara's wife, but what about scara meeting childe's wife for the first time? If not can we hear more about the first one?

- 🍓

You are so right strawberry!! My dumbass really forgot that I could write the scenario going the other way!!

Scaramouche Meeting Childe's Wife

Yandere Childe! x reader x Yandere(?) Scaramouche

After almost a year of Childe fawning over you, the look of disinterest his coworker gave you was rather refreshing. The man, only a head shorter than Childe and obviously much more frail looking, had a scowl that could kill. You wondered how long it took to get a look that aggressive, but somehow still elegant on his delicate features.

“And this is my lovely wife!” Childe said rather excitedly and the man merely rolled his eyes.

“It's very nice to meet you,” you muttered softly, he didn't have much in the way to say back. Despite the cold of Snezhnaya he was wearing a shirt that barely went down to his elbows, shorts, and sandals. The cold of Snezhnaya wasn't normal, it felt like the air was biting you. You couldn't even leave the house without a few good layers, yet here he was walking through it with ease, “You're not dressed well for the weather.”

Another glare was shot your way, his eyes colder than the snow, “Skip the pleasantries. I'm here because I have to be. Don't pretend you want to speak with me.”

You didn't even dare look at Childe after the man spoke. He was always so quick to anger, especially when it came to you. Childe had very few loyalties in his life, one of them being the Tsaritsa, the other being you. He often told you how easily he could and would turn on anyone else if needed be, and it seemed this coworker was going to be no different.

“Number six,” you could hear that he was forcing the words through gritted teeth, “Perhaps I wasn't clear when I told you that I love my wife more than anything in this world.”

“You were clear. But perhaps I didn't care,” the man was bold, you'd give him that. And despite how rude he was being he still walked further into the home, taking off the large ornate hat he was wearing and letting you finally see how beautiful his silky, indigo hair was.

Childe followed soon after and the two of them went to talk. You could already tell that he wasn't completely friendly with this coworker, out of the many you'd met. You knew more harbingers than the average person did in a lifetime, more than you wanted to as well, but this one was the first one you'd seen be blatantly disrespectful.

But as they sat and chatted amongst themselves about missions and quite honestly, things you didn't understand, your mind still thought about how underdressed the man was. There was no way Childe would let him stay overnight, not with the way he was acting and Snezhnaya only got colder when the sun was down. You didn't want to just send him out into the elements.

“Could you bring me a spare jacket, and maybe some snow pants and boots,” you asked a maid and she was quick to drop what she was doing to scurry off and find things for you. In less than thirty minutes, everything was handed to you, neatly folded.

The meeting only lasted two hours and both Childe and his co-worker were leaving the office. You wondered if he ever got sick of scowling so much. Or if he ever even showed interest in anything at all.

Childe was walking faster than usual, probably trying to quickly get the man out of the house, but you stopped him, holding up the clothes that you'd acquired. The way both men looked at you made your heart sink to your ass, your orange haired husband had so much fury in his eyes from your kindness to the other, but didn't stop you.

“It's…it’s just cold out there,” you muttered, hoping that Childe would understand your explanation. He allowed the other man to take the clothes, a gentle smirk on his face.

Throughout the whole day, you'd never seen him with anything but his usual frown, you weren't even aware that he could smile, “Such thoughtfulness. I see why number eleven is interested in you,”

The door to the home was opened and the man ushered out. He was still holding the items you'd given him, not wearing them, but you didn't want to tell him to stop. Not while Ajax was looking at you so angrily. You didn't want to cause even more misunderstandings.

“Scaramouche,” he said while still walking out the door. You must've made a noise of confusion because he elaborated, “I'm called Scaramouche. And I'll see you soon.”