#aura coil

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Wurmweaver Coil

Some use magic to spy through walls. Others use it to crush them.

Artist: Mitch Cotie TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[burningcrab]

okay who’s next

[jefarawol]

The truth, is somewhat still unbelievable. And I only say this now so that some trace, however small will survive in the flow of time.

Louisoix evoked a great amount of aether to Summon the Twelve, a summoning that still was not enough. The wyrm broke free of its hold and was preparing to wreck destruction across the world. With the remaining Aether and prayers of the people across the land, something new was born. A power greater than we could imagine, one powerful enough to sunder the great Wyrm from the skies.

The Phoenix would bring rebirth to the land, if all had gone to plan. As Louisoix prepared to give the aether to the land, Bahamut clinging to existence seized control of his power and together they sunk into the earth. Together they would restore Bahamuts form to take revenge.

The aether now corrupted warped the memories of all near. erasing these final moments of battle and those of the adventurer who had stood by them.

The memories of my father had been dragged underground with them both. but that had still not anwered what had befallen him.

"In the moment when I knew my life would be over, when I knew I would not see my son or grandchildren again, I made a final choice. With what energy I could spare I tried to save him. To send him back to the family he had been stolen from. It was too much, I do not know where he came out, or what became him after that moment..."

Those words swirled around my mind until finally thy made sense.

My Apa had survived Cartenaux. And there was a chance, however small, that he lived.

[peachlover94]

Scrap Anime Series Idea Stockpile (Collection 2)

Here are some more ideas for potential new anime series both in long/continuing and short/near-OVA/ONA (Original Video Animation/Original Net Animation) form!

My question to you, is, which of the following has the most potential that would be deserving to be seen on television or online?

Hash it out in the comments below which ideas jump out at you the most and seem like they'd be fun to see.

1) Aura of Infinity - In this dark, tragic yet heartwarming josei/seinen story, a young male-to-female trans lady named Aura Nagai lives with an abusive mother, father and sisters who descend from a group of followers of a paleoconservative extremist religious sect of Mahikari. Already shunned and looked at with suspicion by others in her family as well as her school peers, it is through Aura still demonstrating her kind heart that a Shinigami by the name of Izumi becomes Aura's Kami Godmother and grants her the powers and skills to become a Grim Reaper. Together, Aura and Izumi serve as partners in defending worthy humans from evil spirits and hunting down all the truly evil souls so they can be judged by kindly King Yama of the Afterlife. Even as the powers start destroying her sanity and body, Aura as a Reaper is determined to leave enough of a legacy freeing her from her family's tyranny for true friends.

2) Cross Coil Chisato - In this bishonen/bishojo magical girl series, a young girl from a rotten family named Chisato happens across a magical coil bracelet watch that lets her change form into anything she can think of and need by shouting "Cross Coil!". Sometimes her jaunts with transformation into other people/beings with their knowledge, powers and skills passed onto her are simply for fun and escape from her family to do something nice for her few friends in the know of her secret. At other times, innocent lives are on the line as she must remain one step ahead of the world authorities and the powers who seek the Cross Coil to either destroy or take control of the world. Only Chisato and her friends can learn to use the Cross Coil with wisdom and care to balance out the powerful energies it emits - but the need to protect it will soon force Chisato to go on the run and finally free herself from her past for all new chapters.

3) Electric Warriors Aesir - In this bishojo/josei fantasy isekai sentai series, the mysterious video game and consumer electronics developer Aesir sends out seven rainbow discs which are then picked up by seven girls curious about them and what they could do with running a disc on their own game systems or personal computers. Digitized into cyberspace Tron style, the girls find they have gained powers in both cyberspace and the real world to protect them both from the viruses of Ragnarok. Through their ups and downs of friendship and battling to make and protect new worlds for strangers online, these seven girls form an order of knight princesses who are look stylish and cute while tough under fire. They are the Electric Warriors of Aesir formed from one Opera Yellow (3DO coalition), Leona Red (Atari), Siri Pink (Apple), Cortana Green (Microsoft), Revol White (Nintendo), Dural Blue (Sega) and Neo Black (Sony).

4) Guen Takada, HSPI (High School Private Investigators) - The high school comedy hijinks of Azumanga Daioh and the increasingly incredulous detective mysteries of Detective Conan (Case Closed) crossed with the teen drama of Riverdale and 13 Reasons Why? What's not to like? In this eclectic shojo/shonen/seinen/josei series, Guen Takada is a jaded child prodigy in high school who decides to fill out her extracurricular activities by becoming a private eye to solve the high school mysteries that don't get solved. She forms the Roppongi High Private Eyes Agency with her group of friends who are a rotating set of partners who fill the regular high school social roles - academic athlete, a duo of preppy straight woman and slacker wise girl, innocent space case, intimidating shrinking violet, and a secret admirer of the shrinking violet. From drug busts, missing mascots and even a suicide; the RHPIs can cover it for you.

5) Inch-Son and the Magic Hammer - The bishonen/shonen epic inspired by the fairy tale of Issun-bōshi, the childless old governor of Kumamoto and his wife make a passing prayer for the Three Gods of the Sea for a child. The three sea gods in conference with their mentor the Empress Jingū decide to answer the couple's prayer and bless them with a child about an inch high whom they name Inch Son. One day, Inch Son decides to leave home and set out for the capital Tokyo to become a warrior defending the weak and advising both the Emperor and or Prime Minister so his family can avoid destitution. At the start of his journey, he uses objects his size to overcome different obstacles, including using his size to defeat a voracious psycho from the inside so he can save a girl. Using the magic hammer the psycho hoarded on himself to grow into an adult, Inch Son and Reika travel Japan with the hammer to protect innocents.

6) Killer Rage - In this dark josei/seinen drama inspired by various vigilante movies, Katsumi Poku is a former JSDF Special Ops officer who has retired to be a housewife and mother for her family in Sapporo. Her retirement is cut short when a turf war breaks out between major Yakuza syndicates trying to establish footholds on all the Japanese islands. With her children hospitalized and husband murdered, a burning rage simmers in Katsumi as she plans to enact her vigilante justice by causing the syndicates' war to boil over. With the help of a comrade of hers from the JASDF infiltrating the syndicates, Katsumi wages unconventional warfare upon the family bosses by planting evidence that their underlings are plotting to betray them. With her new "employers" wound up, she gets them vulnerable to offing each other while she also makes time to help innocents who have been done wrong by police on a syndicate's payrolls.

7) 108 Pearls Of Twelve Knights - In this shonen harem action isekai series, a young boy gets a shock when he discovers he is actually a young prince spirited away from the Genpei War of the Kamakura Period. This boy, Makito, is rescued from a posse of Yukaza by an onna-musha (female Samurai) named Zuina who takes him back through a portal in a sacred onsen for his own time to their ruined kingdom. The evil Daishogun Watarou has been seeking the powers of Shinigami and the storm god Susanoo to conquer the lands he has ravaged, and Watarou's rise can only be countered by the 108 pearls of Amaterasu herself. Makito is brought back to Zuina's Order of the Eleven, a motley group of female Samurai including herself who chose to join together to get Makito back and liberate their lands. Together, they shall overcome many obstacles to obtain the pearls to grant each possessor nine wishes and defeat evil Watarou.

8) Pathfinder Super Dimension Armada - In this josei/seinen mecha/military science fiction series being a spiritual continuation of Tatsunoko and Big West Advertising's joint venture in making the Super Dimension trilogy of programs some of which got adapted as Robotech by Harmony Gold, fleets of giant space arks set out from Earth and the Solar System to seek out and terraform new worlds for colonization. Captain Kiana (Quiana) Photon leads Pathfinder's Pioneer Ranger Corps in protecting planetary landing parties as well as leading defense of the mother ship and attacks on enemy forces in humanoid Star Fighter mechas. Kiana is to men and women of her 777th Legion/Squadron the "Spectrals" the big sister who flouts authority when orders cross ethical lines. But Kiana must pull everyone together to stand against forces of the Krona Patriarchy - an empire built on the suffering of all women and nonbinary slaves.

9) Rescue Me From My Family - In this dark josei/seinen story, a spotlight is shone on family abuse and the use of online technology to save lives whereby battered kids and sympathetic guardians can find an escape to better lives. Noriko Kawada, an ex-domestic abuse survivor in her own right, managed to serve in the JASDF and then become a relief pilot for the National Rescue Aid Society as we follow her on what appears to be yet another mission - sneak into a village near Rokkasho and smuggle a young femboy to freedom out from under the heels of his intolerant and psychotic parents. She takes off aboard her NRAS-operated Boeing 727 up to Aomori where her contact waits to help her spring the boy Mitsuru Kitano out. In doing so, they trigger a cult of angry extremist Mahikari determined to sacrifice him and other kids for their sins - and Noriko realizes she is going to make quite a mess if the kids are to be rescued.

10) Tactical Witches - In this new installment of Fumikane Shimada's military science fiction World Witches series, we follow the 555th Joint Fighter Wing stationed in Diamond Bay just in between Fuso and Liberion to protect the Aloha islands against Neuroi. Dispatched to help whip the 555th into shape, Akira Matsura of the Fuso Imperial Navy has to team with Jenny Doolittle of the Liberion Army Air Force in building up a fighter wing capable of protecting a series of fighter and bomber convoys to take out both Neuroi hives encroaching on Asia and the North and South American continents as well as radical fascistic terrorist movements all plotting to overthrow the League of Nations and all who champion democracy. What they do not expect, however, is a Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant who after being shown up by many women being more capable fighters is about to go Section 8 and become worse than Neuroi.

11) Voyage of the Galactic Railroad - Inspired by the novel by Kenji Miyazawa, this combo of shojo/shonen follows the eleven Miyazawa siblings (six boys, five girls) who join up with the Allied Galactic Railways' crew of train number 8444 - the Starway Limited - en route across known galaxies to search for the meaning of life. This comes as the Miyazawas themselves in the course of their odyssey that they are some of the last remnants of humanity in space with the Earth being destroyed by the Earth's ruling corporate classes pulling a Samson gambit to wipe out their enemies in the working and middle classes trying to topple their tyranny via all the thermonuclear weapons being hijacked. As the Miyazawas search for their parents while trying to be representatives and protectors of humanity and other endangered species, tight bonds are formed with the crew of the Starway Limited and its own engine numbered 8444.

12) Xeno Precinct - Imagine the high school dramedy of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya and the speculative fiction (fantasy/horror/monster/mystery/science fiction) anthologies of say The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits along with cop shows like Starsky and Hutch. In a large metropolitan Japanese public high school, this josei/seinen drama follows a team of six boys and five girls who with the help of their teachers investigate the paranormal happenings and protect their city from horrors and invaders across spacetime. But whenever their club - the Xeno Precinct meets on Friday nights, they make sure to don black sunglasses and black pantsuits with white dress shirts before picking up the equipment to track down, scout out or eliminate any threats coming Earth's way. They do this as a way to keep the school funded for the next years or so by taking on service fees for keeping students safe from galactic psychos.

13) Zeo Amazon Electra - In this epic josei/seinen military science fiction mecha story, our Solar System is under the cruel grasp of the Solar Victors' Alliance with one planet and all its moons daring to fight back in pursuit of independence. A suicidal orphan girl named Naharu uncovers and bonds with a humanoid combat vehicle called a Zeo Amazon. This one, Electra, is one of the Pleiades - seven historic Zeo Amazons who once were the keepers of justice and peace in the Solar System's early days of colonization. Together with the Europa Vox forces, Naharu and Electra wage a campaign of terror on various colonies and outposts of the Victors in hopes of rescuing others who could bond with the six other sister Zeo Amazons to reform the Pleiades. Over the course of the war, however, Naharu finds she has a stalker in the Solar Victors' ace combat pilot Junpei Heracles who sees a dark future if the Pleiades ever return.

[some-bunniii]

ayo some luci angst just popped into my head, like….

imagine Lucifer falling in love with an employee at the hotel but their soul is owned by alastor and like?? luci is not happy about that.

*slams google docs on table, opens random 1.2k wrd snippet #234* behold…

x: GN!reader, no use of y/n

EDIT: read the full fic here

“What is this?” 

Lucifer had asked suddenly, his pupils dilated, trained on something against your throat. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, thumbs rubbing together in a soothing motion as you watched him move closer to you. Gulping, you parted your lips to speak.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything, before his hand gingerly lifted towards you. His nail grazed against your collarbone, and heat blossomed underneath your skin from his touch. 

‘Please, just stop here,’ you silently begged, eyes squeezing shut as his finger rested against your figure, ‘don’t ruin this moment by digging any farther.’

Your reaction only spurred him, however. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his pupils thin slits now as he watched you.

Slowly, his finger trailed upward, skin brushing softly against yours as he traced the invisible force only a powerful demon could see. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, every movement of his only quickening its pace. 

Until his hand stopped, right in the middle of your neck, and you felt a sizzling against your skin. The heat was becoming too much, and you wanted to pull away from his touch. You didn’t, instead, you tensed, deathly still before him.

A soft golden light illuminated from Lucifer’s palm, as his fingers wrapped around an invisible object. A shadow formed in his grip, and he tugged at it, that glow in his palm growing stronger.

Backing away, he pulled a long, thin chain from your figure, it snaked from your throat as it followed his grasp.

He yanked it harshly, as if trying to free you of a parasite that found a home deep in your bones. But it only dragged across the floor, refusing to dislodge itself from your body.

A thick, metal collar snuggly encompassed your throat. The chain locked tightly against it, a vivid reminder of your poor decisions.

Lucifer’s palm slid across the cold, metal links. Eldritch magic seeped from its form in the shroud of thick fog. Archaic symbols danced at the edge of your vision as its glow illuminated Lucifer’s unreadable expression.

The chain was a sickly green, its harsh glow an annoyance to his eyes. It was embedded with a dark, chilling magic. Whispers of untold horrors and ancient curses coiling around you, promises of a fate worse than death. 

Lucifer could practically smell it, that red demon's aura as it encircled around your frame. A twisted signature, practically scrawled across your forehead like a stamp of ownership.

Oh, the audacity of a person to take such a kind, selfless soul and rip it away from its owner. 

You weren’t some dog to be beckoned at the flick of a wrist. You were so much more than that, you deserved so much more than that. 

Yet here you were, the clasp around your neck like a shadowed hand, softly squeezing the life out of your eyes. He could see it, clear as day.

Small, white horns protruded from his head as he clenched the chain tighter. He tugged it once, twice, as if testing its durability. You leaned back slightly, the chain becoming taught between the two of you.

That collar around your throat kept you locked in place, as you watched him turn the chain in his hands. For a moment, Lucifer’s figure melded into the horrid shadow of your owner, and your eyes widened in fear at your delusion.

You could see it, feel it. Your stomach brushing the stained carpet beneath you with that haunting figure bent in a sickly, twisted angle in front you. That chain wrapped around the radio demon’s hand as he threatened you with terrible acts if you failed to stay in line.

Seeing your face contort into pained anguish only caused Lucifer to bare his teeth slightly, the sharp edges glinting in the light.

Seeing it so deeply entwined with your very being only further spurred the king’s anger. It seeped quietly from him, his grip tight against the chains as if trying to snap them with his bare hands.

“Who did this?” He hissed, his gaze boring into yours. He wanted to hear you say that demon’s name, wanted to hear you confirm the truth that was so obvious in front of him. 

You knew he wasn’t angry at you, but still you bowed your head slightly. Averting your gaze from his pleading eyes, shame slowly clawing at your stomach. For a moment, you felt like throwing up. Wanting to rid yourself of the terrible feeling that was seeping into your skin.

You felt like crying, or throwing yourself into his arms. Wanting to melt into his hold, and be told again and again that everything would be alright. That the most powerful man in hell would come to your rescue.

But, deals that bartered in souls are a much more difficult magic to conquer.

Fighting the urge to collapse into his embrace, you steeled yourself. Hands planted against your knees, back straight in a pathetic attempt to have some kind of power in this moment. 

Your eyes sullenly traced across the harsh links of the chain, its form all too familiar by now. Yet, it still caused such grief in your bones no matter how many times you looked upon it over the years.

Slowly, your eyes shifted to meet his gaze. Your lips curved into a frown at his expression, and your predicament.

How were you supposed to tell the love of your life your soul didn’t belong to you? That you were trapped in a deal of your own making? 

Curse that little fine line in your deal that kept your mouth sealed shut, that prevented you from uttering his name.

“I-I..” You desperately tried to speak, to tell him the truth, but that invisible hand that pulled at your tongue forced your silence. Tears pricked at your eyes, the desperation in them evident as your attempts to explain only died behind those pretty lips of yours.

As your mouth shut in frustration, Lucifer’s anger only heightened. His eyes flared into a blood-red glow, a harsh change from that soft yellow radiance you often found yourself lost in.

He pivoted harshly away, his voice contorting into a snarl as he stalked out of the room. His overcoat appeared atop his shoulders, and it swished behind him as he moved. 

Lucifer’s thoughts were too tangled with the images of his claws wrapping around the deal-makers throat to sit there and console you.

The tears that had threatened to spill finally rolled down your cheeks, your lip quivering as your eyes lingered on the doorway he had just exited. His thoughts too mangled with the image of his claws wrapping around the deal-makers throat to sit there and console you.

Placing your face into your hands, you sobbed quietly. 

Oh, how that regret had begun to consume you as you continued to wallow in your self-pity. 

Regret, for thinking that giving away your soul was a simple feat. That somehow, you’d still be happy after the fact. 

Regret, for falling in love when you knew the deal that kept you to that deer demon’s side would never allow you to enjoy such a fleeting emotion. No matter how hard you clawed to Lucifer’s soft embrace, that chain would always be there to drag you back. 

Those soft whispers of affections, of promises you couldn’t keep. Knowing, one day, that constant-smiling demon could play his little games and tear you away from your lover’s hold forever.

Oh, what a lovestruck idiot you are. 

thoughts?? this is just an interesting concept to me and i rlly wanted to share it with you guys! i woke up at like 4:30 am today and was like ‘what if..’ and this is what came of it haha

and mmm alastor makes a such a good bad guy too depending on the context x)

[wttcsms]

i wanna brag about it (i wanna tie the knot) ; choso.

pairing choso x f!reader word count 2.6k synopsis overworked, stressed, and in need of relief, choso comes home to the sight of you looking all pretty and sweet. it's been a long time coming, and tonight is the night where choso finally gives in to his deepest desire: fucking a baby into you. content contains babysitter!au (babysitter!reader), ceo!choso, half-brothers!choso & yuuji, toddler!yuuji, implied age gap, breeding kink, obsessive + possessive!choso, housewife kink, misogynistic ideals, wet n messy, size kink, belly bulge, bro is literally so in love with you and dreams abt starting a family with you

Choso could use a drink right about now.

He’s rummaging through his fridge, more than happy to grab one of the many bottles in the back (he doesn’t want Yuuji accidentally grabbing one by accident — not that it would happen, thanks to your supervision), but he startles away from the fridge when a voice fills the silence of the kitchen.

“Late night?” You tease, giving him that sweet smile of yours that has the stresses from today lifting from his body, easing the weight on his otherwise tense shoulders. 

Fuck. 

Proof that today was a major shitshow is evident in the fact that Choso has forgotten all about you. Staring at your body clad in nothing more than one of those skimpy cropped-cami-and-boyshorts matching sets you always favor, he finds it hard to believe that he could ever forget about you. The refrigerator light bathes you, envelopes you, casts a warm glow on your soft skin and makes it look like you’re an angel radiating some bright aura. A subtle glance at your entire body allows him a glimpse of two, tiny peaks poking through the thin material of your top. You like keeping the house cold. He swallows hard, finding the willpower to focus on your face.

Not like staring at your face is enough to stop his cock from twitching in his work trousers. In fact, he probably gets even harder looking at you, especially when he can tell you’ve probably just finished your very sacred and meticulous nighttime skincare routine, your face glowing. Seeing you all clean and fresh, savoring the domesticity of you washing your face in the same bathroom he brushes his teeth in, salivating over the way you look standing in his kitchen (it could be yours, too, if you would let him give you everything he wants to) wearing nothing but your pajamas — it all makes his hindbrain want to take over. He’s spent the last fourteen hours stuffed in a boardroom or his office, and your simple existence is enough to soothe his soul and send him spiraling, all at the same time.

Choso could really, really use a drink right about now.

“Sorry, I meant to call to tell you—”

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile at him goodnaturedly, like you’re not still in college with much better things to do on a Friday night than wait for him to come home. 

He should be thankful that you’re so sweet to him, but just the idea that you did have plans tonight makes a hot coil of jealousy tighten in his stomach. 

Choso knows that he shouldn’t be feeling this way; he shouldn’t even notice you as much as he does. It starts out with the little things, first, like making sure his assistant gets your favorite snacks restocked during his usual weekly grocery delivery. He asks you about your schoolwork, and then finds himself filing away people he knows in your major’s industry. It’s good to have connections, he tells you, giving you the number to a good business acquaintance of his who’s looking for an intern in the near future. And of course, he’s hyper aware of the fact that you are a very beautiful girl. Unfairly so, with the curve of your lips and the slope of your nose; every time he sees you, he plays a game with himself. Tries to notice something new about you, a beauty mark, a new haircut. If he had the time, he’d probably try to get an exact count of your eyelashes. 

And now, he’s noticing too much of you. The way the fabric of your tiny matching set seems to accentuate every aspect of your body. How he can smell the sweet scent of your body wash and lotion. The way you’re staring at him, so innocently, completely unaware of the lewd thoughts that run rampant in his mind every time you have him cornered like this. 

Some nights, it’s almost too much to bear. 

It’s been a tough day, though. Week. Month. Endless meetings, negotiations that never result in any firm solutions, just more addendums to contracts. He hasn’t seen much of anything besides his office and the boardroom; what’s the point of having an office with a skyline view if he’s too busy staring at spreadsheets and emails to even enjoy it? 

Tonight, Choso realizes, is the night where he snaps. 

He says your name in such a low register, you almost don’t pick up on it. You’re in the middle of telling him a cute story about what Yuuji did during recess with his pre-k class, but you pause.

Maybe it’s all in your head, but it feels like something in the air has shifted. The way your tummy’s butterflies seem to be in overdrive is only proof of this. 

You’re used to the perpetual tension between you and Choso. Filthy rich, successful, always in a nice, tailored suit — looking purely on the outside, who wouldn’t want to get fucked by him? The more time you spend with him, the more time you fill the role of mother over just babysitter for little Yuuji, which gives way to deeper observation of Choso. He works incredibly long hours, but still has time to stay updated on all of Yuuji’s comings and goings, accomplishments and awards. He doesn’t have to; it’s not like he’s obligated. After all, Yuuji is his half-brother, a byproduct of his father’s mistress. He didn’t have to take him in, love him with his entire being, but he does, and this makes you fall for him only more. 

Then, there’s the fact of how he makes you feel. Every time his hands will brush gently against yours, innocently and so quickly, you swear you’re being electrified. The way he says your name, the way he tells you anything, in that low voice of his is enough to get you squeezing your thighs together. But most of all, it’s the way he looks at you. At first, you thought it was because of your crush, but the longer you work for him, the more you realize that Choso will occasionally stare at you when he thinks you won’t notice. 

But how could you not? How could you not detect the feel of his dark eyes scanning your figure, taking in your features? How could you not detect the way his eyes will darken over in lust when he watches you lick sweet cream off your fingers from an explosive can of whipped cream? How could you not catch the barest trace of a smile as he watches you interact with Yuuji at a park, willing to get your hands dirty to appease the toddler while Choso watches over the two of you from his seat on the bench? 

How could you not fall deeper and deeper into his spell when the threads of lust continue to spool, tightening over your body, practically choking you with desire. 

You don’t even realize how big Choso is until he’s standing so close to you, towering over you. So much bigger than you to the point where if you look straight ahead, all you can see is the rise and fall of his chest through his white button down (the one you ironed for him this morning). 

His hands curl into fists, like he’s restraining himself. “Tell me now,” he breathes out, words coming out tight, like speaking to you civilly is proving to be a strenuous task for him. “Tell me that I shouldn’t fuck you tonight. That I can’t.”

Is he joking, or are you dreaming? You’re hyper aware of your breathing now, of the way you reflexively lick your lips, of the way your nipples are pressed taut against the thin, cotton fabric of your cami. You’re also way too aware of him, with the lustful expression in his eyes that give way to something more, as if this request of his means something more. Most men his age and in his powerful position have a wife or a girlfriend by now. As long as you’ve known him, Choso hasn’t been with anybody. 

The stress, the agitation, that annoying, persistent feeling of constantly being pent up — all of it has been building up inside of him. Whoever is going to be on the receiving end of it will be lucky if they’re able to walk the morning after.

“But you can.” You say softly, almost scared that this is some elaborate trick, a means to see if his brother’s babysitter is to be trusted. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

There’s something animalistic in the way he takes you. When he kisses you, it’s hungry. Open-mouthed. Sloppy. It would be invasive if you weren’t so eager to let him, to allow his tongue to hit the roof of your mouth, to swap saliva in the messiest manner possible.

But there’s something gentle there, too. The way his hands cup your face, or travel to rest on your waist. He’s sweet, taking his time to help you slip out of your pajamas, and sweeter still — he lets out an appreciative hum as he takes in the sight of you bare, naked in the kitchen. Fuck a drink, Choso thinks as he takes in your nude body. You’re the only stress relief he needs. 

He whispers the nastiest things to you as he gets you to sit on the kitchen island. He asks you to please spread your legs so he can see that pretty pussy of yours, and when you comply, he takes in a sharp breath before running a single, cold finger against your wet folds. He makes a crude, appreciative comment, asking you are you really this wet, baby? All of this because of me? For me? 

You can’t answer him, of course. Talking is hard when he’s using two fingers to fuck you open, get you ready to take his cock. He’s knuckles deep, and when he curls his fingers right there, the only thing you’re capable of saying is a squeal of his name. Your juices are pooling into a puddle on the counter, the same counter where you served him breakfast so many hours ago. 

He loves watching you. Choso could watch you every second for the rest of his life and still never get his fill of you. He only catches you during particularly chaste moments, moments where you’re humming in the kitchen or playing with Yuuji. He loves those scenes; it feeds the archaic, masculine ego inside of him that tells him he needs to make life easier for you. That you shouldn’t have to worry about school or work, about money or other frivolous things he has an abundance of. He wants to take care of you. 

Seeing the way you lose control of yourself from the work of his own hand has him getting unbearably hard in his work slacks. He loves watching you, and he knows he’s going to love watching you get all depraved and drunk on his cock. 

When Choso first tries to ease just the tip in, you have to curl your fingers over the edge of the counter, trying to steel yourself. With how wet and willing you are, it should be an easy enough task, but it’s made difficult by the fact that he’s just too thick. 

Tip red and angry, leaking with pre, wide — just the sight of Choso’s cock is enough to get you even wetter, more pliant for him, but even the first stretch still has you hissing. 

“S’okay, baby.” He groans, one hand on your waist, trying to steady you, keep you still so he can keep on pushing himself deeper. “You’re doing so good for me.” 

You certainly don’t feel like you’re doing much of anything. It’s hard, when you can’t stop your walls from clamping down on his cock, making it harder for him to move or even think. When he fully enters you, your mind is already too dizzy with pleasure to think straight. You think he says something, but you’re not sure what, and you try to focus on his words, you really do, but then he starts thrusting, and you think it’s powerful enough to tilt the axis of the earth. 

Oh, so this is what sex is supposed to feel like. He redefines everything you thought you knew about it. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, the way the slickness and heat of your pussy seems to keep motivating him to go harder, the way if you look down, you can spot a tiny bulge every time he hits as deep as he can go — all of this combined marks the height of pleasure for you.

“You’re so perfect.” He grunts out, relishing in the way you tighten up at his words. Your eyes are a bit glazed, almost like you’re struggling to focus on what’s in front of you. He doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, there’s pride settling inside his gut as he realizes that he’s the one fucking all the sense out of you. “Let’s do this every night, baby. Do you like the sound of that? Of being my stress relief?” 

He knows that you’re too far gone, too deep in the haze of pleasure, to process his words, to answer him. 

“I wanna fuck you forever, baby. Make you my pretty, little wife and have you waitin’ at home for me. How does that sound?”

He assumes when your pussy tightens up that that’s a yes. 

His hand finds your own, and he interlinks your fingers together. He might be fucking you all messy on the kitchen counter, but he still holds an overwhelming amount of affection for you. Of course he would want to hold your hand. 

He traces your ring finger, feels the familiar sensation of his release building up. So close, he thinks to himself. He’s so close to getting everything he wants.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum right. In. Your. Fucking. Pussy.” Each word is emphasized with a particularly hard thrust, and this — him saying that — is what your sex-addled mind registers. You’re vaguely aware that this could be a bad idea, but you’re too addicted to chasing after your high that you don’t put a stop to it. “Gonna give you a baby.”

“Please.” You moan out, the word coming out ragged and strained. Speaking is difficult, so so difficult. He’s happy to hear your beautiful voice, nonetheless.

“Atta girl. I knew you would understand.” 

As if confirming to him that the two of you are meant to be, you both cum at the same time. You feel weightless and drowsy, too out of it to even process how sloppy and wet the mess in between your legs is right now. If Choso pulls out, his cum and your juices would make the counter even more slippery. 

But Choso doesn’t pull out. His cock stays nestled in your wet heat, and he admires your fucked out form. You look a bit different from the fresh and clean girl who greeted him when he came home, but that’s okay. He loves you for you, every iteration you have to offer. He’ll carry you to the bedroom, where he can fuck you nicely, sweetly. Maybe he’ll try his hardest to not go too hard when he has you in a mating press. And after getting his fill of you, after the stresses of work disappear from his mind completely, then he’ll take you to the bathroom and get you all nice and clean. 

He’ll even be a gentleman, showcase what a great husband he’ll be, by letting you sleep in while he cooks the family breakfast.

[incognit0slut]

DARK DESIRES

Last part of kinktober | main masterlist

ghostface!spencer x fem!reader; dubcon, knife play, sensory deprivation, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, rough sex

A twisted encounter with the masked killer roaming in your neighborhood had you questioning your morals because as it turned out, you were more attracted to him than you let on.

words: 6335

a/n: this fic might not be everyone's cup of tea. IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, DO NOT ENGAGE. Anyway, thank you for the amount of love everyone has sent me through this short series. I appreciate it❤️

(find my ghostface reid edit here and here)

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER you had with the masked killer was at home. You were in your living room, absentmindedly flipping through the channels on the television until the news captured your attention. You watched with a mix of fascination and horror as the unfolding report detailed a series of gruesome murders, each committed by a mysterious figure concealed behind a chilling mask.

"The armed suspect remains at large as law enforcement intensifies efforts for apprehension," the newscaster's voice declared. "Victims have sustained multiple stab wounds, with survivors recounting a chilling detail of a mysterious call from an unknown number before each attack. Citizens are urgently requested to report any suspicious phone activity."

As you sat there engrossed, a sense of dread began to coil around you. The details of the gruesome murders had been haunting enough, but a chilling realization gripped you as the camera panned across the crime scenes. Your eyes widened as the news footage revealed a recognizable building. That was the local library a few blocks away from your house.

A shiver went down your spine, and a cold unease settled in the pit of your stomach, as you realized that one of the victims was the young teenage boy who volunteered at the town's library every weekend. It then dawned on you with chilling clarity—a serial killer was lurking in your neighborhood.

The second time you saw the masked killer, his face was plastered around town. Ghostface. That was what they called him. The once-anonymous menace had transformed into a chilling icon that echoed through hushed conversations and whispered warnings. His mask, a pale and expressionless countenance with hollow eyes, exuded an unsettling aura of anonymity. It was what you saw in every corner; materializing on posters, shop windows, and even billboards.

Beware of Ghostface!

It was ironic. For someone who was murdering people with his bare hands, your community was giving him too much attention. It wasn't until you saw a group of well-dressed people, who clearly weren't from around here, that you realized how serious this situation was.

When the FBI arrived, you knew it was no longer a local matter, but a national concern. There was reassurance in their presence, in the sense that the full force of specialized agents was now focused on apprehending the killer that haunted the streets. But despite their formidable presence, against all expectations, the masked killer continued to pursue more victims.

You couldn't help but wonder every time someone you knew was reported dead—were these people even doing their job right? What were they doing here when they couldn't arrest one person when they came in a full pack?

You never really noticed these agents, although you did sometimes see them lurking around shops and houses to ask questions. You didn't really give them much attention, until that one night when you walked back from work and saw a figure leaning casually against a sleek, black SUV adorned with government markings.

He was standing alone, arms crossed and eyes focused on you as you slowly stepped closer because the only way to your house was to pass this street. He was clad in the quintessential FBI vest over his dress shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up along his forearms. His height commanded attention, casting a subtle shadow that seemed to stretch into the surrounding darkness.

A cascade of curly, unruly locks framed his face, falling in a chaotic dance that obscured much of his features. But even in the dark, you could tell he was handsome, and the messiness of his hair added a touch of his disheveled charm. Yet, it was his eyes that held you captive. Stark and penetrating. Instead of finding comfort in the presence of an authority, you felt an unsettling chill crawl down your spine as his stare lingered on you.

"You shouldn't walk alone at night with a killer on the loose," he stated abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence.

Caught off guard, you stammered in response, "I, uh, my house is right around the corner."

His eyes, still fixed on you, held an inscrutable intensity. You shuddered. Without thinking much, and fueled by a sudden surge of unease, you briskly left his side.

People say the third time's a charm, that the idea after two unsuccessful attempts or failures, the third attempt is more likely to be successful or fortunate. However, in your case, you didn't know what to make of it when you encountered the masked killer for the third time.

It started with a call.

At first, you didn't bother the unknown number flashing on your phone, especially when a killer was roaming around town with its known trademark of calling his victims before his attack. So you ignored it and continued to prepare your dinner. But then it rang again. Once. Twice. Three times. The fourth time it constantly rang, you realized, that whoever was on the other line wasn't going to stop until you answered.

"Hello?" you nervously greeted.

"Hello there. Took you long enough," the voice on the other line replied. It was soft, distinctly masculine, quite disoriented, yet it carried a mysterious familiarity that you couldn't put your finger on.

"Who is this?" you pressed.

"A person."

You scoffed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief coloring your response. "Charming." With an eye roll, you dismissed the call, attributing it to nothing more than a prank. "Goodbye."

"Wait—no! Don't hang up!" The urgency in the voice pleaded, catching your attention before you could close the connection.

Frowning, you hesitated, the nagging sense that you had heard this voice somewhere before lingering in your mind. "No, really, who is this?"

The voice, now veiled in a playful tone, responded with, "A secret admirer." 

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across your face. "I doubt it," you said, leaning over the kitchen counter. "No one has ever had a crush on me."

"Well, I do."

"Tell me who you are then," you challenged.

"But it won't be a secret anymore."

You paused for a moment, the wheels of curiosity turning in your mind. "You really know me?" 

"Of course, I do."

"Do I know you then?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered, a playful ambiguity threading his response. "So, you got a boyfriend?"

"Why?" You laughed, the unexpected question breaking the tension. "You wanna ask me out on a date?" 

"Maybe," he responded again, maintaining a hint of mystery. "So do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"That's a pity," he sighed, his tone taking on a flirtatious note. "You look too good in that shirt without a man appreciating it."

Your heart quickened at his words. Was he... you looked around your house, your eyes traveling across the many windows adorned in your personal space. A mixture of shock and discomfort settled in as you considered the possibility of being observed.

"W- What did you say?" 

"You look too good in that white shirt," he repeated. "Doesn't leave much to the imagination." 

You looked down at yourself. The shirt he mentioned was actually a tanktop you decided to wear for bed, but you weren't wearing anything else under it, so true to his words, this piece of clothing didn't leave much to the imagination. The hemline hung low on your chest, leaving a perfect view of your cleavage. The cold temperature of the room managed to make your body react, which was why your nipples were pressing hard against the material.

"Hello? Are you still here?" Sensing your silence, the voice on the other line held a sudden edge of urgency. "Wait—don't you hang up on me—"

You quickly ended the call. Feeling a sudden need for privacy, you hastily closed the curtains, shutting out the view from the windows as you clutched your phone in your hand. Your heart raced, and a wave of dread engulfed you. The unsettling possibility that someone might be targeting you, and not just anyone, but the masked killer, cast a chilling shadow over your thoughts.

The phone rang again. You hesitated, a part of you urging against answering, but somehow, almost involuntarily, you found yourself pressing the phone against your ear. The adrenaline of fear seemed to override your rational instincts, forcing you to engage with the source of the unease, even against your better judgment. 

"I told you not to hang up on me," the man greeted you, but his voice lacked the soft, friendly tone it had before. Instead, it had morphed into something more sinister, a deep resonance that reverberated through the air.

"Wh-who is this?" you asked, your voice quivering with a blend of fear and frustration. "What do you want?"

"To volunteer. Let me appreciate how good you look tonight."

You were desperate now. The urgency in his voice propelled you into action. Your feet guided you to the front door, and you locked it securely before quickly running up the stairs. Panic seized you as you checked and secured all the windows, the sense of vulnerability amplifying with each lock turned.

A sudden sound of laughter filled your ear. 

"What you're doing is useless," he taunted, the malicious glee in his voice sending shivers down your spine. Then, with a sinister tone that cut through the air, his next words had you stopping in your tracks.

"I'm already inside."

The air in the house thickened with dread as his words hung ominously. Panic set in, and the once-familiar surroundings now felt like a trap closing in around you. Every creak of the house, every flicker of shadow, became a sign of impending danger.

He was the one to end the call, and you looked down at your front door from the top of your stairs. You calculated how long it would take you to escape your own house as you slowly descended down. But then, the closet door by the front, the small room where you kept your coats and unused items, suddenly opened.

The creak of the door echoed through the silence, and your eyes fixated on the widening gap. Your escape route seemed to diminish and fear paralyzed you. The once-familiar confines of your home now held an intruder, and as you stared at the ominous opening, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Your eyes widened, because right in the flesh was none other than Ghostface, stepping out of your closet with a knife in his hand. The chilling reality gripped you, and time seemed to slow as the masked intruder stood before your eyes. The pale, ghostly visage stared back at you, obscured by the haunting mask that concealed any trace of humanity.

You moved on instinct. You turned on your heels and ran back up the stairs, even when you were aware there was no escape unless you jumped out of your window. But it was a better plan than running right into the arms of a killer, so you picked up your pace, sprinting as fast as you could down the hallway.

But he was fast, unnaturally so, and suddenly you felt a vice-like grip around your waist. His hand urged you with brutal force before slamming your back against the wall. The impact reverberated through your body, and a gasp caught in your throat as the cold surface of the wall pressed against you.

His presence loomed, the masked figure inches from your face. The hollow eyes of Ghostface bore into yours through the chilling mask, and the glint of the knife in his hand reflected the cruel intent that hung in the air.

Panic engulfed you as his other gloved hand circled around your throat. "Pl-Please.." you chocked, struggling against the force he pressed on your neck. "...don't—don’t kill me."

The air felt constricted, and the desperate plea escaped your lips in a struggled gasp. The gloved hand tightened its grip, the leather cool against your skin, as Ghostface's masked visage remained impassive. 

"Kill you?" he asked, an eerie edge in his voice. "That's the last thing I want to do right now."

You desperately placed a hand on his wrist as you let your phone hit the ground.

"Don't move," he warned. But you kept on thrashing around, the primal instinct for survival overriding reason, and he tightened his grip on you. "If you keep struggling, I might have to gut you out like a damn fish."

That made you stop. Satisfied you were listening, he finally let go of your throat. The release brought a gasp of air, and you stumbled back, leaning against the wall. 

"I'm not here to kill you," Ghostface declared, the chilling mask betraying no emotion. "But I do have something else in mind." 

He responded by caressing your face and pinning you against the wall. The cold, gloved hand traced a chilling path across your skin, and you felt the sharp contrast between the mask and the vulnerability of your flesh. He tilted his head as he saw the fear in your eyes, tears welling at the corners.

"Aw, come on, don't look so scared," he murmured, a perverse tenderness in his voice that clashed with the situation. His sharp blade went to your throat, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine. He forced you to stare into the hollowness of the mask.

"Let me have my fun."

You felt the blade on your skin as he dragged the weapon along your body. He smiled when he noticed you tensing, trying to avoid the sharpness of the blade from grazing your skin. Through tear-filled eyes, you looked up, struggling to catch your breath. Fear still consumed you, a chilling grip on your senses, but alongside it, an unexpected emotion stirred. Curiosity.

As you gazed at the masked killer looming over you, a strange sense of intrigue took place. It was a baffling response, the surreal proximity to the infamous Ghostface left you grappling with a mix of terror and fascination. The sheer scale of his presence seemed to stretch into the shadows, and you couldn't help but wonder—was he actually this tall?

A sudden movement caught your attention as he took a step. He moved underneath the black cloak he wore, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he slipped a leg between yours. The confined space of the hallway seemed to shrink further as his presence pressed in on you.

And then there was silence. The air hung heavy with anticipation, and you sensed a deliberate slowness in his actions. It was as if he offered you a chance to resist, to push him away. But you didn't move. Instead, you held your breath, the rhythmic pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet.

"You've stopped struggling," he hummed to himself, trailing the knife over your shoulder. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

There wasn't time for you to reply as he hooked the blade under your top and ran it along the fabric, watching it snap under the sharp surface. The cool air hit your skin as you were suddenly exposed to him. Without warning, his other hand moved over your breasts, squeezing them roughly, earning a gasp from you. Your heart pounded with something akin to fear, or perhaps, it oddly felt like… excitement?

"Of course, you are," he muttered, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You could feel the cool touch of his gloved hand over your skin as he brushed his thumb over your sensitive bud. "Knew you were a fucking slut."

What was happening? It was wrong, morally twisted, yet you found a strange sense of anticipation as he continued to touch you. Your body was shaking, not just from fear, but from something else. While your rational side recoiled at what was happening, your body seemed to betray a darker truth.

You hated yourself. You loathed how easily you were giving in. You kept on reciting how wrong this was in your head, but when you felt the blade cut through the fabric of your shorts with ease, you didn't mind as much. Then your breath hitched when he quickly ripped your panties with his knife, and somehow you were now naked with his leg placed between your thighs.

"Would you look at that?" He taunted, his leathered hand moving over your curves. "You're dripping."

You let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up your thigh, stopping just before his fingers brushed over your heat. The touch was so faint it shouldn't have even had that much of an effect on you, but it did. It fucking did.

This was so unlike you, you weren't the kind of person to let someone you barely knew touch you. You even disliked the idea of a one-night stand. Yet here you were, legs wide open as you let a murderer touch you, and the messed up thing was, you wanted more.

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing your clit teasingly as if to test your reaction. You bit your bottom lip, stopping yourself from moaning aloud, your eyes fluttering closed as he played with your clit skillfully.

He was far too good at this, you found yourself thinking. Your body jerked as he increased his pace and you knew he had a goal in mind—to make you fall apart. The fast pace of his fingers had your brows furrowing as you chewed your bottom lip, desperate to keep quiet despite the way your hips bucked and rolled against his hand. He let out a chilling laughter.

"Stop acting like you don't want this," he said, increasing his pressure on your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, and you focused on that touch alone, the leather sliding over your wet skin. "Let me hear your pathetic voice."

You shook your head furiously.

"No?" He mocked. "You wanna bet how fast I can make you scream?"

His fingers moved from your clit, dragging down your slit and collecting your juices, briefly stroking you, earning a muffled cry out of you. Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually. He laughed again.

"I'm going to make you scream so loud your neighbors will know how much of a slut you are."

And then he pressed the edge of the blade on your throat at the same time he plunged two fingers inside you. Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open and a loud squeal left your lips, the sound distorted by the vibrations surging through your body. He hummed in satisfaction at how fast it was to earn that moan from your lips, and surprisingly, he loved the sound you made.

It didn't take long for him to force more sounds out of your pretty mouth. You felt the coolness of the wall behind your back, the pads of your fingers brushing over the concrete in a pathetic attempt to get a hold of something, anything that could keep you steady while his fingers kept pumping in and out of your throbbing cunt with a wet, squelching sound.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, saturating every cell of your trembling body. The electrifying rush heightened your senses, amplifying the surreal nature of the pleasure. You wriggled your hips under the pressure of his body that was keeping you pinned against the wall, feeling so fucking embarrassed by the wetness dripping out of you.

"Fucking filthy, letting a murderer touch you." He then dragged his fingers out of you and started to rub your clit in tight, rapid circles. You practically cried out and quickly bit your lower lip to subside another embarrassing moan. "You know how many people I've killed with this hand? The same hand touching your sweet little pussy?"

Your thighs tightened around his hand, trying desperately to push him away. He responded by sinking three of his fingers inside you and groaned at the way you were clenching around him. "Look at you taking my fingers so well."

The leather slightly burned your skin, and somehow, it only heightened your pleasure. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit hard as he continued to curl his fingers. You gasped as your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him while his fingers pushed deeper into you, touching a spot you had never been aware of. The sensation brought an unusual feeling to your senses. You looked at him in confusion, your eyes widening.

"Pl- Please, stop," you begged out of fear of the unknown. The tickling in your abdomen was becoming almost unbearable, and you clasped your thighs together and involuntarily bent your knees a little in an attempt to make his fingers slip out of your wet cunt.

With a feral growl, he suddenly threw the knife on the floor before wrapping his hand around your throat, pinning your head against the wall.

"Take it," he hissed and tightened his grip, making you jolt forward. You helplessly part your legs and whimpered as his palm brushed over your clit with every thrust, his hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he held you in place. "Fucking take it."

The sensation was overwhelming to the point tears began to trickle down your face, and you tried to desperately blink them away as they hindered your vision.

"Oh, you're crying now?" He cooed, still rocking his fingers violently inside you. "Pathetic."

Before you knew it, your hips were bucking, distraught cries escaping you. Your body shuddered as if it were under his control, forcing out your orgasm like it was effortless as his fingers curled inside you, continuing to stimulate you even after you begged him to stop.

It wasn't long before he was bringing you back up again. His pace turned into a more intense speed that, to your surprise, the familiar contracting of your pulsing walls was followed by the splurge of weird liquid coming out of you. Your mouth fell open as you writhed against him, your sensitive cunt almost numb to the sensation as he pressed you for more.

You were so numb you could no longer feel his fingers buried deep inside your convulsing walls, squeezing around his digits as you shook in the tremors of your release. When you looked at him in shock, cheeks burning crimson and chest rising and falling heavily, a pretentious laugh left him. With a vulgar squelching sound, he slipped his fingers out of your pussy.

"Squirting like a pathetic slut,” he spat, his other hand still wrapped around your neck. "Told you I'd make you scream."

Your body turned pliant as you gave in and sank against the wall. You watched him lean down through your half-lidded eyes as you tried to ground yourself, his movements deliberate and swift, grabbing your wrecked shirt from the floor. You watched in confusion as he pressed the flimsy material together before firmly shoving it over your eyes.

Panic surged through you as the sudden darkness enveloped our vision. Although you couldn't see him, you heard him very well. His muffled breathing behind the mask, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted the material at the back of your head. Your other senses were heightened when you were robbed of your vision that you could even smell him.

The sharp scent of sweat and a faint hint of earthiness clung to him, as though remnants of the ground followed his presence. Yet, amidst the rawness, there was a surprising note of sweetness, as if a subtle cologne lingered beneath the surface.

God, he was so close. His chest was now pressed against yours, and then suddenly, almost forcefully, you felt warm hands grip your jaw. Your mouth fell open.

He took off his gloves.

Goosebumps rose on your skin when a sudden breeze of air brushed across your face and you gasped. You could barely think clearly, and you could barely even brace yourself when harsh lips captured your mouth desperately. You couldn't believe what was happening, because holy fuck—you were kissing Ghostface.

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way he kissed you. A deep shuddering groan rippled through him as he continued to assault your lips. You were too stunned at the way he pushed his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you in a way that had your body trembling at the sheer force of intensity traveling through your veins.

And when you finally felt his bare fingers grazing along your drenched core, going up and down your swollen folds, he captured the moan falling through your lips with a groan.

"So fucking filthy," he whispered against your lips as he continued to tease you. His voice, once muffled, was now very clear. The tones were distinct, carrying an inexplicable familiarity that tugged at the edges of your memory. But before you could even try to recall where you had heard it before, he surprised you by increasing the speed of his fingers.

"You want more of this, don't you?"

You shook your head, but your body was saying otherwise. Your hand gripped his arm as he started to play with your clit again, and your knees buckled pathetically. His other hand fell on your waist to steady you while he pressed a kiss on the hollow point of your throat, traveling further up the skin till his teeth nibbled on your ear lobe.

He then grabbed onto one of your legs and hiked it around his waist as he pushed his hips into you. You could feel the outline of his hard cock behind the cloak he was wearing and you let out a whimper when he started rolling his hips.

"Is this what you want?" He rasped out at the shell of your ear. You felt strong hands grip your wrists before he pushed them above your head, pining you against the wall. "You want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You shook your head again, attempting to anchor yourself. The struggle was evident in the tension of your muscles, each fiber resisting the pull toward surrender. You should push him. You should cry for help. Yet here you were questioning your sanity as you slowly, almost desperately, grind your hips along with his, yearning for more friction.

"Dirty, dirty slut," he muttered against your lips before kissing you once again, swallowing your whimpers as his hips snapped into you. "I bet you feel so tight around me."

Desire roared fire in your veins, and you whined. He leaned over and captured one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you moaned again before he let out a satisfied hum. You could practically feel the smirk curling on his lips as he taunted, "You react so well. I might have to keep you."

Goosebumps rose along your skin. Then in a swift and forceful motion, he yanked you, abruptly pushing you to the ground. The impact was sudden and jarring, leaving you landing on your knees.

As you tried to make sense of what was happening, a hand pushed against your back, and you toppled forward, landing on the ground face-first, finding yourself on your hands and knees. A sharp smack hit your bare ass from behind and you jolted in surprise.

"Spread them wide for me," He murmured, gaze skipping over your nakedness. He marveled at the sight before him, the way you shamelessly arched your back at his command. Yet when he noticed you hesitating, he dropped his voice in a lower, sinister tone.

"Don't make me use my knife."

You quickly did as you were told, your hands traveling behind you, spreading your sticky thighs in a languorous stretch, and you shuddered under the weight of his eyes. You whined at the feeling of the cold air hitting your exposed skin and a trickle of your arousal ran down your thigh, much to your utter embarrassment. "Look how pretty you are."

Heat blossomed in your chest. Then the sound of a belt being undone had you whimpering, and you moved instinctively, arching your back even further. One of his hands landed on your ass again with a sharp smack before he gripped a firm handful of it. You could hear more rustling and a slight soft thud behind you. The lack of vision made you overly sensitive and you found yourself waiting with bated breath for his every move.

With a sharp tug, he pulled you back by your hips before one of his hands landed on the back of your neck. You felt him push down hard and you obliged, lowering your face and upper body to the floor as his other hand remained holding your hips up in the air. And then you felt him—pulsing warm right at your entrance.

A pitiful groan escaped your lips as the tip of his cock swiped back and forth along your folds. He moaned out a deep, pleasure-filled noise that reverberated around the small space at the feel of your arousal coating him. And then suddenly, without warning, he abruptly plunged inside of you. He thrust straight into that spot deep inside that stung so good a sharp cry slipped out of you. It was painful, his sheer force of girth stretching you apart, though that cry quickly became a low moan of pleasure.

The man behind you showed no mercy, thrusting his hips into you with force and purpose, so hard you felt your body inching across the hardwood floor with each stroke. Your mouth fell open when one of his hands released your neck before you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, just at the base of your skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise of pleasure tore out of you and he repeated the gesture, the tug on your hair even rougher.

He held himself there as he used the grip on your hair to haul you backward to him. Your back was arched, his cock still buried deep inside of you as you fell back into his chest. For a few moments, it was almost uncomfortable, but then, surprisingly, you felt even more aroused than you already were.

You pushed your ass even higher, arching your body in search of more of that delicious sensation. It felt like electricity shocked your entire body, triggering intense waves of pleasure that repeatedly spread wildly from your core as you focused on the pleasure building between your legs, the burning sensation filling you to the brim.

It was maddening. Frustrating, even. Because you didn't even care anymore, you didn't even care if you exposed for him, you didn't even care if your knees ached from the hard friction of the floor because any shreds of sanity and pride had long since been destroyed. You wanted more. You needed more. 

It was so twisted. You longed to be broken by him. You longed to be ruined by him.

You had never imagined being in this position, kneeling on the floor with a murderer thrusting himself into you, yet here you were, whimpering at the sensation of doing the forbidden. Your mind turned delirious he released the hold on your hair, his hand snaking around your front to grip your throat.

You continued to meet his savage thrusts with your hips, slamming into you as your wail turned into a ragged scream. The sensation, though pleasurable, became too intense to handle. You attempted to move away from him, stealing his breath as your inner walls clenched around his cock. His firm hand gripped your hips tighter, preventing you from pulling away as he held you in position, thrusting his cock into your throbbing pussy.

A helpless sound trickled from your throat as your body jerked, and he mercilessly fucked you through it. Everything was so intense your mind was struggling to comprehend what was happening as he pounded into you roughly. You tried to breathe through the incredible pleasure surging through your body but you were too overwhelmed. "T-Too much."

"T-Too much," he mocked. A sinister laugh sliced through the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. "Fucking. Take. It."

His words were punctuated with every snap of his hips. The insistent thrust made you thrash your head as your body convulsed, dragging it out and heightening it to a point where you could only wail. Your breath came in harsh pants; his breathing was as rough as he urged you on, and you gave yourself over to the wildfire consuming your body. You whimpered, head rolling back onto his shoulder.

"That's it, taking me so perfectly," his voice, now a sinister whisper, slithered into your ears. "Knew you were special the moment I saw you."

A gasp escaped you, the weight of his words settling with an unsettling realization. Amidst the darkness, you felt the contours of his laughter.

"Don't act so surprised. I'm your secret admirer, remember?" You felt his hand leave your hips before it trailed toward your front. You knew what he was about to do and you clenched him involuntarily, already anticipating what was to come. 

"Fuck," He hissed. "You feel so tight around me. I really do have to keep you now."

The coil inside you was dangerously close to snapping and he growled as your cunt clenched around his cock.

"Oh, you liked that. You like the idea of me using you? Fuck you whenever I want?" He questioned, his fingers moving to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling the coil in your abdomen tightening at his sharp movements, your hands moving to his wrist as you tried to ground yourself.

You gasped when you felt him tightening the grip on your throat, the skin tingling as he repeated the motion. "Filthy little thing, aren't you?"

"I-I—" You spluttered, feeling your legs going numb. You squealed when you felt him pick up his pace on your clit, rubbing messy circles against it as your back slumped against him, mouth parting, your tongue slipping out between your lips.

It was too much. You felt like you were about to explode. Your mind went blank. Your body felt numb. There was nothing else you could do but to give into the force of pleasure consuming you as he fucked you roughly, his hips hitting you in harsh motions.

"You gonna cum now?" He grunted, pressing his mouth at the shell of your ear. You helplessly nodded, not able to make out any coherent words anymore. He groaned between thrusts, keeping a firm grip on your ass to keep you from squirming. "Go on then, cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are."

As if on command, your body spasmed involuntarily. It started with a prickling of your skin creeping up your body, over your breasts and face, inner walls tightening around his cock, and you came hard. You squirmed uncontrollably as all that pent-up pleasure welled up in your core. Your heart was pounding erratically against your heaving chest you could even hear the pounding in your ears.

Your mind was in a drunken haze as the pleasure continued to flow through your veins, his fingertips languidly brushed against your clit. But despite the desperate spasms of your pussy, he continued to penetrate your body. Every thrust hit more intensely than the last, wetness flooded from you as reality slipped away, and all you could do was burn, vocally urging him on as he moaned darkly behind you.

You were very far from sanity from everything consuming your body. You felt him everywhere. His grinding cock, the press of his fingers as they moved to toy with your clit, and his blunt nails cut around your throat. Your cunt continued to possessively grip his cock as you wailed breathlessly.

Heat traveled through you, body quivering and going boneless, the warm ripples of release dulling the sharp edges of your mind as he drove into you and finally chased his own high. The filthy feel of him emptying inside you, your shimmering release, and his hands decorating your skin with fingerprint bruises, was all you could focus on.

Until the distinct sound of sirens echoed in the background.

Your mind went hazy as you tried to anchor yourself and you heard him chuckle in amusement. "I guess you really woke your neighbors up," he said, letting go of his grip around your throat. You let out a breathless sigh when you felt him slipping out of you, surprisingly feeling empty.

He groaned as his eyes traveled down, watching the way his release dripped out from your convulsing pussy, traveling down the length of your thighs. “It’s a pity I have to cut this short.” Then you felt his lips near your ear. “Until next time."

"W- What?" Your head snapped up, disoriented in the darkness, as you tried to discern his voice. "You'll come back?"

"I'll be here when you least expect it." Then the unexpected happened. He surprised you with a gentle kiss on your shoulder, a stark contrast from everything that had taken place. The contradiction sent shudders through you as you felt his grip on your hips tightening. "Keep your doors unlocked for me."

A sudden emptiness enveloped you as he withdrew from your personal space. Your mind, still reeling from the inexplicable events, struggled to make sense of what happened. And now the realization that he wasn't behind you anymore prompted your hands to instinctively reach for the makeshift blindfold, swiftly slipping it off your face.

Blinking in the sudden light, your eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Your eyes caught his figure standing tall at the top of your staircase, back turned, a fleeting glimpse of brown curls disappearing beneath the mask he hastily put back on. 

Abruptly, he turned to you, the hollow visage of Ghostface now fixed in your direction. The tilt of his head sent a shiver down your spine as he looked at you for another fleeting second, as if he was giving you a silent promise as the faint sound of sirens continued from the distance. You stared back at him, heart thrumming in your chest.

And then he was gone.

[azsazz]

Lavender Haze

Rhysand x Rhysand's Sister's Best Friend/Virgin!Reader

Summary: Having a crush on your best friends older brother isn't ideal. Especially when he has one back.

Warnings: Flirting, sexual taunting and begging.

Word Count: 3,065

Belongs to the timeline and predates Clandestine Love

_________________________________________

“Where’s Ara?” you ask your dinner mate as Einar places a steaming dish before you. The savory scents of the herbs he used on the fresh meat fill your senses, and your mouth waters at its deliciousness. Vegetables swim in a thick cream sauce that looks all too delectable, and the mound of cut potatoes doused in flavor has your jaw tingling. You simply cannot wait to dig in, only able to keep yourself from diving straight into your dinner as the family cook replenishes your half drank glass of sparkling fae wine. “Thank you, Einar.”

The chef dips his head in response then spins on his heel, quickly leaving the room. A bite of guilt pinches your stomach as you watch the green-skinned, normally bright-eyed fae stalk back to the kitchen to prepare dessert. It’s not like Rhysand is that much like his father. While his personality and aura tend to lean to the more arrogant side, it’s usually attributed to the fact that he is a young, confident male, eager to bask in all of the indulgences son of the High Lord is offered.

Said male sita across from you, pinning you to your seat with searing violet eyes. His spine is rigid and his fingers are curled tightly around his utensils as he watches your gaze follow the chef scurrying from the room.

He wants to fire him, no matter how delicious his food is.

Rhysand doesn’t have a right to feel this way. He doesn’t like the rage that coils his stomach, that lights his bones on fire when your soft eyes meet those of any other male in the court. Ever since you’d worked up the courage to kiss him all those months ago, it had ignited something inside of him even he couldn’t seem to make sense of. He shouldn’t be feeling this conflicted over his little sister's best friend of all people, but even he couldn’t ignore your otherworldly beauty, the musical laughter he always ached to hear, feel those gorgeous eyes roaming down his body while you thought his attention was elsewhere. 

The following months after that fateful night had been spent in the Illyrian camps, avoiding you. He’d tried occupying his mind with training or drinking with Azriel and Cassian until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to have your lips pressed against his own, your breasts pressed against his chest, and your scent burrowing so deeply into his soul he might never forget it. 

You couldn’t be drowned by any female nor male he fell into bed with since. Rhys, as sick as it might be to admit it, had resorted to imagingin his partners were you when he couldn’t seem to get off. Horrible, he knows, but you’ve planted that seed and his feelings are an overgrown slew of vines, constricting his inner being.

And now you’re here, across from him. And he’s here, alone with you. And Ara is not here like she should be and his mother isn’t here to form a buffer and his father is away doing Mother knows what and Cassian and Azriel aren’t here to tell him how horrible this idea is, or how if he’d only fuck you it would get these feelings out of his system, at least, the former of the two would say.

Rhysand is in a dangerous situation right now.

He forces his body to relax, slumping back in his seat with the vanity only the prince of Night can convey. Masking his face into something a little more open—a little more nice—he stalls, cutting into the meat on his own plate. Blood spurts as he takes his knife to it, and Rhysand has to force himself from imagining it to be a certain chef's blood instead. “Mother whisked her into the city for dinner.”

“So it’s only you and I?” you blush, stabbing a potato with your fork. It has been so long since you’d last seen Rhysand, and it seems the few months he’s been away have made him even more handsome than you remember, even if his skin looks a little paler from the blistering winters in the mountains and the drink he hasn’t let up on since.

“It seems so,” Rhys answers, chewing.

“And no one else,” you murmur, almost breathless as your heart begins to race in your chest at the thought of what you and him could be getting into all alone, if he hadn’t decided to run from you. 

Rhysand quirks a brow, looking down the table as if looking for someone else, and replies, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Asshole,” under your breath, and Rhys fails to bite back his smirk. Both of you fall silent as you eat, only the sounds of your hammering heart and utensils filling the void in the luxurious dining room. You’re not sure how the family doesn't feel lonely like this, eating at the table built for an army. You can’t even hear Einar shuffling about in the kitchen, no clanging of pans or low curses if he creates something his perfectionist self doesn’t deem a ‘creation of the Gods.’

You can’t help but to glance at Rhysand, drinking in the sight of him. His straight nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow as he places a spoonful of vegetables and cream sauce in his mouth. His thick lashes are dark, so dark it looks like he’s let Ara around him with some of her kohl again. They’re long as well, brushing the apples of his cheeks when he looks down at his plate, and you’re envious of them.

Too long you’ve gone without seeing him. The most dramatic male you’ve ever set your sights on, running from you after you’d finally worked up the courage after months of pining to kiss him. It was after Ara had fallen asleep and you found yourself on the balcony, gazing up at the stars, his company warm and welcoming.

It had been everything to you then, the confidence you felt, the rush of adrenaline as you caught him off guard, the feel of his lips against yours, soft still, even if they were wind-chapped from the long flight. He hadn’t reacted, you hadn’t given him the time to, yanking yourself back just as quickly as you leaned in and running off to Araphel’s room, your mind screaming at you that it had been a horrible idea.

But you couldn’t ignore the emotions spilled between the both of you, the times where his hand had brushed yours or his touch lingered too long when he’d muse your hair, stroking the shell of your ear. You couldn’t ignore the heated looks Rhys shot you every time you spoke to another male, nor the way he always found an excuse to interrupt you, guiding you away from them with a large hand on the small of your back.

And maybe it was your silly little heart for wanting him. For crushing on your best friend's older brother who exudes confidence and can have any female in the court he wants. Any female on the continent, even.

The silence is damning, though, and you wish you could be how you were the night you’d kissed him, sanguine and bright with the idea that this could be your true love's first kiss. Of course, the fleeting press of his lips was enough to solidify many things for you, but you’d been unsure about Rhysand’s feelings on the matter, and by the time you’d found the courage to talk to him about what had happened, he’d already fled back to the mountains.

You’d kissed plenty of males since then, dragging Ara for nights out at Rita’s because Rhysand and his friends always raved about it. A part of you thought that he might walk in and see you in another male's arms, tear you away like the warrior-prince he is, but sadly, it hadn’t happened. 

And you have to say that you’re more than a little confused. He’d been blatantly glaring at Einar while the chef served your food. Had he heard about the kiss you shared with the young chef when Donan hadn’t allowed Araphel permission to go out one night and you spent it with the staff the High Lord kept around the house? It was all for a silly drinking game, but the green-skinned fae’s cheeks had been bright pink after the both of you stumbled back from the pantry, lips bruised and eyes shining bright with liquor. Maybe he had overheard some of the handmaiden's gossipping about it after all these weeks? Or maybe, the darkness always knows.

Now, the both of you are here, alone, staring at each other over the delectable meals prepared by the chef you’ve tasted once before. It hadn’t been anything like the peck you’d shared with Rhysand. In that millisecond of the brushing of your lips your world had shifted, body set alight with shooting stars and setting free the wild butterflies in your stomach. 

He has that glint in his eyes, the same one he always gets when he’s watching you, the one that heats your very core. And as you chew the potatoes in your mouth, you muster that confidence into yourself once more.

You will it into the marrow of your bones, rolling your shoulders as you prepare yourself to get exactly what you want. If there is no one here to interrupt, then the stage is set.

“Whoops,” you feign, allowing a drip of cream sauce to slip off the end of your utensil on the way to your mouth. It lands on the bare skin between the plunging fabric of your dress, and you catch Rhysand tracking the movement as you reach for your napkin to dab at your skin. “Spilled a little.”

Rhysnad hums, “You should be more careful, darling. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty dress of yours, now would you?”

“No,” you agree, ever the dream of poised elegance. You pop a vegetable into your mouth, chewing for a moment, before continuing. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my dress at all. But, if it’s meant to be, I can always have another one made.”

In that moment, you know you’ve got him. The stars in his violet eyes wink out as darkness settles in, pinning you to your chair. His look sends a shiver up your spine and you know that he is no longer hungry for the food plated before him.

Rhysand flares his wings a little and bites back a curse. For too long he’s been living at the Illyrian camps. There’s no one here he has to compete with for your attention, no one he needs to show off his wingspan to, though, by the way that your half-lidded eyes trace across the membranous skin of them, perhaps he’ll flare them wide when you’re beneath him.

It’s a line that he hasn’t crossed with you yet, one that he promised himself that he wouldn’t. You’re his little sister’s best friend for Mother’s sake, not just another female simpering after him because of his familial ties. You’re…much more than that, and he shouldn’t be thinking about crawling across this fucking table and licking that cream off of your chest and burying his head between your breasts.

“Meant to be,” he echoes, and you hum, tilting your head back with the motion. The exposed skin of your neck calls to him, even more so when you swipe a finger, capturing the sauce and popping it into your mouth to suck on. Your cheeks hollow exaggeratedly, and his cock strains painfully in his pants. He growls your name, a tenor of darkness that curls through your body like the icey patches of snow on the way into the city.

“What was that Rhys?” you ask, batting your eyelashes now. The meal in front of you is long forgotten, your hunger for this male insatiable. The way Rhysand makes you feel, despite only sharing a whisper of a kiss, well, you think you could be mates someday. “Did you need something?”

“I need you to stop doing that before I come over there and make you stop myself.”

You moan a little, legs falling wide under the table. “I think I might like that, though.” 

Rhysand’s nostrils flare as he drinks in the scent of your arousal, thick between your thighs.

“You’re supposed to be a Lady, darling. Who taught you to speak like that?” he purrs, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the table. You know that he’s only doing it to try and dispel the tension leaking from his body. You can scent it in the air, the raw, heady smell of him that threatens to send you right to your knees.

“You,” you moan in response. You can feel him creeping into your mind, watching. Waiting.

“And you always listen to your superiors, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” you hiss, squirming in your seat as those black claws of his rake gently across your mind. Your fingers curl around the arms of your chair, your spine arching at the soft caress. “Rhys, please…I need you to touch me.” 

It’s a simple request, one he’s always indulged you in.

In a moment he’s gone from his chair only to appear behind you, winnowing far faster than stalking around the edge of the table to reach your seat.

He looms over you like a touch of darkness crowding you in, and you revel in it. The hue of his eyes is a dangerous violet, set with lightning striking in the distance instead of stars. It lights you up, your breath turning faster, the beating of your heart thunderous in the silence of the dining room. 

You can see the war in his eyes when you tilt your head back, resting it on the back of your chair. You press your breasts out a little, and watch with rapt attention as his eyes flicker down the front of your dress before he rips them away, the line of his mouth tightening at your hidden tease of a smile.

In your head, late at night, you’ve touched him; a hand around his silky, long cock, mouth pressed to his desperately, too. He’s tasted your slick on his tongue, reveled in it, hardly able to hold himself back from crawling up your body and fucking you how he wanted.

But you’ve never had sex before, and as much as you want to, as much as you’ve tried, Rhysand has been holding back.

Maybe it’s because he’s nervous to cross that line with you. You’re his little sisters best friend for fucks sake, and he’s going to be High Lord someday. Sure, he’s slowly making his way through the camp girls, trying not to grunt your name when he fucks into them, because you’re never far from his mind. 

Maybe it’s because he’s scared, if his sister or father ever found out. Araphel might be happy for the both of you. It’s a thought he has less often than the opposite, if she’s upset that he’s stealing one of her only true friends, and he doesn’t want that. 

Maybe he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself back.

Your name is a growl on his lips. A warning, one you don’t have it in you to heed. So you go with your next best idea, taunting.

“I guess I’ll have to drag Ara down to the city when she gets back then,” you say with a sad sigh. You pick up your fork and force your eyes from Rhysand’s burning ones. You shrug a little, spearing vegetables with your fork. “Fuck whatever male I come across there.”

Rhysand is hardly able to hold himself back from baring his teeth. He won’t allow that, ever.

You can feel the tension roiling in his body as he stands at your back, his food long forgotten. You’re not faring much better with the ache pulsing between your legs and the dinner that’s turned to mush in your mouth. 

“I’ll turn any male that touches you to mist.”

“Are you planning on doing that to yourself, too?” you quirk a brow as you glance his way, faking your disinterest despite the way that your core goes molten at his words. 

Rhysands eyes darken in response, the muscle in his jaw ticking.

Your words are working, you can see it in the way that he holds himself back, body nearly shaking at every thought you’re planting in his mind. You know he’s on the verge of cracking, that he wants this just as badly as you do, so you continue.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t a virgin anymore. Would you fuck me then, Rhysand?” 

“What?” His voice takes on a dark tone, the stars winking out from his eyes.

“If I told you that chef Einar was the one to do it, to bend me over his worktop and fuck me, what would you say then, Rhys?” 

“I’d say you’re a liar. And that I’ll kill him either way.”

“If I spread my legs for him just like this,” you continue, leaning back in your seat and opening your thighs wide. His fingers ball into fists but he doesn’t move from his spot, still planted behind you, trying his best to ignore the way your scent hits him like a sword to the gut. “And let his hands roam down my body just like this—” You startle at the loud sound coming from the kitchen, pots falling to the floor in succession. It makes your hands that you’re dragging down your body falter, and before you can continue, your wrists are pinned in Rhysand’s harsh grip, his breath heavy against your throat.

“You should be very, very careful about what you’re going to say next, darling,” his growl sends your bones rattling, shivers wracking your spine. You wish it weren’t the harsh wood at your back but instead his warm body, holding you tight. 

“I want you to fuck me, Rhys,” you gasp, and it sounds like a desperate mewl. “I need you to fuck me.” 

Rhysand’s mouth is a whisper against your skin, a brand of night.

“If I’m going to fuck you, darling,” he purrs and your insides melt. “Everyone is going to know it.”

[willowbelle]

A Doctor's Cure

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: established relationship, doctor-patient dynamics, breast play, oral (f receiving), dom!law, sub!reader, law is a tease, lots of teasing, edging, begging, praise, reassurance, piv sex, exam-room-sex (hehe), use of “doctor”, "good girl", "sweetheart", "tell me what you want", etc.

summary: law and reader have a double-sided relationship: patient and doctor, & lovers. They aim to keep the two partnerships separate, but Law's work has him neglecting reader's needs, making her resort to rather drastic measures to get her partner/doctor's undivided attention. ;)

word count: ~4,000

tagging: @bby-deerling @risenwrites @strawheart-pirate @uchihabbynic @nina-ya @mandiemegatron@shamblespirate@eelnoise@maddddstuff @throwmethroughawindow @mariihzoka @basedbogwizard

A Doctor's Cure

You and Law shared an understanding. 

Work is professional; must always be kept that way, and private life is exactly that:

private.

The two must never intertwine. 

------

The office is cold, frigid, uninviting. 

The room exudes an aura of sterile austerity, its walls painted in a clinical shade of white that seemed to swallow any hint of warmth or comfort. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow that accentuated the starkness of the room. The air is heavy with the scent of antiseptic, mingling with the faint tang of ink from the doctor's neatly stacked files.

Against one wall stands a row of cabinets, their metal surfaces gleaming dully in the artificial light. Each drawer is meticulously labeled, a testament to its owner’s penchant for order and precision. A single window, obscured by heavy blinds, offers a glimpse of the outside depths of the sea, but the view is obscured by the grime of neglect.

In the center of the room sits the doctor's desk, a polished slab of dark wood that seems out of place amidst the clinical surroundings. Behind it, a high-backed chair looms, its leather upholstery cracked and worn from years of use. On the desk itself lies an array of instruments - a stethoscope coiled neatly beside a stack of paperwork, a computer monitor flickering silently in the corner.

-----

The doctor is the same; silent, calculated, meticulous. 

He commands the room with a towering presence; his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of quiet strength. Despite his slim build, there’s an unmistakable muscularity to his physique, hinted at by the subtle contours visible beneath his crisp, white coat. 

Dark hair, swept beneath his speckled hat, frames a face weathered by years of dedication. His features are chiseled, a strong jawline, softened only by the hint of a tired smile that plays at the corners of his lips. It’s his eyes that hold the most intrigue – tired grey orbs, rimmed with heavy bags that speak volumes of sleepless nights.

Despite the weariness that etches lines upon his face, there’s an undeniable intensity to his gaze. 

-----

As you pad into the room, the frigid air tickles your spine, climbs up your back, sinks its claws in. It’s not just from the temperature, there’s a palpable aura of detachment that fills the room, too, leaving you uneasy. 

Law sits behind the desk, framed by sterile white walls, his expression inscrutable. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, eyes you up and down, seeming to dissect you even before words left your lips. 

You clear your throat, the nervous noise echohing in the stillness of the room as you take a seat on the exam table. 

You didn’t need to be here. You weren’t sick. Law had simply grown neglectful, consumed by his work. And so, driven by desperation for his attention, you resort to a lie.

"La-,” you begin, but swiftly correct yourself, “Doctor, I've been experiencing these persistent headaches..."

Maintaining a romantic relationship with your doctor requires a delicate balancing-act. In the privacy of your shared moments, away from the sterile confines of the doctor's office, your relationship is beautiful, intense, passionate. But here, you are nothing more than a patient, and for professional reasons, behind these doors, it must be kept that way.

His response is measured, delivered with the precision of a well-practiced routine.

"Describe the nature of your headaches," he says, voice devoid of any warmth.

Your interactions take on a dual nature; each appointment serving as both a professional consultation and an opportunity to revel in the comfort of each other's presence. However, away from this room, the professional barriers dissolve, replaced by an intimacy that transcends the confines of your roles.

“Well, they've been getting worse," you speak softly, glancing at the floor as you anxiously play with your fingers, "It's like a constant pressure behind my eyes, and sometimes it feels like my vision is blurry."

As you recount your symptoms, his eyes never waver from yours, his silence almost suffocating. Each word you utter seem to be met with a calculated pause, as if he were processing every detail, every nuance.

As Law listens to your fabricated symptoms, his brow furrows in concern, his demeanor shifting subtly as he leans forward, attentive to your every word. Despite the guilt gnawing at your conscience, you press on with your deceit,

“It just hurts so badly,” you rasp, “I’m desperate for something, anything, to help me.” 

You weren’t talking about your head. Your skull didn’t hurt. His neglect did. 

He reaches forwards, tattooed fingers rubbing reassuring circles into your kneecap. His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes of the things you shared. Despite its cold, calculating exterior, his gaze offers a of something that transcends the confines of your doctor-patient relationship, understanding, love, devotion. 

The familiar warmth of his fingers seems to seep into your skin, dismissing the chill that had clung to your flesh the moment you entered the office. 

"I know, baby," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the floor as he speaks. "I'm so sorry."

“Baby?” your throat feels dry, making the word catch in your mouth. “Doctor…” you regift his title, but instead of accepting it, he places a reassuring palm on your thigh. 

"I know I've been busy lately, I've overlooked you," he admits, his voice heavy with regret. "I'm so sorry."

"B-But, we had an agreement," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “In here,” you glance around the room as you speak, “I’m just your patient.” 

His gaze softens, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. 

"I know," he says gently, his voice tinged with regret. "But sometimes lines blur,” he gulps, “And it's impossible to ignore what's truly important."

You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. For so long, you had clung to the illusion of professionalism, hiding behind the guise of patient and doctor to shield yourself from this very moment of vulnerability.

But now, faced with his unwavering sincerity, you realize that the walls you had built around your heart were no match for the depth of your love for Trafalgar Law. 

“Law,” you say softly, abandoning his professional title, “Just kiss me.” 

And he listens, immediately closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. 

It's a kiss filled with pent-up longing, a culmination of the emotions that have simmered beneath the surface for far too long.

His free hand rests gently on your face as his lips meld with yours, rubbing gentle circles into the apple of your cheek. 

You let out a shaky breath into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between your open lips. 

A wave of conflicting emotions washes over you. Relief mingles with lingering hurt, and the weight of his apology hangs heavy in the air. 

But as his tongue dances with yours, the clinical walls of the exam room dissolve into nothingness, and in that moment, you transcend the roles of patient and doctor. The world around you fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours. You are no longer merely his patient; you are his lover once more, entwined in an embrace that knows no bounds.

He wastes no time in moving atop you, shrugging his labcoat off his toned, tattooed shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the tile. 

As he advances, you recline against the crisp, white paper that lines the examination table, yielding to his presence. He leans over you, his weight enveloping you, strong arms framing your head as he cages you in.

His inked hands travel up and down your needy body, making you shiver beneath his touch. 

“Law,” you whine weakly, taking his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging gently on the tender flesh, “Doctor,”

The doctor simply groans in response to your desperate plea, a deep blush rushing to his cheeks at your intimate use of his professional title. 

A smirk tugs at his lips,

“Tell me where it hurts,” the doctor rasps, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” 

To your surprise, he's fully engaged, playing along with a fervor that electrifies you to your core.

He slides a hand down, carefully spreading your thighs to allow his torso to slot between your legs. You allow you head to fall back, moaning softly at the sensation of his crotch meeting yours. 

His hips immediately get to work, skillfully grinding his throbbing erection against your aching cunt as his hands tangle themselves in your hair. 

Although you’ve only just begun, your face is already flushed and your chest is heaving. Desire pricks at your skin and leaves you trembling for more. 

“Doctor,” you whine.

Your needy state ignites something within your doctor, and he picks up the pace, making you whine and tilt your head upwards to nip at his ear. 

“Please, help me.”

“How do you want me to help you, love?” he teases, tilting back to allow his slender fingers to snake in between your crotches, slowing rubbing tight circles into your clothed clit. 

“F-Fuck,” you softly curse, twitching instinctively at the long-awaited sensation of his hands finally meeting the place you needed them most. 

But to your dismay, he stops, bringing the hand up again to hold your chin, tilting your face to look at him. 

“That doesn’t tell me anything, dear. I can’t cure you if you don’t tell me what’s got you so bothered.” 

You’re losing your composure now, head growing fuzzy frim his relentless teasing. 

“Mm, Lawww,” you whine weakly at the loss, instantly reaching down to grasp his wrist and bring it back to your aching sex, “Please-” 

“Please?” he questions, a smug look decorating his usually-stoic face, “Please what?” he begins kissing down your neck, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “Oh, and I don’t believe we’re on a first name basis just quite yet, so that’s doctor to you.” 

He nips at your delicate skin as he continues to kiss down the column of your neck, “Let's try that again.”

“P-Please, doctor,” you correct yourself, “Fuck me.”

“Mmm,” the tall man hums, “That’s not a very professional request, but since you asked so nicely, I guess I’ll let it slide.” 

With one arm supporting his weight above you, he begins working on his belt with the other, his gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. The predatory gleam in his eyes makes you feel small, vulnerable, yet oddly exhilarated by the primal desire that courses between you.

Before long, his belt hits the tile floor with a resounding clang, causing you to startle slightly as he looms over you.

He chuckles softly, amused by your vulnerability. 

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and strip?” he mumbles softly, voice tinted with lust, “It’ll allow me to properly cure you.” 

His dedication to this roleplay elicits a soft, playful giggle from you, yet beneath the surface of amusement, there lies a greater sensation; a tingling arousal that spreads through your limbs and makes your head spin.

“Of course, doctor,” you play along, promptly obeying his orders and peeling your clothes from your needy body. 

As you gradually raise your blouse over your head, Law's unwavering gaze remains fixed on you, stripping away any pretense or barrier. Even before your clothes are fully removed, his intense stare leaves you feeling utterly exposed, vulnerable, and entirely at his mercy.

As his eyes travel up and down your naked form, something new dances beneath his steel irises, admiration, completely enthralled by the sight before him. 

His lingering gaze sends a flush of warmth rushing to your cheeks, and you find yourself instinctively turning your head to the side, a shy smile playing at the corners of your lips as a bit of embarrassment washes over you.

He gently tilts your face back towards him, his touch tender yet confident, 

“Beautiful,” he says simply. 

He opts to help you unclasp your bra, making you lean forwards slightly so he can snake his arm around you. 

You let out a shaky breath against his chest, allowing him to strip you. 

The cool air hitting your breasts causes your nipples to harden instantly, earning a pleased groan from Law’s mouth. 

“I suppose I should join you,” he smirks, referring to your nakedness. 

And so he does, inked fingers curling around the hem of his undershirt as he leisurely peels it over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his exposed torso; while you've seen it before, of course, the unexpected setting amplifies its allure. Beneath these foreign fluorescent lights, in this room where you never imagined seeing him this way, the contours of his muscles glimmered like something new, forbidden, enticing. 

Once shirtless, he moves atop you again, lips swiftly attaching to the soft flesh of your chest. You let out a moan as his mouth slowly makes its way towards your breast.

You lean yoiur head back, letting a few gaspy moans escape your throat as his hot tongue swirls around your erect nipple. 

“L-La-” you whine, “Doctor-”

He groans against your breast before gently nipping at it, his tongue continuing its efforts as it lazily swirls around the needy bud. 

“Yeah?” he rasps, his other hand coming up to grasp onto your neglected breast, “Tell me, how does that feel? Does it feel good, sweetheart?” 

“M-Mhmm,” you mewl in agreement, reaching down to tug at his strands of dark hair, “B-But I need more-”

“Oh?” the doctor groans, tilting his head to glance up at you, dark grey irises seeming to dissect you as they bore into your face, “What more do you need?”

You pause for a moment, meeting his gaze with a hint of hesitation, torn between yielding to his request and remaining illusive. 

Noticing your hesitation, Law’s gaze darkens, and pinches your nipple between his slender fingers, gently tugging at it, determined to pry the answer from you. 

“If you can’t tell me what you need,” he smirks, “Then I can’t help you feel better.”

Sensing the threat in his tone, you let out a shaky sigh, abandoning all dignity as you open your mouth to speak,

“You,” you whine, reaching down to place a delicate palm on the growing bulge beneath his pants, “I need you inside me, doctor.” 

And with that, Law’s lips are on yours again, pressing his flesh against yours with a newfound passion, his tongue exploring your mouth as if it was oxygen and he was suffocating; his lifeline. 

“Mm-mm!” you whine, instinctively bucking your hips up to reward yourself the euphoric sensation of his crotch rubbing against yours. 

He wastes no time in pulling his pants down, tossing the garmet to the side as he works on peeling his boxers off, too. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as he steadies himself above you, one arm holding himself up, caging you in as he reaches his free hand down to grip his cock. 

The white paper crinkles beneath you as Law begins rubbing is weeping tip along your folds, earning a pleased sigh from your mouth. 

“Are you ready for me?” he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

You take a deep inhale, reaching upwards to grip onto his muscular, tattooed back, grounding yourself. 

“I’m ready, doctor.” 

He begins to push inside you, a low groan rumbling out of his chest as he stretches out your entrance with each forward movement. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps, “Need to stretch you out.” 

You whine weakly as Law continues to push his cock inside you, his impressive length forcing your insides to open up, accepting him greedily. 

“M-mm, sh-shit,” you curse, throwing your head back as Law finally bottoms out, the tip of his cock granting your cervix with a gentle kiss as he’s now fully engulfed within you. 

He gives you time to adjust, peppering reassuring kisses onto your face until you give him the “Okay” to start moving. 

"I've got you," he reassures you, his voice a soothing balm against the pain between your legs. It's a stark contrast to the cold, professional tone he had maintained before, his words now infused with warmth and genuine concern.

Before long, your body relaxes beneath him, around him, and you glance upwards to meet his gaze with a gentle nod,

“Doctor, you can start,” you whine softly. 

And with your permission, Law begins, bringing his hips back to thrust into you slowly, carefully, testing the waters to see how much you can take. 

“Fuck,” you moan, the noise exciting the man above you, causing him to smirk as he glances down at your trembling form. 

“You’re doing so good, y/n,” he praises, groaning as he picks up the pace a bit, “You take me so good-” 

“O-Oh, d-doctor,” you whimper, stumbling over your words, glancing downwards to watch his cock disappear in and out of you over and over again. 

“Yeah?” he groans, “Like what you see, baby?” he grins wolfishly, bringing both hands down to grip your waist so he can pummel his length into your needy cunt. 

“Y-Yes-!” you whine sheepishly, your face flushed red and beading with sweat. 

His newfound roughness ignites something within you; singes your blood with a desperate, euphoric type thing. You rake your nails down the doctor’s back, whimpering and writhing beneath him as the pace of his thrusts never falters. 

His skilled cock is meeting all the right places; battering your sweet spot, making you see stars. But just as you’re approaching your orgasm, he pulls out, raising himself up and stepping off the exam table. 

Your breath catches in your lungs and you’re trembling, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at the man who so devilishly deprived you of reaching your peak. 

“L-La-” you begin to whine, but before you can finish, he’s on his knees in front of the exam table, slotting his head between your legs to grant your aching slit with hot, skillful licks. 

He groans into your cunt, sending vibrations through your body as his steel irises glare up at you from between your trembling thighs. 

You shake beneath him, letting out a trembling vibrato of a moan as you collapse back onto the crisp paper of the exam table, allowing your doctor’s gifted tongue to have its way with you. 

“Mm, fuck,” he groans in between licks, “You taste so fucking good.” 

“A-Ah!” you cry out, back arching off the table as your hand shoots down to tangle itself in Law’s thick scalp of dark hair. 

Law places a palm on your stomach, gently pressing your back down into the table, 

“Stay still, baby,” he rasps, “This will help, I promise.” 

With a few more stripes of his tongue, he latches onto your clit, forcing a loud moan to escape your lips. 

“O-Oh, doctor!” you cry out, eyes screwing shut from pleasure as he sucks greedily on your aching nub. 

“Mmm,” he moans, lazily shaking his head back and forth, his hot tongue dancing skillfully over your needy clit. 

You lace your fingers in his hair, desperately tugging on the strands, eager for release.

Before you can even comprehend it, he’s up again, towering over you as you shake and whimper on the exam table. 

He smirks at he gazes down at you, offering you no remorse, just a simple command, 

“Flip over for me.” 

Knowing better than to disobey your doctor, you do just as you’re told, turning over so your stomach is pressed against the table and your ass is in the air. 

You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking as he chuckles darkly, “Good girl,” he praises, completely enthralled by your unwavering obedience. 

In an instant, he’s behind you, palm resting on the small of your back as he lines his cock up with your entrance, teasing you by merely rubbing his tip along your folds. 

“Doctorrr-” you whimper, bucking your hips to earn more stimulation from his throbbing cock.

Although he wants to tease you more, you’re deserate, and he’s no better, so he relinquishes control, immediately grasping your hips and thrusting himself into you fully. 

The intrusion is sudden, but welcomed, making you throw your head back and cry out in both pleasure and a hint of pain. 

Sensing your discomfort, Law uses his fingertips to rub comforting circles into your flesh as he grips your hips, 

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart,” he reassures you, his hips meeting the flesh of your ass with lewd smacking sounds as he thrusts in and out of you. 

“Fuck-!” you moan loudly, your cunt greedily accepting his length with tight, hot squeezes as he moves in and out. 

He reaches forwards, inked fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he tugs on the strands, forcing your head back to give himself access to your neck. He leans forwards, forcing himself deeper inside you and making you let out a weak whine as he places passionate kisses along your newly-exposed neck. 

“Sh-Shit,” he curses in your ear as he groans, “That pussy’s so fucking good to me.”

Your face flushes at the lewness of his words, letting more moans escape your lips as his twitching cock greets your sweetspot with a euphoric nudge.

Your head starts to spin as Law’s thrusts begin to grow sloppy; he’s close and you’re not far behind. 

He’s gaining momentum but losing his rhythm as he thrusts in and out of you, desperately chasing his orgasm, groaning through gritted teeth. 

“Y/n,” the doctor groans, throwing his head back,  “S-So close," he stumbles on his words, thrusting more feverishly now, making you cry out beneath him. 

“Law-!” you whimper shakily, abandoning his professional title as euphoria washes over you, your white-hot orgasm clouding your vision as it courses through your veins. 

He finishes in time with you, unapologetically painting your insides white as he moans heartily, granting you with a few more weak thrusts before he leans forwards to collapse on your back. 

You're both panting, the echo of your shared climax still lingering in the air, sweat glistening on your skin as you simultaneously come down from your highs. 

As the clouds of pleasure that had circled your brain finally begin to dissipate, you’re met with reality again; Law planting gentle kisses to your face as he whispers sweet praises into your ear. 

But even as you lay here together, only one thing consumes your mind. 

"Law," you begin weakly, stealing a glance at the man behind you.

"Hm?" he responds, his tone curious and attentive. "What is it, love?"

"How did you know I was lying?" you ask, your voice tinged with laughter, still catching your breath. "About being sick?"

He chuckles gently, his lips grazing your nape with a soft kiss before he answers, his voice laced with both amusement and affection.

"I've spent enough time with you to know when something's off," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "And besides," he adds, his tone playful, "I could never resist the opportunity to give you a little extra treatment.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

[popamolly]

‘ INTERNAL REDEMPTION ’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. In the fiery depths, she captures the attention of Lucifer, who senses a unique purity in her soul. With his help, (Y/N) finds herself on the path to redemption and self-discovery with dangerous trouble along the way.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, valentino exists, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. inspired by @punching-pentagrams and their amazing ongoing story “Love In as Hopeless Place”, it encouraged me to write my own fic about Lucifer. go check out their story, it is so good and deserves more love!

In the dimly lit, pulsating world of Club Elysium, where the air was thick with anticipation and desire, a mysterious aura surrounded a captivating figure on the stage. Under the flickering neon lights, you moved with a mesmerizing grace that defied the earthly realm. Dressed in glistening attire that caught the reflections of the vibrant hues around her, you became an ethereal presence, drawing the attention of every gaze in the room.

Your movements were a dance of contradictions – an alluring blend of sensuality and innocence. You twirled and swayed to the rhythm of the music, casting a spell upon the enchanted audience.

Unbeknownst to the patrons of Club Elysium, you were more than just an exotic dancer seeking to enthrall with her physical prowess. Your celestial grace, forgotten in the afterlife coil she now inhabited, manifested in the subtle elegance of her performance. As you moved, you felt a distant echo of a certain purpose, an inexplicable connection to something beyond the neon-lit stage.

In the hazy ambiance, Valentino, the enigmatic owner of Club Elysium, watched from the shadows, his eyes reflecting one of red burning lust, but it was more than just lust for you— no, it was something more— it was a thirst for power that had him grinning from ear to ear. Valentino knew that in this corner of Hell he owned everything, even you.

As the music reached its crescendo, your dance reached its zenith. The room held its breath, suspended in a moment where hell and celestial intertwined. You were always the ballerina in the jelwery box, the beautiful antique that Valentino had in his grasp to show off and praise. Though he may own you outside the building you made sure to show him through your dancing, that you were the one that owned the stage. He hated when you went off script or changed the choreography but you made sure to do it on purpose and on nights you knew he was watching you.

That was your little dose of rebellion, a little taste of freedom you could only wish to have. You were content with your situation though, it could’ve been worse. At least with Valentino you were paid, clothed, and feed with an overall decent place to live. Being one of his toys had its perks— you couldn’t complain. Especially when there were those who had it so much worse than you.

“You jus’ love angerin’ him, don’t you doll?” Your coworker, Angel Dust, asked as you entered the dressing room that you and the other dancers shared. The smell of makeup and cheap perfume filled your senses, calming you with the sense of familiarity, “Cause last I checked, that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

“Well,” You chuckled as you sat on the couch, its fabric ripped and white stuffing nearly popping out the sides, “I just thought that my choreo was better, and by the sound of that crowd and the money on stage, it was.”

“Heh,” Angel couldn’t help but envy your confidence when it came to Valentino, who owned you both in more ways than one and yet you always found a way to yank on the chains without consequence. A part of Angel loathed you for it.

You could sense the mood shift in Angel, not that you cared but you weren’t exactly heartless either. With a sigh, you get up from the couch, ignoring your aching feet as you join Angel’s side, looking into the vanity mirror so you could touch up your makeup, “Trust me, if my act wasn’t purity and innocence it would be a different story. Lucky for me, bruises and marks on my body wouldn’t sell too well.”

“Yeah, count it on luck shortcake.” With that Angel left, pushing another girl out the way angrily while snatching the drink out her hand. You could only sigh, not intending on upsetting him more but as always, your intentions don’t matter when your words spoke otherwise. It had been so long since you had a decent human connection, you were just a bit rusty.

“My sweets,” The sudden sound of Valentino’s voice had the room go silent, the air becoming so thick you were sure you’d might suffocate in it, “Can I have the room please?”

With hushed scared whispers and nervous glances, you and the other girls make your way to the door. You had hoped you could sneak past him under the cover of the other women who all but rushed passed Valentino but his slender hand caught your forearm quick, gripping it with such force that you were slightly shocked by the pain he caused— it wasn’t like him to be rough with you, “Not you, darling. We have to have a chat, don’t we mio caro?”

You turn to look at him with a frown, “About what? My performance?”

“Oh I would love to talk about that little stunt you pulled but I need you for something a bit more important,” Valentino yanks you further into the room, locking the door behind him with his other hand before slinging you against the vanity, bottles of perfume falling over and onto the ground as the desk shakes violently. Your employer towers over you with ease making you shudder beneath his fiery gaze, “I need something done and I need it done right, I trust that you can accomplish this task, yes?”

What shit was he getting you into now? You were done with porn, you had paid a hefty price to alter your contract with him and you weren’t going to slip back into the void now, not when you were so far ahead, “I won’t be one of your pornstars, Val. We had a deal.”

Valentino laughs, his pointy fingernail dragging along your cheek while he licks his lips, “This isn’t about that principessa, this is a more delicate matter. Think you’re up for it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You yank your head away from his hands, lowering your gaze into a slight glare.

“This is why I always liked you, dove. You learn quick.”

“If you were going to tell me to send in a whore Val, I wouldv’e just asked you to send Angel Dust!” Vox glitched with anger, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he turned around in his chair, his claw like hands gripping onto the table with such force that it left a mark, “What makes this slut is any different from him?!”

It was hard to bite back your tongue but you did, unwillingly submitting to your role as you stood before the V’s with your eyes to the ground, not daring to even look as confident at you usually were. Not because you were scared of them, no, you were scared of embarrassing Valentino. Your boss might have forgiven you for your countless stunts but when it came to matters of business with the V’s, you knew your place.

“Angel dust thinks he is on this path to redemption, let him stay in his delusion but until I can break him fully he will never be loyal to me. Not as loyal as (Y/N) here…” Valentino wraps his hand around your neck, forcing your head up to look at Vox— who for a split second was taken back by your beauty, “I have broken (Y/N) time and time again, she would do anything for me, isn’t that right (Y/N)?”

You closed your eyes, “Yes, Valentino.”

“Good.” Valentino pushes you toward Vox, making you stumble into him, forcing him to catch you in his arms, “Quite the vixen, she would surely catch the eyes of any overlord.”

“Even the King of Hell himself?” Vox tips your chin up with his index finger, looking into your eyes with a devilishly grin that makes you shiver.

“Asmodeus throws the biggest parties in the Pride Ring that is filled with all kinds of debauchery, especially for his birthday.” Valentino explains, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his right leg over the other, exhaling out a long drag of pink smoke, “Every one of importance will be there since it isn’t just a party but a show of status.”

“And..what? Your pretty toy is just supposed to waltz in there and get the attention of any overlord that wants to fuck her?” Velvette finally tears her gaze away from her phone, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Well it is an important party of one of Lucifer’s friends—”

“Which means he is bound to be there.” Vox grins, “Get close to the king and we get closer to controlling Hell.”

“And what makes you so sure he’ll entertain such..” Velvette looks at you with a roll of her eyes, “From what I hear Lucifer is loyal to Lilith, no one has seen him with another woman on his arm and it’s been 7 years, hashtag faithful.”

“Ah, well, 7 years is a long time to go without intimacy…I say the man is touch starved and would like some attention.” Valentino says, “Anyone can still get lonely, no matter how faithful.”

“I like the way you think Val,” Vox grips your chin as you grit your teeth. “And I think your little whore here will do just nicely.”

Before you know it was the day of Asmodeus’ birthday party. The V’s gave you the run down of the plan and how you were supposed to get close to the King of Hell himself— who you haven’t even seen in person for as long as you been hell. Which was a few years by now. You were a simple lowlife, you kept to yourself and tried to survive, only to end up within his grasp. Was he as cruel as people say? ‘What sort of question is that? Of course he was! He was the King of fucking Hell, which last time you checked, wasn’t given to just anyone.’

Of all the people, of everyone in Hell, it just has to be you. Because of your cursed deal with Val, you were stuck in a continuous limbo that you couldn’t escape from. Damn you and your loyalty, damn it all if it will end up with you dead ( again ) on the steps of Lucifer’s palace. This wasn’t fair— but then again, when has your situation ever been fair?

“Oh, you look just like a doll.” Valentino ruffled with the fake angel wings that adorned your back, fixing and prodding with whatever to make you more presentable, “Like an angel. Hell, upon just a glance mio caro you might have been able to get away with actually being one.”

And as you glance at your reflection in the mirror you felt a sudden sharp pain in the center of your forehead. Only fragments of memories came flooding your mind like a crashing wave. It was all so blurry but the word Angel held some sort of weight on you but you couldn’t place exactly what.

You held onto your head, trying to steady your breathing and relaxing your nerves as Valentino continues to add the finishing touches to your look.

“Get it together, dove.” Valentino meets your gaze in the reflection, “I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“No..” The pain in your head quickly fades away as soon as it came, “I can do this.”

“Good, because it is just about your turn to be presented for the auction.”

The auction. Asmodeus does it for sport at every single one of his parties but now that this is his birthday party, this auction is the biggest one yet. It is where he finds Hell’s most beautiful prized possessions, not limiting to actual sinners. The hope was to capture Lucifer’s attention as he would be in the crowd through this angel facade, and pray that he would bet on you. And if that didn’t work, then you would have to move on to plan B. And you didn’t like plan b.

Valentino wished you luck as you stood behind the curtain to the center stage, disappearing into the shadows to leave you on your own and this mission that was screwed from the get go.

“And last but not least, I present to you—! what is the object’s name again?” The announcer whispers, putting his microphone away from his face to get a confirmation from another employee, “Ah! The pure and innocent, (Y/N)!”

The curtain suddenly opens, the spotlight from above blinding you in away that made you shield your eyes from the brightness. You squint, looking upon a sea of red lustful eyes looking over your figure with curiosity. You take a deep breath, as you played the part of a shy girl, slowly bringing your hands to cover yourself even though the white thin laced gown left little to the imagination.

“Hubba hubba! Would you look at that boys?” Asmodeus’ eyes nearly turn into hearts at the sight of you, “And I thought nothing could even look so angelic in Hell!”

“What a beaut’” Mammon agrees.

“Indeed.” Lucifer sat beside his friends, trying to cover his boredom with peaked interest as he looks in your direction. This whole thing was pretty fucked up to him but that was just the way of life down here, there’s no changing that— no changing people when it is just in their nature. Now usually he wouldn’t indulge such things but he was the King of Hell, and he had to play the part to maintain order even though he longed for nothing but to be constructing rubber ducks right now.

“500!” A man in the crowd closer to the stage shouts.

The announcer points in the man’s direction with enthusiasm, “I hear 500! What about 550? Do I hear 550?”

“600!” Another shouts.

“600 to the gentleman in red! But do I hear a 650? 650?”

Asmodeus sits back in his seat, taking another swig of his whiskey. Mammon looks at his friend in disbelief as the unknown sinners below them begin to shout various of numbers for you, “Is she not to the Lustful Overlords taste?”

“Ah, I have so many who do the innocent act. It gets boring after awhile. But if you’re interested…you should buy her.” Asmodeus smirks, shaking the single ice cube in his glass as he signals to the waitress for another.

“She ain’t my type, but—” Mammon gets a sudden idea, “Lucifer should have her. I’m sure he gets off to the Angel shit don’t you your highness?”

Lucifer tips his hat up with his cane, “I am married.”

“To a woman who you haven’t seen in seven years!” Asmodeus rolls his eyes with a loud groan before raising his hand to join the bid, “Lighten up! Good sir, I say 2500!”

“What a doozy! 2500! 2500! Do I hear 3000!?” The announcer nearly jumps from his stool at the amount offered, “Going once! Going twice—!”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer warned. Not wanting any part in this sinful behavior.

The sound of a gavel rang through the air, finalizing the amount, “And sold to the gentleman in VIP! Your prize will wait outback until you are ready to retrieve it! Enjoy!”

Just like that the plan was working. In just less than five minutes you were sold off like some prize. Your life being in yet another’s hands that wasn’t your own, it was a bit ironic since this life is almost just the same as the one you led on Earth. It was getting harder and harder to distinguish which one was truly Hell.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

[onthejellyclouds]

3 course meal! ☰ served by the monster trio

smut under the cut :3

f!reader

“y/nnnn, i want dinner!” luffy whined from the door to the sunny’s kitchen, his rubbery body slumping down against the wooden doorframe.

sanji couldn’t help but snap his head towards the sound of the captain’s voice, curly eyebrow raising in question. why would he ask y/n for dinner?

“y/n?” sanji questioned,, before turning his body fully towards luffy. “what are you making my sweet y/n do?!” he suddenly exclaimed, a fiery aura surrounding him as he began to fill with rage. how dare that stupid pirate make his darling y/n do work!-

“what’s the racket?” zoro yawned, nodding his head in acknowledgment to the straw hat captain as he entered the kitchen.

“hi, everyone.” you smile sweetly at the three, eyes glancing over to luffy, you knew exactly what he meant.

no, you weren’t as good if a cook as sanji is. luffy just… prefers a different type of dinner you serve to him.

“yummyyyy,” luffy drools, starry eyes trained on your folds, and he couldn’t help the way his tongue dived straight into your cunt. he licked and sucked at your clit, letting out soft, muffled moans.

the wet smacking of his lips and tongue clicked through the room’s walls, his hands pawing at your hips.

“cumming- imcummingimcummingimcumming!” you sqeak, voice growing louder as the coil in your stomach grew tighter.

luffy giggled against your sugary pussy, and just as your thighs clenched around luffy’s head, your back arching further off the bed, the door suddenly swung open.

the figures of both zoro and sanji stood in the doorway, shadows looming over you and creeping onto the bed where you and luffy were intertwined.

sanji’s anger was apparent, with zoro simply glaring at the two of you.

“get away from my y/n!” sanji wailed, before coming to a stop as he got a view of your form.

luffy continued to lap away at your cunt, paying no mind to his crew members. his eyes closed as he relished in your surprised and embarrassed moans.

sanji stood there, the raging fire in his heart slowly softening as he watched you writhed against the bedsheets in pleasure.

zoro hummed in thought, rubbing his chin for a moment before he walked behind sanji, peering over his shoulder as he looked down at the way you came, your moans growing louder and more eager.

“captain,” zoro grunted, his fick hardening at the mere sight of your pussy. “how ‘bout you share yer meal with us?” he said, eye glancing over to straw hat for a second, before drifting back to where luffy’s tongue slurped at your pretty pussy.

“yeah, don’t hog my sweet little y/n.” sanji growls, glaring down at luffy, before zoro elbowed his side.

“our! our y/n!” zoro scolded, a frown on his lips.

soon enough, you found yourself positioned on the floor, sanji’s long cock in front of your face. he smiled down at you, his slim hands reaching down to caress your cheek.

“mon amour, please open those pretty lips of yours.” he taps your lips with a finger, pupils morphing into hearts at the sight of you so sweetly opening your mouth so obediently for him.

just as sanji’s cock was about to slip past your plump lips, two large hands planted themselves on your hips, roughly pulling you backwards and away from him.

you pouted slightly, the heat in your abdomen growing hotter and hotter with each teasing action.

“mm-mm.” zoro grumbles into your ear, his hot breath fanning lightly over your skin.

he tugged his pants down, hands smoothing over your skin before he pulled you closer to him once again.

sanji almost burst into flames at that very moment.

“guuys, hurry up!” luffy complained, his rubbery hands reaching out to grab at your shoulders, only for sanji to swat them away.

“you had your fun, be patient.” sanji huffed, sending a glare towards his captain, to which he returned with an angry pout.

“shut up, both of you!” zoro snapped, eye narrowing at the scene in front of him.

before you could speak up, zoro slammed himself into you, groaning at how tight your little cunt’s hole felt wrapped around his cock.

you moaned out in desperation, hands extending towards sanji as you felt tears prick at your eyes. zoro was so, so, big.

“s’so big! too much!” you mewl, moaning louder as zoro pulled you a little off his dick, only to slam you back down onto his length.

“stop manhandling her!” sanji would shriek, horrified at the way zoro treated your delicate body. his hands flew to your cheeks, where he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, scoffing when zoro pulled you away.

“it’s alright, sweet baby.” sanji cooed, before finally slipping his long cock past your lips, whimpering at the way you so eagerly began to suck on his length.

you were such a sweet, and obedient girl.

luffy couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he moved a little closer to you, eyeing the way zoro’s dick pounded deliciously at your sipping cunt.

each moan and scream that left your mouth was so adorable, he felt that he wanted to just eat you right then and there.

his fingers snaked down to your cunt, toying with your clit as he chuckled up at you.

you couldn’t even get a word out of your mouth, each attempt being plugged how with sanji’s long cock as he thrusted into your throat. he grunted with each snap of his hips, his hand creeping towards the roots of your hair where he gently grabbed on, carefully so he wouldn’t hurt you.

zoro, on the other hand, had a bruising grip on your hips, his sharp eye focused on the way your cunt clenched so well around his huge cock, he knew you were close.

he was just annoyed he couldn’t hear you say it.

“c-cumming!” you manage to choke out, before sanji slammed back into your throat. he didn’t mean to be so mean, it’s just.. he couldn’t stand the thought of that moss haired man make his pretty little y/n cum.

zoro thrust up into you a few more times, before he felt you gush straight over his cock, your loud moans being muffled with sanji’s dick as he began to grow closer aswell. his curly eyebrows furrowed together as his breath got short.

“close, mon amour-“ he was cut off by his hot seed shooting straight down your throat, your eyes almost rolling back at the sweet taste. you were sure to swallow it all up, tongue swiping across the leftovers around your pretty lips.

“my turn!” luffy cheered, hands pulling you off of zoro’s dick and straight to him, where he plunged his tongue straight back into your folds.

he couldn’t help it! you were just so… yummy!

zoro scoffed, and instead settled infront of you, pushing sanji out of the way. sanji sent an angry glare back at the man, pushing against him in retaliation.

before you knew it, they both shoved their cocks down your throat.

“you can take it, pretty.” sanji would reassure you, smiling softly at the tears that began to slip from your eyes.

zoro simply frowned, his large hand wiping away your tears. “i’ll give you a reason to cry.”

luffy nipped at your clit, giggling at the loud moan which you choked out, only for zoro to thrust straight into to you. sanji didn’t want to be beat, so he thrust into you aswell.

the two of them began to thrust roughly into you, sanji forgetting completely about the gentlemanly code, instead thinking of ways to completely break down zoro.

oh, but your soft sobs were just so cute, and the way you tried so hard to take the two of them, all while luffy hungrily ate at your tired pussy.

sanj came down your throat once again, with zoro choosing to blow his load over your pretty tits.

the proud smirk on his face was priceless as he pulled his wet cock out of your mouth, calloused hands gliding over your cum covered tits.

you came immediately when sanji attached his soft lips onto your nipple, zoro fiddling with your other and chuckling as it became hard and erect.

luffy was quick to slurp up every drop of cum that left your cunt, moaning like a slit before slipping his fingers straight into your little hole.

before he could curl his fingers into you, sanji pushed him out of the way, his hands rested on your waist as he turned you around.

“look at me, love.” he whispered sweetly, ignoring both luffy and zoro’s angry complaints.

he then slowly entered you, eyes examining your expression as it went from slight pain to pure bliss.

zoro’s larger hands plucked sanji’s off of your waist, where he placed them back on your hips, massaging the forming bruises, which were caused by him..

“sorry, doll.” he said, before beginning to bounce you on sanji’s cock. it had a slight curve to it, causing him to easily penetrate your sweet spot.

luffy kissed at your shoulders, licking and sucking hickeys onto you with every passing minute.

“m-more!” you whine, to which zoro complied, roughly slamming you down onto sanji’s cock.

sanji couldn’t help but moan loudly, whimpering as he heard each beautiful sound leave your lips.

“in or inside?” sanji asks, leaning into your ear where he kissed the little spot behind.

zoro scoffed at the sight, frowning as he heard you whimper out an “inside, inside..”

sanji did as told, shooting load after load of white; sticky cum into your tired pussy.

“are you okay, y/n?” luffy would ask, a small pout playing at his lips as he looked over to your fucked out expression.

they sure were the monster trio, even in another activities.

[mango-sp1ce]

Dan wipes down the bar as the other bartenders chat behind him. It’s all fleeting conversation, nothing of real note as they clean up and get ready to leave.

Unlike them, Dan just got in for his shift. The graveyard shift, how fitting. Not being one for small talk, he gives a simple grunt as a goodbye when the other workers leave, not even turning his head.

The moment the door clicks shut behind them, he brings his hand under the bar and flicks on the switches. Lights, sound, the whole shebang. His sensitive ears easily pick up on the sound of the door locking, and a different door on a different wall unlocking.

And then he sits, and he waits.

———

The first hour is quiet. A few goons, a few lesser villains. Condiment King is… an entire issue within himself, but even he didn’t pick much of a fight tonight. If anything, the bar just received its most recent restocking of condiments, courtesy of the king.

Washing a few stray dishes in his free time, Dan glances up when the door opens again and a fresh chill finds its way inside. He rolls his eyes as the villain sits down, before letting his core thrum to action and coil the frost back out the door. The man can keep his little aura, but leave your jacket at the door please. Common courtesy.

He makes momentary eye contact before making the drink without instruction or a word said. Seems frosty isn’t here tonight for small talk. Good.

Right as he slides the drink over, the door opens again to another high end villainous celebrity. The Riddler makes his way in, looking a little worse for wear. He take a close seat and does a little hand motion that only takes Dan a minute to decipher.

When he slides his drink over, the man smiles and laughs. “Got it in one! One of these days I’ll stump ya!” Maybe. It is completely possible. Dans only been recognizing the gestures from different books and video guides he’s been watching.

The two big shot villains get to talking and Dan proceeds to do what he likes the most about this job. The chaotic neutral action of… simply ignoring them. He turns and takes note of inventory instead as they plan whatever it is that they’ve planned.

And then the haunting (not to Dan, but certainly to the people of Gotham) sound of a clown car echoes down the street outside. He’s sure it isn’t an actual clown car, but he’s never really stepped outside to look.

The two men at the bar look at each other before sliding to sit further down. Within minutes of their decision, the main man himself makes his way in.

Dans already got his drink ready before he even sits. But yet again as always, the man chooses to sit right in front of wherever Dans standing at the moment.

“So, bartender, what’s it today?” The madman cackles out, taking the drink and swirling the little umbrella Dan had plopped on top. The umbrella didn’t belong there at all really, but Dan had noticed the way the man favored the little item whenever he got it and figured he may as well put one every time.

“Shocked. Chilled.” Dan responds with a nod towards the drink. The joker makes a thrilled little sound before taking a sip and knocking his head back in a laugh.

It’s not as if the words he just said have any actual meaning. At least, not what they might’ve had before. Jokers got his own thing going on, his own mixes and substances and who knows what else he puts in his drinks. Dan wouldn’t be surprised if the little “surprise” packs the Joker’s goons supplied the bar with were just joker gas in water dissolving form.

“That’s certainly got a spark!” He yells, his eyes as wide as ever. Dan doesn’t say anything, after all; everyone who comes here knows how he feels about small talk.

“So, Danny-boy, I’ve got an offer that you certainly can’t refuse!” The man chuckles, sipping his drink and playing idly with the small umbrella. Dan rolls his eyes.

“Don’t call me that. And shoot.”

“Woah now- I haven’t even loaded my gun!” He jokes. Dan just stares blankly until the man continues. “Always such the party pooper. So Casper, I’ve got a guy who needs a little… break. The usual really, but I want you to do this one with pizazz! How do ya like sequins?”

Dan blinks at him. Once. Twice. And then he dumps a cup of ice onto the man. The man cackles and cackles, like a wheezing hyena, before straightening out.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

[jefarawol]

The entire site was breathtaking to behold. Covered from top to bottom un corrupted crystals. A lot of the allagan technology still functioned, but with some brute force and smarts, we easily navigated inwards.

As we moved forward, one of the crystal formations looked odd. It wasn't until we were closer that we realized it was not crystal at all. It was a wing. And notnjustbany wing. It belonged to bahamut. Having seen only fragments of the calamity through my dreams from Hydaelyn. I wasn't prepared fornits sheer size. But that wasn't the obly concern.

A primal, defeated and stripped of its aether, returns to the land. Yet here beneath the surface a piece of him still remained.

We had to press on to know the truth. Somehow, we both knew we were on to something bigger than we imagined. And neither of us could shake the looming feeling of being watched.

[megalony]

Look After You

Since I got so much lovely feedback, I've decided to do an Eddie x reader x Buck series, I hope you will all like it. Any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz

911 Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) has to go on restricted duty at the station when she's pregnant. But it's not as easy as it looks, especially when she starts to feel unwell.

Enjoy.

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

"Why are we even debating this?"

"Why are you ambushing me at work?" (Y/n) felt like she'd overstepped the mark as soon as she spoke, but she couldn't take the words back and she couldn't change that it was how she felt.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her teeth sank down in her lower lip when she looked across the locker room at Eddie.

The way his jaw clenched made her knees tremble and her stomach tensed when his hands clamped down on his hips and his biceps tensed so tightly they looked like they were going to burst open. But it was his eyes that caught (Y/n). It was the dark look in his chocolate brown eyes that made her feel like she was falling with no way of landing. It was how he pierced those eyes on her and stared her down until the fog rolling in behind her eyes took over all of her mind and made her feel lightheaded.

"We agreed-"

"You and Evan agreed, I didn't-"

"(Y/n) don't do this."

A tremor rattled through (Y/n)'s stomach and her arms coiled towards her chest like she was trying to hug herself when Eddie growled at her. He never said her name, especially not like that. Eddie had so many petnames for her that she barely recognised her own name passing through his lips.

He only ever called her and Evan by their first names if it was serious and something was wrong. Whereas (Y/n) usually called Evan by his first name because she knew the effect it had on him and how it made his knees weak.

She could feel her head starting to swim and when Eddie looked like he had a shimmering aura glowing around him, she knew she had to sit down before she fell down.

Her hands reached out behind her and she slumped herself down onto the bench in front of the lockers. She landed with a thud and her head lolled forward as her shoulders hunched over. (Y/n) dragged her hands up and down her thighs and across her knees, trying to control the headache forming behind her eyes and stop herself from feeling so sick all of a sudden.

"Okay, what are you two arguing about?" Evan closed the locker room door behind him and stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips and a raised brow. He didn't like the tension in this room, it was suffocating and it made Evan feel like he was stuck in the middle of something. Unsure which partner he should agree with and which one he was about to upset.

"Please tell her that we have to talk to Bobby today."

Evan rolled his lips together and leaned his shoulders back into the wall. He folded his arms over his chest and let his stoic, calm expression tell (Y/n) all she needed to know.

He agreed with Eddie.

He watched the way (Y/n) slumped her head forward again and didn't bother to hide her groan of agitation. It made Evan feel bad. It made his stomach tighten and his lips formed a wince as he sank his teeth down into his lower lip out of nervous habit.

"Baby we have to,"

(Y/n) moved her hands to run across her face and a shiver bolted down her spine again.

Why were they making this so hard? Why were they so adamant about talking to Bobby today? Why not tomorrow, or next week, or next month? (Y/n) just wanted to wait a little longer, just a few more weeks, that was all.

"I can do my job just fine and I'll be alright, it won't affect me yet. Do you know how differently everyone's gonna look at me? How you'll all treat me differently when we announce this?" (Y/n) braced her hands on the bench and started to sway herself back and forth to try and ward off the sickness she could feel rising at the back of her throat.

"Baby this isn't about you being able to do your job."

When (Y/n) scoffed, Eddie tilted his head back and tangled his fingers in his hair, tugging until he was sure he would rip the roots from his scalp. Why couldn't she see this from their point of view?

"Look at me," Eddie dropped his hands and moved forward until he was crouched down in front of her with his hands on her thighs. "We're just trying to look after you, both of you. We know you can do your job, but can't you see how risky it is if you go running into a fire or we winch you down on a harness. If we go into a collapsing building and you get stuck or hurt, then we've all put the baby at risk."

Eddie smoothed his hands up and down (Y/n)'s thighs before he moved and cupped her chin to tilt her head down. He couldn't tell if she was listening to him or if his words were going in one ear and right out the other.

They weren't doing this to be cruel. It wasn't safe for (Y/n) to do all the normal duties she would do on the job, not when she was pregnant.

If (Y/n) went into a dangerous situation, it didn't matter if she could handle it or that she could perform her job as normal. It mattered that she was putting herself at an unnecessary risk and if she got hurt, they might not be able to help her or the baby.

"I… I know, but you're not the ones who are gonna feel useless and restricted. You won't have people telling you to sit down or get out the way or hang back like you're a hindrance… just, while I can, I wanna be useful. That's all I'm trying to say."

(Y/n) looked between her boys before her gaze settled on Evan. She knew he was more likely to crack than Eddie and he might see this more than Eddie because of what he had been through. Evan had the same experience when he'd had operations on his leg and went on blood thinners.

He had people telling him to sit out on a call or telling him he shouldn't be working as much and sometimes he did feel useless.

(Y/n) didn't want to feel like that.

She didn't want people thinking she was incapable of doing her job or telling her to calm down or ask if she was alright every five minutes. While she was very early into the pregnancy and not showing yet, (Y/n) wanted to do her job. She wanted to feel like things were normal before everything started to change and she had to accept the fact of doing lighter duties.

"No one's gonna talk to you like that baby, we won't let them. But we have to tell Bobby. You won't go on restricted duties straight away and you know Bobby, he won't treat you any different, he'll still let you work."

Evan knew Bobby, he might have to be strict with (Y/n) at times and tell her when to step down and wait out on a call, but he wouldn't be unfair or cruel. He would treat her just like he would anyone else and it would be Bobby's discretion whether (Y/n) went out on big calls or not. They were lucky to have him as their captain.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together when Eddie leaned up and rested his forehead against hers. She saw the way his eyes changed and softened around the edges when she wordlessly nodded.

They had to tell Bobby sooner or later. And it may as well be now so they didn't get told off for hiding it from him.

Deep down, (Y/n) knew it was the right thing to do. She knew the boys would hover around and worry if they didn't tell anyone and she knew they were right. She couldn't go on every call out now, running into a burning building or a crumbling house wasn't going to be an option. But there were other things (Y/n) could do, she could try putting out the fires from the outside with the hose, she could tend to the wounded like Hen and Eddie. They had other options than just sitting around doing nothing.

She managed a smile when Eddie kissed her temple before he stood up and held a hand out towards her. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor when the three of them left the locker room and made their way down the corridor towards Bobby's office.

Her hand curled around Evan's bicep and she leaned into his side when they reached the office. She wished they could have this conversation without her. It would be so much easier, but it wasn't possible.

"Hey cap, can we have a word?"

"Sure… what can I do for you?"

All three of them could see the weary look in Bobby's eyes when he watched them all wander into his office and stand in front of his desk. He suddenly felt nervous, as if they were going to bestow some horrid revelation on him or make some kind of accusation.

He didn't usually have them all in his office at the same time like this and they never usually looked this perplexed. And Bobby wasn't doing any annual reviews until next month so he couldn't think why they were here.

A look passed between them all before (Y/n) pressed her lips into a thin line and looked down at her feet. She didn't want to be the one to say it. She moved her hands to tangle them together in front of her lap and she anxiously started picking at the broken skin on her thumb.

"Guys, everything okay?"

"(Y/n)'s pregnant." Evan managed a smile as he spoke and leaned forward to curl his hands around the back of the chair they were all stood behind. He looked over at Eddie and shrugged, murmuring a quiet 'what?' at the look he was given.

Was he supposed to say it differently? Was he supposed to make a big show and tell and do a reveal? No one else was speaking and Evan had a constant desire to fill any silence he found himself in. They knew that. They knew staying quiet would force him to speak and they were lucky Evan hadn't started babbling yet.

"Congratulations." Bobby pushed back in his chair and clapped his hands together as he smiled. His smile instantly calmed all three of them down. "I take it you're all here to go over the rules, about going forward?"

"Am I on restricted duties?" (Y/n) hated how quiet and helpless her voice sounded but Bobby's soft smile and the chuckle he let out made her feel a little better.

"Right, this is how we're gonna do this. For now, you just check in with me about each big call we get, I'll have the final say on if you go or not. You're only restricted on the very demanding calls or the ones that will put you at immediate risk and we all know what those ones are."

They were all sensible adults, they knew which kind of calls (Y/n) would be fine to go on and which ones would pose a risk to her that she needed to sit out on. And any they were unsure of, Bobby would have the final say. It was the easiest option to keep everyone happy and safe.

When they all nodded and stayed silent but content, Bobby moved to stand and lean on the edge of his desk as he continued.

"Once you reach seven months, you'll be on maternity leave, that's not debatable. When you come back, however, is totally up to you. I have to put this on your file now, for safety precautions and I'll need monthly or bi-weekly check-ins. So I know you're okay and not feeling overwhelmed. Does that sound okay?"

"That's great, thanks Cap."

That didn't sound as bad as (Y/n) was expecting. They could all see the relief on her face and she found herself nodding without even realising.

That was fine by her. She knew she couldn't exactly do much when she would be seven or eight months along, let alone nine. And none of them had to think about maternity leave just yet or how long (Y/n) needed off, they could sort that out later.

The updates were fine by (Y/n), she knew it was protocol so Bobby knew she was coping and didn't feel like she was struggling. It kept him in the loop and kep him insured in case (Y/n) suddenly fell ill at any point.

"Does anyone else on the team know?"

"Not yet."

"Then this stays between us until you're all ready to inform the others. I'm really pleased for you all."

***

"Come on, I'm starved. Aren't you hungry?" Evan snook a glance over his shoulder as he headed towards the stairs. He needed a shower, he really needed to have a shower but he wanted lunch first.

They had just finished a round of random, spontaneous little calls and they had gone from scene to scene without coming back to the station all morning. A woman got stuck in an elevator, someone's balcony gave way and a young lady got trapped in the broken balcony floor. Then a bakery had a gas leak and they had to go help and evacuate.

Evan wanted to eat now before the bell sounded and they were out for the rest of the day again. He had a bad feeling that the bell wasn't going to stop ringing today. Someone had secretly jinxed them.

"I'm not hungry," (Y/n) kept her voice quiet and her eyes on her feet as she headed up the stairs after Hen and Evan. She could feel Eddie walking close behind her and she internally cringed at the look she could feel burning into her back.

Eddie knew she had skipped breakfast this morning and they had been out on call for hours. She needed to eat before they didn't get chance and she went all day without anything.

But (Y/n) wasn't hungry. She felt sick.

She felt like her stomach was balling itself up into knots, ready to block off her intestines and make her suffer. The thought of food made bile rise in the back of her throat and her hands were starting to clam up and sweat. Her skin was heating up in a hot flush, she felt like she was boiling over because they had worked all morning and she hadn't eaten since teatime yesterday. And even then, (Y/n) hadn't managed a full plate of food either.

"Mi amor, you need to eat something."

She could feel Eddie's hand hover over her lower back as he aimed for the table and (Y/n) aimed for the fridge to get a drink. She didn't even want a drink, but she knew she had to try and force herself to drink something.

(Y/n) tried to calm her breaths but she bit down on her lip when her fingers curled around a glass and she realised her hand was shaking. That wasn't a good sign. That was a sign that she was running on fumes and she needed to try and have some lunch.

It was hard when her body gave her all the signs she needed, but her stomach declined anything she tried to have.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she poured three glasses of juice and dug her nails into the glass so harshly her fingers began to throb and ache. She couldn't risk dropping the glasses.

It was a relief when she shuffled over to the table and was able to put all three glasses down, somewhat hazardly, on the table. She let herself flop down into her seat and took a second to tilt her head back and close her eyes, relishing in the way her muscles stopped aching when she sat and relaxed.

She let herself sink down in her chair as Eddie sat on her left and moved his hand to hold her thigh beneath the table. It was soothing to feel him give her knee a squeeze and his feathers started to glide up and down her leg. She tried to melt into his touch and focus on him while Bobby started dishing up the lasagne for everyone. And her eyes locked with Evan across the table as he gave her a soft smile.

As soon as the plate was in front of her, (Y/n) felt adrenaline bubbling up in her chest and her throat physically tensed.

If she had eaten breakfast, she knew she would have thrown it back up by now.

The steam coming from her plate made her nose crinkle and her head started to swim from the heat. She already felt like she was trapped in an oven from her body panicking and going into overdrive, hot food- or any kind of food, wasn't helping right now.

"Please?"

She could of cried at how quiet and sweet Eddie's voice sounded when he hovered his lips over the shell of her ear and leaned in. He nudged her glass closer when he saw she wasn't looking pleased with her food. If she didn't eat, the team were going to notice and say something. And if she didn't eat, she would make herself sick.

But if she had something to drink, the boys wouldn't feel so worried about her. A drink would relieve them all.

(Y/n) curled her hand around her glass and took a tentative sip and as soon as she drank a little, it was like she couldn't stop. She suddenly realised how thirsty she was. Eddie's hand gave her thigh a tight squeeze but it was too late, she'd downed the whole glass. At least she'd had a drink.

She could see that Eddie and Evan had cleared over half their dinner before she dared to pick up her fork and try one bite.

It didn't go down well. One mouthful made her tongue tingle and felt like she'd suddenly had an anaphalactic shock. Her throat wanted to swell, she had to swallow three times to stop herself from throwing it right back up and the smell did something horrible to her stomach.

It took all (Y/n) had in her not to grimace or gag. There was nothing wrong with Bobby's food, he could make anything and she would eat it happily, but any kind of food was disagreeing with her. Even something simple like a plain biscuit felt too heavy on her stomach recently.

"Do you want something else, a bit of toast? A biscuit?" Eddie rested his arm over the back of (Y/n)'s chair and pressed his lips against the side of her temple. He tried to keep his voice quiet so no one else noticed. No one said anything when they noticed (Y/n) wasn't eating, she had already told them this morning she didn't feel well in case they noticed she was flagging.

"No thanks," (Y/n) shook her head and pushed her plate away before she picked up her glass and held it out to him when he stood up to clear their plates. If he was offering, she would take another drink.

It made him smile. A drink was something, she had finally had something and Eddie had made a mental note to try and remember to grab some complan shakes on the way home. They would give (Y/n) a boost and some protein if she wasn't eating.

"Okay?" Evan mumbled quietly as he nudged his foot against (Y/n)'s leg beneath the table. He preferred sitting opposite his partners rather than next to them, he could see them better this way without having to turn every which way. And he always sat near Bobby, it was a tradition Evan didn't want to break.

(Y/n) tried to nod but she grimaced and sighed, it made her head throb. It felt like someone was banging a drum inside her head so harshly her skull was going to rip at the seams. The thudding of her heartbeat pulsed beneath her skin and pounded through her head so badly that she couldn't even see anymore. All she could make out were the black and white sparkles blinking in front of her eyes.

When her eyes couldn't focus on anyone sat round the table, (Y/n) planted her arms down and tried to take a deep breath to steady herself and stay upright, but it didn't work.

Evan watched in horror as (Y/n)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head, but before he could say anything, her head dropped. Her shoulders slumped forward and her head smacked into the table with such a sudden bang that it felt more like a gun had been fired.

"Fuck!"

He lurched back in his seat and braced his hands on the table as his heart felt like it had jumped up into his throat.

Scraping his chair back, Evan clamoured round the table behind Bobby's chair and reached out for (Y/n). He leaned over and curled one arm behind her shoulders while he slipped his other hand beneath her temple that was flat out on the table. It was a good job Eddie had cleared her plate or she would have landed in her dinner.

Evan carefully pulled her back and leaned her back against the chair but his upper lip curled in distaste and a growl left his lips as he shuddered.

"Oh- oh God, Eddie grab the med bag." It was hard for Evan not to start shaking when he looked down at (Y/n). She'd hit the table hard enough to give herself a nosebleed. Blood was pouring down her nose, dribbling past her slightly parted lips and onto the dark oak table.

Eddie threw the tea towel down on the side when he leaned over the counter and caught sight of (Y/n). Spanish profanities slurred past his lips as he sped off to find the nearest medical bag.

"Come here baby," Evan mumbled quietly as he pulled (Y/n) to slump her into his chest.

He eased her off the chair and went down on his knees on the floor, lowering (Y/n) down with him until she flopped into his embrace. He managed a grateful smile when Hen bent down with him and carefully held (Y/n)'s ankles and straightened her legs out. They both reclined her until her back was settled on Evan's lower chest and abdomen and her head was tucked beneath his chin against his collar bone.

Evan carefully held (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head forward so the blood ran down her face and didn't go down her throat and cause her to choke.

"Okay, let's take a look." Eddie knelt down beside (Y/n)'s thigh in front of Evan when Hen shuffled back to let him take her place.

He held her limp wrist and felt her pulse before he reached forward and pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. Her pulse was high and she was starting to burn up. He handed Evan a wad of gauze to press against her nose while he found the blood pressure cuff and slid it up her left arm.

"BP's fluctuating but it's still high." Eddie didn't like it. He didn't like how the numbers were going up and down, but they were staying consistently above the normal rate. She was wearing herself down and she clearly had a severe case of morning sickness. They needed to get fluids into her and keep her hydrated before she wore herself out.

When a quiet murmur left her lips, Eddie grabbed a flashlight and pushed forward on his knees.

"(Y/n), baby, you with me?" He brushed his thumb across her cheek while Evan pulled away the gauze that was now drenched in blood and coated his hand. They could both see her eyes fluttering from left to right and she tried her best to keep them open but she wasn't fully conscious yet.

Another quiet sound left her lips before she let her head flop back on Evan's shoulder and tried to coil her trembling arms into her chest.

"No, no head forward, you're still bleeding."

Evan held her chin and tilted her head back down, they didn't need the blood going backwards. It needed to fall from her nose until the bleeding was finally finished and tapered off. He shuffled forward a little to push (Y/n) so she was sitting upright, propped up against him since she had no energy to keep herself upright.

"S… no…"

"What?"

Whatever (Y/n) was trying to say, none of them could work out. When her hand moved, Evan let go of her chin and held her hand to show him they were still there with her. And Eddie kept hold over her wrist to keep a check on her pulse. He let the blood pressure cuff stay loose around her arm ready for him to double check again in five minutes.

Bobby perched down on the edge of the table while Hen and Chimney hovered in the kitchen, just in case they were needed for anything.

(Y/n) tried to open her eyes but she couldn't manage it. All she could manage was to tug on Evan's hand and tap it against her lower chest before her chin lurched forward and she coughed.

A frown pulled on Eddie's lips and he leaned back with a grimace when (Y/n) suddenly threw up. The glass of juice she managed to drink came up with vengeance and spluttered past her lips as she coughed and heaved. Eddie let go of her wrist and held the back of her neck, keeping her head as far down as she could manage so she threw up onto her shirt and lap. They couldn't have her choking.

"Let it out, mi amor." Eddie leaned his free arm on his knees and pressed his hand against his mouth.

This wasn't good.

"Hen, can you grab us an IV bag please? If I can't get any fluids down her she's gotta go to the hospital." Eddie looked up towards the kitchen. He needed to get her hooked up on a saline bag and get as much fluids into her system as he could manage. If they couldn't, they would need to take her to the emergency room because this was not a good state for her to be in.

"Sure… there's antibiotics in the back, if it's her stomach I can find her some soluble antibiotics-"

"She's not ill… she's pregnant." Eddie looked over at Evan before he glanced back at the rest of the team scattered around the annex. It was time to tell them. They couldn't have (Y/n) getting in this state continuously and not letting the team know and (Y/n) had been close to telling them this morning when Hen kept noticing that she didn't look well.

It was safer for everyone to know so they didn't think Bobby was singling (Y/n) out if he told her to stand down from a call or make her stay at the station. And if she was going to get in this state more often and be held down with morning sickness, the team had to know so they could help her.

"I'll find her some anti-emmetics." Understanding flooded Hen's voice as she bypassed the three of them and made her way towards the stairs. To stop (Y/n) being sick again, Hen would find her some anti-sickness meds that could be put straight into an IV to get them in her system quicker.

That way, they might have a better chance of getting some proper fluids and maybe a tiny bit of food down her to perk her back up.

Pushing forward, Evan sat (Y/n) up a little more and grabbed some more tissue and gauze from the medic bag on his left. He began swiping at her nose and lips again, smearing the blood until it was a mix of dusty pink and pale rouge smeared and streaked around her face.

"Baby, do you feel okay?" Evan pressed his lips to the back of (Y/n)'s head and rubbed his hand up and down her arm when she started to murmur something again.

He let her head flop back on his shoulder since she was still sitting up and the bleeding had mostly stopped now.

"Dizzy," (Y/n) took a deep breath and tried to open her eyes but it took a few seconds for them to finally land on Eddie and manage to focus enough to see him properly.

"That's not surprising, you hit the table pretty hard, baby."

She grimaced at the taste of blood in her mouth and the smell of it stuck up her nose. Her lips rolled together and it made her cringe to feel the blood starting to dry around her lips and her chin, it felt like she had been cast in clay that was starting to chip off and break apart. And she knew by the uncomfortable feeling of her shirt sticking to her chest that she must have been sick.

She tried to move her arms but her head tilted down and she groaned when she realised she had a blood pressure cuff loosely wrapped around her left arm.

"Here, I've added the emmetics in for you."

"Thanks," Eddie managed a small smile when Hen handed over an IV line attached to a saline bag and a packaged needle and cap ready to hook up to (Y/n). "Stay still for me."

Eddie swabbed the back of (Y/n)'s hand before he got the needle ready. He kept his eyes on her hand so he didn't see the way she winced when he pushed it into her vein, but he could tell Evan had to hold her tighter to stop her from moving in discomfort. Once it was done, Eddie hooked the IV line up and opened the cap to get the fluids in. There was no need to put the line on a slow release, they needed it all in (Y/n)'s system as quick as possible.

"Shall we try and sit you down now?"

When she nodded, she watched Eddie put the IV bag on his shoulder before he held his hands out to her. Evan kept hold of her waist and they carefully eased her up between them, taking her weight when her legs trembled. They carefully manoeuvred her round and got her sat down at the table again.

(Y/n) let her hands fall to her lap and she rubbed her trembling palms up and down her knees, trying to ignore the IV taped into her hand. She tilted her head down and took deep breaths, finally feeling like the fog in her head was disappearing and being replaced with a dull, throbbing headache.

"Give it an hour for observation, then one of us will take you home." Eddie leaned over the back of the chair and moved his hands to comfortingly squeeze (Y/n)'s shoulders.

When they knew she was okay and had some fluids in her system, they would take her home. There was no way (Y/n) could remain on shift after this. She needed to go home and rest, no one on the team would let her stay and try to overdo it when she'd just collapsed.

And both men knew she had to be feeling rough for her to just nod and agree without an argument.

(Y/n) dared to lift her eyes from staring down at her feet when she felt Evan's hand move to squeeze her thigh as he took a seat in front of her. He had a small, lazy smile on his lips and he propped his chin up on his free hand while his thumb glided up and down her leg.

"What are we gonna do with you, hm?"

[writewithmiaaa]

Jasper Hale X reader

Chapter one: Guarded Grace

Pairings: Jasper Hale x Female reader

Warnings: None 💗

Summary: When James runs into the ballet studio, there is a girl in there, practising her barre. How will Jasper react?

Type: Fluff and a pinch of angst💓

The ballet studio was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Y/N moved gracefully along the barre, her every movement fluid and precise. She had always found solace in ballet, a way to express herself and escape from the mundane worries of life. Tonight, the studio was her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the dance.

As she executed a flawless arabesque, she heard the distant sound of a door creaking open. Pausing, she glanced toward the entrance of the studio, her heart skipping a beat. Her pulse quickened when a tall, menacing figure stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an aura of danger. His blonde hair was long, and an evil grin plastered his chiseled jaw.

He moved with a predatory grace, his eyes locking onto her with an intensity that made her blood run cold. "What a delightful surprise," he said, his voice smooth and chilling. "I was looking for someone else, but you'll do nicely. I’m James."

Before she could react, another figure burst into the studio, moving with inhuman speed and precision. This time, the man had golden eyes which were fierce, and medium length hair. He smelt of oak and cinnamon. The mystery man quickly positioned himself between Y/N and the danger.

"Get behind me," he ordered, his voice low but commanding.

“What the hell is happening? You ruined my perfect barre.” Y/N sulked, a pout covering her pretty face.

“I said, get behind me.”

Y/N had no idea what was happening, and so she instinctively trusted the intensity in his gaze. She backed away, pressing herself against the mirrored wall as the man squared off against James.

James's smile widened, showing his sharp teeth. "Two for the price of one," he hissed. "This is going to be fun, isn’t it Jasper?"

Jasper's stance shifted, his body poised like a coiled spring ready to strike. "You won't touch her, she’s human.” he growled, his voice filled with quiet fury.

“Oh Jasper, but that’s half the fun.” James mock pouted. The two vampires began to circle each other, their movements a deadly dance. Y/N watched in a mix of terror and awe as Jasper's military precision met James's raw ferocity. The air crackled with tension, the threat of violence palpable.

Suddenly, James lunged, and the room exploded into a blur of movement. Jasper met him head-on, their clash echoing through the studio. The mirrors shook, reflecting the chaotic struggle as they grappled, each trying to gain the upper hand.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she watched the fierce battle. She had never felt so helpless, so vulnerable. But then, in the midst of the chaos, she saw something extraordinary. Jasper's movements became more fluid, more controlled. A feeling of calm washed over the room. How did that happen?

With a final, powerful blow and barred teeth, Jasper sent James crashing into the barre, breaking it in half. The defeated vampire snarled but didn't attempt to rise. Instead, he slinked back, eyes burning with hatred.

"This isn't over," James spat, his gaze flickering to Y/N before he retreated, disappearing into the night.

The studio fell silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of the combatants. Jasper turned to Y/N, his expression softening.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Y/N nodded, her legs trembling from the adrenaline. "Yes, thank you. What was that about?”

Jasper offered a small, reassuring smile. "Don’t worry about it darlin’, you’re safe now. Want me to walk you home?”

As they stepped into the cool night air, Jasper stayed close to Y/N, his presence a comforting shield against the lingering fear. The streets were eerily quiet, the distant hum of traffic the only sound.

"Where do you live?" Jasper asked gently.

"Just a few blocks from here," Y/N replied, her voice still shaky.

They walked in silence for a while, the tension of the encounter gradually easing with each step. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Jasper, still amazed by how he had come to her rescue.

"Thank you," she said finally, breaking the silence. "For everything."

Jasper looked at her, his eyes softening. "It's my duty to protect the innocent. I'm just glad I was there in time."

As they reached her apartment building, Y/N felt a pang of reluctance at the thought of parting ways. "Will I see you again?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jasper's smile was warm and reassuring. "I'll make sure of it. You're part of our world now, and we take care of our own.” He handed her a note with his number on it. “For emergencies ma’am.” He winked, and with a final nod, he watched as she entered her building, waiting until she was safely inside before turning away.

[fayeriess]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE MOTHER ROAD ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: the night of your bedding ceremony leaves you destroyed in more ways than one.

warnings: 18+ ( minors please do not interact ), a bit of angst, slight dub!con, a little smut if you squint, loss of virginity, p in v, bedding ceremony ( witnesses ), not proof-read

a/n: first installment of 'birth of violence' as well as first ever work for hotd. i’ve been lingering in the background and slowly dipping my toes in the fandom again so bear with me if anything seems incorrect here. house baratheon is mentioned a couple of times. not sure if this was really going in the dub!con direction but the warning is there nonetheless :)

You were used to the cold; the iciness that frosted the ground in thick layers during the colder seasons, seeping through furs and weaving itself between the joints. It numbs, comforts, and soothes — leaving frostbitten fingers, and an empty stomach coiled tightly in knots. 

The sensation was no stranger; on the contrary, it was someone you knew all too well in all the forms it had come to you. 

Goddess flesh in the shape of cracking bones, and skin peeling from slain muscle, an aura of deceitfulness to follow. She haunted when lashes fluttered shut, skin between brows creasing in concentration in an attempt to rid of the horrors constantly plaguing states of unconsciousness – creeping in the dark corners, hidden by glistening torchlight. 

But, when she revealed herself, instead of waning, she grew; bubbling beneath the surface, tingling your spine so that it raised gooseflesh. At times, a dim glimmer of hope shone in the cavity of your chest, protected from the harsh realities this plane of existence had to offer.

The world burns at your feet, yet you remain unignited.

Even now, as you lay unclothed atop white linens, tears pricking your eyes, jaw tight, and body shaking with utmost humiliation, she loomed. You had wished she shielded you instead; from the unity of this marriage for allegiance, from the high lords and ladies that had crowded behind the curtains of your bedding chamber. 

But hadn’t she helped you? Hadn’t she made you senseless to this . . . robbery to come out victorious once your duty had been fulfilled? Once the stain of your snatched virtue decorated the sheets?

It was a thought that flitted across the crevices of your mind, eyes clouded with fear, hazed from  Dornish crimson wine consumed during the wedding ceremony — your wedding ceremony. Oh, how you wished so desperately then that you were back near the southeastern shores — embroidering with your septa — the woman who had taught you how to be a lady ever since your bones ached from growing. 

Once a child, now a woman. Once a child, now a woman. Your lips parted to utter those words to yourself silently, hands grasping at the crinkled sheets beneath you. 

“Will them away.” 

Snapping your head between your clenched legs, you swallow, taking in the figure before you. “I’m sorry?” 

Blinking rapidly, you sunk lower into the mattress, wishing it would swallow you whole before you could get on with this act with the man whom you were forced to call husband. Such a strange title for someone you had come to know only through whispers across Storm’s End alone; hushed whispers seeping through hands that hadn’t been cupped around ears tight enough.

He moves slowly, long limbs splayed out on either side of you, violet eye locked to your face as his head dips. “No one else is here.” He whispers, lips a breath away from yours. “Just me and you, ābrazȳrys.” 

You can’t help the small, shaky sigh that escapes your once-closed mouth as slivers of bright tendrils tickle your face, raising the hairs on your arms. Not trusting the constant thump that sounded throughout your ears, you nodded stiffly, the bile of earlier devoured supper threatening to surface in your esophagus.

With a rigid spine, you inched backward, head cushioned by the mass of pillows piling the expanse of the bed. A sudden pressure made itself known behind your eyes, a rush of tears awaiting to embarrass you further than what you had already endured tonight. 

His reassuring words caressed your skin, albeit doing little to quell the sickness, sloshing the digesting wine inside you. Aemond Targaryen was a man who was capable of many things, but you did not believe that genuine kindness was one of them. Nor would you ever. 

As a young girl, you had read stories that would’ve gotten you clapped upside the head if they were ever discovered in the confines of your chambers—inked writings of erotic experiences littering parchment front to back. 

You had always been a greedy reader, opting to take in as much as you could learn between pages rather than by the hands of those around you. When you turned into a woman-grown — gone was your stubbornness — your fight dissipated the more you learned to clamp down on your loose tongue, drawing a copper taste onto your tastebuds despite yourself.

It was one of the reasons why you had found yourself in King's Landing, why the hands of a kinslayer were skimming the curvature of your waist, fingertips dancing on the bare flesh below your ribcage soon after.

He was dousing you with his shared sin. This was not the way you wished to be loved. 

The muscles in your stomach involuntarily clench at his touch, hands stiff and straight at your sides now, fingers wriggling together as a means to distract yourself; shaking when he flicks his thumb over your nipple. 

You’re forced to snap your eyes in his direction, lashes clustered, wet with tears that left trails in their wake.

It didn’t matter one bit if you looked as pathetic as you felt. You had come to that conclusion long ago; the minute he had showed up to the Stormlands asking your father for your hand in marriage. 

Borros Baratheon had always thought of you as a spare — with your older sister — Cassandra being the most favored out of the six of his kin. So it was astonishing when a dragon took a sudden interest in the likes of a stag. 

How delicate. How . . . fiendish.

His voice was a whisper among many in the fluid of your skull, lips pressed against the shell of your heated ear. “Are you well?” 

The question had the one-eyed prince pursing his lips, he reprimanded himself for his slick tongue. It was obvious you were naught but petrified. 

He was going to defile you, and it would be something he would find no pleasure in; of that he was certain.

The sniffle you gave along with a curt nod of your head was enough, as his slender fingers had suddenly appeared at your cheek, wiping away at stray saltwater littering the apples of your warm cheeks. 

Your chest expanded, wide enough that you were now chest-to-chest with him. Aemond wasn’t as stocky as the men you were usually surrounded by; naught more than tall, arms not packed with muscles of hard labor, but moreover bone with subtle definition you could easily learn to appreciate if the circumstances were different. 

The sensation of his heart pounding against your sternum only intensified when said hand disappeared between your bodies to palm at his throbbing cock, guiding it against your slick folds. 

If you weren’t choking on your self-pity, you’d find a way to resist with your words rather than slap your clammy palm against his bicep, the uneven ridges of your nails digging into the flesh. Aemond winced slightly at your tell, eyebrows furrowing at your wide eyes.

“‘M scared.” Words lower than the quietest of whispers reached his ears, something he’d will himself to etch between the tissue of his brain with thick twine.

Aemond Targaryen found immense joy when he’d spot trepidation contorting the features of those he deemed beneath him — which was most — if truths were being brought under the scorching sun. But, this time his stomach could only roll over in knots at your helplessness; something all too familiar to him. 

He had experienced it on the Street of Silk back when he was ten-and-three with Aegon hot on heels. His first time had been with a whore, a woman far much older than he. Desperately struggling to place his mind elsewhere, Aemond ultimately failed the task and found himself hunched over in a nearby alley soon after.

He could still feel the crack of the outer foundation of the brothel as he dug his fingers into its dirt-ridden cracks — heaving, inhaling — a cycle of panic forcing itself down his throat. When Aegon had found him, he had clapped a hand on his back and laughed madly, lips smacking together as they clipped away at the rest of innocence within the younger.

Perhaps that was why the small fragment in his heart that cradled a place for his dear older brother was black with rot.

In his hesitation, it seemed you had already succumbed to your fate as your nose crinkled, a rapid nod of the head to follow. “Please.” 

Your approval was broken and utterly defeated as you looked. It made his blood run cold; the dragon fire that had given him his birthright cooling. 

“I-“ With the sentence long forgotten in his throat, Aemond’s lips had curled in a deep frown, as you stared at him. 

Your eyes were blurry with another onslaught of tears, hands raising to frantically wipe at them with your palms, digging the heels of them as far as they could go to remove any trace of your weeping. 

He was sure that if you had dug them any deeper, they would have disappeared into the depths of your sockets

Although you were certain that those standing behind the thin linen sheet had held no sense of sorrow for your fate, a part of you wished at least one person had. That before you had grabbed his length and eased it inside of you, someone had yanked back the only means of privacy you had and gotten you out of there. 

Alas, you had no savior. Not your four other sisters, nor your cunt lord of a father whose last words to you were to be a good wife. Not even Alicent, who had seemed to have the lowest of tolerances for a frail girl like you bringing forth heirs. New grandsons, and granddaughters for her to dote over. 

“They will be as delicate as their mother.” She complimented, a small bite to her spoken words. You were smart enough to know it was backhanded, as she thought you weak, feeble the minute her warm, motherly hands had grasped your shaking ones. 

A gasp had left you at the sudden intrusion, the slight pinch of your body being practically split in half causing your lids to screw shut. 

Aemond gently pushed at your hand still circling his cock, leaving you with no option other than to ball it tightly at your side. With a slow buck of his hips, he inches forward, hoping to make a home in your cunt, and you clench around him involuntarily: breathe warm and hot as he lets his eye flutter shut. 

The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt in all your years on this plane of existence, and it causes a shudder to wrack your entire being so violently, that you can’t help the sob that escapes you. It mixes in the thick air, heating the flesh of your cheeks even further, bringing the blood in your veins to boil over.

Something is stirring deep within the pits of your belly, twisting – shaping itself as tightly as it can before it can be unwound, foreign but not as uninviting as you had expected it to be.

It was much more pleasant. So much so, that as Aemond continued his steady, agonizingly slow thrusts, you found that your toes would curl slightly, ridges of teeth indenting the plump flesh of your bottom lip, and content sighs leaving your lungs in quiet intervals. 

The pad of a thumb brushes against your tear-stricken face, slowly easing its way down to your jaw before coming to a stop at the fullness of your mouth. 

A skip of silence simmering in slight hesitancy does nothing to stop the rapidness of your heart; the way it palpated when a ‘May I kiss you?’ came out of his parted lips. 

Was he asking your consent to ease his conscience due to snatching you away from your home? Or was he asking because it was the last thing you’d be able to give your opinion upon? 

It was a fickle thought. One that you quickly realized you were overanalyzing when his knuckle curved to lift your head. 

“Yes.” 

And so his lips pressed against yours with fervor, as if he’d been deprived of touch his entire life. There was warmth swirling around your tongue when he had delved into the warmth wetness that made up your mouth, all the while jutting his hips forward. 

Aemond’s breath is caught by your mouth as he sighs, peppering kisses down your chin, and over your throat soon after. 

There’s no trace of confidence within you the second your hands weave through his long tresses, tugging slightly as his tongue follows the trail his mouth had made. 

He stills near your collarbone and hums, sending a shiver pinching down the expanse of your back, legs rubbing against his hips. 

“Is this what you want?” 

The frost is back, starting at the tips of your fingers this time as they stop near the base of his neck, shaking from the suddenness of his question. 

Is this what you wanted? To submit yourself to a role within Kings Landing in the Red Keep as a princess? A woman to hang over her husband's arm, the stronghold of this alliance between House Baratheon and House Targaryen.

You were supposed to be the epitome of strength. 

So strong is what you would be. 

Even if it shaped you into something you could no longer recognize.

“I’m sure.” 

And for a second your words rang true.

Just for now.