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meanqueens · 3 months

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The Real Alicent Hightower

(or, a compilation of every passage in George R. R. Martin’s “Fire and Blood” pertaining to her character)

(unless i missed something, in which case please let me know and i can update this post!)

disclaimer: my goal was not to include every time her name was mentioned, but rather to highlight everything that could be indicative of her actual character (i.e. things that she did or were done to/said about her). for full contexts and details regarding other characters, i highly recommend reading F&B yourself.

Heirs of the Dragon—A Question of Succession

“Ser Otto brought his wife and children to court with him, and served King Jaehaerys faithfully for the years remaining to him. As the Old King’s strength and wits began to fail, he was oft confined to his bed. Ser Otto’s precocious fifteen-year-old daughter, Alicent, became his constant companion, fetching His Grace his meals, reading to him, helping him to bathe and dress himself. The Old King sometimes mistook her for one of his daughters, calling her by their names; near the end, he grew certain she was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea. In the year 103 AC King Jaehaerys I Targaryen died in his bed as Lady Alicent was reading to him from Septon Barth’s Unnatural History.” “Another woman had caught his eye. He announced his intention to wed Lady Alicent of House Hightower, the clever and lovely eighteen-year-old daughter of the King’s Hand, the girl who had read to King Jaehaerys as he lay dying. The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family, of impeccable lineage; there could be no possible objection to the king’s choice of bride. Even so, there were those who murmured that the Hand had risen above himself, that he had brought his daughter to court with this in mind. A few even cast doubt on Lady Alicent’s virtue, suggesting she had welcomed King Viserys into her bed even before Queen Aemma’s death. (These calumnies were never proved, though Mushroom repeats them in his Testimony and goes so far as to claim that reading was not the only service Lady Alicent performed for the Old King in his bedchamber.)”

“When King Viserys took Alicent Hightower to wife in 106 AC, House Velaryon was notable for its absence. Princess Rhaenyra poured for her stepmother at the feast, and Queen Alicent kissed her and named her “daughter.” The princess was amongst the women who disrobed the king and delivered him to the bedchamber of his bride.” "...mummers and singers heralded the birth of each new Targaryen princeling. Queen Alicent had soon proved to be as fertile as she was pretty. In 107 AC, she bore the king a healthy son, naming him Aegon, after the Conqueror. Two years later, she produced a daughter for the king, Helaena; in 110 AC, she bore him a second son, Aemond, who was said to be half the size of his elder brother, but twice as fierce." "“Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?” Queen Alicent asked one day at court. The amity between Her Grace and her stepdaughter had proved short-lived, for both Rhaenyra and Alicent aspired to be the first lady of the realm…and though the queen had given the king not one but two male heirs, Viserys had done nothing to change the order of succession." "Still, questions persisted, not the least from Queen Alicent herself. Loudest amongst her supporters was her father, Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King." "Even after Ser Otto had returned to Oldtown, a “queen’s party” still existed at court; a group of powerful lords friendly to Queen Alicent and supportive of the rights of her sons. Against them was pitted the “party of the princess.” King Viserys loved both his wife and daughter, and hated conflict and contention. He strove all his days to keep the peace between his women, and to please both with gifts and gold and honors."

"In 111 AC, a great tourney was held at King’s Landing on the fifth anniversary of the king’s marriage to Queen Alicent. At the opening feast, the queen wore a green gown, whilst the princess dressed dramatically in Targaryen red and black. Note was taken, and thereafter it became the custom to refer to “greens” and “blacks” when talking of the queen’s party and the party of the princess, respectively. In the tourney itself, the blacks had much the better of it when Ser Criston Cole, wearing Princess Rhaenyra’s favor, unhorsed all of the queen’s champions, including two of her cousins and her youngest brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower."

"Though [Daemon] treated Queen Alicent with all the courtesy due her station, there was no warmth between them, and men said that the prince was notably cool toward her children, especially his nephews, Aegon and Aemond, whose birth had pushed him still lower in the order of succession."

"...entertained [Rhaenyra] by making mock of the greens at court, the “lickspittles” fawning over Queen Alicent and her children."

"Others assert that it was at Queen Alicent’s urging that Viserys sent Daemon away."

"Queen Alicent had her own candidate: her eldest son, Prince Aegon, Rhaenyra’s half-brother. But Aegon was a boy, the princess ten years his elder. Moreover, the two half-siblings had never gotten on well. “All the more reason to bind them together in marriage,” the queen argued. Viserys did not agree. “The boy is Alicent’s own blood,” he told Lord Strong. “She wants him on the throne.”"

"(The princess always took care to refer to Queen Alicent’s sons as half-brothers, never as brothers.)"

"Denied Rhaenyra’s favor, Criston Cole turned to Queen Alicent instead. Wearing her token, the young Lord Commander of the Kingsguard defeated all challengers, fighting in a black fury."

"King Viserys was most wroth as well; a joyous celebration had become the occasion of grief and recrimination. It was said that Queen Alicent did not share his displeasure, however; soon after, she asked that Ser Criston Cole be made her personal protector. The coolness between the king’s wife and the king’s daughter was plain for all to see; even envoys from the Free Cities made note of it in letters sent back to Pentos, Braavos, and Old Volantis."

"The court was still rejoicing over the birth of the princess’s child when her stepmother, Queen Alicent, also went into labor, delivering Viserys his third son, Daeron…whose coloring, unlike that of Jace, testified to his dragon blood. By royal command, the infants Jacaerys Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen shared a wet nurse until weaned. It was Said that the king hoped to prevent any enmity between the two boys by raising them as milk brothers. If so, his hopes proved to be sadly forlorn."

"...King Viserys was delighted with him when the child was presented at court. These feelings were not shared by his queen. “Do keep trying,” Queen Alicent told Ser Laenor, according to Mushroom, “soon or late, you may get one who looks like you.” And the rivalry between the greens and blacks grew deeper, finally reaching the point where the queen and the princess could scarce suffer each other’s presence. Thereafter Queen Alicent kept to the Red Keep, whilst the princess spent her days on Dragonstone..."

"According to Mushroom, this only served to deepen her resentment of her stepmother, Queen Alicent, who remained slender and graceful at half again her age. The sins of the fathers are oft visited on the sons, wise men have said; and so it is for the sins of mothers as well. The enmity between Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra was passed on to their sons, and the queen’s three boys, the Princes Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, grew to be bitter rivals of their Velaryon nephews, resentful of them for having stolen what they regarded as their birthright: the Iron Throne itself."

"His father and mother would never allow him to go near Vhagar, Aemond knew, much less try to ride her. So he made certain they did not know..."

"...these courtesies did not appease their vengeful mothers. Queen Alicent demanded that one of Lucerys Velaryon’s eyes should be put out, for the eye he had cost Aemond. Princess Rhaenyra would have none of that, but insisted that Prince Aemond should be questioned “sharply”..."

"His Grace further commanded his wife and daughter to kiss and exchange vows of love and affection. But their false smiles and empty words deceived no one but the king."

"King Viserys further decreed that Queen Alicent and her sons would return with him to court, whilst Princess Rhaenyra confined herself to Dragonstone with her sons."

"...bringing the princess and her sons back to King’s Landing, where more conflict with the queen and her own brood would have been inevitable."

"In King’s Landing, however, Queen Alicent grew most wroth when she learned the babe had been named Aegon, taking that for a slight against her own son Aegon…which, according to The Testimony of Mushroom, it most certainly was."

"The princess and the queen were both commanded to attend, with all their children. In a show of amity, each woman wore the other’s color and many declarations of love were made, to the king’s great pleasure. Prince Daemon raised a cup to Ser Otto Hightower and thanked him for his leal service as Hand. Ser Otto in turn spoke of the prince’s courage, whilst Alicent’s children and Rhaenyra’s greeted one another with kisses and broke bread together at table. Or so the court chronicles record."

"Queen Alicent, however, insisted that the princess and her maester had mutilated His Grace unnecessarily. Had they not “meddled,” she claimed, Grand Maester Mellos would surely have saved the king’s fingers as well as his life. She urged the appointment of one Maester Alfador, presently in service at the Hightower. Viserys, beset from both sides, chose neither, reminding both the princess and the queen that the choice was not his to make."

The Dying of the Dragons—The Blacks and the Greens

"The servant ran to inform Queen Alicent, whose apartments were on the floor below the king’s. Septon Eustace, writing on these events some years later, points out that the manservant delivered his dire tidings directly to the queen, and her alone, without raising a general alarum. Eustace does not believe this was wholly fortuitous; the king’s death had been anticipated for some time, he argues, and Queen Alicent and her party, the so-called greens, had taken care to instruct all of Viserys’s guards and servants in what to do when the day came. (The dwarf Mushroom suggests a more sinister scenario, whereby Queen Alicent hurried King Viserys on his way with a pinch of poison in his hippocras. It must be noted that Mushroom was not in King’s Landing the night the king died, but rather on Dragonstone, in service with Princess Rhaenyra.) Queen Alicent went at once to the king’s bedchamber, accompanied by Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Once they had confirmed that Viserys was dead, Her Grace ordered his room sealed and placed under guard. The serving man who had found the king’s body was taken into custody, to make certain he did not spread the tale. Ser Criston returned to White Sword Tower and sent his brothers of the Kingsguard to summon the members of the king’s small council. It was the hour of the owl."

"The council convened in the queen’s apartments within Maegor’s Holdfast."

"Gathering in the queen’s chambers as the body of her lord husband grew cold above were Queen Alicent herself..."

"“Mayhaps Her Grace the queen would care to write the message, so as to soften these sad tidings with some words of condolence?”"

"“King,” insisted Queen Alicent. “The Iron Throne by rights must pass to His Grace’s eldest trueborn son.”"

"“My own head will be the first cut off, I do not doubt, but your queen, my daughter, will soon follow.” Queen Alicent echoed him. “Nor will they spare my children,” she declared. “Aegon and his brothers are the king’s trueborn sons, with a better claim to the throne than her brood of bastards. Daemon will find some pretext to put them all to death. Even Helaena and her little ones. One of these Strongs put out Aemond’s eye, never forget. He was a boy, aye, but the boy is the father to the man, and bastards are monstrous by nature.”"

"“Mayhaps the whore will die in childbirth,” Queen Alicent is reported to have said (according to Mushroom)."

"And so each of the conspirators slashed their palms and clasped hands with one another, swearing brotherhood. Queen Alicent alone amongst them was excused from the oath, on account of her womanhood. Dawn was breaking over the city before Queen Alicent dispatched the Kingsguard to bring her sons Aegon and Aemond to the council. (Prince Daeron, the youngest and gentlest of her children, was in Oldtown, serving as Lord Hightower’s squire.)"

"Ravens flew, but not to Dragonstone. They went instead to Oldtown, to Casterly Rock, to Riverrun, to Highgarden, and to many other lords and knights whom Queen Alicent had cause to think might be sympathetic to her son."

"“Then we must see that [Borros Baratheon] leads [the lesser storm lords] to our king,” Queen Alicent declared. Whereupon she sent for her second son."

"...Queen Alicent knew they could delay no longer. Prince Aegon had grown weary of secrecy. “Am I a king or no?” he demanded of his mother. “If I am king, then crown me.”"

"His mother, Queen Alicent, beloved of the smallfolk, placed her own crown upon the head of her daughter, Helaena, Aegon’s wife and sister. After kissing her cheeks, the mother knelt before the daughter, bowed her head, and said, “My Queen.”"

"...Queen Alicent had ordered Viserys’s crown locked away..."

"The princess shrieked curses all through her labor, calling down the wrath of the gods upon her half-brothers and their mother, the queen, and detailing the torments she would inflict upon them before she would let them die."

"[Rhaenyra's] first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels."

"But when the two queens—his mother, Queen Alicent, and his wife, Queen Helaena— spoke in favor of Orwyle’s proposal, the truculent king gave way reluctantly. So Grand Maester Orwyle was dispatched across Blackwater Bay under a peace banner..."

The Dying of the Dragons—A Son for a Son

"Queen Alicent went pale when she heard what [Aemond] had done, crying, “Mother have mercy on us all.”"

"Unbeknownst to King Aegon, the Hand, or the Queen Dowager, [Daemon] had allies at court as well, even on the green council…"

"Instead they slipped into [Otto's] daughter’s chambers, one floor below. Queen Alicent had taken up residence there after the death of King Viserys, when her son Aegon moved into Maegor’s Holdfast with his own queen. Once inside, Cheese bound and gagged the Dowager Queen whilst Blood strangled her bedmaid. Then they settled down to wait, for they knew it was the custom of Queen Helaena to bring her children to see their grandmother every evening before bed."

"As they entered the apartments, Helaena was holding his little hand and calling out her mother’s name."

"Queen Alicent had commanded Larys Clubfoot to learn [Blood's] true name, so that she might bathe in the blood of his wife and children, but our sources do not say if this occurred."

"The king had no recourse but to take the boy from [Helaena] and give him over to their mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, to raise as if he were her own."

The Dying of the Dragons—The Red Dragon and the Gold

"Though his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, spoke up in Ser Otto’s defense, His Grace turned a deaf ear to her pleading."

"...thousands left King’s Landing afterward, until the Dowager Queen Alicent ordered the city gates closed and barred."

"None was allowed to disturb [Aegon II's] rest, save his mother the Queen Dowager and his Hand, Ser Criston Cole."

"The Queen Dowager favored caution as well, urging her son to wait until his brother the king and his dragon, Sunfyre the Golden, were healed, so they might join the attack."

"...it fell to his mother, the Queen Dowager, to see to the city’s defenses. Queen Alicent rose to the challenge, closing the gates of castle and city, sending the gold cloaks to the walls, and dispatching riders on swift horses to find Prince Aemond and fetch him back. As well, she commanded Grand Maester Orwyle to send ravens to “all our leal lords,” summoning them to the defense of their true king."

"Queen Alicent’s riders got no farther than the gates, where more gold cloaks took them into custody. Unbeknownst to Her Grace, the seven captains commanding the gates, chosen for their loyalty to King Aegon, had been imprisoned or murdered the moment Caraxes appeared in the sky above the Red Keep..."

"Upon seeing that resistance was hopeless, the Dowager Queen Alicent emerged from Maegor’s Holdfast with her father, Ser Otto Hightower..."

"...Queen Alicent attempted to treat with her stepdaughter. “Let us together summon a great council, as the Old King did in days of old,” said the Dowager Queen, “and lay the matter of succession before the lords of the realm.” But Queen Rhaenyra rejected the proposal with scorn. “Do you mistake me for Mushroom?” she asked. “We both know how this council would rule.” Then she bade her stepmother choose: yield or burn. Bowing her head in defeat, Queen Alicent surrendered the keys to the castle and ordered her knights and men-at-arms to lay down their swords. “The city is yours, Princess,” she is reported to have said, “but you will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.”"

"Not even the Dowager Queen seemed to know where [Aegon II, Jaehaera, Maelor, Willis Fell, Rickard Thorne] had gone..."

The Dying of the Dragons—Rhaenyra Triumphant

"Queen Alicent was fettered at wrist and ankle with golden chains, though her stepdaughter spared her life “for the sake of our father, who loved you once.” Her own father was less fortunate."

"The Sea Snake proposed to let the Faith take charge of Dowager Queen Alicent and Queen Helaena, so that they might spend the remainder of their lives in prayer and contemplation."

"Words of these plans soon reached the ears of the Dowager Queen, filling her with terror. Fearing for her sons, Queen Alicent went to the Iron Throne upon her knees, to plead for peace. This time the Queen in Chains put forth the notion that the realm might be divided; Rhaenyra would keep King’s Landing and the crownlands, the North, the Vale of Arryn, all the lands watered by the Trident, and the isles. To Aegon II would go the stormlands, the westerlands, and the Reach, to be ruled from Oldtown. Rhaenyra rejected her stepmother’s proposal with scorn. “Your sons might have had places of honor at my court if they had kept faith,” Her Grace declared, “but they sought to rob me of my birthright, and the blood of my sweet sons is on their hands.” “Bastard blood, shed at war,” Alicent replied. “My son’s sons were innocent boys, cruelly murdered. How many more must die to slake your thirst for vengeance?” The Dowager Queen’s words only fanned the fire of Rhaenyra’s wroth. “I will hear no more lies,” she warned. “Speak again of bastardy, and I will have your tongue out.” Or so the tale is told by Septon Eustace. Munkun says the same in his True Telling. Here again Mushroom differs. The dwarf would have us believe that Rhaenyra ordered her stepmother’s tongue torn out at once, rather than merely threatening this. It was only a word from Lady Misery that stayed her hand, the fool insists; the White Worm proposed another, crueler punishment. King Aegon’s wife and mother were taken in chains to a certain brothel, and there sold to any man who wished to have his pleasure of them. The price was high; a golden dragon for Queen Alicent, three dragons for Queen Helaena, who was younger and more beautiful. Yet Mushroom says there were many in the city who thought that cheap for carnal knowledge of a queen. “Let them remain there until they are with child,” Lady Misery is purported to have said. “They speak of bastards so freely, let them each have one for their very own.”"

"...word of battle and betrayal at Tumbleton had reached King’s Landing. It is said the Dowager Queen Alicent laughed when she heard. “All they have sowed, now shall they reap,” she promised."

The Dying of the Dragons—Rhaenyra Overthrown

"If Rhaenyra were intent on murder, surely it would have been the Dowager Queen Alicent flung down onto the spikes."

"When Dowager Queen Alicent was informed of her daughter’s passing, she rent her garments and pronounced a dire curse upon her rival."

"Both were on hand the next day to bear witness as Ser Perkin’s gangling squire Trystane mounted the Iron Throne. So too was the Queen Dowager, Alicent of House Hightower."

The Dying of the Dragons—The Short, Sad Reign of Aegon II

"And so the Clubfoot was dispatched across the river under a flag of truce, accompanied by Grand Maester Orwyle and the Dowager Queen Alicent."

"There Queen Alicent received the glad news that her grandaughter Jaehaera, the only surviving child of her son Aegon and daughter Helaena, had been delivered safely to Storm’s End by Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard. The Dowager Queen wept tears of joy. Betrayals and betrothals followed, until an accord was reached between Lord Borros, Lord Larys, and Queen Alicent, with Grand Maester Orwyle as witness."

"Queen Alicent agreed that her son King Aegon would make Lady Cassandra, Lord Borros’s eldest daughter, his new queen."

"“[Corlys Velaryon] is traitor thrice over,” Queen Alicent said. “Rhaenyra could never have taken King’s Landing but for him. His Grace my son will not have forgotten. I want him dead.”"

"...the golden dragon banner of King Aegon II raised in their stead. Queen Alicent herself emerged from the Red Keep to bid [Borros Baratheon] welcome, with Ser Perkin the Flea beside her."

"Queen Alicent proclaimed a curfew, making it unlawful to be on the city streets after dark."

"Behind the walls of the Red Keep, the Dowager Queen Alicent and Lord Larys Strong had offered the Sea Snake his freedom, a full pardon for his treasons, and a place on the king’s small council if he would bend his knee to Aegon II as his king and deliver them the swords and sails of Driftmark."

"Queen Alicent was outraged by Lord Velaryon’s “arrogance,” Munkun tells us, especially his demand that Queen Rhaenyra’s Aegon be named as heir to her own Aegon. She had suffered the loss of two of her three sons and her only daughter during the Dance, and could not bear the thought that any of her rival’s sons should live. Angrily, Her Grace reminded Lord Corlys that she had twice proposed terms of peace to Rhaenyra, only to have her overtures rejected with scorn. It fell to Lord Larys the Clubfoot to pour oil on the troubled waters, calming the queen with a quiet reminder of all they had discussed in Lord Baratheon’s tent, and persuading her to consent to the Sea Snake’s proposals. The next day Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, knelt before Queen Alicent as she sat upon the lower steps of the Iron Throne, as proxy for her son, and there pledged the king his loyalty and that of his house. Before the eyes of gods and men, the Queen Dowager granted him and his a royal pardon, and restored him to his old place on the small council, as admiral and master of ships."

"Urged on by his mother, the Queen Dowager Alicent, Aegon II was determined to exact vengeance upon those who had betrayed and deposed him."

"If the rebels could flaunt a dragon and the loyalists could not, Queen Alicent pointed out, smallfolk might see their foes as more legitimate."

"Queen Alicent had reluctantly agreed to the betrothal of her granddaughter to Rhaenyra’s son, but she had done so without the king’s consent. Aegon II had other ideas."

"When Queen Alicent demured, wondering aloud how Lord Corlys could possibly be won back after all that had been said that day, Lord Strong replied, “That task you may leave to me, Your Grace. His lordship will listen to me, I daresay.”"

"His mother entertained no such hope. “You fed [Aegon III's] mother to your dragon,” she reminded her son. “The boy saw it all.” The king turned to her desperately. “What would you have me do?” “You have hostages,” the Queen Dowager replied. “Cut off one of the boy’s ears and send it to Lord Tully. Warn them he will lose another part for every mile they advance.”"

"Queen Alicent was arrested on the serpentine steps as she made her way back to her chambers. Her captors wore the seahorse of House Velaryon upon their doublets, and though they slew the two men guarding her, they did no harm to the Dowager Queen herself, nor to her ladies. The Queen in Chains was chained again and taken to the dungeons, there to await the pleasure of the new king. By then the last of her sons was already dead."

Aftermath—The Hour of the Wolf

"Within the Red Keep, the Lads found the dead king’s body laid out upon a bier beneath the Iron Throne, with his mother, Queen Alicent, weeping beside it."

"The realm’s new rulers found themselves divided on the question of what to do with the Dowager Queen Alicent, but elsewise all seemed in accord, and good fellowship reigned…for the best part of a fortnight."

"...men placed wagers on how long the Clubfoot, the Sea Snake, the Flea, and the Dowager Queen would keep their heads."

"The men who had seized the Queen Dowager upon the serpentine steps had worn the seahorse badge of House Velaryon..."

"Queen Alicent’s captors had slain her guards and were thus condemned to death..."

Under the Regents—The Hooded Hand

"And the more observant made note of another absence. The Dowager Queen was nowhere to be seen, though as Jaehaera’s grandmother, Alicent Hightower ought to have been present."

"A more immediate problem was posed by the Dowager Queen, who refused to reconcile herself to the new king. The murder of the last of her sons had turned Alicent’s heart into a stone. None of the regents wished to see her put to death, some from compassion, others for fear that such an execution might rekindle the flames of war. Yet she could not be allowed to take part in the life of the court as before. She was too apt to rain down curses on the king, or snatch a dagger from some unwary guardsman. Alicent could not even be trusted in the company of the little queen; when last allowed to share a meal with Her Grace, she had told Jaehaera to cut her husband’s throat whilst he was sleeping, which set the child to screaming. Ser Tyland felt he had no choice but to confine the Queen Dowager to her own apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast; a gentle imprisonment, but imprisonment nonetheless."

"One death may have been a mercy. The Dowager Queen Alicent of House Hightower, second wife of King Viserys I and mother to his sons, Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, and his daughter Helaena, died on the same night as Lord Westerling, after confessing her sins to her septa. She had outlived all of her children and spent the last year of her life confined to her apartments, with no company but her septa, the serving girls who brought her food, and the guards outside her door. Books were given her, and needles and thread, but her guards said Alicent spent more time weeping than reading or sewing. One day she ripped all her clothing into pieces. By the end of the year she had taken to talking to herself, and had come to have a deep aversion to the color green. In her last days the Queen Dowager seemed to become more lucid. “I want to see my sons again,” she told her septa, “and Helaena, my sweet girl, oh…and King Jaehaerys. I will read to him, as I did when I was little. He used to say I had a lovely voice.” (Strangely, in her final hours Queen Alicent spoke often of the Old King, but never of her husband, King Viserys.) The Stranger came for her on a rainy night, at the hour of the wolf."

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emil1863 · 8 months

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More for the au!

The basics, Gods, Demigods, Devil Fruits, all exist.

World Gov + Marines try and keep the whole concept of gods and demigods under wraps. Because I'm working with "D's" carry divinity. And having a good chunk of them outright despise the government isn't a great look.

Luffy is a god while Garp and Dragon are demigods. Luffy can shift between physical and 'divine' form whereas demigods don't have that ability.

Luffy is the successor/inheritor of his predecessor's will and own divinity. But not through reincarnation necessarily. One in the same but they are very much so different. His devil fruit and promise to Shanks cemented his place as the successor to the sun and freedom. When gods and demigods start out, there isn't a wholly set future for what will they will have, or the ideals they will embody. Luffy has always had his cloudy/intangible form.

Imagine Garp's surprise when his grandson, who was supposed to join him in the marines, is set to embody freedom and the sun. He was pissed for a solid week about that. Garp also had to deal with questioning where Dragon had even gotten Luffy from, he still doesn't know.

Ace and Sabo were very adamant that Luffy not show off his divine form to everyone, especially if he wanted to become a pirate. He can't be a pirate if the government tracks him down and hides him away at the ripe age of like, 8. Also because having a full god is pretty uncommon, Sabo has heard horror story after horror story of what nobles and those in higher society would do to a god. Sabo is the most vocal about Luffy being careful about that.

Luffy meets Koby, and does an absolutely terrible job at keeping his form hidden. It's harder to control which form he's in when he's excited. Koby was a human with no divinity and big dreams that Luffy adored. So, already excited with a new friend, and the two on their way to Shells town, Luffy sneezed and immediately sold himself out. Koby is a terrible liar and so just elects to never speak on this topic ever. If anyone asks why he has so much knowledge on gods, specifically sun gods, he just doesn't answer. Helmeppo thinks it's funny and immediately pieced together why, because Koby cannot keep anything from him. And Garp has to respect how hard that kid is trying to not completely sell out his grandson, even if the brat kind of deserves it for being a pirate.

Luffy is going to be the Pirate King, divine or not. His crew quickly find out about his side quirk/form in varying ways. Zoro woke up one day with a cloudy demon from hell cutting off his airways. Nami was trying to explain clouds to Luffy and that 'no, they cannot just spawn on your person, that's stupid,' and so Luffy shows her that he is in fact, correct.

Usopp got jumpscared early in the morning, before the sun had risen, when Luffy just appeared behind him and asked if he wanted to watch the sunrise. Sanji was cooking dinner and Luffy got so excited he phased out of his physical body.

Chopper found out while asking Luffy if he had any medical conditions he should know about, he thought it was kinda cool that Luffy can change forms. And is only a little jealous that Luffy has a fully human form. Luffy always makes sure to tell Chopper he's exactly who he needs to be.

Robin found out after talking about 'Nika,' who is thought to be long dead, but is not. And is the captain of the crew she is now apart of. Luffy knows the name is important and it has a certain weight when it's said. He physically feels when someone says his name around him. Robin thinks this is very fascinating. (Also can add some context into poneglyphs, that there is a lot to it, even if Robin doesn't yet know and Luffy wasn't alive/doesn't have that knowledge)

Franky was showing off cool shit he could do with his robotic body, and Luffy was like 'me too!!!'

Brook found out when Luffy fell asleep listening to him play a song, and Luffy slipped back into his resting form of cloudiness.

While both forms have their uses and limitations, Luffy is most comfortable in his intangible form, even if his physical one is the default. He cannot access his divine form after a certain point of exhaustion hits.

Im going to end that there before I have an entire novel in this. But that's the general thought throw up I'm smacking down right now.

Sorry if this is incoherent and not easy to understand lol. I will flesh it out more later and when I have actually thought more about it. Might change things later too. Then I'll probably make a good post about it with actual wellish made context and lore.

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #op koby #cobylu #kobylu #my art #god au #I HAD THIS WHOLE THING WRITTEN OUT AND DONE AND I DELETED IT LMAO??? I WANNA CRY #ENJOY MY INCOHERENT SCREAMING YALL #LOVE YALL LOTS HOPE YOUR HAVING A GOOD DAY

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caramel-maveeato · 1 year

Text

ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴜᴘ ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: something felt very unsettled with you today, and it shattered So Mun just from thinking of the possibilities… ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x Fem!reader ♡ Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, happy ending ♡ TW: suggestive, mentions of cheating, cursing, detailed kissing descriptions, crying, sexual tension but no you two aint gon do the deed, post-ss2 ♡ Word count: 5.1k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n. (Sorry mom and dad because instead of paying attention during lectures, I wrote this lil silly fic about a man who doesn’t even exist)

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

Apart from all the evils hunting, So Mun couldn’t recall the last time he had been this anxious.

Normally, he never held anything against you hanging out with your guy friends. He knew you also have your personal space and it wasn’t necessarily like your entire world needed to revolve around him.

So Mun trusts you with his own life, he really does. He never once doubted your love for him. But today, something was horribly off.

“Isn’t that Gwan Daehyun from my class?”

Juyeon habitually pushed her glasses up, vocalizing her thoughts to the friend group. Both Woongmin and So Mun raised their heads at the comment, turning toward the large window.

“Gwan Daehyun,” or whoever, was a tall and slender-built young man about his age—he presumed. Judging from his figure and his dashing fashion sense, anyone would instantly conclude he was a big catch. But that wasn’t what caught So Mun’s attention the most.

The man passed by the glass window. Next to him was you, linking arms with him and smiling so cheerfully.

Even though So Mun wouldn’t admit that something has unpleasantly risen up deep inside his heart upon seeing you being so close to another guy, you were always acting so intimate with him in your relationship, so it was understandable that physical affection was rather a normal way of communicating with you.

He heard Woongmin’s voice chimming in next to his ear, snapping him out of the trance: “Is that… I’m seeing Y/n, right? Are they friends?”

“What kind of question is that? If not friends then what are they?” Juyeon cut him off, carefully stealing a glance at So Mun to see if he had any reaction.

“It was just common sense to ask!”

“Uh-huh, common sense.”

“Hey, what’s with that tone–”

“Guys, we’re in the middle of a cafe, enough with your lover’s quarrel.” A faint smile flashed across So Mun’s face as he tapped his pencil down on the table, trying to get his friends’ attention. He didn’t really care how many friends you have, but seeing such joy radiating from you, he couldn’t help but be curious to know about the man’s identity: “Gwan Daehyun is your classmate?”

Juyeon responded nonchalantly: “In chemistry, but we almost never talked. How did Y/n and he even know each other?”

The typical “I don’t know” hasn’t even slipped out of his mouth, Woongmin was quick to toss him another question: “She didn’t tell you about this?”

So Mun wasn’t quite certain “this” referred to you telling him about the guy specifically or about this entire thing, but he chose to say what felt the most natural: “About hanging out with a friend today? She did.”

His two best friends nodded at the same time, exchanging a subtle look at each other which So Mun was completely unaware of. His concentration was taped on you the entire time, following you as your silhouette slowly melted into the distance. He returned to his sketchbook, throwing all running thoughts behind his head for now.

This was when it should’ve stopped bothering him. Or he would say, it didn’t actually bother him in the first place.

Not until he saw what was on your neck.

At first glance, he confidently supposed it was a mosquito bite. But again, he knew what a mosquito bite looked like, and he even knew better what a hickey looked like on your skin.

On the side of your neck laid a small, reddish stain. As much as he tried to deny the truth flattening in front of him and convinced himself that it was a love bite he'd forgotten he left on you, So Mun knew damn well all the places on your body that he had been marking on, and none of them displayed in such a conspicuous spot.

Or maybe you just carelessly bumped into something and bruised yourself, or maybe you got burned while using a hair straightener… Yeah, that was probably the reason. He knew you loved him, adored him, even. So why would you ever do such an awful thing behind his back?

“Hey, Y/n.”

You blinked, catching him staring at you from the opposite side of the table with a soft smile: “Hm?”

“How was your day today, I mean, hanging out with your friend?” He asked to start a conversation, already predicting your reply to be positive since the image of you laughing so happily with another man was still imprinted in his mind.

You smiled in return, acting as casual as possible: “It was pretty nice. We went to get coffee and took pictures and just… you know, the classic friend thing.”

“Yeah….” He nodded, awkwardness flooded his lungs that it was nearly hard to breathe. As much as he wanted to ask you about the bruise, he was afraid of receiving the answer. What if you think he didn’t trust you?

You gulped and looked down, unintentionally exposing your nervousness. In So Mun’s perspective, you were apparently hiding something from him. He aimed at the bruise again, fighting to conceal how his pupils started burning more and more fiercely on your skin the more he studied it. He hated to jump to conclusions so soon and accuse you of committing something you didn’t do. He knew you loved him. He was fucking sure you loved him.

Then why did you have to hide it?

His body ran cold from the way you adjusted your position to excuse yourself, uneasiness enveloped your face when you realized his eyes were fixed on your neck. So Mun watched as his precious placed her elbow down the table with her palm on her cheek, awkwardly building up a cover between his gaze and the love bite that was carved by anyone but him.

Suddenly, So Mun was launched back to today’s morning, into your warm embrace. You clasped him in a goodbye hug before you both parted ways, whispering an “I love you” like you’ve always done in his ear while he tucked himself into your comfort. You did not have that mark on your neck.

And now it happened to be a claret, hickey-like stain engraved on you in such a perfect place for an actual hickey to occur, circumstantially right after he caught you hinging arms with a man he’s never seen or heard you talk about.

Everything crashed. His senses crumpled and his stomach twisted in such a way that he felt physically nauseous.

“What’s that on your neck?”

Words glided out without thinking. There was no point in hesitating anymore, he just needed to listen to your voice confronting him that he had completely misunderstood the situation, that it was only a discoloration you got by accident, that whatever he was assuming was only an illusion coating his mind.

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

Your movement stiffened, not too detectable yet, at the same time, not unnoticeable enough to escape his focused stare. Just this small motion of yours was enough to deliver a slap across his face.

The corners of his lips lifted with no strength, not even sure if it looked convincing to you. He had no clue how to react. It wasn’t like he ever imagined you cheating on him, let alone preparing to face it: “Ah… I see.”

On your side, you weren’t any better. The forced and bitter smile on his face seized your guts, pouring immense shame down your head. God, you regret the whole thing already.

“Baby, do you want some water? I’m kinda thirsty.”

You said, clinging onto the very last piece of your cognition and trying to lighten the mood. The effort went pointless unequivocally as there fell a small pause between you two. So Mun slowly shook his head, silent.

“Okay, I… I’ll be back in just a min.”

Getting up to your feet, you wanted nothing more than to sprint to the kitchen and take two glasses of water, no matter if So Mun already refused it. Maybe after a breather and something to soothe your dry throat, the clotted mood would soften and that’s when you could disclose the truth to him.

Waiting no time for you to take another step, a strong grip tied to your wrist as soon as you stood up, condensed around your skin like cement. You quickly saw darkness towering over your vision as an incredible softness sank onto your lips.

You froze like a deer in headlights, tackled by the submerging desire when a pair of hands snuck around your waist and your mouth was captured securely, almost leaving no room for a muffled gasp to be heard. So Mun’s eyes fastened into yours before he shut them closed, engulfing your lips through the hunger enraging inside himself once your arms had mutually snaked around his neck.

So Mun was the personification of “loving” when it came to you. Regardless of how needy he was during your make-out sessions, he always put you as his priority and ensured not to overwhelm you with his rising passion. But at this specific moment, you were dazed by his sudden blast of enthusiasm, though your bewilderment was quick to dissolve into pure fever when he drew his tongue along your bottom lip just as skillful as the artist he was, fondling your flesh between his teeth before alighting his mouth onto yours again.

Your fingers automatically crimped around his hair, gently tugging his curls in a way you knew he could never get enough of. Your little gesture welcomed a quiet groan from your boyfriend, spawning a tightened grasp on your hips. You didn’t recognize how steamy the kiss had progressed until your back collided with the wall.

The room drowned in your intimate noises. His hand’s location switched from your hip to your chin as he nailed you to the hard surface, angling his digits along your jawline. He feasted on your unorganized breathing, eagerly knocking your lips apart with his own like you were a sumptuous banquet. His sweetness erupted through every smallest gap inside your mouth. Your knees turned wobbly while you gripped onto him to keep your balance, panting and whining for mercy since you were practically devoured for what felt like eternity.

You didn’t mind if So Mun might have misinterpreted your “thirsty” for something else but its literal meaning. He was feeding you full. However, the boiling-hot tension was impotent to replace the previous alarm between you two, now adding to the baffling foreboding you secretly felt.

Colors flowered chaotically through your closed eyelids. No way you could push him away despite your remained oxygen was already sucked dry. As much as you cherished how intoxicating making out with So Mun was, you were beyond relieved when he finally pulled back and showed your strained mouth some pity.

Your heart bolted madly inside your chest, both exhilarated and puzzled due to the unforeseen shift of sensation. Both of you chased after your jumbled breaths. So Mun supported your balance with his fingers dug into your waist and let you lean against the wall, still silent.

A coat of haze smeared over your eyesight after the kiss, you weren’t able to see his face clearly from this angle. But just shortly after, you heard him speak again, barely louder than a mumble: “Love…”

The familiar term of endearment dripped into your ear, carrying a hint of unusual raspiness. So Mun’s voice was as longing as a prayer pleading for his most revered goddess, yet suffocated in boundless desperation and anguish that made your head numb just from hearing it.

“Did I… I definitely did something wrong, didn’t I?”

Time stopped.

Something inside your gut ripped apart, tearing down every single bit that made of you as the eeriness and repentance needled through your bones.

You saw clouds in his reddened eyes. All So Mun needed to do was blink once and the tears would flood down his cheeks uncontrollably.

Your roaring heartbeat echoed in your head at the sight of his dark coffee irises, now a hollow void of fog and aggrivement. Your voice splintered in your throat as So Mun grabbed your hands and swaddled them in his own, his slightly calloused hands trembling against your skin: “What did I do wrong? Please tell me, love… Tell me everything you dislike about me, I promise I will change.”

Knowing how good-at-heart you were as a person, there wouldn’t be a chance of you going around and dating different men. That being said, maybe he was the reason you let go of him.

And there it was. The look on his face looked exactly like that one of betrayal when he discovered the murder of his parents two years ago. The only difference was that he didn’t seem to be upset at you, he was upset at himself for failing you, for even allowing a thought of leaving to cross your mind.

This was a look you would rather let twenty knives riddle through your organs than ever see in your life. And now you were the one who caused it.

You didn’t dare to move. Your veins twinged and screamed and begged for his forgiveness but no sound was brave enough to emerge at the moment. You watched as he pressed his face onto your shoulder, dampening that specific part of your shirt despite his effort to bite back from breaking down.

You stuttered, not yet realizing yourself was on the verge of tears as well: “No, baby, it’s—”

So Mun scanned the purplish hue obscuring itself under your hair and the dim light in the room, resentment swelling behind his chest as he choked back a muffled cry: “Am I not good enough? Is it my personality or the way I look? Did I mess up so badly that… you went for someone else?”

“No! No, it’s not like that. You did nothing wrong!” You hurriedly brushed your fingers over his cheekbones, guiding his face to yours as your vision shielded with unshed mist. His hot tears blurred his own skin, somehow felt dreadfully cold and painful when it hit your touch.

He hesitated, confused and unconvinced: “If not me, then— Why did you…?”

“It was me, love! I was so stupid. I should’ve known…” You hated yourself for coming up with the plan in the first place. Why didn’t you consider the consequences before starting it? That it could hurt him this terribly thinking you broke his faith?

In front of his stunned eyes, the tip of your fingers aggressively rubbed against that so-called “hickey,” each stroke smudging blush powder and eyeshadow all over your digits.

One week ago, 1 p.m., at the crime scene in Eonni’s noodle shop.

“What do you mean you dunno? He never got jealous before?!”

You quietly hissed at Juyeon, whose voice was almost too loud it scared a customer at the next table: “What’s so surprising about it? Does he look like the type to get jealous easily?”

You and the girl were chatting about whatever you could think of to kill time while waiting for So Mun to finish his last minutes of individual training. As luck would have it, you stumbled across the topic of relationships, and it eventually centered on your one and only beloved.

Woongmin looked up from Junhui’s colorful drawings, looking you dead in the eye: “Not gonna lie, he kind of does.”

“Don’t eavesdrop on us, turn away!” The short-haired girl gestured her hand at her boyfriend, making him roll his eyes with sass and unwillingly obey her command. She turned back to you, lowering her voice this time: “It’s not about looks, but I refuse to believe he doesn’t get jealous at all.”

You tilted your head, thoughtlessly stealing a sip of her latte: “Um-hm…”

“Seriously, you were never curious about it?”

You shrugged. You got where Juyeon was coming from. Woongmin’s possessiveness thrived pretty easily to begin with (evidently canon from how sulky he became when she complimented a sketch of your enemy Hwang Pilkwang), and it was always so entertaining to see.

You might’ve or might’ve not wondered what kind of expression your man would show when he got jealous, but well, the idea itself was somehow very fascinating.

The only time you’ve witnessed him show the slightest hint of protectiveness besides the counter-thing was when a customer asked for your phone number—where he would observe your reaction with a sharp glare at the said person, then smirk proudly when you turned the offer down. Still, as two grim reapers, you stuck to each other like glue almost 24/7—ranging from missions and serving to something as simple as eating and walking, not to mention the countless times you have woken up beside each other. Putting it plainly into words, you had no “private life” for jealousy to evolve.

Hearing your explanation (in which you already altered the “grim reaper” part), Juyeon flashed you a hilariously serious look, for some reason very invested in solving your problem: “That makes sense. So do you want me to help you?”

You sighed: “I… think?”

“No worries girl, I got you.” She thoughtfully gave you a wink, opening TikTok on her phone as she scrolled down numerous videos, stopping at one to show you: “I was thinking... this. What do you think about a hickey prank?”

An old-fashioned trick to mess with your significant other, yet always seemed to be effective. You stared at the scene unfolding between two lovers, battling in your mind whether or not you should give it a try: “You have a point, but I doubt he’d believe it. We see each other every day.”

“Well, all you need to do is pretend to hang out with some guy and come back with a fake hickey.”

“Damn, that’s genius.” Woongmin’s voice joined you two from afar, one more time getting Juyeon to threaten him with her razor-sharp look.

“Where am I supposed to find a guy, anyway? My few guy friends either rot away in their schools or aren’t even in the country.” You chuckled at their couple-ly bicker. Speaking of the truth, you found yourself a bit thrilled at the suggestion. You would love to see how adorably pouty So Mun became when he turned possessive.

Juyeon fancily sipped her coffee: “I know someone who can help. Two days ago, a uni friend of mine coincidentally complained about how badly he wanted to get a reaction out of his black-cat partner who never gets jealous. I guess you both can do each other a favor.”

The plan developed so smoothly. You absolutely could not expect to regret your whole existence just because you surrendered to the heat of the moment: “For real?”

Earning a firm nod from Juyeon, who then gave you her friend’s phone number to further discuss the prank, you mindlessly let yourself loose into the urge. You’ve read somewhere that jealousy can prompt both parties of a romantic relationship to stay connected, which is a good thing. It’s just a small, harmless prank, right? Nothing could go wrong, right?

“We should’ve talked about this during girls’ night, maybe you could pull this prank on Woongmin, too.”

“I can hear you, y’know.”

Pure silence detonated when your explanation died down.

A sour feeling crawled up your body in monstrous shamefulness. You warily waited for his reaction upon finding out he just got caught up in a hurtful prank.

“So… the whole thing was… a joke?” A rather wounding joke, to be exact. You held your breath and raised your stained fingers up, carefully analyzing his tone while choosing your own response: “Yeah, this hickey is makeup, as you can see.”

“Right…” Based on how long a pause lingered in each sentence, you could tell he was having a hard time gathering his thoughts together. ‘Lost as hell’ would be an understatement: “...and Gwan Daehyun is just Juyeon’s classmate, he doesn’t have anything to do with you?”

“No, he doesn’t. We have nothing to do with each other.” You answered: “We only met up for the first time today through… uh, yeah.”

He exhaled agitatedly, muttering in disbelief: “And Juyeon told me she had never talked to him before. That sneaky…”

It was nearly ridiculous to think about where the situation was at the moment. If minutes ago you both were strangled by the thickened bitterness of your own reasons, now the entire ambience has reshaped into an awkward one. Confronted by quietness, you gulped, instinctively feeling like you didn’t really have the right to say these words anymore: “Plus… I would never cheat on you.”

Speechlessness floated like ashes in between you and him.

In reality, the stiffened air only lasted a few seconds, you were nonetheless certain it felt like hours. So Mun blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the left-over dried tears steamed up over his view. He eventually let out a sigh, mumbling under his breath: “Y/n, you’re… impossible.”

You lowered your head, unable to make eye contact with him: “...I’m sorry.”

“”Sorry” won’t do it.” A scoff vaguely arrived from his direction, embedding in a hint of disappointment and irritation as he wiped the dewed corner of his eye one last time: “I really was convinced you’re bored of me already.”

You clenched your mouth shut, guilt swallowed your voice.

“You know what else you have to do so I’ll forgive you?”

Although the seriousness hasn’t faltered, you wondered whether or not you were delusional out of the blue because you swore he didn’t sound that serious anymore. Your gaze shot up at him, then looked down again and shook your head when you noticed his expression hadn't lightened up.

“You don’t? I think you do.” His warm hand swept across the side of your face, lifting your chin up. You were greeted by a light raise of So Mun’s eyebrows while he airily tapped on his lips with a casual, yet cunning twinkle in his pupils.

Dumbfounded, you delayed for a second to make sure you weren’t fooled by some kind of hallucination, cautiously examining the implication he just dropped as well as his blooming smile: “You… You’re not mad at me?”

“Oh trust me, I am still very pissed off. But you know I can’t full-on stay mad at you.” So Mun shrugged, booping your nose: “Not when you’re this pouty.”

The burn behind his eyes had stopped being torturous a moment ago, yet you still felt like a criminal knowing you had created such an unpleasant tint on his scleras. You murmured: “The pouty one was primarily predicted to be you.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

As if your internal self-reproach were audible, he swooped you into his chest, holding you while half-heartedly scolding you: “Just don’t pull these types of pranks on me again. Okay? One more time and I swear, I’m sleeping with Jeokbong-hyung forever.”

“Yes, I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect it to go this far.” Your arms enclosed him instantly as though they were customized to do so. You nodded against his shoulder, trying to contain a smile when his melodious chuckle filled your ear: “But the sleeping part is up to you. Bunk beds seem pretty cozy.”

So Mun rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing your cheek between his index finger and thumb: “Is that how you apologize for making your boyfriend cry?”

You cracked up, words unclear by the stretch on your face: “Oh, I’m sorry!”

Laughter echoed through the closed room, which you both preferred this way so much better than the previous heavy and wrenching atmosphere. So Mun nuzzled his nose against yours, whispering flirtatiously: “So what now? Gotta let me forgive you or you’re good?”

“No I’m not good, so please forgive me.” Heat bursting underneath your skin, tinging a shade of rosiness. You grinned and whispered before tugging blithely on the neckline of his T-shirt. His lips instantly fit onto yours just as perfectly as a puzzle piece.

A butterfly-like peck expectedly flourished into a hot mess. So Mun’s curls spilled between your fingers, trusting him to perform his magic on you. His scent ghosted your face, sending friction straight up to your mind while your mouth was accompanied by his bewitching wetness, claiming your mouth with impatience to make up for every drop of tears that had rolled off earlier.

Your body felt weightless when he lifted you off your feet, turning you away from the wall and pushing you to a surface that was much more doughy. Goosebumps enhanced down your body when the soft mattress of your own bed scratched against your back, manipulating a gasp to flee from your throat although the touch was hardly through a layer of fabric, evincing how awfully vulnerable you were in this position.

Responding to your tiny whimper, So Mun’s chuckle vibrated against your lips. He situated himself between your legs, pinning you flat on the bed and greedily nipping on your bottom lip to get the most reaction out of you. Your delicate flesh laid defenselessly against every stroke and skim of his tongue. It was no argument that he took pride in seeing you so worked up for his affection, and he wasn’t planning to stop until your pantings had stirred into one.

Your boyfriend only detached his face from yours after a while, beaming happily like it was Christmas morning at the sight of your lips glossy with his essence.

So Mun was one hell of a good kisser in contrast to his innocent face. He knew exactly when to be sugary and when to be spicy. After melting your brain to mud with his hypnotizing techniques, he placed a tender kiss on your cheek, lingering his pinkened lips over the warmth of your skin. He sweetly moved down to your jaw, then your chin as you dreamily threw your head back against the bed sheets.

His gaze fell onto the feeble “love mark” that had virtually faded away by your vigorous smudging, grinning to himself: “You know, if you wanted to show off a hickey right here, you could’ve just asked me to leave a real one on you.”

You giggled with a slightly hoarse voice, cheeks flushing brighter when he stroked his thumb over the spot, encircling the last remaining makeup stain in a gentle yet teasing manner: “I do love to have one there. But imagine all the teasing we're gonna get when the team finds out…”

“Understandable.” His stare at the fake hickey was no longer flaming with hatred, instead full of hilarity. Leaning downward, So Mun’s curly hair tickled the place under your chin and the heat of his breath fanned your skin. But you were too distracted by another sensation—a delicious softness printing on your neck—to notice it: “I just… still can’t believe it. You want to see me get jealous that bad?”

Your source of air was cut halfway and you closed your eyes in delight. (We all know) You do. Maybe you were too much of a coward to confess but the man in front of you always looked so fucking hot when he was mad: “I mean… I’m just curious?”

“Good to know. The next time I see someone flirt with you, I’m gonna beat them up.” Mellow kisses gathered around the makeup stain. So Mun closely examined the way your body trembled underneath him while open-mouthed kisses were planted along the line of your neck, testing the waters and looking for your approval.

This earned a small giggle from you. You brought a hand up to the back of his head, your digits massaging his scalp as you indirectly turned the green light on at whatever he had in store for you: “Yung is gonna beat you up, my dear.”

“Oh, Yung can’t do anything to me. I’m the pillar and the Ace, remember?”

You smiled, about to say something before your thoughts were heavily interrupted by a raid of affection on your flesh, right where the fake hickey originally occupied. But this time, it was no longer “fake.” You thanked your lucky star for suppressing your voice on time because only God knows what kind of unholy sound you’d make at the sudden pleasure.

Exhaling a deep sigh, you were barely able to hide the shakiness in your voice as So Mun dragged his lips over your neck, painting your skin with a lovely shade of red through his teeth: “More like you and your cocky ass…”

He laughed: “Yeah, me and my cocky ass, any complaints, baby?”

His hands gently pressed your shoulders, positioning you firmly against the mattress. Every suck and nibble was followed by a trail of kisses admiring your skin. You could almost feel his marks starting to blossom each time he separated his mouth from your flushed flesh, watching it bounce back with a glowing shine.

You gulped unconsciously on behalf of him pulling the collar of your shirt aside, revealing more of your hidden collarbones for what was about to come next: “...No complaints.”

Screw it. Maybe you should just let the team tease you however they want later.

The edges of his lips raised in a satisfied smile, one that never failed to hook you in a love spell. So Mun is magnetic. That’s just the way he naturally is.

Sweeping a hand under your nape, he allowed your head to fall back in a perfect curve and your neck went unsheltered. His enchanting voice bathed in anticipation as he whispered in your ear:

“Perfect. Now relax and I’ll do all the work for you.”

His devotion exploded like fireworks in the sky, each glimmer landing on the ground meant another kiss perched down on your skin. Your evening ended in So Mun’s embrace, loving you and cuddling you until the night had gone by.

You resulted in a cycle of wearing turtleneck tops constantly for three weeks straight, whether or not it was chilling outside or you were one step away from passing out in your own pool of sweat during training. To the point the other counters were highkey concerned, like, damn, what if you actually unalive due to overheating? (you won’t.)

This is all because every time your amazing boyfriend noticed his garden of cherries on your skin had slightly faded away, he’d sneak you into whatever secluded spot he could find and plant a fresh, brand new one on you, right onto the same spots.

But since it was THE So Mun initiating the act so who’s gonna complain? Not you, obviously.

Thank you sm for bearing with me til the end i know this fic is long (and OOC) (ﾉ´∀｀*) Hope you enjoyed it!!

#so mun #so mun x reader #the uncanny counter x reader #the uncanny counter #unncanny counter #lim juyeon #kim woongmin #kdrama #kdrama x reader #pookie please come home 🏠

392 notes · View notes

howlingday · 27 days

Note

(demi- arkos au) pyrrha makes the mistake of asking her mother how to attract boys.

The Virgin Goddess is not nearly as helpful as you'd think.

secondary story: jaune has two moms, why does he exist? like physically speaking? (jaune takes psychic damage as his goddess mother explains in detail all the advantages of shapeshifting)

"Pyrrha! It's so good to hear from you!"

"Hi, Mom." Pyrrha smiled through the video feed. "Um, is mamá there?"

"And if I am?" The goddess said clearly from out of view. "Would you prefer I not be here?"

"No, no, I don't mind! I just..." She sighed. "I have a question, and I'm afraid of the answer you'll give."

"Oh no..." Her mortal mother gave a soft groan.

"If this is in regards to courting, then I'm afraid I will be of little help." Her other mother said. "If this were in regard to the tournament approaching, then perhaps I would be of better service."

"So you don't have any advice at all?"

"I never said that. I have brought kingdoms to their knees and risen children to tyrants. If there is a way within my knowledge, then I will help you with what I know."

"Okay." Pyrrha took a deep breath. "So, there's this boy-"

"No."

"N-No?"

"No." Athena repeated, this time in a more commanding voice. "Men are fools who would destroy everything they touch in service of their own hubris. You would only benefit yourself by abstaining from them altogether."

"All men or all mortals?" Pyrrha's eyes glanced to her mamá, who gave a gulp. Pyrrha could feel a migraine grow, as though her brain were trying to escape from her skull. It was dull, but the message was clear. 'Don't question the will of Athena'. "He's... different..."

"As was Heracles. And Odysseus. And Paris, and Perseus, and Achilles-"

"I am not those people, mother."

"No, but I'm Jaune is very much the same as them in one way or another." Pyrrha became quiet. "Oh, yes, child of mine. I know the name of this man you seek. And he will bring you naught but ruin."

Pyrrha became silent, her lips pursed. She wanted to yell, though it would do no good. Throwing a public tantrum never solved anything for anyone, as her mother taught her. But it would feel so good, wouldn't it?

"Is that his name?" Mamá asked, hoping to ease the tension. "Jaune?"

"Are you talking about me?" Pyrrha whirled around to find her team leader walking up to her, his hood up and his sunglasses on.

"Jaune!" She looked to her mother, then looked to him. She waved him over and his face came into view of the screen. "Jaune, this is my mamá, Carnelia."

"Hello there~!" She greeted.

"Hullo, Misses Nikos~!" He waved to her. "I can see where Pyrrha gets her beauty from."

Pyrrha flushed.

Misses Nikos giggled.

"Oh..." Another voice growled. "You..."

"Uh, hi? Is that your... Dad?"

"Jaune, this is... my other mother."

"Oh, nice to meet you, too, Misses Nikos!" Jaune smiled to the empty space. "Uh, my name is Jaune, Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, and rolls off the tongue. The ladies love it!"

Pyrrha giggled with Carnelia.

"Moulári pou flertárei." Athena grumbled.

"Wait, what was that about a donkey?" Jaune blinked. Suddenly, his scroll buzzed. Checking it, he hopped away. "Oh, sorry to cut this short! I gotta go. It was nice meeting you~!" Jaune turned and ran for the door. "See ya later, Pyr!"

"Uh, l-later?" Pyrrha waved. She looked to her mothers, Athena now in view. "So... That was Jaune."

"He seems nice." Mamá said.

"Pyrrha..." For the first time ever, her mother paused before speaking. "Focus on you studies for now. You are here to fight, not to flirt."

Pyrrha gave a nod. "Yes, Mother."

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

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yes, Jaune?"

"I was wondering... Do I have a dad?"

The kitchen was quiet. His mother, Iva, clenched her jaw at the stove while Aphrodite, his biological mother, hummed while carving an apple. The family of nine were having stew with an apple pie for dessert. Setting the knife down, Aphrodite looked to her son with glistening eyes.

"No." She smiled.

"No?"

"No." She picked up the knife again and began slicing the apple into halves.

"What about David?" Jaune asked. The huntsman gone and away from home often was the father of seven children in the Arc family. All girls. His only son was not truly his to claim, if he so chose to do.

Aphrodite giggled. "No, not him, either."

"Then... Who is my dad?"

"I am." She set the knife aside and began placing the slices into the pie crust. "You are my son, and I am your mother."

"So, I don't have dad?"

"Y-You do have a father," Iva said, earning a quirked brow from Aphrodite, "just... not one biologically."

"I... I don't understand." Jaune blinked.

"I'll explain everything when you're older." Aphrodite chirped.

"Mom, I'm 17."

"When you're older, honey."

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #demi arkos au #mama nikos #mama arc #athena #aphrodite #greek pantheon

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ladythornofrivia · 9 months

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Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Seven)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: lady greenstar’s ceremony is all but merry, and the offer that could change the course of her life forever.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader is neutral; neither a green or black supporter, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: sorry it took forever to write the chapter! It’s finally here! Woo! Reader’s backstory is finally revealed! Woo! If you enjoy, please leave a comment.

Chapter Seven: The Price of Heart

On the proclamation from the Iron Throne, King Viserys granted a ceremony and anointed a young maiden to unite both factions, Blacks and Greens, and renamed her as Lady Greenstar, a star that befell and shook the cores of Westeros, to which have known for causing disruption and awakened in the realm.

Apart from previous accomplishment on saving Princess Helaena and Prince Jacaerys, Lady Greenstar, a newcomer to Westeros, has its gaze is as deadly as a thorn. Upon a gaze of a maiden, men’s hearts fickle in delight, and women’s hearts enraged with fright. And among others, she is nothing but an air of mystery, but her appearance is no more than averagely simple and unimpressive (claimed by Mushroom). Lady Greenstar, whose maiden name is unknown, the time of Viserys’s reign may have yet to be remain, as Lady Greenstar is in an absolute self-merry and encourage the nobles and commoners alike to a celebrate at her unimportant arrival at a tedious ceremony.

~Your POV~

The nightmare hadn’t stopped.

You want to destroy—set ablaze everything into ashes.

In a soundless blight rising in your chest, you managed to gather yourself in the midst of ceremony. You wanted to scream. Heating anger risen within you; you are nowhere near happy with the proceedings. You just wanted to go home, anticipated that this no more than a fever dream, a weirdly filter episodic moment that is meant to be unseen.

Unable to gaze upon the crowd, despite your head is held high, your roundish headpiece wrapped atop your tucked hairstyle; your hairline styled and slicked back, yet your longish manes flowed and adorned your figure, clad in a floor length ivory gown, your arms heavies a wide bishop sleeves, but your forearms are fitted, ends of your v-pointed sleeves rested on the back of your hands. Your bodice, from bust to waist, the ivory corset is encrusted in pearls and gold embroidery, aligned and patterned with black and green stones as your long skirts in mermaid-shaped flowing, not strictly.

Bowing to Blacks and Greens, the ever so watchful gazes on the crowd are perplexed, yet so many spectators are grateful for your deeds. Some women’s gaze directly lanced at your direction with envy, perhaps displeasure of King Viserys’s announcement. As for men, however, it’s unreadable for you, but with unknown gazes may have yet proceed to either have notable rancor or the deepest of illest intentions.

In Westeros, you knew that you could trust no man. For now, trusting the Targaryens is your only option, a sole bargain, a wager to your existence. Nothing has ever come to simple or as festive. All you wanted was to stay in the sidelines, watching the events unfold, not to be a part of one. The real question is: who sent you here, and what was the real purpose? Of course not, you’re just a simple and honest modern woman—or at least what anyone thought of your outward appearance, which prevailed by the designed precision of Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra’s plan of softening image.

You weren’t meant to be here.

The scream emerged.

All eyes snapped away from your direction. One man grabbed—dragged away and pointed it’s knife at Princess Helaena’s throat at the centered floor, the guards had their swords up, as one of them demanded for the man to release the princess.

“None should accept a woman as a knight on the throne,” the man spattered, yellow teeth gleaming, his voice grating with delight, continuing to drag the princess away bit by bit.

“Mother,” Helaena pleaded quietly, the knife pressed onto her ivory skin, trying not to flail.

“It’s either the cause for the great nobles, or the cause of the war.”

Alicent is frightened for her daughter’s fate.

And so, you watched, palm clenched and unclenched. Hands behind your back, your body veiled with a silver sparkling cloak, but one hand seized the spare knife—your knife you had in your clutched purse, moving with caution as you descend the steps without anyone spotting your intentions.

“Let her go,” you said, before turning your eyes to theirs.

Soothe the realm.

The men flabbergasted at your appeased state. “What?”

“Did I stutter,” you said, ambling, the cloak floated a little. “You’re ruining the King’s celebration. Do you want to be executed? You’re in the presence of Targaryens.”

“I won’t lay rest until I see no woman standing beside the Iron Throne. I won’t serve by the likes of you!”

Shaking your head as you said, “Who said it’s about me?”

The man uttered no response but a heaving breath, near Helaena, furrowed with concern.

Unblinking, your head tilted to the side. “You want me, right?”

The man carefully laid his eyes on you.

“You don’t want the princess,” you resumed, drew nearer. “You want me.”

Soothe the realm.

Your eyes indicated to one of the guards to hold him down, but none succeeded on reading your body language. Looking at your side, Queen Alicent’s widened eyes glazed with warning, a reminder to soften the image. Prince Aemond still abide, his violet eye gleamed, his eye stated something more, wanting more of the anticipation of what you’ll do next.

“Let her go, and I’ll give you what you want,” you negotiated.

“What makes you think I could negotiate with such a pathetic woman?”

“Because I’m not a liar,” you declared, hand stretched. “Release her.”

After moments of hesitation, Princess Helaena has been freed into your arms, shaking. You lightly shoved her towards Alicent as you walked onward without looking elsewhere.

And before you knew it, a knife stabbed behind your belly.

The gasps ensued as the fight broke out, leaving the Blacks and Greens emerged with apprehension, still safe and guarded.

Turning around, the knife you held plunged into the backstabber’s throat, but missed—instead it became a slight deep scratch on the cheek and his hand smacked against your cheekbone. Falling down, you pulled yourself back up again and knocked him out unconscious and rushed to Helaena’s side again and escorted her out, leaving the guards to assign fate to the intruders.

The fate became crueler; the man separated you and Helaena, shoving Helaena aside the intruder hooked you by the arms, trapped. When another opponent came, you lifted yourself in the air, and punted the opponent’s chest with both of your feet, leaving you and the large man collapsed. Rolling back, you gathered yourself again and escorted Helaena back at the corridor.

A young boy screamed—Prince Lucerys—his arm being yanked through the crowd. Briskly, you aid to their side, shoving the crowd apart, you casted your cloak—aiming at the foe, and lanced the man’s neck, trails of blood exploded, smearing the young prince’s face and placed him back Rhaenyra’s side.

A tall figure suddenly shielded you; the knife flew at your direction; Aemond deflected the attempted shot with his spare dagger. Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra rushed altogether—guards protected all and ushered back into the corridor, leaving you breathless.

The pain has been numbed due to the shock implanted.

Far back at the pillar, you watched Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanging with altercation while you find yourself leaning on the stoned pillar with your left hand clutched your bleeding waist beneath the white dress.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Rhaenyra stated in shaky breath.

“Of course not,” Alicent seethed. “King Viserys should’ve thought of bringing Lady Greenstar to the Iron Throne to soothe the realm before the commotion erupts.”

“I hadn’t known,” Rhaenyra argued back, cradling Lucerys in her arms.

“You did this. Lady Greenstar warned that this would happen. A private ceremony should’ve been suffice.”

“We need Lady Greenstar to unite both factions—father suggested to that.”

“Your ideas may influence others, but you’ll never influence with me from the misguidance of your indulgence.”

“I have made no declarations and decisions—it is my father who has done it so!”

Bellows of altercation continued as Prince Jaecerys stood nearby you, given you an awkward tight-lipped expression with his hands laid rest upfront.

Blacks and Greens watched two ladies quarreled with venom as your chest heaving. Gazing below onto your hand, the gold ring sparked on your fourth finger; you brought it up to your lips and kissed it.

Everything will be alright, a gentle voice reminded.

Lidded eyes hazed as the hand placed on your back shoulder; Princess Helaena walked over to your side and consoled you with diminutive smile.

Instead of returning the offer, you patted Helaena’s hand your half-lidded eyes in a suggestion that everything is alright. The concentration in your mind has been misplaced that Helaena began to tie your strands to tiny braids. You’ve inspected everyone. So far, it went smoothly—you’ve found no wounds, but when your eyes meet Green sons, your head inclined to a subtle bow. While Prince Aegon bowed back with his smugness, Prince Aemond is as elegant and unreadable. His eye still lay onto you as you faced back, watching the princess and the queen.

Altercations and debate went ongoing.

The aggravating pain hadn’t ceased.

“Stop,” you groaned.

The abrasion struck you so hard that you let a long groan, your head hung back, relied on a cold pillar.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys said.

“I’m fine,” you assured, eyes watery. “I’m fine.”

Daemon, no doubt, is suspicious. Shielding Helaena with your might, you held onto her spare hand.

The quarrel wasn’t far from over as you sauntered, the belly scorched again, pinching your nerves and coiled your stomach to a point of punishment you couldn’t withstand.

The cough unleashed, veiling the spots of blood.

Someone…

And collapsed onto your knees, trembling with cold sweat, fell onward.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys called aloud, as he caught you into arms, soon follow by your feet, your body weakened, slipped away.

“You’re safe now,” you said, darting at Aemond, offering him your sweetest expression laid on your lips.

Gradually, your eyes fluttered with slow blinks, choking. Then your vision faded to nothing.

~Aemond’s POV~

“My Queen, Lady Greenstar has collapsed,” Criston announced.

Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra halted, and veered back to your lifeless body in Jacaerys’s arms.

Both women’s anger replaced with fear. “No…” Rhaenyra uttered.

“Take her to the Maester at this instant. We can’t afford to lose her,” Alicent ordered.

All the while, Aemond, the king’s second son, is devastated, powerless and hopeless as the life slipped between your parted lips. Piqued as he was eyeing on the golden ring rested on your fourth finger.

~Your POV~

What the hell was that?

“The life flashes before your eyes,” it said.

Your head snapped to the noise.

“Poor little woman, who’s life has been tormented one after the other,” a voice rang into your ears in a darkened void. “A life of a woman is no ordinary, but will soon be free.”

“Who are you?”

“My, you’re just a thing of beauty. A shame that comes price with it—ever so ethereal but with a demonic spirit residing in you since your childhood, all but bad luck,” it taunted. “You have killed and tortured the mundane, both men and women, especially in your days where you were trying to save your dying lover—born a thief and a liar—the evil men have taught you well.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want to make an offer, an offer to which it might entice you. Right now, your very soul is on the bridge between life and death.”

“I know that!”

“Of course you knew. But you didn’t believe that we exist.”

“All are anything but real.”

The voice’s rang into your ears with its taunting laugh. “But if you wish to remain alive and well, I offered you choices, one which the cost of your life to be rekindled. One which you cannot turn your back into—and I offer you this; stay in Westeros and serve the realm, serve the dynasty and find a new purpose and bond. Even if it means of forgetting your dead lover. Or, the Gods will offer a sweet and merciful death—your pathetic and tragic life will soon meet its end and face your maker.”

“I want to go home,” you objected.

“Going home is no longer an option; if you go there, chances are your death will be as quickly repulsive and vile; death is near at your doorstep as soon as your consciousness blurred.”

“What do you mean?”

“The men from your former clan are hunting you down. They have found you. You thought running away from a syndicate after burning everything to ashes would be simple.”

“Why Westeros? Why send me there? Who sent me here?”

“Those questions are irrelevant; time is ticking.”

“At what cost?”

“The price you’ll pay, it’s either your eyes, ear or mouth. Or I will decide for you.”

Goosebumps flooded over you, heart struck with quiver.

“I can’t,” you whimpered. “I can’t!” Fell onto the ground, hands veiled your face, walls you’ve built tarnished as your cries echoed through the void, cried longer than you should’ve.

“Sweet summer child,” it cooed. “Time is running short. The elder man of Hightower wants to burn your body.”

Another shiver ran.

“I know everything. Submit yourself to me, and I shall grant the desire—the offer I gave you—your life will start anew. What do we say to the God of Death?”

“Not today.”

“Good!” the voice rang, enchant. “I knew you have come to made your decision.”

The green light sprang and ran into your heart—your voice reached high into bellows and wails. Nails digging into your chest firmly, nails dragged with blood, already on the floor, knees on your chest. Ears rang in high-pitched noise; ears bleed as nose, and mouth drained in red flow, crying in agony.

“Don’t worry, child, you’ll soon meet the fate that you’ve been longing for,” it said. “You’ll find your purpose here. The history of Fire & Blood, alongside yours, will be rewritten.”

In that moment, you knew the unknown being wasn’t lying.

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @aracelipf @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @colored-tr-panels @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 3 months

Text

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 39

Content warning: Drug usage and a bit of gore. Please proceed at your own risk.

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.8K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The world felt cold and empty, even as Azriel cradled you in his arms and winnowed you through the shadows back to where the rest of the Night Court sat. They were still gathered around the fire, laughing and joking with each other, completely unaware of how your entire world had crumbled in just three words. You didn't even have the strength to look at them as Azriel explained what had happened, your body feeling hollow and numb in his embrace. Instead, you stared straight ahead into the darkness, where the trees stood like silent sentinels on the edge of the lawn, their dark branches reaching up towards the moonlight that bathed them in a cold, silver glow.

Your eyes burned from tears that had long dried up, but you couldn't bring yourself to cry anymore. The screams and wails that had erupted from you earlier were now replaced by a heavy, pounding throb in the back of your head. Every piece of you felt heavy and broken, slipping through your fingers like sand.

You could hear Rhysand's voice, stern and calculating as he asked questions that you didn't want to answer. But you had no answers left to give. Nesta had risen from her spot, her hands reaching out to touch your face and call your name. But you flinched away from her gentle touch, feeling disgusting and untouchable.

Even the sounds of laughter and merriment from the other fae around you felt like they were happening in another world, one where you could only watch from a distance. Everything inside you was shattered and fragmented, with no pieces connecting or burning with life. All that remained was a deep desire to curl up and disappear.

The pieces of your shattered reality swirled around you, cutting deeper with each passing moment. The claims made by him, the male who was your supposed my kin, filled in gaps you never knew existed, while simultaneously ripping apart your sense of self. Was it anger towards your mother for subjecting me to this wretched life, to forcing you into a world filled with greed and self righteousness? Or perhaps it was the realization that she had abandoned you for his wealth. Was anything about your world truly as it seemed? Did anyone know the truth, or were they all hiding behind a facade, perhaps like Titania? Titania, the one female who truly felt like a mother to you, did she know? And if she did, was she lying to you all this time. And now you are faced with the question of what comes next. How will this revelation change everything? How could you be related to someone so cruel and vile, someone who embodied the very traits you despised in your mate? But deep down, you knew the answer to a question that had haunted you for centuries. And now that it was finally answered, you cursed yourself for ever wondering at all. Had you truly escaped one hell only to stumble into another? Was this your fate, to always be connected to males who sought to dominate and control you? Perhaps you too were poison, destined to bring destruction wherever you went.

The world spun around you again, feeling like a dizzying and disorienting merry-go-round. Azriel's arms pulled you closer, tighter, as if he was trying to reach into your mind and rescue you from yourself. As the world came back into focus, you found yourself in the House of Wind, still held by Azriel as his fingers dug into your skin in an attempt to soothe you. But his words were muffled and distant, and you refused to listen. He gently placed you onto a chaise lounger, and your body, feeling empty and lifeless, collapsed into its soft folds.

The rest of the Night Court gathered around you, Nesta perched at the edge of the lounger with a look of intense sadness in her eyes. Rhysand stood next to Azriel, towering over you with a cold and harsh expression as his hands gestured wildly while Azriel tried to explain something to him. Feyre disappeared down the hallway, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn and watch her go. Lucien and Elain sat on a nearby couch, but you didn't look at them either. You knew that Lucien's gaze was fixed on you, but it felt distant and hollow.

Soon enough, Feyre returned with a healer - a short woman draped in a grey cloak who approached you cautiously, as if you were a dangerous wild animal. And perhaps right now, you were exactly that - something to be feared. But you didn't shy away from her touch or flinch at her presence. You simply let her scrutinize you for any physical injuries - bruises or cuts that she wouldn't find because the only wounds you carried were deep within your mind, wounds that had bled out and left you gasping for air.

As she finished her examination and said something to the group that you couldn't hear, your eyes remained fixed on the window overlooking Velaris. It was the same city you had always known, yet everything felt different now. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate as the others relaxed, perhaps relieved that nothing had happened to you at Philip's hands. But even as he had touched your chin and pressed a hardened kiss to your cheek, you couldn't help but wonder - would it have been easier if he had hit you? If he had assaulted you physically instead of tearing apart your mind and soul?

Because those wounds may have been easier to heal, but for something that pulled you deeper and deeper into yourself, was true healing even possible?

—

Your feet pound relentlessly against the slick grass as you dart through the endless maze, your breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. The taste of iron fills your mouth. Your heart races like a wild animal, threatening to burst from your chest as you push yourself harder and faster, unable to stop even for a moment. The foliage presses in on all sides, illuminated by the silver beams of moonlight that seem to taunt and mock you. You round corner after corner, slipping and sliding on the treacherous ground, your hands clawing desperately at the earth to steady yourself. There are no dead ends in this maze, only endless paths lined with thorns that tear at your skin as you crash through them. But still, you must run. You must find a way out before it catches up to you. That thing, whatever it is, crashes behind you in pursuit, sending birds scattering and filling the air with their panicked cries. Its footfalls thunder in your ears, growing closer and closer with each passing second. And then, you come to an intersection, with four pathways snaking away from each other like the fingers of a monstrous hand. Your head whips around frantically as you try to determine which path to take, but each one seems to change before your eyes, shifting and twisting until you can no longer remember which way you came from. And suddenly, there is silence. A deafening silence that chills you to the core and sets every nerve in your body on edge.

You pause, panting heavily as you try and listen for anything down the paths, anything that might tell you where you are or where to go. But there’s nothing, only the sound of your both breath as it chokes out of you. You feel tears well into your eyes, your hands desperately gripping into your hair as you try and hold back sobs or a scream. Perhaps you had lost it, and you wouldn’t very well give up your location by allowing yourself the luxury of screaming.

The eerie silence of the deserted path is suddenly broken by a familiar, teasing voice that sends chills down your spine. You whirl around, heart racing, but the path remains empty, stretching on endlessly before you. It's just in your head, you tell yourself, trying to calm your racing thoughts. But then another voice, deep and menacing, whispers right next to your ear: "Whore."

You spin around again, searching for the source of the voice, but both paths are devoid of any living beings. Panic sets in as you shake your head violently, trying to dispel whatever darkness is creeping into your mind. Suddenly, the sound of a child's voice echoes through the maze, calling out for "Mama!" But the innocent tone quickly morphs into a distorted, grotesque parody of a man's voice. Your skin prickles with fear as you take a step back from where the voice came from, only to hear a footstep behind you.

Your heart hammering in your chest, you turn to see Anthea standing there, her head hanging limply from its broken spine. Her eyes are pale and lifeless, and her body looks emaciated and ghostly. She speaks in a hollow, underwater voice: "You left me...you let me die." You recoil in horror as she accuses you, her head lolling to one side as if held together by a single thread. Your hand flies to cover your mouth as she continues to stare at you with accusatory eyes. "You let him hurt me," she hisses. Unable to bear it any longer, you shut your eyes tightly and press yourself against the foliage in an attempt to escape from her accusing gaze.

With a gasp, you open your eyes and find yourself face to face with Anthea, her unforgiving stare piercing into your soul. Your heart races as her blood-soaked mouth contorts into a garbled screech, accusing you of letting her die. Before you can react, her bony hands wrap around your throat, squeezing with otherworldly strength as your body crumples to the ground. Desperately, you try to push her off but she's like a vise, crushing your windpipe and cutting off your air supply. Panic sets in as you plead for mercy, but all that meets your eyes is pure malice radiating from hers. In a last-ditch effort for survival, you manage to push her head away and it snaps off, rolling to the ground before disappearing into a shadowy giggle, along with her body.

Gasping for air and trembling with fear, you scramble against the hedge, frantically trying to erase the horrifying image from your mind, your hands running over your face to try and wipe the cold clammy feeling of her dead hands from your skin. It can't be real, you tell yourself over and over again. But then, a tall figure approaches from the opposite pathway - a male figure with impossibly long legs that tower over you as he looms closer. You try to get up but he bends over you, his elongated spine arching towards you like a nightmarish creature. And those eyes - those familiar russet eyes that bore into your very being.

"My darling girl," a voice that sounds like Philip's rasps out from the creature's twisted form.

"Get away from me!" you scream, but the creature only smiles wider with razor-sharp teeth that glint in the dim light. He crawls closer on all fours like a spider, sniffing at you with an unnaturally long nose and licking his lips hungrily with a reptilian tongue.

"Divine," he gurgles before lunging at you with his gaping maw of teeth. Acting on pure instinct, you kick out at his face with all your might and he recoils with a bloodcurdling shriek. Taking advantage of the moment, you scramble to your feet and run.

Panic courses through your veins as you race down the unfamiliar pathways. Your body strains for air, but your windpipe deels like it’s on the verge of collapse from Anthea’s grip. You stumble around corners, desperate to lose whatever is chasing you, until you collide with a solid figure. In terror, you scream and struggle against the muscled arms that wrap around you until you catch a familiar scent of cedar that can only belong to one familiar male: Azriel. Relief floods through you as he whispers, “Shh, you’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You struggle lightly against his hold, not taking a moment to relax as you pull away, “Az, we have to get out of here,” you plead.

But he remains unmoving.

Desperation sets in as you take his hand and tug on it urgently. “Please, Azriel,” you beg, tears streaming down your face. “We have to leave. We have to leave before it gets me.”

Azriel’s grip only tightens in response.

“Stop, Azriel that hurts!” But his grip doesn’t lighten as you pull against him. “You’re hurting me!” You scream, the terrible sound of cracking bones within his grip as your hand ignites in pain. You cry out in agony, but his grip doesn’t falter.

Azriel’s only response is another smile, unsettling serenity “No one can hurt you here. Stay with me.” He beckons. But as you

look into those eyes, something flickers within them that makes your heart stop. Something primal and deadly that is not Azriel stares back at you through those Hazel eyes. A dark realization dawns on you - this is not Azriel.

“I have to go.” You manage to say through clenched teeth, trying to control the tremble in your voice.

“You’re safe.” The thing within him repeats, the voice that normally calms you now distorted and garbled, like some twisted imitation of Azriel’s true voice.

“I know.” You respond, trying to steady your breath. “But you have to let me go.” You say, your breath catching in your throat.

As he pulls you closer, the shadows behind him grow and swirl like vicious creatures. You can feel their malevolent intentions dripping from the as they rise behind him. Nothing about this is safe.Azriel pulls you even closer, close enough that your shoulder touches his chest, and in a moment that you worry you will regret, you take his hand up, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

The creature within Azriel lets out a guttural purr, a gurgling murmur that almost sounds like pleasure. But as you take one of its fingers into your mouth and clamp down with all your might, the sound turns into a piercing shriek. With a sickening snap, tendons and bones break under the pressure of your jaw, severing the finger from its hand. You are met with a searing sensation in your mouth, like acid burning through your gums. And what drips from the severed finger is not blood, but a powdery substance that sizzles on contact with your skin.

Gasping for air and spitting out the vile taste, you break free from the creature's grasp and flee deeper into the maze. The figure behind you roars in anger and curses at you, before taking off with heavy flapping of its wings into the sky. You dare not waste a moment to look back as you push through the twisting paths and foliage. Every sound and sensation in this place is deceitful and treacherous.

As you push further, the acidic taste still burning in your mouth, Kai’s voice echoes in your head, a shrill and agonizing sound that cuts through your skull. The sickening squelches of flesh being torn from flesh resound in the darkness, accompanied by Kai's desperate pleas for help. "Y/N, please!" he cries out in desperation. But his screams are drowned out by the malevolent laughter of your mate, their sinister joy at causing pain and suffering to those around them. You clamp your hands over your ears, trying to block out the haunting echoes, but they only grow louder inside your head.

In a desperate attempt to escape the cacophony of voices, you scream and pull at your hair until a section comes free in your grip, sending waves of searing pain through your body. You continue to run blindly, overwhelmed by overlapping sounds - Kai's screams mixing with your mate's laughter, Philip's poisonous words, Azriel's sensual moans, a small child's sobs and screams for her mother, Anthea's accusations, Kai's father's wild sobs, and even your own mother's voice calling out your name.

But amidst all the chaos, you hear one voice that stands out - your mother's. With every ounce of strength left in you, you focus on that one familiar sound and follow it like a lifeline. Swatting away the other voices like pesky flies, you push forward until finally reaching a distinct place where her voice seems to be coming from.

You burst through hedges and turn corners, frantically calling out for her as she responds with equal urgency. And then, at last, you see her standing in front of you at a dead end. Your heart swells with relief as you launch yourself towards her in a desperate embrace. She is warm and comforting, smelling of home as she wraps her arms around you.

She pulls back to inspect you, her hands gentle as they travel over your face and hair. "Are you hurt? What's happening, baby?" she asks with concern.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you try to explain the horror that has consumed your mind. "I don't know, Mama. I don't know," is all you can manage to say.

Your mother holds you tightly, her own voice trembling with fear that matches your own. "We have to go," she whispers urgently, taking your hand in hers as she steps back. You nod in agreement, her eyes wide with fear as you both acknowledge the danger surrounding you.

As you and your mother step forward, her hand tightly gripping yours, the creature that looks like Philip suddenly scurries out from under a nearby hedge. A primal scream escapes your lips as well as your mother's, who quickly takes a few steps back, shielding you from the creature's reach.

The beast stands tall on its unnaturally long legs, its twisted smile sending chills down your spine. "Sile," it growls in a guttural voice. "My dear, sweet, lovely Sile."

"Don't look at it!" Your mother's voice rings out, urgent and panicked, and you immediately obey, averting your gaze from the monstrous being. She presses her body against yours, her frame thin and bony but undeniably protective.

"Sile, you would keep my child from me?" The creature hisses at your mother.

"You will not hurt her," she retorts, her tone firm and resolute despite the fear that hangs heavy in the air.

"What are you going to do?" It taunts back, taking a few steps closer.

"Stay back!" Your mother yells.

"We made her together," it continues in a low purr. "We are one of the same. She is two halves of us."

"She is nothing like you," your mother snaps back with disdain.

"She is exactly like me," it counters. "Look at her. Look at her soul, Sile."

Your mother remains still as you cling to her dress, feeling the softness of the white linen between your fingers as she pulls you closer. "She is cunning and smart. Calculating and filled with fire. Her soul is blackened like mine," the creature speaks again. "And she is delicious like you."

"You are filth," your mother spits at it. "And you will never have her."

The creature's taunts echoed through the night. Its voice dripped with malice as it prowled after your mother and you, its clawed hands reaching out to touch and menace. "At what price will you sell her to me?" It sneers, relishing in the power it holds. "You always have your price, Sile. A good girl like you won't turn down anything if I can pay enough. What will it take? Coin? Perhaps a bit of that beautiful powder that makes you so obedient."

Your mother's spine stiffens at the mention of the Luster, her body trembling with fear and hesitation. She stands tall, a protective shield between you and the beast as it continues its cruel taunting. "Nothing. Philip. She is not yours," she declares firmly, her voice wavering slightly.

"What good can you do for her?" The creature hisses back, its hot breath wreaking of death and decay wafting over your face. "You have nothing. You are nothing."

"I am her mother," she retorts, determination shining through her fear.

"You are a whore," the beast snarls, its sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

Your mother's fingers dig into your skin as you cower behind her, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Your life means nothing to me, except for what your cunt can offer," it continues in a sinister tone. "But her? She is my blood. She is me."

Your mother takes a step back, pushing you closer to her. "Get out of here Philip," she commands, her voice quavering.

"Hold your tongue," the creature responds in a chilling voice. Suddenly, there is a rustling of cloth and your mother gasps.

Without a moment of hesitation, your mother steps away from you, her body heat leaving a cold chill in her wake, leaving you exposed to the creature's looming presence. "Mama," you cry out, reaching for her.

The creature purrs in delight, "Yes, yes my good girl. Come here." You feel a sob rising in your throat as you try to keep your eyes downcast.

"Take it," the creature hisses, and you hear your mother moan lightly. You can’t stop yourself from looking up, to see your mothers face, blurred in a memory you can’t quite place, as she leans her delicate face forwards, breathing in a glistening fine powder.

The creature's face contorts into a cruel smile as it turns towards you, its eyes filled with malicious glee. "You see, Y/N? Your mother is so quick to leave you for an enticing bit of powder."

Tears blur your vision as you whisper to yourself, "This isn't real. This isn't happening."

But the creature only chuckles in response, "What about it isn't? Did she not abandon you all those years ago? Did Anthea not die because of your inaction? Did Kai not suffer due to your weakness? And your mate - didn't you choose to let him in?” The creature took a few more long strides towards you, it’s pearl white teeth reflecting in the pale moonlight. “Why do you persist in denying your role in this tragedy? Do you truly believe that there was no other path you could have taken? And what of poor Azriel?” Your heart skipped a beat. “Would you condemn him to ruin from the depths of your corrupted, blackened heart?”

The creature's words sliced through you like a sharpened blade, tearing open old wounds and unleashing a torrent of guilt and pain.

You whimpered, recoiling from its menacing gaze. But it gripped your face tightly with its sharp claws, forcing you to meet its twisted features. “Look at me.” It snarled as you watched - a grotesque fusion of all those who you suffered, and suffered at your hand morphing on it’s face: Anthea, Philip, Caelum, Kai, Azriel, your own mother, the Illyrian soldiers, Titania, Azriel, before settling into its final form. You. A sickening grin spread across your face as all the voices merged together, taunting you relentlessly. "You can't escape from yourself forever," they sneered in unison.

The creature’s lips peeled back to reveal those rows of teeth again as it leaned in closer to devour its own reflection - your blackened soul included.

Readers: I dread the path we're set to tread, far from warmth we're swiftly left. From arms that beckon, smiles that light, we venture into endless night. Away we drift to realms unknown, farther still from the place called home. Yet there are souls whose presence calls, in shadowed realms where courage falls. Those who fear the hidden strife, face shadows whispering back to life. Bindings tight and fractures deep, wounds that wake and never sleep. A loss unnamed, a pain unseen, in silent sobs and darkened dreams. Strength that falters, trust that wanes, echoes more than bleeding pains. We cry and wail, we beg and scream, yearning for a different dream. Paths diverge, yet seek we stay, but shadows cannot light our way. Trusts voices, threatened hearts, in murmurs soft the turmoil starts. Away we must, to voids obscure, farther still from what was sure. For forces vast and whispers sly, in time shall test both you and I. Shall love endure through joy and strife, or must we falter, pay the price. In sacrifice, I guard your soul, in shadows deep I play my role. For paths we tread and hearts we save, might lead us both to unknown graves.

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger28 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardust @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @loglady00 @caninnes @weepingwerewolf @that-one-bibliophole

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sadtonight · 2 years

Text

Perfect's perfect child

Summary: surprisingly, tending a child is relatively easy. Or so he thought: innocent childish antics are endearing, until they turn disastrous!

Characters: Pomefiore;

Warnings: reader and character's child is biological, children's names are not specified, reader is gender neutral, reader is perfect but without Grim, established romantic relationships, grown up characters;

Side notes: my bestie was such a hungry child. Though no matter how much or what she ate it didn't help her grow ha ha. She's the size of an Epel if you are wondering. AGAIN FORGOT THAT GRIM EXISTS RIP.

Vil

— does Vil Schoenheit have a spouse? Yes, that's a well known fact. And apparently, completely magicless which was nothing out of the ordinary, despite some nasty fans assuming it to be unacceptable. But does the couple have children? There are rumours circulating around due to celebrity's implicit answers on the matter, but no-one knows for sure...

— the reason why your son's existence is shrouded by the veil of mystery is due to Vil wishing for your child to not be burdened by his father's reputation. It's not like he is ashamed of himself or the progress he had done: unlike Vil's father, Vil is mostly renowned by his excellently performed villainous movie roles and refined yet cold exterior that he polished even more after his graduation from Night Raven College;

— your husband successes lead to meeting many talented folk from all sorts of industries, some of which were not even directly linked to Vil's field of activities. Either way, you both were about to welcome one of those guest at your house, them being close enough to know of the existence of your son;

— speaking of the boy, the frowning youngling was currently in his room, sitting on the soft plush light purple carpet before openned dresser looming over his small frame, the inside of the furniture and it's content engulfed in darkness. Usually you or Vil helped him choose an outfit for the day, but now both of you were busy with preparations so you couldn't aid your young kid;

— he finally got up from his position and tugged on the intricate shirt until it fell down and put it on, coming up to a mirror to check himself out. The ribbons behind were displaced! The boy couldn't fix them himself so he gripped the lower part of the clothes and rushed out to get someone to help;

— despite the house not being small, the smell of delicious food was thick in the air. Among the aromas, the boy spotted the smell of plums, fruits that he deeply associated with his father Vil. The decision was made: the boy run into your shared room, not without lightly knocking on the door;

— your son saw who he was hoping to find — amethyst eyed male sitting upright before the vanity, applying purple lipstick to his lips. However, before the boy could ask his dad for help, suddenly you called out from the kitchen for Vil's urgent help, so the man has risen from the chair, leaving the lipstick tube sitting on the vanity table, excusing himself and telling the boy to wait for him here;

— with a huff, small boy walked around the room, seeking something interesting to occupy himself with in the meantime until his eyes lended on the vanity. Child climbed the chair and put his hands on the table, rolling his shoulders behind, puffing his chest out: like this, he looked like dad! Shiny funny-shaped beauty products were a no no for your son and yet he couldn't help reaching for opened purple lipstick tube;

— all types of questions were swirling in boy's mind, in particular how the lipstick would feel and of course how it tasted. He was hungry after all. First, he applied some colour, but missed the shape of his lips and in attempt to erase his doings he tried to lick lipstick off, finding out that it was extremely hard to do so. Left with no other option, the child bit on the purple stick, chewing the material which was nothing like plums like he initially thought it would taste!

— your son was about to take another bite to clarify but was lifted up and turned to face scary expressionless Vil. "Hmp, didn't I tell you to wait for me? You do know that disobedient children get eaten? And I happened to be veeery hungry now~" the last phrases came out with a smirk upon seeing the young boy pleading, frightened eyes. In truth, Vil wasn't angry at all and didn't plan to punish the troublemaker — on the contrary, his son getting interested in make up wasn't a bad sign. Though beautiful male does feel upset with the poor state of his freshly made purple lipstick....

Rook

— you wondered on multiple occasions if after graduating Night Raven College, marrying to Rook Hunt and having kids with him, would they share the same eccentricity like their father? One way to test it is to have children, and so after an extensive long while the first child was born;

— first few years you had to hold your overexcited husband by the imaginary collar since he was a little too ready to share his crafts with the infant boy who couldn't even make a full coherent sentence. The fact didn't bother Rook in the slightest: if anything, it meant that he could observe how the little one communicates! Comme ç'est excitant!

— and unsurprisingly, soon enough your son showed the interest in drawing while Rook was testing to see what arts the boy would show interest in. Apart from drawing, your husband also wished to introduce the boy to many other forms of self expression, naturally showing of the fruit of his artisticity — various collections of photos and photo albums. It was endearing to see the two sitting on the couch under the cover, your content husband, turning the pages with faintly visible nostalgia flowing in the eyes and faint smile looping up in the corners of his mouth, and your son observing every picture with curious expression that only small children could master;

— after being exposed to photos of nature, animals and beautiful figures your son's attention was drawn only to those subjects. You recall seeing crudely drawn Leona-s on the back of the colour book. The small boy would try to sneak the photo albums to his room to observe the pictures for how long he wanted, but Rook had always blew any attempt of theft. That is until one fateful day;

— it was an ordinary autumn noon, except for you being absent from home, out in the town hanging out with some guys from the college. Rook was babysitting the young boy in the living room, tweaking with one of his bows as the later who despite suffering from cold, was drawing animals on the paper at small coffee;

— blonde male's attention was diverted to his son who was tugging his clothes and pointing to the table, silently informing his father about the lack of black paper sheets. Rook got up from the sofa and hid his bow away, made the boy drink medicine and gently instructed him to go rest while he goes to buy the art supplies. It would take less than 15 minutes to do the deed, so the huntsman was sure nothing wrong would take place;

— it was already evening, so you decided to get back home already. A bus ride home, and you were standing before your doors. You rung the doorbell, expecting your cheerful husband to sweep you of your feet and ask about your meet-up yet you were met with the bewildering scene: Rook was smiling...and crying at the same time;

— turns out, he was away for some time to buy paper, and your son had managed to get his little hands on the photo albums, which huntsman hid so well that even you didn't know where they were concealed, and drew on every single picture with colourful pens. Rook wasn't angry, how could he get angry at such wonderful artistic display, but the pain of losing such precious photographs was too severe to not shed a few dozens of tears. It's still a wonder that the boy found those albums in his sickly state — hunter's intuition must run strong in Hunt's bloodline you assume!

Epel

— your fair, lilac haired husband has been suffering from his feminine outward appearance from childhood up to now, even though he deliberately drabbled in fashion industry to help promote his family's business after his time spent in Pomefiore dorm. So with the birth of a daughter, Epel hoped that maybe he could restore his manliness by appearing in father's role publicly, yet it had the opposite effect;

— you see, the little girl was such a successful mix of yours and Epel's genes that she along with both of you were swept by the media and proclaimed to be the cutest family in the whole country, even surpassing Neige's close-knit, big family. Now your husband had one more title to his name, apart from "the cutest of them all", which was good for his career but bad for his male soul;

— maybe to general public he didn't seem manlier but to you, nothing spoke more volumes than how he behaved with your daughter. Honestly, you envied the girl sometimes — she was spoilt rotten with fatherly affection she received each day! They shared similar personality vise that it felt like the saying about apple not falling far behind it's tree was made specifically for those too;

— speaking of apples, your small family has just returned from a trip to Harveston. Unsurprisingly, little girl showed great interest in articulate and farming and spent time with Epel's relatives. Before you knew, it was already time to head back to city's hustle and bustle, so your husband packed several crates of fruit and drinks (he carried each crate himself without using magic by the way!!) and you were good to go;

— in contrast to you and Epel who were exhausted, your daughter was ready to return to the country side the very next day. The images of colourful apples blending with green leaves up above only added fuel to the fire. It was early in the morning when Epel felt a small hand pat his cheek. The little child wanted to eat an apple, so the father had to crack open a wooden crate. Half asleep, with small girl pacing close by, he effortlessly opened the lid and gave a big yawn. Just one apple, he said and went back to your shared bed;

— it later in the morning, Epel felt a bigger hand patting his cheek. This time it was you who woke him up, crackling and barely contacting a full-blown laughter. Needless to say, this greatly confused your husband whom you dragged to the kitchen. What he saw though were horrors that made him twist his face into utter shock: apples scattered everywhere, all littered with bite marks as if some sort of rabbits have attacked those apples. And amongst this mess, on the chair was sitting a girl with a single half eat apple;

— Epel crouched down a little to the eye level and, in a strained voice, questioned your daughter what happened to which she with a proud smile and puffed out chest responded that she had finally found the tastiest apple! Alas, she didn't want to eat the rest of it, so she placed the leftover on the table and skipped away from the crime scene;

— turns out, the male had done something similar back when he was a child, as his mother informed you over the phone sometime later, thus he remained in the room to clean it up, salvaging those fruit that could be used for apple pies. Those two were the cutest, you thought, while admiring the photo you have sneakily taken when both of them talked.

#twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader

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thedevilrisen · 5 months

Note

"what if y-" "if you seriously propose that i sit on your lap, i will kill you."

with trevorrrrrrrrrrrrr

"I am not a hermit, Lukas!" You huffed to your best friend as he ferreted through your closest.

"Don't call me Lukas," he replied, trying awfully hard to say his not so name in the vain tone of voice you did. "And. Yes, yes you are."

"Bullshit!"

"You've watched three seasons of Gilmore Girls in two days!"

"There is nothing wrong with that Luke!" You exclaimed. "No, no. The brown doesn't go with the Khaki."

"What do you mean? Khaki goes with brown!" Luke said placing the pants over the shirt and looking in the floor to ceiling mirror.

"Not unless you're aiming to look like a tree in a pre-school play!" You raised from the bed and stalked over to your closet, flicking through pant options. "What are we going to do again?"

"We are going bowling with some of the guys." Luke states taking a seat on the ottoman at the end of your bed.

"Define some of the guys." you continue, taking off to the dresser for your trusty set of Lorna Jane's.

"Jack's buddies." Luke vaguely specifies. "Plus Quinn. Cause he's a loner and has nothing to do."

"Quinn isn't a loner, his girlfriend is just out of town." you call walking into the bathroom. "Wait. Luke. By Jack's buddies do you mean Trevor included?"

"Well-"

"Luke! You know Trevor and me in same environment does. not. work." you walked out of the bathroom changed and trying desperately to clasp your chain.

"You don't have to talk to him at the event!" Luke pleads desperately with you. "I'm pretty sure Jack booked seperate cars anyway."

"Alright then."

-:-

"Ah, guys! I fucked the Ubers, we've only got one and we need to get 6 people in a 5 seater." Jack called to the remains of the group on the nature strip.

Luke lost about six inches in height at the look you levelled him with.

"What if Y/-"

"If you seriously propose that I sit on your lap, I will kill you."

"I-" Trevor started, he stopped abruptly when your voice over powered his.

"Jack, Luke, Quinn and Cole, get in the car." Noticing the tone of the situation all four of them followed instructions.

"What about me!" Trevor exclaimed, looking stupidly adorable in that god forsaken pink beanie. He looked back and forth at you standing in the doorway of the car.

"Walk."

SLAM.

I'm sorry it's on the shorter side! I hope it's adequate. I certainly look forward to writing more! List of Prompts here.

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callsign-hexen · 1 year

Text

Western Skies

Summary: after having dinner with the rest of the Abbott family, you and Rhett enjoy some time together in the field

word count: 4.2K

Warnings: cursing, Rhett being a shy boy around Reader, making out in a field, doing more stuff in a field, dirty talk, oral sex (female), a slight hand job, vaginal fingering, PiV sex in a field, cream pie (reader is on birth control, but wrap it before you tap it, folks), 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, AFAB reader, no use of Y/N. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: This took longer to make due to procrastination, a summer class, and a bachelorette party weekend. Some of the spicy dialogue is based on things that my boyfriend has said to me. I have PLENTY of ideas, but any suggestions or requests are welcome! Enjoy!

You and Rhett had only been seeing each other for two months. You met him years ago in high school when your family moved to town in the middle of your sophomore year. You never talked, but he admired you from afar, almost as if it were love at first sight. Not quite love at the time, but the feeling that something was here. The pretty new girl in town, the one who was quiet, shy, and would never talk unless someone spoke to you first. Usually, it was somebody asking the age-old question: “Why move here?”. You never really knew how to answer that question, as simple as it was. A small town like Wabang being as boring as it is, especially to a teenager, one would wonder who the hell would want to move in instead of moving out.

The two of you somehow managed to never start a conversation with each other for the rest of your high school years. But you knew of each other’s existence well enough that if someone were to have told either of you news about the other that had been going through the town, you would generally know who they were talking about.

Rhett had kept you in the back of his mind as he went throughout his life in Wabang, even during the whole Maria debacle. He often thought of himself as a creep for it, always thinking about a girl he had never even spoken to. But it felt impossible not to do so as he saw you everywhere. At school, at the rodeos, at the general store that you worked at, he would even see you at church whenever his mother would drag him along with the rest of the Abbott clan.

It would only get worse when you started babysitting Amy a few years back.

There was a time when Amy was small enough to where she couldn’t properly learn to ride a horse yet, and the ranch work got so tough that all of the family would have to pitch in on the fields, even Rebecca. With Amy being too young, they had to have someone watch her while everyone else took care of the ranch. That was when you walked further into Rhett’s life.

He happened to be near the front door as he heard a knock early that morning. He was never told who was going to watch Amy; so, as he opened the door, the last person he expected to see was you. You were wearing an oversized sweater that was long enough to cover your hands to combat the chilly morning of the fall season, jeans, and an old pair of boots that he remembers you wearing throughout high school. He almost froze on the spot, taking you in as you stood on the porch. You look up at him, eyes illuminated by the porch light that was turned on as the sun has just barely risen. “W-what are you doin’ here?” he asked you, finally finding his voice.

You breathed out a small laugh, “Well good morning to you too, Rhett. Your mom and Rebecca asked me to watch Amy while you guys go take care of things, so here I am,” you said. You motioned a request to come in with your hand, he moved aside so quickly he almost trip on the carpet. You stepped inside, taking in the Abbott house. You’ve never been over, let alone inside of it.

“So, how’ve you been, Rhett? I’ve seen you at the rodeos, you’re doing pretty good,” you said as you walked around the living room. Rhett already felt his knees grow weak the second he saw you, but every time you say his name, he felt as if he could fall to his knees in an instant if he heard it one too many times. “You come to the rodeos?” He asked you; it took everything in him to keep his voice from giving away how nervous you made him. He felt as if he were a small child talking to their crush for the first time. “Only every one there is, got nothing else to do at night besides staying at home with a cat,” you laughed as you replied, looking over your shoulder at him as you made your way to the kitchen to meet Cecelia as she put on a pot of coffee.

You continued to watch over Amy for three months, after that you two became so close that she and Rebecca would make regular appearances at the General Store to visit you as you worked. It took one year of that for Amy to finally bring Rhett along. And a few short months after for Rhett to finally get the guts to ask you out.

Amy was over looking at the little toy dispensers at the front, searching in her pockets for a quarter or two. Rhett was with you at the register in the back, leaning against it as you cleaned up to close the store, it was a Sunday afternoon which normally meant to close up early around 5 o’clock. He volunteered to straighten up some papers, flyers, and other little things that lined themselves up at the counter. He looked over at you as you swept the floors. “So,” he started, already thinking that he should stop while he’s ahead to keep himself from embarrassment, “what are your plans this week?” You looked up from the floor as you swept the dirt into the dustpan, shrugging, “I’m not sure, mostly just work here and there. I’ll probably just stay home for a bit until this week’s rodeo.” You went over to the trashcan to empty the pan before putting the broom up. “Do you happen to have anything going on around, say Friday night?” he asked, his guts churning as if someone was trying to make butter out of his intestines.

You looked back at him after closing the maintenance closet, “Well, I think I just have a small shift here that morning, but I don’t think I have anything in mind that night. Why?” Rhett shifted his weight on his feet, looking down at the floor before finally looking up and into your eyes. “Well,” he started, “I was wonderin’, if you had nothing goin’ on that night, if you would want to go grab a drink with me? Just us,” Rhett could barely get his words out. You turn to full face him head on, “Just us?” you asked him. He nods at you almost too fast, too eager; he curses himself internally. “Y-yeah, just us two. You don’t have to, it was just a tho-”

“I would love to,” you said before he could finish. “Pick me up at 8:00?”

He froze in his spot; the best possible outcome has now become his worst fear. Last time he felt like this, he was on the back of a bull for the first time in his life. “Absolutely” he said, feeling a little more sure of himself. You gave him your signature, sweet smile, “fantastic, I’ll see you then!”

The two of you have been inseparable since then. Being with each other every night, out late until the two of you were forced to go back to your respected houses. Two months later, to now, you lay in the pasture. The sun was setting over the horizon, coating the field in a gold hue. It was days like these that you knew you would look back on when things got tough. Just the two of you, and the fields of the Abbott land.

You laid tucked into Rhett’s side with your head on his chest, one of his arms was around you, and the other behind his head which had his hat covering his face. His eyes shut as the two of you laid peacefully, bathing in the sunset. The both of you were laying down on an old blanket that Rhett kept in his truck for these days. The ones where you just enjoyed each other’s company under the fiery skies.

His truck was behind you by a couple of yards. The two of you had finished dinner with his folks just an hour before, your first time having dinner with them as Rhett’s girlfriend. The Abbots aren’t a dressy bunch, so you just wore boots, jeans, and a tank top covered by a flannel. Afterward, he has asked you if you wanted to take a drive and watch the sun set. You could never turn down such a request.

You turned your head slightly, almost shoving it into his neck, breathing in the slight scent of the cigarettes he smoked and the cologne he bought only because he thought you would prefer it. You don’t, but it does smell nice. His hold tightened around you, squeezing you into his chest as he shifted his head towards you. His hat raised just enough for his face to show as he looked down at you. You lifted your gaze up to look at him, into his eyes. His azure eyes shone with a brightness that you could feel almost as strongly as the sun ahead of you. A sea that you could dive in and never wish to return. Your eyes had never seen the ocean in real time before, but if you did, you knew it would rival the one in his. He looked at you, his nose touching yours just slightly. You could feel his breath on your lips, his body heat mixing with yours nearly overheating you in the chilly fall evening. As you stared into each other’s eyes, the heat grew more and more. The both of you could feel your want for each other, looking at your lips in contemplation. You tilted your head, silently asking for him to make a move. Answering your call, he slowly leaned down to you and pressed his lips against yours with you leaning up to meet him.

You two had shared kisses before; when he would come back from riding a bull, when he would get hurt doing so, when he dropped you off at home after a date, when you greeted him outside of the General Store after a work shift, and sometimes when you just felt like it. But this was different. Those were harmless, “I adore you”, “I’ll see you soon” kisses. This, this was full of want.

His hands roamed your body with such tenderness that you felt that if they were any lighter, it would be like he was never there.

Your hands brushed through his hair, knocking the hat further off of his head, combing through the dark blonde strands as your lips covered his in a loving, fiery kiss. The sun had set down a little further, the transition between summer and fall causing a chill through the air, causing you to lean further into his arms. The more this goes on, the more his hands grip your hips, almost forgetting to be gentle. You almost want him to.

He moves your leg over to shift over is hip, you’re almost laying on top of him at this point. His hand slides up to cup your ass as the other is wrapped around your shoulder, keeping you close to him as you moan into his mouth at the touch. He starts to kiss down you jaw to your neck, giving tiny nips at your throat. You gasp at the painful pleasure he gave you. He sits up, taking you with him and shifting you over into his lap completely, your thighs on the other sides of his hips. His arms are wrapped around your back, one hand up behind your neck, holding you in place gently, afraid of taking things too far without your say so. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You let him in, your tongues dance in a battle for dominance. Your hands moved up around his neck, playing with the curls of his hair. His lips moved further down to your collar bone, moving the collar of your shirt down just enough to place his lips just under it to put a hickey where nobody but him can see it. When he was done, he put his hands back around you, and kissed up to right below your ear where you jaw ended. He quickly learned that you liked that as your moans got louder and began to slowly grind your hips into his. You started to feel him getting harder, you reach down to rub him through his jeans, but he stops you. His hands raised up and placed themselves on your back; you could feel his lips move against your ear as he whispered, “We can stop anytime you say, just give me the word. I don’t want you doing something you don’t want to, or something you regret.”

You leaned back to look him in his cerulean eyes, placing your forehead against his. “I could never regret anything with you, Rhett. I want everything with you, anything you can give me I will happily take and give anything in return. I want you”

His arms tightened around you, holding you impossibly close to him. Sliding them down to your hips. You moved along in the rhythm of his hands, fingers still lacing themselves through his hair, tugging slightly at his roots. A low rumble in his throat tells you to pull just a bit harder. He goes back to his previous quest to kissing your neck. You moan as he reaches the right spot that makes your eyes roll back. His hands squeeze your hips as you roll them into his. He sucks a hickey onto your collar bone as he removes the flannel off of your shoulders, down your arms, and lays it on the grass beside you. He raises your top to remove it as well, his lips going further down into your cleavage. He feels like he finally reached paradise, maybe he didn’t get up from the ground that the bull threw him in this past weekend like he thought he did. He’s just been resting until he found his way into his heaven.

As he cups your breasts, he pushes them together slightly to leave kisses down lower and lower. You remove your hands from his hair to reach back to remove our bra, revealing yourself to him.

“Was this your plan, Rhett? Take me out into a field, make me bare as you ravish me fully clothed?” you smirk at him, going to undo the buttons on his shirt. “Isn’t that every man’s dream?” he retorts back, leaning up to place his lips on yours again as he helps you take his shirt off. Your lips reconnect as your hands slide up his chest, feeling his scar on his left shoulder you often wonder how he got it; the best bet was a riding accident. Out of the many he has had over the years. Flush, chest to chest, the both of you feeling each other over and over until you believed that you had a map of each other in your brain to forever keep. He let out a low grown as you pulled his hair again. He grabbed a good hold on you, lifting himself onto his knees, taking you up with him as your legs wrapped around him fully. He leaned over and carefully placed you onto the ground, keeping himself hovering over you.

He looked down at you as you gazed up at him, his hair in his face, lips slightly swollen after the passionate kisses you had shared. He brought one of his hands up to move a few strands of hair from your face, getting lost in your eyes. “The things you do to me, and what I want to do to you,” he said softly, cupping your cheek. You tightened your legs around him, bringing his hips closer to yours as you locked him in. “What is it you want to do to me, Rhett?” you whispered so softly that he was surprised he could hear it. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, your nose, and then finally on your lips again. He then placed his lips next to your ear, “I want to do everything, I want to strip you bare in this field and have you close to me. I want to have you writhe under the sky while you scream my name, we’re so far that nobody could hear you for miles. I want to be inside of you, to feel you.” He moved his kisses down your neck, to your collar bone. “The warmth,” he kept moving down further to kiss each of your breasts and then travelled down the valley. “The wet,” he said as he reached the button on your pants, undoing it as he looked back up at you. “But most of all, I want to hear you beg.”

You helped him slide your jeans from your legs, his lips immediately attacking your inner thighs as they get out of his way and join the rest of your clothes. His hands rubbing up and down your legs; feeling the smooth skin as they wrap around his shoulders, locking him in as he kissed down your inner thighs. He slid his hands up to lay on the dip in your waist as his placed a kiss on your panties, teeth tugging at the fabric lightly. You could feel his breath against your skin, your legs tightened around him in anticipation, his hands tightened around your waist as they slide down to the elastic of your underwear. Hooking his fingers in the band, he began pulling them down as he nipped at your thighs before raising up to hover above you, looking into the depths of your eyes.

You laid bare before him in the grass field on his family’s land, the sun has gone down just enough for the sky to be a dark purple. Becoming dark but you could still see enough to see the loving lust in his eyes as he stared down at you. He brought a hand up to cup your face, his thumb rubbing lightly over your cheekbone before kissing your lips. He traveled the kisses down your body to land him self back down between your legs, finally making his way to where you’ve needed him.

Wrapping his hands around your thighs he pulled you to him; he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You shivered under his touch, your hands moving into his hair. He took his time, methodically moving from licking you to sucking slightly on the bundle of nerves that made you twitch at every stimulation. He closed his eyes and reveled in the taste of you, he could live off of you for the rest of his time here on earth and whatever lies afterwards. You moan loudly as he latched his lips around your clit; sucking and licking like his life depended on it. You pulled his hair as you felt your arousal grow tighter. “You taste so good, darlin’. Fuck, you taste so good,” he shifted one of his hands from your things and inserted a finger into you, going in and out, curling. It feels so different than when you do it. His hands, his fingers, are so much bigger than your small ones. Ever since you first saw them, your dreamed about how they would feel all over you, inside of you.

He went up to kiss your neck again, making his way up to your mouth. You moan into him, silencing your cries. “Let me hear you, baby. What do you want?” he says as he pulls back to look you in the eyes, his finger curling into your sweet spot, quickening his pace. “a..another f-finger” you respond, trying to keep focus as he shifts his thumb to rub your clit with the same pace as his fingers. “You wan’ me to add another finger? You want me to fuck you with my figers before stuffing you with my cock?” He rests his forehead to yours, his breath colliding with yours and in almost kiss. “P-please! Please let me cum!” you almost scream, Rhett laughs lowly as he slides another finger into your quivering cunt. He keeps increasing his pace as you feel yourself getting closer to your climax. Your leg begins to shake a bit as you cling to him, pulling his hair, sinking your nails into his arm. “I can feel you baby, cum for me, scream for me,” he kisses you one last time before reaching a hand to pull your hair slightly, not going too hard in case you don’t like it, but you love it. Your moans grew louder as you feel yourself cumming around his fingers, your cries echoing through the clearing. His fingers continue, but slow down slightly to ride you through your high. You shove your face into his neck, kissing it as you feel his fingers slow to a stop.

You pull your head from his neck, looking him in the face. He stares into your eyes as he slides his fingers out from you, bringing them to his mouth, sucking your juices off of them. He leans in to kiss you, you can taste yourself on him, his tongue. You bring your hang down, feeling him rock hard in his jeans. You help him undo his belt, pulling his cock out, feeling the precum on his tip. He moans at your touch, his grip on you tightens as you rub him. “I didn’t bring anything with me, this wasn’t my immediate plan,” he whispers to you, kissing you softly. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean,” you whisper back. “So am I,” he kisses you again, running his fingers through your hair.

He disconnects your lips, raising himself to hover above you as he pumps himself a few times. He rubs his tip through your fold one, twice, before sliding himself into your slowly, not wanting to hurt you. You moan as he enters you, adjusting to his size. Once he’s in, he leans back down to you, giving you a second to really adjust to him. He kisses your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth as your moans mix together. After a minute or two, he begins to move. Slowly rocking in and out of you as you cling to him. He laid kisses down your neck, grunting into you. His hips slowly gaining pace, you moan as you tighten your hold on him. Your hands gripping his shoulders, moving your hips with his. He places his hands on each side of your head, moving one to up your face. “F-faster…please,” you plead softly as you look up at him. He quickens his pace slightly, “need me to go faster? If you want me to do that, you need to speak to me clearly sweetheart,” he says down to you. You can barely think, it’s been so long since you’ve been with someone, especially someone like Rhett. “Please go faster, Rhett. Please”

He lowers himself down to you, his lips touching yours, but not kissing you. Holding you close he says, “say my name, call it out. Let everyone know who has you, who is doing this to you?” He quickens his pace, a hand in your hair and a hand holding your leg to him. “R-rhett! Fuck, Rhett!” you scream, your voice echoing through the field. You grab at his hair, pulling it as he slams into you. You hold each other as you move together. You felt the knot tighten once more, your moans growing louder. His moans grew with yours. He can feel you near your orgasm, his hand going to rub your clit. “Rhett” you started to beg, “cum for me, baby. I can feel you, please cum for me,” he says. You became undone before him, screaming his name into the air, holding him close to you as you shake under his touch. He follows you shortly after, grunting and moaning into your neck. He slows his hips down to ride the both of you through your highs.

You look up to the dark sky, seeing the constellations and the stars that surrounded the two of you. You could only hear your breaths along with the noises of the wildlife around you. The two of you felt so close to each other and the earth, one with nature.

He looks up at you, meeting your eyes. “This isn’t how I planned this, y’know? I was gonna take you out to somewhere nice, do it in an actual bed and not a blanket in a field,” he said softly. You laugh lightly at him, the sweet plan he had for such an intimate time in your relationship. “I don’t know,” you said, “this is pretty nice. A clear night sky, a small chill in the air combatting with body heat. I’d take this over a nice dinner any day.” He laughs with you, kissing you softly as you laid in each other’s arms. You knew that you needed to get up so that he could take you home before you fall asleep here. But you can’t bring yourself to get out of his arms or tell him different. For now, you lay in your peaceful little world to yourselves. The two of you forever, as it should be

people you might like to be tagged: @waytoomanyfandomss @fairyheart

#rhett abbot x reader #lewis pullman #rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbot smut #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut

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bookofmirth · 8 months

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what do you think about ppl saying that the cauldron is corrupt means that maybe the elucien bond is indeed “fake” and that the trove trope links Azriel with Elain and that would be their plot

It's honestly funny that people are acting like they gained new information that somehow changes anything about mating bonds. All we really got in hofas is further confirmation that sjm is going to give everyone and their dog a mating bond, that it never goes away, and that mating bond = endgame. All of which we knew.

Setting aside the fact that that would supposedly be their plot - despite all of the actual world-threatening info they learned in hofas - let's talk about the cauldron.

We already knew that the Cauldron had been "corrupted". In acomaf, the Bone Carver tells Rhys and Feyre this:

“Long ago, before the High Fae, before man, there was a Cauldron … They say all the magic was contained inside it, that the world was born in it. But it fell into the wrong hands. And great and horrible things were done with it. Things were forged with it. Such wicked things that the Cauldron was eventually stolen back at great cost.

So this is not news. Why are they just now deciding that it means something?

Speaking of this reason, since Rhys knew in acomaf that the Cauldron was corrupted, and if every mating bond could be suspect because of that, then it stands to reason that none of them would be so hyped about mating bonds. Every character would be much more suspicious if they got one, and you know that Tamlin would be looking to delegitimize Feyre and Rhys's. But they aren't acting on that assumption, that the Cauldron is giving them something that is corrupt. If Rhys didn't know this info before talking to the Bone Carver, then he would have looked into it, knowing that Feyre was supposedly his mate. However, learning this info did nothing to keep Rhys from thinking that his bond was every bit as valid as he'd thought it was before. Feyre didn't warn either of her sisters, "hey, your bonds might be fake"??? If that information was supposed to be have implications for mating bonds, we haven't seen a single character act on that. For years in book time, and through a few mating bonds.

2. If the Cauldron were randomly making mating bonds, then we'd have to consider a few things, namely that it puts the validity of every single mating bond in acotar into question. Are we really going to go out here and say that chapter 54 of acomaf is meaningless? That Nesta and Cassian may as well cancel that mating ceremony because what's the point?

3. We don't know where mating bonds come from. Rhys, who knows more about the world besides anyone other than Amren, doesn't know where they come from. Rhys says maybe the Mother, maybe the Cauldron, but the fact is that the mating bond comes from SJM because she decides that when a couple is going to be endgame, she makes them mates.

4. If a person had used the cauldron to create a fake elucien mating bond, then... who? Why would they do that? They've been mates for 2+ years in book time and literally nothing has come of it? No one gives a fuck that Elain and Lucien are mates.

5. Mating bonds are from birth. It has been stated multiple times. It didn't happen because Elain went into the cauldron. It gets stronger when the sisters are Made and come across the wall, but it existed before that.

6. SJM has told us exactly what happens when a mating bond is rejected. In fact, from HOFAS, when Hunt was talking to Baxian about Danika:

“It was a potential minefield, to bring up his dead mate. To lose a mate was to lose half of your soul; to live without them was torture.”

From acomaf:

you were in love with another male, and had destroyed yourself to save him, and that … that I didn’t care. If you were going to die, I was going to die with you.

From acofas:

I still saw that moment, in my sleeping and waking dreams. How his face had looked, how his chest had not risen, how the bond between us had shredded into ribbons. I still felt it, that hollowness in my chest where the bond had been, where he had been. Even now, with that bond again flowing between us like a river of star-flecked night, the echo of its vanishing lingered. Drew me from sleep; drew me from a conversation, a painting, a meal.

7. She has also talked about mating bonds in the highest praise; here are some examples.

Mating bonds = endgame in sjm world. She creates them because she wants that couple to be together. It's really that simple.

#antielriel #elucien #ask #anon #hofas #hofas spoilers #spoilers #mating bond

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majestico59 · 8 months

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Can any Hazbin hotel fans come here? I have genuine questions about the setting of the show.

1: Why Adam is even the leader of these demon slayer angels? Why him being the first man makes him qualified for this kind of postion?

2: Talking of Adam, how is he the first person to go to heaven? No matter which testament you base the show on it should've been Abel the first murdered person to be the first human in heaven (also if they never show Cain and Abel it'd be a huge missed potential)

3: Does god exist? Helluva boss makes it seem like he does but in Hazbin hotel the show implies high ranking angels created the universe.

4: Where are the rest of the biblical figures? No other prophets, no saints (except that horrible rendition of Saint Peter) no mention of archangels considering being the first man made Adam a celebrity and head of the exorcist angels they should be even more popular than him.

4: Talking of prophets biblical imagery is everywhere, Saint Peter is here so Jesus also must exist in this universe, yet show never mentions him once, I think the story is missing a huge potential by not making any use of these religious figures.

5: Vaggie says she never knew angelic weapons could hurt angels, and well... Her back story is literally her being harmed by an angelic weapon.

6: Power scaling is so weird, so this entire time Lucifer could take on Adam but didn't do anything about it? Did he just not give a shit about these exterminations?

7: So for the entire history of humanity not even one person has risen from hell to heaven? These angels are probably billions of years old, if they didn't make the rules who the fuck did?

There's just so many holes in this setting it drives me crazy.

#hazbin hotel #vivziepop #lucifer #charlie morningstar #Adam #vaggie #I dunno #Christianity #I guess?#someone please answer these I'm genuinely trying to be in good faith but the holes are way too big

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sailor-aviator · 1 year

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Fool's Fare Teaser

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Series CW: Violence, Swearing, Supernatural themes (not the show), Jake Seresin, slow burn, references to sex work, suggestive language, eventual smut, fluff, angst, firearms, etc. There will be chapter specific warnings!

A/N: Alright, here's the teaser for Pirate Captain!Jake I've been dangling in front of y'all's noses lol The teaser is from further into the fic, so you probably won't see it for a while, and to be COMPLETELY honest, some of this might change, but I at least wanted y'all to see what it was you signed up for. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are encouraged and appreciated! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I will be updating my fics as well!

His golden blonde hair shimmered in the evening light. The sun kissed the horizon just passed his shoulder, creating a halo that glowed around him. If you didn’t already know him, you’d think he was an angel. He stares at you as if he can see into the very depths of your soul, his olive green eyes never wavering.

“Do you believe in Davy Jones, Tesoro?” he asked. There was that damn nickname again. He still refused to tell you what it means, and the crew were too tight lipped about it for your liking.

“I believe he’s a scary story that parents tell their children about to scare them into being good,” you responded, thinking back to the stories your own father would tell you. What would he think if he could see you now?

Jake gave a humorless chuckle, closing his eyes. He ran a hand through his golden locks, looking out over the side of the ship and to the sea. Opening his eyes, he looked back at you with eyes ablaze. “I can assure you, he’s real.”

“Stop teasing,” you snapped, crossing your arms and fixing him with a glare. He gave you a wry smile.

“If only it were that,” he started. “I didn’t believe in curses until six years ago.”

“And what happened six years ago?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

Jake paused. “Six years ago, I met a woman. She was beautiful, sweet, caring. The kinds of things most men want in a woman.”

“And you don’t?” you questioned.

“Those are nice things to have,” he hummed thoughtfully, then he gave you a small smirk. “But I’ve always wanted a little more.”

You ignored him. “So, I’m guessing you took this woman to bed?”

“I did,” Jake admitted, pursing his lips. “And then I left her. Only, I didn’t know that there was another man in love with her at the time.”

“And he beat you senseless?” you guessed.

“Haven’t you been paying attention, darlin’?” he chuckled. “That man was none other than Davy Jones himself. Risen from the deep to enact vengeance on little, old me.”

“Right,” you scoffed. Surely he couldn’t be serious? “And what, pray tell, does this curse involve exactly?”

“I, and everyone in my crew, are destined to exist on this earth in limbo. Not alive, but not dead either. A half-life. We eat, but we are never full. Our food tasting like ash.” He stood up, walking slowly towards you as he continued talking. “We drink, but our thirst is never quenched. The finest wines leave our throat dry like the desert.”

He cupped your cheek, stroking it before resting his thumb on your bottom lip. “We can touch, but we cannot feel. Even now, I can’t feel the warmth of your breath or the softness of your skin.”

“Must be lonely,” you said softly. A look of despair ran across Jake’s face, and it was then that you knew in your heart that he was telling the truth.

“It’s agony,” he admitted quietly, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Did Davy Jones give you a way to lift the curse?” you asked, a sense of urgency in your tone.

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he sighed, “I have to find what he considers to be the greatest treasure of all.”

“And what is that?”

“He didn’t say,” Jake muttered, head hanging low.

Your brow furrowed. “But, how are you supposed to find it if you don’t even know what it is you’re looking for?”

“Isn’t that the point?” he snorted, a humorless smile etched onto his face as he stared at you.

“Well, you have all the time in the world to find what it is you’re looking for,” you offered, giving him a soft smile. He shook his head.

“Old Jonesy only gave me seven years to find it before the curse becomes permanent.”

“Seven years?” you exclaimed, ice drenching your bones. “But you said this happened six years ago!”

“I did,” he said softly, watching you put the pieces together.

“But, that means…” you trailed off, horror overtaking your sense. Jake nodded.

“I only have one year left to find the treasure.”

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman x you #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #fool's fare #teaser

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agent-cupcake · 2 years

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Trouble Man

This marks my third completed commissioned fic! I may have gone a little far in places, added some unnecessary flourishes... Either way, thank you to the person who commissioned this (and all of you) for being so patient with me!

Pairing: Arkhamverse Jason Todd x f!reader

Synopsis: After a chance meeting late one night while Jason—the Arkham Knight—is playing civilian, he develops a bit of a crush. Months later, after the events of the base game, your unfortunate involvement in a crime requires a visit from Red Hood to coax out some honest answers.

Warnings: explicit smut, dubcon, murder ment., stalking, angst, gun kink, rough sex, possessive behavior

Notes: I must give a big girthy thanks to my sweet muse and local DC expert for her help on this, it wouldn't exist without her help. It's also important to recommend you all watch clips from Arkham Knight - Red Hood because the delivery of his oneliners are absolute gold. Jason Todd has definitely risen to the upper echelon of tragic men in my life, he's worth your attention.

Word Count: 17k

Dry leaves crackled like paper through the breeze, tumbling over brown grass and grinding beneath your feet as you walked through the park, hands shoved deep into your pockets and head down. Their colors had changed as the trees shed, creating a sea of red and orange and yellow paste over the sidewalk.

You thought walking home instead of taking the subway would help. Walking was what people did to think, to contemplate their life and their future, to pace out the excess energy that came with stress. But the autumn sun was bright and cold. A storm threatened the horizon in smeared shades of mean dark gray. The air stank of rotting foliage and filth. With each breath, you suffocated on it, choking on smog and the sour scent of Gotham’s streets, choking on the rising tide of existential dread, choking on this looming fear of something you knew existed yet couldn’t quite see.

The question of what you were going to do echoed in the back of your mind, even if the answer was decided. Because it was unfair, because you were scared. All you could think about were the shiny reporters on the television gleefully claiming that crime rates had fallen, that Batman had cleaned up the city, that everyone was saved. It was funny to think that you got this job with the idea that you could turn your life around, a small step towards salvaging your life. Who would have thought anything would be wrong with a place called something as dumb as the Palace of Pies?

What a fine mess it all was. Your head ached, your throat swollen with angry tears and a frustrating, primal need to excise the tempest of emotions you crushed down. Idly, you wondered what would happen if you were to stop in your tracks and begin screaming. Would anyone look? Would anyone stop and ask what was the matter? You didn’t think so. People would step around you, avoiding eye contact. That’s what you would do. Everything in the city, if not trying to actively harm you, was passively hostile. Looking beyond yourself was how you got hurt. Being surrounded by people only made you more aware of how alone you were, how aggressive isolation en masse could be.

With the weather turning so quickly, few people lingered in the park, merely passing through on their way to or from something. Always going, moving, acting with purpose and a destination, paying no mind to the changing season. When you were younger, you loved the fall. Back when costumes were saved for Halloween and horror was strictly contained to the scary movies you watched without your parent’s permission. Who needed a creepy corn maze or haunted house when you had the privilege of living in Gotham City?

You breathed out, trying to exhale those thoughts. Trying to think. Clearly, for once, although it was hard when you never got enough sleep, when you never had any space to seek clarity. Gotham was a place without peace. You could never find solace away from the people and the noise and the claustrophobic streets and decaying walls that seemed to close in the longer you stayed. It was inescapable, no matter where you were. The breeze churned up all manner of unsavory smells, carrying the sound of people talking and dogs barking and cars honking, cluttering your senses. It was never quiet, never clean, never calm, never safe. Just last week, a woman had been brutally stabbed to death only a half mile away from the path you were on. Her dog too. Part of you feared stories like that, knowing it could just as easily happen to you. Part of you didn’t care, really. So what if it did.

And yet, the plastic newswoman cried with religious fervor, crime was down. Thank God for that.

When you got down, you knew quite surely that you would die here. The city that once held the sparkling allure of hopes and dreams and promise, a life grander than you could have in a small town upstate, turned out to be nothing more than a slaughterhouse.

These days, these terrible, sentimental days, you could imagine it. Dialing the numbers—you knew they wouldn’t have changed, even after all this time, nothing ever changed there—and holding the phone up to your ear with a clammy hand, hearing her voice for the first time in years.

“Hey mom.” You would sound sheepish, your voice up a few halftones to mimic the girlish sound you had before you left. “It’s me. It’s been a while. I know, I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—”

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was mercy. Mostly it was just pride. Anger. This was the bed you made and you could hate yourself and you could hate the man who sold you pretty lies and you could hate the wretched city and you could hate your dead end job working for an obvious criminal but you could hate them too, if nothing else then just to try and cope with it all.

You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets and lowered your head to brace against the wind. A storm was going to hit soon.

II.

The rattling thunder was what snapped you alert, the metal shelves lined with plastic bottles and boxes of toilet paper trembling with the force of it. You’d meant to take a short break, but somehow you had managed to doze off sitting on an upturned bucket in the back room, leaning against the wall amidst cleaning supplies with your eyes closed and mind wandering far away, lulled by the sound of rain on the roof. Thinking of home, of the wind knocking the pale limbs of aspen trees against your window as gentler storms passed through the town, watching lightning from your bed and hiding beneath the covers at the thunder.

Annoyed with yourself, you stood up, grabbed the napkins, and returned to the front of the house to do your table rounds before you got in trouble.

Nobody really seemed to care either way. The few customers that had trudged into the inauthentically kitschy restaurant at such a late hour were soaked and cold and cranky and addled by some substance or another. Despite the attempts to cheer the place up with warm lighting and friendly decor, the whole restaurant had a dour atmosphere. Dark, miserable, heavy with the kind of mundane tragedy that carried the careers of famous poets. It seemed as if, no matter how bright the lights shined, they couldn’t fight off the creeping shadows of Gotham.

In other words, it was a normal night for you. Too many hours on your feet, too much caffeine, too few full nights of rest. Nobody else wanted the late shift waiting tables in city like this and it wasn’t like you blamed them—God only knew that you didn’t want to be here either—but you were too strapped for cash to be picky. In a way, you imagined your brain was attempting to help you by conjuring fantasies of better times. But happy memories only got more and more sour with age, the highs casting the lows in thicker shadow.

Better not to think of it. Your shift was almost done. Just get the night over with, and then the day would be over. You didn’t think of what came after that, didn’t dare to consider tomorrow. Short term goals were easier to handle, easier to stomach. Nothing else was worth thinking about.

It was almost fate, if you were the type to believe in such things. You were looking for a distraction from your thoughts and he showed up as the clock’s little hand neared twelve and you knew immediately that he was different. Despite the downpour, he had no umbrella. What he did have was a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, the fabric soaked through and clinging to his torso, and an aura of disquiet, obviously unlike the hungry stoners and the late workers and the otherwise normal folks who came in. A chill and trail of rainwater chased him inside to where he sat at the counter, empty red vinyl barstools surrounding him on both sides. Different wasn’t good or bad, necessarily. If he was the type to make trouble, the cook, a guy you knew only as Ace, would scare him off with his 32. Different was, at the very least, distracting. You put on a smile and rounded the counter.

“How are you doing tonight?” you asked in a serviceably friendly voice as you took the pot of coffee from the warmer and poured him a cup.

His eyes were lucid enough, at least enough that you didn’t think he was on drugs. The two of you sized each other up for a moment before he gave you an ironic half smile that clearly asked ‘how do you think I’m doing?’ Which was fair. Close up, you could see that he had a developing bruise right on his cheekbone, although the more striking feature was the mark on the opposite cheek. It looked like the letter J had been carved into the skin. An old wound, the skin pale and puckered with scar tissue. Best guess, it was a gang thing. That was part and parcel for Gotham, and especially for the Palace.

But, bruise and scars and all, that sarcastic little grin was attractive. He wasn’t exactly tall, dark, and handsome, but whatever the more menacing equivalent was.

“Wet,” was all he said after a long moment, his tone ironically dry.

You reached under the counter to grab a clean towel, sliding it over to him. He eyed it suspiciously. “Might help a little,” you explained. He didn’t look convinced, but there was no way he wasn’t cold. You felt cold just looking at him. “Come on, you’re dripping everywhere as is,” you told him with a huff, gesturing to the water he’d tracked in. It was too late to fix now, but watching him literally drip rain water was just a touch too melodramatically sad even for you.

Hesitating, he looked down and behind himself at the puddles that had followed him inside. While he didn’t have the grace to so much as pretend to be apologetic, he did accept your offer and began toweling off his hair. It was dark and cut short, save for the bangs that were a stark white. Was that a gang thing too? It worked, oddly. Or, he was odd and it worked.

“Anyway,” you said, reverting to your patented professional tone to cover the fact that you had been staring. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Just coffee’s fine,” he told you, tossing the towel back onto the counter and running a hand through his semi-dried hair to keep it pushed back. Despite your best attempts at professionalism, your eyes tracked the motion. He was wearing gloves. Probably to hide a set of bruised knuckles, a person didn’t catch a shiner like that playing nice.

"Do you have any questions about the menu?” you asked. “Tonight's special is-"

"Yeah, I’ll have that.”

Considering he hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu or let you finish the pitch, his eyes scanning the restaurant with a restlessly critical look, you doubted he even knew what he was ordering. Maybe he didn’t care.

“Alright,” you said. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” he said, finally looking back at you. His eyes were pretty, even bloodshot and shadowed with exhaustion. Blue, lined with thick black lashes that still sparkled with rain whenever he blinked.

“If you need anything else,” you told him, “just let me know.”

“Will do.”

Quickly scribbling the order onto your pad, you slid it across the window to Ace in exchange for finished meals and did your rounds. Table seven got their hash browns, over easy eggs, and chicken tenders. Table five got their big pieces of banana pie. All the while, you couldn't help but feel that the man at the counter was watching you. He probably wasn’t. Or maybe he was. Not that you actually, really cared that much either way. You didn’t want to check though, just in case.

When you returned to the window between the kitchen to drop off the dishes, you saw the Ace was gone. Probably for another cigarette break. Of course. The man’s addiction to nicotine was astounding. But he wouldn’t be punished for it, even if you complained. The quality of his work was unimportant, he was a part of it. Whatever Mr. Anthony’s real business was, Ace was his guy.

You grabbed the chicken fried steak meal—the day's special—and delivered it to the mysterious customer at the counter. He eyed the food hungrily, barely responding to your offer of “If you need anything else…” before digging in.

The clock said you had forty five or so minutes before closing, which meant an hour or more left. You could do another hour. Another two hours, if you were being realistic. But you rounded down, it was easier to handle that way. Refilling drinks, cleaning up tables, sweeping the floors, you did these things on autopilot. Table five, a pair of young junkies you were decently familiar with by now, finished their meal and paid. You checked them out with a smile all of you knew was fake, taking their lack of tip with a brave face.

The door opened with a little burst of rain washing over the threshold as they left, the sound of it pounding against the blacktop abrasively loud. Even if you knew it wasn’t actually a fact, you didn’t think it ever stopped raining in Gotham, as if God himself was trying to wash the city away in some form of biblical vengeance.

“I was surprised to see a place like this open this time of night,” the man at the counter said. You jumped a little at the sound of his voice, turning away from the register with the uncomfortable realization that he had most definitely been staring, at least just now. He didn’t try to hide it either, his elbows propped up on the counter and head tilted at a slight angle. His plate was almost empty, which made sense considering the ferocity with which he’d been eating.

“Yep, we’re open till one,” you said, trying not to seem flustered.

“Don’t you think it's a little dangerous to be working so late?” he asked. It was difficult to read his tone. Not quite a warning, but not a joke either. “Gotham’s not a very nice place.”

You shrugged. “This area isn’t that dangerous.”

“And after you leave?”

Once again, you couldn’t place his tone. You didn’t want to automatically think the worst of the man, but you weren’t naive enough to miss the possible threat. “You know, it’d be pretty easy to take a question like that the wrong way,” you told him bluntly, taking a somewhat playful tone to hide your discomfort and diffuse the question. “I wouldn’t. But someone else might.”

“They might,” he agreed easily.

“Not that I think you meant anything by it.”

“I never said I was the one you needed to worry about.”

He had to be messing with you. Either that or he was deranged. The slightly ironic upturn of his mouth made you think—or hope—that it was the former. “Either way, it is what it is,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “Que sera and all that.”

He hesitated, eyebrows knitting slightly. “Kay… What?”

“You know, like the song,” you said. “What will be, will be. Was it Rosemary Clooney? Or… Doris Day, I think.” He stared at you, obviously lost. You waved it off again, shaking your head. “Anyway, the point is that I’m fine."

He grunted noncommittally, clearly not buying it. "Bet whoever's waiting for you at home hates it that you’re gone so late.”

You snorted. “If I had someone waiting for me, do you really think I’d be here?” It occurred to you a second too late that he might have been flirting, surreptitiously asking if you were single. Or maybe he wanted to know if a potential mark had anyone to worry about her getting home. The fact that you couldn’t really tell was probably a bad sign. “And anyway, I hate to be rude,” you continued blithely, brute forcing a change of topic, “but I’m not sure you’re the one who should be giving out safety tips.” Your eyes lingered pointedly on the bruise swelling up his cheek. You’d had bruises like that in the past and, no matter what you told anybody, they didn’t come from being clumsy.

“Oh, this?” His hand raised, fingertips coming into contact with the swollen injury like he’d forgotten it was there. “You should see the other guy.”

Red flag? Innocuous boast?

“Hopefully he’s in handcuffs by now,” you said, picking the route of deflection. “I mean, hitting a handsome face like yours must be breaking some law.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first,” he said, something dark and ironic marring his otherwise confident demeanor. That reaction gave you pause, your eyes catching on the letter carved into his cheek. There were more scars too, old ones.

“Ah, sorry,” you said, nerves catching up to your attempt at a cool demeanor. “I have a tendency to make jokes out of things that… aren’t funny.”

“I’m not very big on comedy.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I’m not funny,” you told him. “I only pretend like I am.”

“So all of this,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “was a joke?” Unlike his previous statement, the question sounded more lighthearted. It made you doubt yourself all over again, worried you had overcorrected with the apology.

“Not… everything,” you replied. “I-”

“Got an order of mozzarella sticks,” Ace called, cutting you off.

While the cook’s voice merely surprised you, the man at the counter tensed up immediately, his body going taut in preparation to jump up. You blinked, kicking yourself for getting carried away, unnerved by the man’s reaction. It was the quick trigger response to stress you knew fairly well. He relaxed immediately, or at least untensed slightly. The shift was so fast, it was as if it hadn’t happened.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta,” you motioned behind yourself, feeling apologetic for some reason.

“Do your job?” he asked dryly.

“Yeah, that. Let me know if-”

“Will do.”

You nodded and turned away, tending to the other tables and cleaning up so you could get off at a semi-reasonable time. It was impossible to not feel overly aware of the man at the counter. You wondered if he was actually interested or if he was just playing along. You wondered what you looked like to him. You wondered why he’d gotten hit in the face. You wondered a lot of things, had so many questions you knew you’d never get an answer to. The scars, the haunted look in his eyes. He was dangerous, you were pretty confident of that. He was something else too. You thought. Then again, it was just as likely that you wanted to think the best of this handsome stranger. It wouldn’t be the first time you made a dumb mistake like that.

A few minutes later, after the banana pie couple paid and left, you returned to the man at the counter, clearing his clean plate. “Can I get you anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take the check.”

“No pie?”

“It’s late,” was all he said, rolling his shoulders slowly. There was a hunch to them, something you hadn’t noticed before. It contrasted with his otherwise poised form.

“That’s completely missing the whole point of eating here,” you told him sternly. “What do you like? Cherry? Pumpkin?”

He snorted. “I’ll pass.”

“It’s on me,” you told him. When he opened his mouth to argue, you added, “—and in a to-go box. I know for a fact that it’ll make your night better. Think of it as thanks."

"Thanks for what?"

"For reminding me that there are people having a worse night than me,” you said with a smile. “Now, what’s your favorite?"

He stared at you for a long moment and you wondered if you had finally crossed that oh-so thin line of propriety. Then he smiled, shrugged. “Dealer’s choice.”

In the end, he left with a cardboard box of vanilla cream pie and an expressive combination of amused bemusement on his face. You helped Ace close up, going over your interaction over and over in your head, eventually coming to the conclusion that you had made a fool of yourself. You always liked to seem so clever, as if anyone would be impressed, as if anyone would think of you outside the liminal space of the stupid little resturaunt, as if you could even exist outside of what service you could offer. You didn’t even know his name.

It was still raining when you left.

III.

Sometimes, you had a tough time being positive.

Most of the time, really.

Gotham did that to people.

But you did try, it was just difficult when you got off late and held your bag close as you traversed the creepy empty subway and the filth that lined the underground, your head down to avoid the hungry eyes of stray beggars. More and more, you were getting off late, closing time getting pushed back to account for the shipments coming in the back. You played dumb, but you weren’t entirely stupid to what was going on. Drugs? Weapons? You didn’t know the details of what was happening. You didn’t want to know the details, you didn’t want to admit that you saw anything you weren’t supposed to. You were selfish, all you knew for sure was that something was going on and you were afraid and alone.

It was like being a ghost, like being trapped in some hellish nightmare where each day repeated itself without end.

When you boarded the subway, you huddled in a corner seat, giving the train a cursory glance before ducking your head again. Time and time again, you thought you noticed the same hooded person on your way home. Never close enough to see a face, just the shadow of a figure in another car or across a crowd. And you didn’t think you would be so sensitive, so hyper aware of it, if you didn’t get the awful impression that somebody had been into your apartment sometimes when you got home. There was no proof. A mess where you thought you had tidied, old things you had shoved into drawers to be forgotten sitting on top of your dresser.

But, you reasoned, if you were being followed, if Mr. Anthony’s crimes were significant to warrant that sort of thing, you would have known, surely. You would be able to come up with evidence, with something solid. Unraveling sanity wasn’t fact. You were just tired, overworked, and stressed. You were a fool girl all alone in a city whose natural process was to chew up innocence and spit it out into the trash that littered the streets. The ultimate fact was that you weren’t interesting enough to be followed. There were a dozen girls just like you in the city. More, probably, and most of them were more interesting too.

In the worst way, in the darkest parts of your mind, you thought it would almost be flattering to have a stalker. To matter to someone. And that was just…

You couldn’t follow that thought to its natural conclusion. It was better to stare at the filthy floor beneath your feet and listen to the city’s abrasive symphony.

IV.

The restaurant was relatively busy when the news came. On Halloween, people wanted a place to eat before or after the night’s entertainment. And entertainment was what they got, footage of people infected with Scarecrow’s fear toxic, their brains twisted and driven insane. It was a massacre.

“Gotham, this is your only warning.”

Scarecrow’s announcement broadcasted through the city after that terrifying footage played. Evacuation instructions were issued shortly after, but the damage was done, the panic had begun. Through radios, televisions, loudspeakers, megaphones, everywhere was the same message. Get out. Escape.

But it was mayhem. Footage of the Scarecrow’s face, of the savagery in the diner, was projected just as prolifically as information on how to evacuate. Watching customers leave the Palace of Pies was like watching a concert crush, bodies congealing at the door as they desperately tried to get out.

And you, not knowing what to do, joined them. All around were screaming children in their costumes, people fighting and shouting at each other, others trying to direct foot traffic in some attempt to play hero. Everywhere was chaos and you couldn’t ground yourself in reality, it didn’t feel real. It couldn’t possibly be real.

You passed a woman shouting for her child, begging passersby to help her. You passed someone looking around with wild eyes, asking nobody in particular what he was supposed to do. Nobody answered, nobody stopped, nobody helped.

The police had checkpoints set up, alarms blaring past the relentless, all consuming noise. People rammed into one another in a block of bodies, stinking of rain water and sweat and city filth all stirred up by too many feet. Another bus peeled away from the curb, you could only see the glistening top of it and hear the shouting, people begging to be let on. You didn’t like your chances of getting on one of those buses. They filled up nearly as fast as they hit the curb, it didn’t matter how many came, the crowd only got bigger, swelling to an unmanageable size despite the domineering corralling of the police officers.

Someone elbowed you hard in the stomach and you stumbled. The noise and panic was too intense for your cry to rise above the roar of voices, of babies screaming and wheels squealing and rain pounding. Like a violent, churning ocean, the crowd gathered and heaved and you were pushed from the tumultuous tide, forced into the back of the hoard. All you could imagine was yourself all alone, abandoned on the streets of Gotham, driven mad like the people in the video.

What terror would you see? What waking nightmare would your mind torment you with? You had a few guesses.

A crack in the sidewalk caught your toe, upsetting your balance entirely. Falling onto the concrete tore up the skin of your knee in an ugly way, the shredded skin immediately welling bright red blood. Nobody stopped for you, someone’s boot came dangerously close to smashing your fingers before you flinched away.

A gloved hand entered your vision, and you realized it was meant for you. His grip was steady and firm as he helped you to your feet. Your rescuer, a tall, imposing man, was saying your name. Your name. You didn’t recognize him, not even slightly, and you couldn’t comprehend it, too panicked, too confused, your ears ringing something fierce.

“Do I know you?” you asked him, trying to escape his grip without any success, distrust freezing your fear.

“Stay close to me, you’re getting on this bus,” he told you, diving back into the crowd without any further explanation. You barely registered his words, too busy stumbling along. His grip on your hand was firm, unyielding even as you tried to pull back, trying to make yourself heard over the crowd as you demanded you know who he was or what was happening.

Unlike you, he had no problem parting the tumultuous waves of people. They swore and lashed out like wild animals, but after a suffocating march, you broke out into the front. The bus was loaded, the final few people attempting to fight their way onto the bus swarming like angry wasps. You held fast onto the man as he knifed his way to the officer guiding the crush. Everybody was shouting, wailing. Violent elbows thrown and bodies jostling and it was too much. You were confused and scared and suspicious, but you weren’t stupid either. All you could do was cling to the man dragging you along and hunch your shoulders as if you were weathering a storm.

The officer tried to stop the man leading you, holding up his baton threateningly, but your guide didn’t back down. Whatever he said to the officer made him frown, the cop looking you up and down with a hard look. You were prepared for rejection, to be physically thrown away from the door like the other people who tried to board without permission.

“Go,” your guide shouted, releasing you. The immediate urge was to reject him, but you were given a hard push and tripped upward on the steps, your palms scraping the gritty traction mats. People were cursing and spitting and screaming at you from behind, but the officer didn’t stop you. No matter what the circumstances, you didn’t really have a choice but to obey.

Inside, the bus stank of sweat and rainwater and filth and you were met with various degrees of hostility, anxiety, and glassy indifference. People packed into the faded and torn seats like canned fish, clutching their bags close and curled in on themselves out of distrust for their fellow man. Hands pounded at the windows, faces pressed to the glass. You took a look back, but the man who’d escorted you was gone. The door unfolded and shut with a painful squeal.

After being snapped at by the driver, you claimed one of the last available spots next to a mother and her weeping child. A pumpkin was painted on the kid’s round, ruddy cheek, streaked with tears. The mom looked at you with narrowed eyes and you looked away, focusing on the blood welling up and crusting over your skinned knee.

Almost laughably, one of the few thoughts you could scrape together was that you didn’t have a toothbrush.

Palace of Pies, just like so many palaces before it, survived the siege. Your apartment complex fared slightly worse, but the damage was mostly superficial. The hot water was out for a week and you had to pass a city full of wreckage just to get a box of cereal. All the same, you were lucky. You returned from the emergency shelter to a life pretty much intact. Gotham was a different story. Batman unmasked, billionaire dead, a city secured and returned to its people. Mostly.

It was advertised as a good conclusion to a terrible situation, but that seldom held true. That was how it always went for those who lived beyond the tall buildings and glittering lights. Gotham had reached an equilibrium of sorts before the attack, somewhat, but now it was all busted. Criminals, the petty ones, the ones that had nothing to do with super villains or masked vigilantes, scurried around like rats. The fallout rattled even the most minor of them into a panic. And then there were stories about something worse than Batman. Successors or ghosts or whatever. These days, the Palace of Pies felt more like the den of a cornered animal.

And you hadn’t meant to see anything, only wanting to leave a note that recommended a repairman be sent for the old coffee maker that was broken again, but another order sheet was on the very top of Mr. Anthony’s desk. Some of it was written in code or with strange nicknames, but you knew enough to decipher what was being ordered. Chemicals for drugs and parts you assumed were used in weapons manufacturing. All signed off by a man named Hector on behalf of his employer. While you had no idea who Hector might have been, you definitely recognized the name of his boss.

Christ.

Seeing it all written down, for some reason, was the thing to send you over. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t known that shady things were happening before, and it was stupid to buy into the dream that crime would simply go away, that criminals would change their ways. It was one thing for Mr. Anthony to be affiliated with local gangs, but he’d taken it a step further. A big, terrible step further. Your eyes scanned the sheet with increasing fear and discomfort, reality like a vice around your heart.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ace asked from the doorway, startling you. The sound of his voice nearly caused you to jump out of your skin. But you didn’t give into your fear, turning and facing him like nothing was wrong. His face was red, twisted with a form of rage you were all too familiar with.

“The coffee maker’s broken,” you told him.

“You’re not allowed in here,” he said, his hand poised like he was going for his gun.

“The door was unlocked,” you pointed out, refusing to feed into his anger by showing your fear. It was an old trick, the kind that always made things worse, but it was satisfying nonetheless. It was his own fault, his own carelessness, it wasn’t like you wanted to know that your boss was working for an insane cultist.

“Get out of here,” Ace told you, his voice low and eyes all but slits. “Now.”

The urge to get in the last word, to be clever, to be stupidly defiant, almost made you say something that would really set him off. Almost. It was the look in his narrowed eyes, the way his hand was settled on his gun, that made you reconsider.

Ace smelled foul, like stale cigarette smoke and grease, as you passed him in the doorway. You held your breath all the way into the bathroom where you promptly threw up three cups of coffee and a stomach full of sour bile, eventually falling back onto the dirty tile with your eyes closed.

VI.

Mr. Anthony had just finished a meeting with a group of unfamiliar men in the back room when he ordered his customary piece of cherry pie. Mostly unfamiliar men. Some faces came around often enough for you to recognize and now that you knew what you were looking for, figuring out who “Hector” was wasn’t difficult. Both he and his employer had a particular style. Cults were like that.

Just thinking of it made your stomach twist with nausea. Nobody knew what happened to many of the criminals after the incident in Arkham Asylum, and that was obscured further by the reform that had taken place recently. Speculation floated around Gotham, but that was all it ever was. Speculation. And you could hope that it was just a copycat criminal, you could hope that someone had stolen the moniker, but if it was him, if that was who Mr. Anthony had teamed up with, sticking around was borderline suicidal.

But when you thought about that, you were reminded with a cold sort of brutality that you had nowhere to go.

All you could do was serve Mr. Anthony the cherry pie he ordered with a polite demeanor and hope. Hope for salvation, for some sort of divine intervention. You thought about your rescuer from Halloween night, wondered who it was, why he had helped you, how he had known you. You wondered if he would come back, if he would save you again. But those were the thoughts of an idealistic child, you knew that. Real life was never so kind.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” you asked.

Mr. Anthony looked sicklier by the day. He was putting on more weight, his face puffy and pale like pastry dough, his big forehead shiny with sweat. He was drinking heavily from a gold plated flask, his movements jittery and eyes shifting nervously around the restaurant even after his associates were gone.

“Yeah, why don’t you sit down. Take a little break,” Mr. Anthony offered in a would-be casual voice, gesturing to the empty chair with his fork. “I wanna have a chat.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach like a rock. Did he know? Had he guessed your thoughts? Had Ace told him what you had accidentally seen? Fighting your creeping dread, you did as he indicated. It wasn’t like anybody was coming in, the place was dead. These days, it was almost always dead.

“Yes?” you asked, feigning innocence despite the way your voice shook.

“I bet you’ve noticed that things have changed around here,” Mr. Anthony said. Although he was drinking, his dark eyes were lucid when they focused on you. A man as paranoid as him wouldn’t get drunk in public, it was just to ease the edge. You knew all about that.

“I guess. But everything has changed since the incident,” you responded carefully. “I think the Palace has recovered well though.” He wasn’t stupid, the both of you knew that wasn’t what he asked. But there was a time for cheek and a time for honesty and you were too scared for either, your nerves rubbed raw.

"Do you like working here?" he asked rather than push you on that, abruptly shifting the conversation.

"I do," you told him, pouring as much sincerity into the words as you could manage.

"You feel like you're being treated fairly?"

"Yes, sir.”

“I like to make sure my employees are happy,” he stressed. “You know what I mean, happy?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Running a business is like being the captain of a ship. If anybody steps out of line, we all sink together. I’ve gotta keep a tight ship,” he emphasized the point by making a fist, a fast movement that made you flinch. “That’s the only way we can stay afloat.”

“I understand,” you emphatically agreed. Then you hesitated, thinking. He needed more. He needed reassurance. Wiping your sweaty hands on your apron, you cleared your throat. “You’ve always treated me with respect, I wouldn’t do something to betray that. It’s tough to find respect in this city.”

"Yeah, that’s true. You're a smart girl,” Mr. Anthony said, nodding, taking another big drink from his flask. “Got a good head on your shoulders." He chuckled. Prickling discomfort ran down the entire length of your spine. "You’re not gonna do anything stupid. No, no, you’re a smart girl. You know what’s good for you.” A vague sort of mania shone in his dark eyes and you knew what he meant. If you turned on him or his associates in any way, you were as good as dead. It wouldn’t matter even a bit if you wound up in a ditch outside of town, nobody would care. But if you were smart, you would keep your mouth shut and continue doing what you were told. You would ignore the things you saw and continue to serve his cherry pie with a smile.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

Mr. Anthony didn’t say anything, but he didn’t dismiss you either. He just shoved forkful after forkful of pie into his mouth, pausing every few bites for a drink. A catchy top ten pop song played distantly over the radio.

“Do you have a family?” Mr. Anthony finally asked, his eyes a little glazed over as he considered the last few bites of pie. He wasn’t quite drunk, but his words were slurred.

“I moved away from home a while back,” you said cautiously, unsure of why he’d ask.

“What about a boyfriend?”

You almost replied with something acerbic and deflective, defiant that he’d ask something so personal. But you didn’t, swallowing down the disgust and discomfort. “No, sir.”

“Well, you’re still young,” he said. “I got married younger than you are now, you know.”

“Yes, sir,” you told him. “I’ve met your wife.”

“My wife…” He grimaced. “Not anymore. We’re separated now. She abandoned ship, didn’t agree with my decisions…” His statement trailed off, his expression solemn, grave. “That’s how it goes in Gotham. We’re all alone. No matter what you do, how hard you try…” Mr. Anthony shook his head, taking another drink from his flask only to realize it was empty. He scowled at that too. “I can’t stand disloyalty. Can’t stomach it. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“Respect, that’s all I ask for. Respect and loyalty.”

“And pie?” you ventured, forcing a smile in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

Mr. Anthony hesitated before returning your smile. The way he laughed sent shivers down your back, that same manic sound from before. “Yeah, you’re a smart girl. I can count on you, can’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

In the end, you walked away from the encounter with a stomach full of sickening dread and a dollar raise and you knew, in your heart of hearts, that if you left now or anytime soon, you were as good as dead. Maybe you were dead anyway. Rescue wouldn’t come. Not for you, not again.

VII.

Hearing a gunshot in such close proximity wasn’t like in the movies. The sound tore through the air violently. It blasted your ears, leaving them ringing, making the ensuing commotion sound like it was happening under water. You weren’t supposed to be here, but you’d left your coat and had keys to the back door so you thought it would be okay. If you had just grabbed your coat and left, it would have been fine. But you heard the shouting and-

The sound of a gun cleared some things up, at least.

You weren’t sure what came over you, what could have possibly compelled you to investigate. It was as if your body wasn’t your own, as if you were merely operating something mechanical as you peered into the front of the restaurant from the dark kitchen. The lights were on, the warm lights that fought to be inviting against Gotham’s gloom. The place was clean and empty. Everything was where it should have been.

Almost everything.

Blood splattered the white tile floor in a gruesome spray, dripping from the red vinyl seats and beading up on the plastic tabletop. Mr. Anthony slumped in his chair, his body limp and doughy chin bulging out over his shirt collar. A half eaten piece of pie sat in front of him. There was nothing dramatic about it, really. It wasn’t like you could see his soul exit through his eyes or anything. They just stared.

Hector, a familiar face by now, was the one holding a gun. Several other men were in the room. As soon as you were noticed, all of them had their guns trained on you.

“I’m sorry, I…” the words sounded distant, even if you were the one to speak them. For the first time since you moved to Gotham, all you heard was silence. It was the most dreadful sound you had ever heard.

“You’re the waitress,” Hector finally said. He was the only one not pointing his gun at you. Instead, he raised a hand, beckoning you closer. “Come here.”

That wasn’t the sort of order someone refused, not when you had three guns pointed directly at your chest. You didn’t think you would be capable of running anyway. On heavy, trembling legs, you slowly trudged forward, trying to avoid eye contact with your dead boss. His blood was forming a big stain on the front of his suit, pooling on the floor. “There’s no need to be frightened.” Hector waved his hand, motioning for the men to put their guns down.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice somewhat more clear because the magnitude of the situation was setting in and, although surreal, pragmatism had to kick in like it always had, self preservation lending you some steel.

“Your boss spoke very highly of you,” Hector said, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. Everything within you demanded you slap his hand off of you, that you lash out against the unwanted touch. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. “He said you’re smart, that he could trust you.”

“I…” Your eyes returned to Mr. Anthony. He wasn’t moving, just slumped to the side, eyes wide open.

“No, don’t look at him,” Hector scolded, shaking your shoulder a little. When your eyes met his in fear of the slight violence, he released you. “I feel bad for you, I really do. This is an unfortunate situation.” He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “But I think I can make it work.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you told him. “I won’t, I’ll-”

“No, no,” Hector said. “There’s no need for that. I want you to tell everyone about this. You’re going to call the police and tell them exactly what happened.” He looked past you, at one of his men. “Is the place clean?”

“Yeah, they won’t find anything.”

“Good, good.” Hector met your eyes. “Now, you’re going to call the police. You tell the opperator that you witnessed a murder, okay? They’ll come with their police cars and paramedics and all that, and they’re going to take you to the station to get your statement.”

“I-”

“Don’t talk, just listen,” Hector told you. “Here’s what you’re going to tell them-”

“I didn’t see them when I came in, but I could hear them through the window between the front and back,” you told the officer, your voice wobbling, fresh tears tracking through the caked salt on your cheeks. People described shock as a numbing agent, as escapism, but you didn’t think you had ever been so aware of yourself than in that moment. Aware of sweat dripping down your neck, aware of the sour taste on the back of your tongue, aware of the unsteadiness of your breathing, the racing of your heart. “I forgot my coat and so I came back to get it, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What happened after that?” she asked, taking down your statement in a little notebook. The interview was being held in an office and they’d given you a can of soda from the vending machine. You were a witness. A victim.

“They didn’t notice me,” you said. “They-”

“They?” she prompted, cutting you off.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat no matter how hard you fought it. “Mr. Anthony a-and Ace. The cook. I-I think his name is Payton… I don’t know, we only ever called him Ace.”

“How do you know it was them?” she asked.

“Their voices. I work with Ace almost every day, and see Mr. Anthony at least three times a week, I could recognize them anywhere.”

“Did you hear anyone else?”

“No.”

“And what were they doing?”

“Arguing,” you said. “I knew I walked in something I shouldn’t see so I tried to be quick. I wasn’t looking and then I-I heard the gun go off.”

“What were they arguing about?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t my business.” You couldn’t keep the anger out of your tone at that. It wasn’t your business, so why were you involved? It wasn’t fair, and there was nothing you could do. Tell the police the truth and face the wrath of a famously sadistic criminal. Lie to the police and risk legal persecution. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that you were out of a job.

“You don’t remember anything they said?” the officer asked. The doubt in her tone made your stomach twist. Hector’s demands were clear. You either convinced the police of the fake story, pinning all of the blame on Ace, or else. Given his employer, you could only guess what ‘or else’ would mean. Your chest seized, your breathing becoming faster.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice trembling. “Ace has always been… He’s not a very nice guy, and he’s been acting strange lately. I knew he kept a gun on him. You know, for safety. We stay open pretty late. I knew that, but I never thought he’d actually… I mean, who does that sort of thing? Who could possibly…”

The officer nodded consolingly. Did that mean she believed you? “You’re okay, hon. We’re almost done. After the gun went off, what did you do?”

“I hid,” you told her. That’s what you should have done. You could almost imagine the scene in your head. The two of them arguing, the gunshot, ducking beneath the counter to hide with sweat soaking your clothes and terror squeezing your heart. “I heard him going through Mr. Anthony’s office, and then he came into the kitchen to leave through the back.”

“He didn’t see you?”

“No, I was hiding under the counter and it was… it was dark.”

“When he left, did you get a good look at him?”

“No, it was dark,” you repeated. “But when he opened the door, there was enough light from outside that I could see his coat. It’s really big, kinda tan. He’s the only guy I know who wears something like that.” Pressed against your thighs, your hands trembled violently. “Mr. Anthony was always nice to me,” you said. You didn’t mean to, it just bubbled out. “His wife left him recently, I think they’ve got kids too.”

She nodded again, giving you a sympathetic look. “Okay, honey. You’re okay. Is there anything else you can think of?” You shook your head, wiping your face with the tissues she’d pushed towards you. “I’ll give you my personal phone number, just in case you remember something.”

You accepted her card with the work phone number and hastily scribbled personal number. “Thank you,” you said with a pathetic sniffle, disgust for your lies and terror twisting your insides, fear that they would figure out the lie striking hotter than guilt. Just like that, with one conversation, you ensured that one man’s murderer would go free and another man’s life was ruined.

VIII.

Everything was wet. Negotiating an armful of groceries alongside an umbrella had been impossible, so you entered your apartment dripping and miserable and scared. Even going to the store for an hour or so had your anxiety spiking, you spent the entire time looking behind yourself, terrified that you would be arrested or attacked at any minute.

Feet squelching with every step, you set the bags on the kitchen counter. Just the essentials. And a bottle of vodka. Nasty stuff, but effective. With any hope, enough of it would force you to pass out. After being awake for nearly two days without sleep, you would have thought your body would simply give out, but your brain wouldn’t let you. You ignored the rest of the groceries and opened up the bottle, uncaring of the puddle forming beneath your feet, and took a swig. Foul, but it lit a somewhat pleasant fire in your belly. You took another drink. It sloshed into your stomach like poison and dizzied your head. Drinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea, but you ran out of good ideas years ago.

You didn’t notice anything amiss. Your guard was well and truly down as you stumbled into your room, shucking the boots and tossing your soaked clothes into the hamper. It would have been better to shower the filthy scent of Gotham rain out of your hair, but instead you just covered your wet skin with a pair of pajamas and called it good, ready to self medicate.

No, you didn’t notice anything amiss. Every sound was covered by the groan of the ancient radiator and broken down refrigerator, by the cars outside and voices down the hall. You didn’t even feel the discomfort you occasionally had that someone had been in your apartment.

Somebody grabbed you from behind.

It happened just like that, no time to think or to process or to understand what was happening.

“Considering the trouble you’re in, you really oughta lock your door,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. The piercing scream that left your mouth was covered by a hand. Big hand. Big man. Muscular arms crushed you against a solid, armored chest, one on your face and the other easily pinning your arms. It didn’t matter that you thrashed and screamed, he didn’t so much as budge. When you tried to bash your head against his face, the back of your skull made contact with a hard mask. “Don’t get so worked up, okay? I’m not here to hurt you.”

His words didn’t register, his voice like distant thunder in your head. Alarm bells screeched in your mind attacking the sore spot where your skull had met his mask, and the only thing you could do was struggle with all your strength, staring ahead at the comfortable familiarity of your living room and thinking that you didn’t want to die.

“C’mon, calm down a little, will you?” he said, seemingly put out with your antics. Ignoring him, you only redoubled your efforts. He let out a grunt when you kicked him, although it seemed more surprised than pained, his arms tightening around you to the point of suffocation. “Look, I didn’t want to scare you, but I can’t have you waking up the whole building.”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. There was something very hard pressing into your thigh and you didn’t think it was because he was happy to see you. Some part of your brain, the part that attempted rationality, recognized that you weren’t going to physically escape. Liquor and bile sat heavy on the back of your tongue, you worried you would choke on it.

“There you go,” your attacker said warmly as your energy drained and you stilled, his grip loosening somewhat now that you weren’t struggling like a wild animal. “Now I’m gonna let you go, and you’re not gonna do anything stupid.”

Breathing hard through your nostrils, you grunted in assent.

“‘Cause if you try anything,” he warned, “I’ll be very upset.”

Another grunt. Now that panic wasn’t so blindingly overpowering, you were aware of what this situation was. The danger you were in. His arms tightened for a moment, although not in an aggressive way. It felt more like a fleeting embrace.

When he released you, you didn’t scream, twisting away and putting as many stumbling steps between the two of you as possible. “I didn’t tell anybody,” you told him before even thinking about the words. “I wouldn’t, I-”

Recognition panged in your head like a bell as soon as you got a decent look at your attacker. For a moment, your brain scrambled, words failing you as you tried to process what you were looking at. Well, who you were looking at. The symbol on his chest was painted in red, but it was shaped like the bat symbol. The hero of Gotham. But he had guns, he couldn’t be. Besides, Batman—Bruce Wayne—was dead.

“You’re…” you said, trailing off in a confused loop of thought. You didn’t really understand what was happening, it was like reality had caused your system to crash. “You’re not Batman.”

“What gave it away?” he asked, his muffled voice sarcastic. You had no answer to that, just the angry pulse of adrenaline and terror and confusion. “It’s good to see you,” he said after a moment, taking a step towards you. “Up close, I mean.”

“What? Who are you?” Once you could look past the red bat symbol on his chest, he was dressed casually. Tactically, you supposed, with some light body armor and weaponry, but with a red hooded jacket and equally red mask that covered his whole face.

“You don’t remember me?” he asked. “And I thought we hit it off so well.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” you told him. Despite your terrible memory, you would definitely remember meeting some masked criminal dressed like a dead icon.

“Nope, you’re exactly who I wanted to see,” he said. “Now why don’t you take a seat. You look like you’re about to pass out, and I’d like to talk.”

Mind whirling with panic and uncertainty, you considered your options. It was difficult. Drinking hadn’t been a good decision, the liquor drifted like fog in your head, confusing your ability to process everything.

“You need to leave,” you finally said, the tremble in your voice giving away your nerves. “Right now, you need to-”

“Come on,” he said, cutting you off. “You know how this goes, so let’s skip the part where you antagonize the guy with a gun.”

The urge to argue further occurred to you, but the words weren’t there. You had to be reasonable about this. If you cooperated, maybe you could find an advantage. Or talk your way out. If he had been here solely to assault you, why would he have let you go? The weight of his body against your own, the strength with which he held you, lingered like phantom pains. It would have been easy for him to force you down, to hurt you. To kill you. So easy.

You sat woodenly on your couch, eying the man warily as he crossed the room into your tiny little kitchen. Well, a counter, stove, and refrigerator shoved into the corner of the main room of your small apartment.

“Smirnoff, really?” he asked, picking up the bottle and inspecting it. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the playful disgust in his voice. You didn’t say anything, watching him open your fridge and emerge with a bottle of water. He tossed it over. You barely managed to snatch it from the air before it fell onto the floor. “Try and sober up a little.”

While you didn’t really want to follow his instructions, you had also become aware of an awful case of dry mouth. He leaned against the counter while you took a few small sips. Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you got the distinct impression he was staring at you. The world hadn’t fallen silent, but it was all muffled. Far away. Your neighbors talked loudly, your old appliances droned, and cars passed outside, but none of it mattered. You may as well have been in a different world.

“You were so talkative last time,” he said as the silence dragged on. “I’m starting to think you’re not happy to see me.”

“I have no idea who you are,” you told him.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t,” he allowed. “I’ll show you. But it’ll have to be our little secret, okay?”

You didn’t expect him to remove the mask, let alone do so in a nonchalant way. The mask made a distinct mechanical sound as he removed it, setting the piece aside and tossing his hood back. And that face was familiar. Mostly, you just remembered that scar, a crude J engraved on his cheek. You blinked, confusion making you doubt what you were seeing. It didn’t make any sense that the mysterious customer from weeks ago could be standing in your apartment.

“The pie was delicious, by the way,” he said casually, running his fingers through his hair to keep it pushed back. “I can see why it’s your favorite.”

That’s right. You thought you were being so cute for doing that, like you were some sort of philanthropist. It was borderline incomprehensible trying to merge your memory of that single interaction with what was happening now. The customer you awkwardly flirted with was an armored, armed man with the symbol of a dead hero on his chest. You had been genuinely upset that he never came back after that night, thought about him for at least a week after, but this wasn’t what you had in mind for a second meeting.

“It’s you,” you muttered softly, too shocked to be defensive.

“Surprised? It’s been awhile, I know. I’ve been busy.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” he asked derisively. When you didn’t respond, he lightened up a bit. “Look, I’ve shown you mine, so why don’t you show me yours? Tell me who killed Frank Anthony.”

You regretted drinking, that question alone making you think you were about to be violently ill. “You’re with the police, aren’t you.”

“Do I look like a cop?” he asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow. No, he didn’t. Hector warned you about this sort of thing. The Bat, he said, might have been dead, but there were always those willing to do the same sort of work. If you squealed, you were worse than dead.

“I already told the police what happened,” you said, your stomach tying itself in increasingly painful knots.

“Yeah, you gave them quite the story.”

“No.” You shook your head. “It’s the tru-”

“Don’t,” he said loudly, aggressively cutting you off, “lie to me.” The rapid shift in tone had you flinching away, your water bottle dropping hard to the floor as you got to your feet to put more distance between the two of you. He had a look in his blue eyes that made you think he wasn’t entirely sane, and it chased away any hope that you could talk your way out of this.

“I want you to leave,” you told him, your fists clenched and shoulders tight, fueled by fear. Fear, and anger. Helpless rage at how awful this situation was, how unfair.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he asked, eying you up with a decidedly unimpressed expression, that flare of temper gone. “Fight me? Call for help?”

You didn’t say anything, realizing with a fresh wave of impotent indignation how helpless you were.

“Guess you’re stuck with me then,” he said, playful again, pushing away from the counter to sit on the other side of the couch. You watched him make himself comfortable, arms spread across the seatback and legs relaxed. Even like this, standing above him, you felt weak. He gave you a look. “What? C’mon, sit down.” You didn’t, even though standing there was beginning to feel horribly uncomfortable. “Are you seriously…? You’re not going to make this easy, are you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you said, putting as much venom in your voice as possible.

He smiled. “I never said I was disappointed. But if you really wanna seem tough, you should relax a little.”

You set your jaw, folding your arms.

“Fine, I’ll start,” he said, maintaining that disturbingly casual voice. “I didn’t give you my name last time. I’m Jason. Might wanna remember that for later.”

“Jason… Have you got a last name too?” you asked, not thinking so much about what you were saying as you were on portraying the only form of strength you had.

Jason shot you a sideways look. “Why?”

“You know, for the police report.” It had been a stupid thing to say in the first place, you knew that, but it didn’t get the reaction you wanted either. Jason just smiled, amused with your attempted wit.

“While you’re in there, are you gonna tell them what a bad girl you’ve been?”

It took you a moment, your thoughts catching on his uncomfortable wording, but then it clicked. “Do they know something?” you asked faintly, your head spinning with sickening anxiety.

“‘Course not,” Jason said. “Why do you think we’re talking here and not at the station? I figured it was better this way. You did something stupid, but you can still make it right. I’m happy to help. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”

“Help me?” you asked incredulously. “You break into my home and threaten me and you think you can-”

“I haven’t threatened you,” he said loudly, stopping you. “Yet.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you told him, forcing bravado to cover for your terror. There was no way out of this. Between a rock and a hard place, anything you did would be the wrong decision and it wasn’t fair. That bubbled out, your helpless anger coming through in a sharp tone. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“I was hoping we could avoid this, but…” Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You can’t say I didn’t try to be nice. You’ve never been one to go for the nice guys though, have you.” Before you could respond, he stood up and grabbed you by the front of your shirt, pulling you off balance and up. Jason kept you suspended as you squirmed, although you stopped struggling pretty quick when he drew his gun and pressed it to your neck. It wasn’t like Ace’s gun, which may as well have been a toy in comparison to the weapon Jason held at your throat. The barrel was blocky and huge, you weren’t even sure it could reasonably be counted as a handgun.

“Okay, princess, from the top. Tell me who your boss was working for.”

Survival instinct dictated you cooperate, but the stubborn need for defiance kept you from speaking. The selfsame urge that got you in trouble, that made you want to have the last word when you argued and destroyed your life as you continuously made bad choices. This was the second time you had guns drawn on you, and for what? So you just looked at him, met those pretty blue eyes with the worst type of resolve. The petty kind.

“I don’t know.”

Jason jerked you up higher, the fabric of your shirt straining painfully against your skin. “Try again,” he told you, his voice low and dangerous.

“Even if I tell you, it won’t matter,” you said, your voice jumping an octave in fear. “You’re wasting your time.”

Jason considered that for a long moment before nodding, his expression softening and grip loosening. “You’re right, this is a waste of time,” he agreed. You hoped, for a second, that he was going to put you down. Instead, he hauled you up higher, your toes barely finding purchase on the floor until you hit the wall with a heavy exhale. It was nothing for him to keep you pinned against there, a muscular thigh pressed between your legs. The straps keeping his gun holster in place dragged roughly against the yielding fabric of your pajama shorts, adding a layer of friction that made you shudder, flinching back but unable to go anywhere. The barrel of his gun nudged beneath the hem of your shirt, seeking the warm skin beneath.

“Stop,” you demanded, but your voice was without bite, without air. Jason hardly budged when you weakly pushed against him. “You have to let me go right now or-”

“Sweetheart, babe, princess,” Jason cooed, cutting you off. Agonizingly slow, the gun’s cold muzzle continued to drag up over your abdomen, over your stomach. Chills chased behind the weapon’s metal kiss, your entire body so tense you trembled. “Look at yourself. Do you really think you’ve got any say in what I can or can’t do?”

“What are you going to do then?” you asked, terrified to look up and meet his eyes and terrified to look away. Terrified of the gun skimming your ribs and terrified of your body’s conflicted reaction because the horror of the threat only registered so much in comparison to his proximity, the twisted sensuality of it all.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jason said. “But I’m telling you right now that there are only two things I wanna hear from you. You can give me what I want, the truth this time, or…”

You didn’t want to ask, but you knew he was waiting for it, waiting for you to take the bait. “Or?” you finally breathed. The gun was pressed cold and hard right beneath the band of your bra, a stark contrast to the heat of his body right against yours.

“My name,” he said. “In my line of work, we don’t usually use ‘em. But I kinda like the idea of you screaming mine.” In isolation, the words might have come off as obnoxiously cocky, but Jason didn’t sound cocky. There was a needful insistence in his voice that undermined the obvious flirtation and that’s where this situation was going anyway, gun or no, he was just pushing it over the edge.

“Jason-”

“Yeah, like that. Maybe a little louder though.” The gun was gone, but you didn’t have time to respond to the lack of threat. Jason’s gloved hand was rough on your chin, pulling your face up towards his. You pushed against him, but it was a weak struggle. Ineffective.

Jason kissed you and it was violent, biting teeth and his tongue pushing past your wet lips. He kissed you like he was trying to prove something, like he was hungry. It had been awhile since you kissed anyone, but you fell into place pretty easily. Besides, it wasn’t the type of kiss that was returned so much as it was the type that you submitted to. His mouth tasted like mint and you wondered if that was on purpose, if he had prepared for this.

You were still reeling by the time he pulled away, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it, the final touch of pain making you shiver despite yourself.

“That stuff is seriously disgusting, I have no idea how you stomach it,” he said, a smile in his voice that didn’t match the tone of the situation. “You don’t really care about quality though, do you?” His breathing was harsh and the non-question was ironic. You didn’t respond, too stunned. Hoping, maybe, that if you didn’t engage, it would cease to be real. “Well?” Jason prompted. “Which is it?”

“Stop,” you said. Unable to meet his eye, unable to move. He wanted you. Your stomach twisted and you should have been fighting like your life depended on it. But something about it all was just incomprehensible, you couldn’t parse why this was happening. That this was happening to you.

“That’s not what I asked, but that’s fine,” he said casually. “Take your time, I’ll just-”

Jason gripped you by the hips and turned the both of you around so he could lift you onto the counter. Things toppled the ground, papers and random junk you’d accumulated crashing down. The ease with which he manhandled you was vertigo inducing, making you yelp, limbs flailing in an attempt to get your balance.

He didn’t give you a chance to protest, pulling your shirt up and over your head and arms. Your bra was discarded with the same fervor. Jason didn’t take the time to look at you, his mouth seeking skin. Your neck, your collar bones, your breasts, he hungrily left wet kisses and searing bites down your skin, stopping only when he reached your nipples. Overly sensitive with stress and fear, your body tensed as if electrified, a high pitched sound leaving your mouth in surprise. His tongue was hot, but the scrape of teeth was really what had you squirming, gasping, unable to think. Your thighs clenched hard, attempting to close but obstructed by his hips.

“No, n-no,” you told him, panicked and pulling at his hair because this was too far. The line had been crossed already, you knew it was ridiculous to object now when the whole situation had spiraled so far out of your control, but you had to do something. Jason just groaned, pulling back to look at you.

“What did I say?” he asked.

You shook your head, caught between the strangest sense of embarrassment to have someone looking at you and cold dread at where this was heading. “You can’t-”

“I gave you two options. Otherwise, I don’t wanna hear it.” To make his point, he cruelly pinched your nipple, the one he’d left wet and sensitive. All you could do was groan as he leaned down to do the same to the other, knowing that you weren’t putting up enough of a fight and hating yourself for it.

There was no escapism to the confusing, vile stirrings of lust. You were painfully aware of yourself and what was happening, your legs kicking out and body writhing unconsciously at the pleasurable sensations. You wished you weren’t cognizant of what was happening, you wished you had some excuse, some reason to submit to this that wasn’t plain weakness, some messed up acceptance of what he was doing. But then he bit down, rolling your nipple between his teeth, and it hurt and you moaned loud, unable to contain the way your hips ground against him and you knew that even if you weren’t reciprocating, you were still complicit.

Jason pulled away from your nipple with a slick, dirty sound. His hand pushed between your thighs, forcing them to spread further so he could rub his hand over the pajama shorts you still wore. You squealed, the pressure of his palm grinding right between your legs bringing some form of sense back into your head. And you didn’t mean to hit him, not really. But you did, your palm meeting his cheek. The sharp sound made you flinch, your breath catching in surprise. Jason looked a little surprised too, leaning back to look at you.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“I-I’m so-”

“I warned you about antagonizing the guy with a gun.”

“No, I-I’m not-”

“I swear, it’s like you’re incapable of self preservation,” Jason said, unholstering his gun again and pressing it to your cheek.

“Stop,” you told him, but your bravado was anemic at best. Breathless, and not just just because of the gun, although you were horribly aware of the metallic scent and its coldness biting into your skin. Fear wasn’t the only thing making it difficult to think.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked, his eyes alight with humor and knowing. “Cause, I’ve gotta be honest, that’s not what it looks like. Maybe this is what you wanted all along, creeping through those back streets in the middle of the night. No wonder you weren’t scared.”

“That’s not true,” you told him.

“Oh yeah? Then tell me what I’ll find under these cute little shorts. I’ve got a feeling it’s not going to be disinterest.”

At this point, you weren’t sure you could even tell him he was wrong. Your nipples were stiff and your skin was covered with chills, you didn’t doubt that you were wet too. “I thought…” you said, scrambling for some change of subject, some distraction. “I thought you just wanted me to tell you-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get what I want,” Jason assured you. “But there’s nothing wrong with a guy taking pleasure in his work.” He didn’t give you any more time to think or argue as he roughly pushed your shorts and panties down your hips to get them out of the way. It forced you to lean back, catching yourself on your hands so you could support your torso. Even if the gun was a hollow threat—and you thought it had to be considering his finger wasn’t on the trigger—it was effective. You whined in distress at the idea of him seeing you, seeing all of you.

“Don’t,” you muttered, a pathetic objection that did nothing to give him pause.

“Goddamn,” Jason muttered, his big hand flattening against your abdomen, dragging down. The material of his glove was rough against your skin, cool and inhuman.

“Don’t,” you whined again, trying to squeeze your thighs together, unable to meet his eyes. Not that he was looking at your face anyway.

“You know, I was fine just watching, making sure that you were okay,” Jason told you, almost earnestly. “The idea of you going out on your own in the middle of the night… the things people could do to you… I couldn’t stop thinking about it after I left. I had to make sure.”

“You’ve been… watching me?” you asked.

“And I was fine with it,” he emphasized, “but you had to go and misbehave.” He used his teeth to pull off the fingers of his glove so he could toss it aside. His skin was hot on yours when he pried your thighs apart further. When you struggled, he just pressed the muzzle of the gun even harder against you, dragged it down against your throat. By now, the metal was warm with your body heat.

“You’ve been watching me?” you asked again, your voice gaining a bit more strength.

“I’ve been protecting you,” Jason said, his voice lowering. “I hired someone to get you out of the city safely. When a couple of drunk idiots tried to follow you home, I’m the one who stopped them. And I admit, I was pretty pissed when I heard about what you did, but now… now I see the advantages.” He paused, his hand creeping up your thigh. He let out a surprised little laugh when his fingers pushed past your outer lips, skimming your entrance in a way that made your entire body lurch towards him, arms nearly giving out. “Damn, now who’s wet.”

“Jason,” you meant it to be an admonishment, but your voice raised an octave with surprise when his fingers grazed up over your clit. You tensed up, but it did nothing to stop his fingers from driving into you, to stop your inner walls from squeezing his fingers as if to pull them deeper in spite of the horror of what he was saying. It wasn’t difficult at all, you were embarrassingly wet for him and all he had to do was push you down with the muzzle of the gun to keep you from fighting.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, curling his fingers. “Feels good to know that somebody cares about you so much.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut in a half hearted attempt to block out his words, to ignore what was happening. It didn’t work. There was nowhere to go away from him, away from this.

“I know how alone you feel. I know what you want, what you need.” He punctuated that word with a harsh thrust. You couldn’t fathom what he was saying. It didn’t make sense, your brain was on fire. He slowly pulled his fingers out, curling them against your walls to make your mouth fall open wordlessly, a little mewl leaving you before you bit your lip.

He was insane. But you already knew that. He was also right. You already knew that too. You were fairly sure you were insane as well, what other reason could there be for the way your body was responding to him?

Swearing under his breath, Jason wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you against him, his fingers setting a fast pace, your body jolting with each heavy thrust. The fabric of his clothes was rough, a reminder of how helplessly exposed you were in comparison to him. His mouth dropped to your neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin there before biting down hard enough to make you cry out, your body writhing against his. He was wearing some sort of body armor, it made it difficult to find purchase on his back as your hands grasped at him, searching for something to hold onto. Eventually, your fingers entangled in his hair. He groaned low, adding a third finger.

The far away rational part of your mind was aware enough to recognize how embarrassing the endless stream of high pitched moans and whines leaving your mouth were, but it was as automatic as the way your pussy squeezed his fingers, sucking them deeper, begging for more no matter how rough he was. Beyond your control, just like everything else.

“Jason…” His name was a plea, a prayer, breathless and needy and pathetic.

“A little louder, princess,” Jason responded.

You whined, pressing your lips together in an attempt to stifle yourself. He laughed, cool air puffing against your wet skin.

“It’s cute that you think I can’t make you.”

Jason pulled his fingers out and released you, swiveling you around on the counter so you could fall flat on your back. More things crashed to the floor, the bottle of vodka shattering loudly after it toppled. He kept you from fighting with the gun, pressing it beneath your chin so you had no choice but to lay flat. Spread beneath him with your legs wide open like a meal.

“Fuck, you really are…” Jason muttered under his breath, eying you hungrily. He didn’t finish the thought, licking his lips. “Goddamn.”

The gun was pushed so hard against you it was certain to leave indents in your skin, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care when he leaned down and traced his tongue over your clit. The not-enough teasing sensation pulled an entire body shudder from you, your legs twitching and hips jumping against him, thighs straining as they tried to decide whether to close or open. Your hands scrambled indecisively, reaching out and holding onto the counter’s lip with a white knuckle grip and your back arching in a taut bow.

When he pushed three fingers into you, curling and scissoring them, it was all you could do not to shout. Jason was relentless, not caring to try and build you back up slowly. Your body was all too accepting, the rough pace he’d set was pushing you over the edge fast. You whimpered when his tongue, wet and velvety, licked from the place his fingers thrust into you all the way up, and that became a long, reedy cry when his lips closed and he sucked.

Pleasure coiled so hot in your core, stoked to a terrible blaze beneath his touch, and you could have wept at how badly you wanted to get off, straining for release mindlessly, helplessly.

“Jason, I can’t-” Too loud, you knew it was too loud but you also knew that was the only way you were going to get what you needed. And it was need. Dire, catastrophic. “Jason, please. Jason-”

Right there, right on the tipping edge of release, Jason pulled back. You whined unhappily, your hips desperately trying to chase his fingers. He held you in place, pressing the flat of the gun against your abdomen to push you down as he pulled his fingers out with a slick noise. “Sweetheart,” he said, “look at me.” You thought of refusing, but complied after a moment, humiliation dulled by need. Jason’s cheeks were pink, his lips flushed red. His expression sent a shuddery jolt of desire through you, intense and hungry and focused and far more composed than you were. “Tell me his name.”

His name. It took you a moment, given that you were of a fairly singular mind. But you figured it out eventually. Panting, flushed, drenched red with lust, you shook your head.

“No, no, no, listen,” he scolded, grabbing your chin with fingers that smelled like you, that were wet because of you. In a way, the touch was more threatening than the gun. Jason’s eyes were bright, a complete contrast to the way yours felt fogged over. “Tell me, and I’ll bring you his head. That’s a promise.”

His tone should have been frightening. Maybe, in a way, it was. All steel and fire and raw honesty, you didn’t doubt that he would make good on that threat. But you weren’t afraid. You had enough will power to refuse again, you knew how easy it would be to close your eyes and turn away from him. Gun and teasing and desire and fear and all, you’d endured worse for less. But to what end? For what purpose? You were already ruined, already as good as dead.

In the worst part of yourself, you felt if you didn’t reciprocate, if you didn’t give back when he’d done something for you, that would be rude.

“He’s the one who thinks he’s a-a god. Maxie Zeus or whatever,” you said, your voice hoarse. “His guy, Hector, that’s who… Christ…” You pulled against his wrist and shook your head, trying to banish the memory. “Mr. Anthony was bringing in goods for him, but I don’t know what happened, or why he… I don’t know.”

Jason stood up. “Seriously? That freak?” he asked, an incredulous laugh in his voice. “I didn’t realize he was still kicking around... What are you doing?”

He pushed you back down to keep you from squirming away like you were attempting. “I told you,” you said, your voice faint, “so we’re…”

“We’re what? Even? Not even close.”

“But I… Let me go.” You pushed at him, tried to close your legs, although you knew your heart wasn’t in it.

“Nuh-uh, princess. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

“But I told you!”

“Yeah, after lying about it right to my face. Did you think you were gonna get away with that?” He paused, giving you another once-over. “Besides, I can’t leave a job half done. It’s not in my nature.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant by that, Jason pushed his fingers back into you and you had to bite off your groan, your body spasming at the touch. He wasn’t hurried at first, watching you toss your head back in frustration, resisting the urge to grind against his hand as you made a half hearted attempt to come up with the words for why you couldn’t do this, why he needed to stop.

Nothing came out, ultimately. You were too afraid that he’d listen if you told him to stop, it was better to say nothing, to cling to the pleasure as a lifeline of insanity.

“You’re real cute like this,” Jason praised you with an indulgent mixture of sarcasm and affection. You weren’t aware of the gun being gone until you realized his other hand was free to nudge against your clit. Playfully, at first. Then with more focus, rubbing against it with hard, maddening little circles. You whimpered, then whined, your cunt squeezing his fingers as they tortured your inner walls. The pace he’d set was speeding up in time with the rising swell of heat, that coil of tension within you approaching a feverish pitch. “Reminds me of one of the first things you said to me. What was it?” He paused as if to think, jolting your body with a harder thrust that you could hear. “Oh yeah, I remember,” Jason continued, paying no mind to your sharp cry. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

A despairing sort of groan came from your throat at that, but his tone sunk deep into your core and the pleasure of each wet, slick thrust was growing intolerably good, pushing you right back to the brink. Jason spoke like this was supposed to be some sort of punishment, but the way he fucked his fingers into you, the way he rubbed your clit, was anything but.

It didn’t take much from there. The hyper aroused state of awareness made your comprehension of how utterly debased it all was that much hotter, lust redefining the grotesque as helplessly attractive. You were getting close, your body straining for release desperately, your hips meeting each thrust, grinding against his fingers.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t…”

“Are you gonna be good and ask me nicely?”

“Please, Jason… God, please.”

“Sure, why not,” he said. In contrast to the lackadaisical tone, his fingers curled, seeking out that spongy spot inside of you that made your legs twitch and kick, an unnaturally high mewl accomining the reaction. A few more torturous passes just like that was all it took to well and truly send you tumbling, your muscles tightening and pussy tightening, gushing around his hand as you came. Afraid he would pull away before you were finished, you grabbed his hand, keeping him against your clit as your hips ground down on his fingers. Jason let it happen, indulging you until the pleasure had run its course of heat and mindless frenzy.

Then you sagged, letting him go and staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, hot and breathing hard. He pulled his fingers out, another uncomfortably wet sound. There was a joke to be made in the fact that the first guy who made you come was the one who did it with a gun at your throat, but you couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t all that funny in the first place.

The sound of something unclicking pulled your eyes down to Jason. He wasn’t paying any attention to you, working on his clothes. It was completely unfair that while you were all the way bared to his eyes, he was still dressed. Not even dressed—armed.

“Worst part about this job is the outfits,” Jason muttered, clearly annoyed as he unclipped the holsters around his thighs so he could put the weapons on the counter. The hoodie went next, but there was still something bulky beneath his shirt, probably the armor you’d felt earlier.

“Least you brought protection,” you muttered.

Jason grinned, looking up at you with bright, excited eyes. “And you say you’re not funny.” The last to go was his belt and its assortment of ammo, set aside with the guns. “That’ll have to be good enough… Sorry, babe, show and tell’ll have to wait ‘til next time.”

That playful comment went right over your head as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock. He ran a hand down its length, eyes devouring your body. It was disappointing that you wouldn’t get to see all of him, but it was difficult to focus on that considering what he was showing you anyway.

“What do you want me to do?” you asked softly, frozen between the embarrassment and the shameless way your pussy squeezed down around nothing, given a pretty good idea of how deep inside of you he would go from the way he was positioned between your legs. The circumstances, the disaster, that had gotten you here didn’t matter. Jason was hard for you, looking at you with dangerously dark eyes.

“Hold on tight,” Jason said, giving no further warning as he scooped you up off the table and turned around, pushing you against the wall again. You yelped in surprise, doing exactly as you were told with your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, legs clamping around his waist. There was no gun pointed at your head, but the easy way he hauled you into place made it moot anyway. Jason would have just as easy of a time snapping your neck as he would pulling the trigger, the gun was just for show.

“I have a bed,” you pointed out, a bit of anxiety trickling through everything else you felt because having sex was one thing, but being fucked upright against a wall, helplessly clinging to his shoulders, was filthy. And that was before you realized that you could hear the sound of your neighbors TV vibrating in the wall at your back, a muffled laugh track mingling with the ringing in your ears. “This is… it’s a shared wall.”

“And?” Jason asked, keeping you in place as he lined himself up. The sensation of his cock pressing against your fluttering entrance was almost enough to make you give up. Almost.

“They’ll… they’ll hear, we can’t-”

“Not my problem,” he told you. Any further argument was driven from your mind as he pushed into you, your mouth dropping open dumbly, mind cleared out entirely by the weight and pressure as you sunk all the way down onto him. Jason groaned against your neck, grinding his hips against you so you could feel how deep he went, how full you were. Your inner walls fluttered around him, desperately trying to adjust to the delicious weight. Madly, you thought that if you could stay just like that forever, you would be glad for it. And then he pulled out, a little slow at first, making sure you could feel the drag and absence, before filling you all over again. You couldn’t hold back your cry, your body no longer belonged to you. And he did it again, it had to be on purpose.

“Loud,” you whined, not sounding nearly as distressed as you probably should have. “Too loud, Jason...”

He laughed breathlessly. “They’d better get used to it,” he said right into your ear. God, you couldn’t handle it. The way he said that, the way he accentuated the threat with a hard thrust, just made you whine, holding onto him even harder.

“Jason-” His name slipped from your mouth without thinking, high and pathetic, the only thing you could think. A plea for mercy, for more, for him.

“I know,” he told you, managing to sound cocky despite the breathless lust in his voice, his smile pressed against your neck before his teeth dug into the flesh there. His fingers kneaded your ass, grinding you onto his cock. Exhaustion, terror, alcohol, desire—all of it had been the perfect battering ram to get you here, your defenses shredded, your senses spirited away by mindless need.

All you could do was hold on. Moan for him, beg for him. Each hard thrust pushed you up the wall, your back scraping against the textured paint. It might have hurt, were you not too distracted with the feeling of Jason inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against where you were most sensitive, going so deep you saw stars. You wished desperately that he were undressed so you could feel his skin against yours, but the material of his shirt rubbing against your sensitive nipples wasn’t so bad either, another point of friction.

At the fever pitch point of abandon, it didn’t really matter that you were trying to muffle yourself, to choke down your cries and whimpers. The physical sound, the hard, rhythmic thump-thump-thump as he fucked you against the wall, the wet squish of each thrust, was suggestive even without you moaning like a whore over the top of it. And, fuck, it was hot.

“You wanna come again, princess?” Jason asked. It was spoken like a question, but he didn’t wait for your response for his hand to sneak between your legs, easily finding your swollen clit. You yelped unintentionally, eyes snapping open. You definitely couldn’t handle that either. Being fucked like this bordered on overstimulation, to feel pleasure there too would break you.

“Mmm, Jason…” you sounded breathless and cheap, shaking your head in an attempt to convey your burst of panic at the feeling and the drowning helplessness. There was nothing you could do to stop him, to stop yourself, regardless of what you wanted. “I can’t-”

“Yeah, you do.”

Even if the excess stimulation had you whining and gasping and writhing like a creature possessed, you did, you wanted to come on his cock, to feel the way your cunt clamp down around him like a vice as you shook to pieces.

He didn’t have to encourage you to say his name, it fell out between your helpless moans, your harsh breathing. Jason dropped wet kisses on your neck, your jaw, kissing your open mouth and biting your bottom lip until you pulled on his hair, encouraging you with all sorts of noises. None of your other partners had been vocal like this, letting you how much you affected them, how much they desired you. It was intoxicating in a way no liquor or drug ever had been, and far more addictive.

Someone hit the wall behind you, a few harsh knocks of disapproval and some choice, if muffled, words. Jason laughed breathlessly, the air hot on your neck. “Whoops,” he said.

As humiliating as the interruption was, it came too late. Jason didn’t so much as pause and your body was already shuddering apart, tipped over the edge by the sound of his amusement. At the very least, coming rendered you silent, nothing more than little gasping groans leaving your open mouth as you clung to him, your cunt spasming around his cock. That seemed to be amusing to him too, his grinding relentlessly against your clit in time with each hard thrust.

“Unbelievable,” he said as you came down from the high, far too pleased with himself. The TV on the other side of the wall was far louder now, you could hear the individual voices attempting to drown out your own.

“Jason, ss-stop” you begged, shaking your head, the words tight with your attempt to keep them quiet.

“I’m not the one on my way to waking up half of Gotham.”

You whined in distress, pushing at him.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, pulling out and letting you fall to your feet.

Before your weak legs had the chance to give out beneath you, Jason whirled you both around to bend you over the back of your couch. And then he was inside of you again, driving home in one hard thrust, and you let out a shameless moan, not even thinking to stifle it. Jason moaned low, the blunt fingernails of one hand digging into one hip and the harsh fabric of his glove scraping against the other.

The different angle had you seeing stars. Jason was able to be even more rough like this too, holding onto your hips to drag you down to meet each violent thrust. You clawed at your couch, your back arching in a borderline painful bow as you rocked back and forth onto your toes. This was worse. He rutted into you like an animal and you responded in kind, making noises you hadn’t thought yourself capable of as his cock tortured your cunt, fucking you so hard it hurt as much as it felt mind blowingly good. Ultimately, there was no difference.

“Jason…Jason-”

“Again?” he asked. “You really are a princess.” His hand dropped between your legs and you wailed, trembling and mewling and absolutely beyond the capacity to take more. It was almost impressive how quickly overstimulation played on your nerves as he rubbed your clit, bypassing pleasurable sensation to be interpreted as nothing more than raw electrical impulses telling your brain how to react.

He wanted you to come, so you did. He wanted you to scream his name, so you did. Your pussy clamped down around him as you tensed up so hard your entire body trembled with strain, accepting the torture of exess because the only thing worse than coming would be to not. You weren’t given any chance to come down either, Jason using your involuntary response to chase his own pleasure. Nothing existed except the slapping of skin and the filthy squelching and the wicked harmony of harsh breathing and moans. He said your name once, twice, a reverence in it that you’d never heard. You arched your back, begging to take him deeper, to be used for his pleasure. His hips stuttered, his grip on your waist bruising.

Jason pulled out at the last second with a helpless sound, the head of his cock bumping against your ass as he finished himself off. Thick, hot ropes of cum hit your back, his breathing harsh and erratic and half voice. Then he stilled, his fingers tracing down your side gently as he released you.

You wilted against the back of the couch, acutely aware of the aching emptiness inside of you. Not just your pussy, but all the way in your core. The neighbor’s TV was still on at full blast, but your apartment was a haven of nothing more than heavy breathing and the scent of filthy, depraved sex. You expected Jason to step away, to fix his clothes and leave you exposed, locked in a pillory of exhaustion and shame until you could force your body to move again.

“Can you stand up?” Jason asked instead.

You thought about it for a second before deciding that you probably could. The motion was mechanical, awkward. His cum was cooling on your back, mingling with the sweat and making filthy trails as it dripped down. But you managed, standing and turning around. When you stumbled, legs trembling, a pair of strong arms caught you. Jason pulled you against him. Gently, at first, pushing your head down against his chest while he wrapped his arms around you. Even with the layers between your ear and his skin, you thought you could hear the strong thumping of his heart.

“Do you need me to carry you to bed?” Jason asked, petting your sweaty hair. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not.

“Are you going to leave?” you asked, your voice distant. It seemed like an important question, but your brain was too foggy to really understand why.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jason said. Despite his casual tone, you didn’t miss the way his arms tightened around you, holding you even closer. “It’s more fun when those scumbags have time to get comfortable.”

You hummed in agreement. The wind howled outside your window, the wind and the rain. But it did not reach you, found no place in your empty head.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

“No kidding,” Jason said. Then he sighed, stepping back and releasing you. Only for a moment, only long enough to crouch down and sweep you up into his arms. That jolted you awake fast, but even the surprise was fleeting. At this point, you were exhausted to the point of pain, wrung out completely and utterly. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he told you. “Otherwise I’d say you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“You too,” you said. And maybe you weren’t exactly as tired as you were telling yourself, maybe there was a very conscious part of you lurking in the back of your mind that understood how terrible and dangerous this situation was. But you muffled it, blinking drowsily as Jason carried you into your bedroom.

Jason chuckled. “You should be more careful, princess. Saying things like that-” He exhaled harshly, nuzzling your head gently. “I just might not wanna let you go.”

#batman arkham knight #arkhamverse #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood #dc #my writing #not sfw #tw.dubcon

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joshsindigostreak · 1 year

Text

I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Four

“I’m just a bright eyed bitch with her heart in a cage.”

Josh Kiszka x Vampire!Reader

Authors Note: WHEW this was another chapter that kind of got away from me, but I do hope you love it as much as I do! Thank y'all so much for going on this ride with me. There's so much more to come!

Word Count: 10,061

Warnings: Detailed depictions of blood, swearing, sexual content.

Your head and arms were covered, your face shielded by the shadow his jacket cast on your face, but your legs, your poor legs and feet were going in and out of the shadow as you trekked down the sidewalk. It was Sisyphean in how the lower half of your legs would burn and then try to heal themselves with each stride. The morning was still young, with barely any people out and about in the freshly risen sun, and so far there were few places for you to find any cover for a break from its light.

Beside you, or behind you depending on the direction of the aggressive sun beams, Josh was a wreck listening to how your skin was sizzling and burning. The sound rang in his ears and it was all he could focus on, along with your constant winces and gasps. He was familiar with it, after killing several Vampires in a similar fashion. It was a trademark of his twin. Jake loved dragging Vampires out into the sunlight and lighting them up, watching them fry and turn to ash. For him, staking them wasn’t enough. It was too quick of a death, he didn’t believe they felt the gravity of their Damned existence without real pain. This strategy was something Josh never questioned until now. Now that someone he…someone he knew was going through it.

You tried to crack a few jokes every few minutes, promising him you had a much higher pain tolerance than the current situation would suggest, but he’d shush you each time, hoping that you would focus more on walking as fast as you could instead of banter. He looked down at your feet, your poor feet, while you hobbled around in your heels. You couldn’t take them off because that would expose your skin even more, and seering your skin on the hot sidewalk was out of the question.

On the next block, Josh spotted a covered bus stop, and nearly dragged you across the street to get you under the shelter. You collapsed onto the bench in a soft whimper, the sound made Josh’s chest feel tight. He thanked every being in the universe that no one else had been inside the bus stop, but that feeling of positivity was quickly shattered when you pulled his jacket down to drape over your shoulders and he saw just how much your mascara had run down your face from your tears.

You could see it all over his face that he was not only worried, but turning a bit green while looking over your slowly healing wounds.

“I’ve looked worse, I promise,” you said with a weak smile.

Josh shook his head, not only because he didn’t believe you, he also didn’t want to imagine how much worse you could possibly look, or any kind of scenario that would put you in such a state, “we’re only a few blocks away, ten minutes, tops.”

You nodded, feeling very weak despite the skin stitching itself together on your shins and ankles. Closing your eyes for a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, you reasoned with yourself, and you started to lay down on the bench. Josh, who had been standing in front of you as another barrier between you and the outside world, did not want you to fully lay down on the disgusting bench, and quickly sat next to you before you could fully collapse, his shoulder breaking the fall of your cheek. A sigh left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, and Josh took this time to just…look at you. By far this was the quietest he had ever seen you, and it unsettled him.

He looked down the street in the direction of his apartment building, once again mentally calculating just how far you had left. He wasn’t used to this, feeling empathy for anyone of your species, but it was getting hard to ignore the warmth that spread through his chest when he would catch you looking at him. He couldn’t journal these thoughts down, putting them on paper made them real. It was against everything he had been taught. All the lessons his father had drilled into his head. He could practically hear the lecture about no matter how tempting it was, at the end of the day humans were a food source to them. Nothing more, nothing less. A juicebox with legs. Humans were prey and Vampires the predators, but it was a hunters job to take that power back, to maintain the status quo of the ecosystem.

Josh cast his eyes up at the sky, which was only getting brighter by the second, and unfortunately it appeared to be a sunny day with not a single cloud on the horizon. He looked down at you, eyes closed and breathing slowly through your nose. You were still slumped against his shoulder, nearly assuming the fetal position to keep as much of your body under his jacket as possible. Your brows were knitted together in pain, and he hated the fact that you’d have to move soon, before the sun got any worse. Your legs had finally started looking normal, and his stomach lurched at the mental image of burns blistering their way through your skin again. He leaned his head down, and tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear.

Your name left his lips in a whisper, “I know you don’t want to get up, but we have three blocks to go and then we’ll be safe.”

You groaned in response, keeping your eyes closed. Three blocks. You could do it. Three blocks was nothing. You’re celebrating the big 3-5-0 this year, you got this. Slowly, you swung your legs off the bench, and winced as gravity put pressure on your feet in your heels. Josh stood up and got in front of you, letting you use his arms to help yourself stand up. Step one was done, and it wasn’t too bad! He pulled his jacket back over your head, and you looked up at him briefly, and saw the concern written all over his face.

“Three blocks?”

“Three blocks,” he confirmed.

With one foot in front of the other, you stepped out from under the bus stop, the light immediately made contact with your skin, and the sound was audible as you burned. You tried to make a few steps further, and stumbled over your own feet again. Before you could fall, Josh caught you in his arms. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to get you to his apartment and in the dark, now.

Before he realized what he said, a soft, “c’mon sweetheart,” left his lips. The last time he called you that was in a sneer, taunting you while he bound your wrists in those blasted cuffs. He didn’t have time to analyze why he said it again, and with autopilot taking over he scooped you up into his arms and started to carry you down the street. Your legs were still exposed to the sun, but he could make better time on his own instead of helping you hobble your way there. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do.

He crossed the street to the next block, not caring if the light was green or not. Two blocks now. Josh wanted to break out in a full run, but he didn’t want to draw too much attention to the two of you. The last thing he needed was someone stopping him to question what was wrong. He kept his brisk pace as he stole a glance down at you. You hadn’t even protested when he picked you up, and the fact that you didn’t have the energy to make a sarcastic comment, or even call him a name, made his anxiety so much worse.

One block to go. He could see the front door to his apartment building. He neglected to tell you that he also lived on the fourth floor, in an attic bedroom that was converted into a studio apartment, but he’d cross that bridge when he got you inside.

A car blared its horn as he walked out in front of it, but Josh paid it no mind as he darted across the street to his block. When he first moved in, he hated the ugly blue awning that was added years ago by someone with no taste, but he was thanking his stars as he ran up the steps and got you securely under it. He wouldn’t relax until he got you all the way upstairs, but the worst was over. He plunged his hand into his pocket for his keys, and nearly got them into the lock when they slipped out of his hands due to how hard they were shaking from adrenaline.

“God-fucking-damnit…” he cursed as he bent down to pick them up and try again, this time successfully and he wrenched the door open as fast as he could. He guided you inside and made sure to shut the door behind him. The house was old, probably Victorian, and there wasn’t a lot of natural light in the front entryway. The stairs leading up to the upper floors were almost as dark, and he was once again changing his mind over how much he hated the gloomy aesthetic at first.

Josh gave you a few minutes to collect yourself against the front door, before slowly pulling the jacket down so it just rested on your shoulders. Your makeup was completely ruined, mascara streaks were down both cheeks, your lipstick gone from your activities the night before, but your eyes…your eyes still had that spark in them. You made eye contact with him, and while your fatigue refused to let you fully smile, your eyes said everything they needed to.

Josh stood there, staring into your eyes with his hands in his pockets. This was probably the quietest the two of you had been around each other, but he didn’t mind it. Silence like this was nice, one could even describe it as warm.

The dimple in his left cheek started to form as he said, “only four flights of stairs to go…”

The smile in your eyes immediately disappeared and annoyance dripped from your voice, “four flights? You live in a fourth floor walk up?”

“I mean…it's technically the attic, but it's home for now.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, “fine I guess.”

Now it was his turn to be annoyed, “Well I’m sorry princess, would you like me to carry you up there so it's not too much trouble?”

You pushed off the door and started for the stairs, “no, I’m fine.”

The stairs creaked as you started your ascent, grumbling the whole time while Josh trailed behind you. He kept his ear out for any of the other tenants as you made your way through the different floors. The walls in the building were obnoxiously thin, even all the way up in the attic where he stayed.

The main staircase ended on the third floor, and you turned to look at him for where to go next. Josh led you down the hall, where a set of steep and narrow stairs were positioned in the corner, twisting up into the wall and out of sight. You knew stairs like this very well, as they were once used for servants whenever this house was first built. You had a brief flashback of similar stairs from your life before you were turned. There was no such thing as building codes back then, and architects didn’t care about servants' safety so the stairs to their quarters were often steep, uneven, and treacherous. Sighing, you started to trudge up the stairs, one heel stomp at a time. In any other circumstance, Josh would have rolled his eyes at your dramatics, but after what he saw on the street, he knew you weren’t faking your discomfort.

The landing at the top of the stairs was so small that the two of you were invading each other's personal space. Neither one of you acknowledged how your shoulders were touching, or how the back of your hands brushed against each other. The door to his apartment was angled with how it fit into the roof of the building, and Josh unlocked it quickly and stepped inside. When he didn’t hear your heels click clack on the wooden floor behind him, he turned around in confusion. You were standing in the doorway, hands against the frame with an expectant look on your face. Ah shit, he remembered, you had to be invited in.

He stepped back in front of you, dramatically bowed and said, “would you like to come in?”

“Why yes, I would,” you played along before stepping into his residence. Apartment buildings were a weird supernatural gray area for Vampires. In some buildings you couldn’t enter the front door without being invited in, and in others like this one you could freely move around the building but needed an invite into individual apartments. It was annoying as fuck but it was just something you had to live with.

It wasn’t a palace by any means, but you saw the potential in the apartment as you walked around. It was truly the definition of a studio apartment, with everything being in one whole room. The walls were painted a muted color, the floors were wooden and most likely original to the house. Josh hadn’t put much effort into decorating, mainly because he didn’t feel the need to spruce up what was essentially a crash pad. The kitchenette was to the left, a singular bowl and spoon sat in the sink, a box of cereal on the counter. There was a small, basic table between the kitchenette and the “living room” that consisted of a sofa and coffee table. Beyond that was a door to what you assumed was the bathroom, and the “bedroom” in the back. You were pleasantly surprised Josh had a real bed frame, and wasn’t a “mattress on the floor” kind of guy.

As you stood there checking the place out, Josh was flitting about the apartment shutting the blinds to all three windows his place had. There was just enough light coming through to keep it pleasant during the day but not enough to hurt you. He started to make a mental note to get some true black out curtains, but then shook his head because it wasn’t like you were going to be coming around all the time. This was a one time thing, out of convenience.

You walked over to the sofa, and collapsed down on it with a sigh. Josh sat next to you, grateful for the old dusty thing himself. Leaning forward, you attempted to unstrap your heels and finally free your feet of the wretched things, but the strap was being stubborn in the buckle and you almost ripped it off before you felt hands lifting your feet off the ground and onto the sofa between you and Josh. You looked up at him confused until you saw him work the buckle himself, freeing the strap and slowly sliding your shoe off your foot. Before you could protest he repeated the process with your other foot and gently placed your heels on the floor. You stared at him as he leaned back and relaxed on his end of the sofa.

“You didn’t have-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but out of the corner of your eye you noticed what was sprawled all over the coffee table. An unloaded black crossbow was resting on the surface, with a bunch of silver-tipped stakes strewn next to it. It was like a bucket of cold water was dumped on you. Reality set in. At the end of the day, Josh was a hunter, and not only that but he came from an entire line of hunters. And you? You were of the species his family had set out to eradicate.

“How many Vampires have you killed?” Josh jumped at your words, not expecting that question.

“Alone or…with my brothers?”

“Total.”

Josh scratched under his chin, quickly adding up numbers, “Over one hundred, give or take.”

You straightened up against the sofa, inching away from him slightly. Hearing an actual number sobered you up even more.

“Now, it's only fair that I ask you how many humans you’ve killed.”

It was your turn to jump at his question. The first five, or even ten years of your life as a Vampire were blurry, genuinely. The Vampire that made you wasn’t very concerned about your wellbeing, and essentially turned you and set you loose onto the world with very little guidance. It took a shit ton of conscious effort on your part to hone your hunting habits, to learn from your mistakes and find as much of a peaceful existence as you could.

“Dozens…if I had to guess.”

He turned and looked at you, “if you had to guess?”

“I don’t exactly write these things down. Have you ever counted how much livestock you’ve eaten?”

“That's entirely different and you know it.”

“Is it? I’m sorry we’re such imperfect creatures. I can’t go back and change any of it.”

Josh held back a scoff, physically too exhausted to argue with you now. He sighed and let the subject drop. His eyes looked at your disheveled form once more, and realized you probably wanted to shower and change. Without a word he lifted himself off the sofa, retreating into the bedroom portion of his apartment to find you something to wear. He went through a few drawers to settle on a pair of red boxers and an old gray t-shirt, it was at least something. Walking over, he crossed in between the coffee table and the sofa, blocking your view of the crossbow and stakes.

“Look, I don’t want to fight with you right now,” he said, holding the bundles of clothes out to you, as a small peace offering.

You eyed the t-shirt and boxers, “I’m glad to know you’re not a tighty-whities guy.” Josh gave you a look, sarcasm was at least better than outright refusing his help. “Ok…lead me to the shower, Boy Scout.”

For once, Josh was grateful to hear the nickname. He reached out and helped you off the sofa, as you were still a little wobbly on your feet. The door to the one bathroom he had was barely ten feet away, but he led you all the way there, opening the door and flicking on the light. The shower stall was tiny, even for him, but the water pressure was decent so he couldn’t complain too much.

“What, no clawfoot tub?” You feigned offense, laughing a little before walking in. Before you shut the door, you gave him a serious look, “...thanks again.” He gave you a soft smile and nodded, turning away as you shut the door completely.

When you heard his footsteps retreat away from the door, you turned around to really give the bathroom an inspection. You could tell so much about a person by their bathroom alone, and you had questions about the hunter who lived here. The first thing you checked was the shower. Pulling back the tiny curtain your eyes swept over the shower caddy that was hanging behind the showerhead. Oh thank fuck he had separate shampoo and conditioner, you thought. He even had a separate body wash, another green flag! The bar might be in hell, but at least this man kept himself actually clean.

You twisted the shower knobs to get the ideal temperature, and as the water was heating up you turned and looked at the tiny pedestal sink on the opposite wall. It was pretty decluttered except for a toothbrush and a cup on the back of the sink. There was a free-standing basket organizer next to the sink, which seemed to be a dumping ground for a bunch of hair styling tools. Most notably was the full size hair dryer and clippers that were plugged into the wall charging. The mental image of Josh standing in front of the mirror trimming back the sides of his head flashed in your mind and you focused on it for longer than you should have. You recalled how fresh it looked when you met up in the park, and had to shake your head to focus again. Turning around you reached your hand out to test the water, thankful the temp was just right before stripping down and stepping in.

Outside in the main living area of the apartment, Josh was zooming around the room cleaning up anything and everything. His first line of business was putting away the crossbow and stakes, throwing them in the back of his small, barely-there closet. He peeked outside one of the windows to gauge how high the sun was, and he was dismayed to find that it was still just as bright as it was before, with zero clouds in the sky. He triple checked the rest of the windows to make sure they were firmly shut and the blinds secure, so that no light would filter in accidentally. He didn’t have many lamps, but the few he did have he flicked them all on so that it didn’t look as dreary as it could. After he got done scrubbing the dishes in the sink he sat back on the sofa and took his phone out. He huffed when he saw a missed call from his brother Sam, and a bunch of texts from Jake. The voicemail Sam had left wasn’t urgent at all, just that he was pissed Josh had taken off with a bunch of the files he had put together without asking. Whatever, he’d get over it, Josh thought. But it was the texts from Jake that made him pause.

Jake: I should be there in a few days, maybe less if I make good time.

Shit shit shit shit shit, Josh panicked, it had completely slipped his mind that Jake was due for a visit. Well, he reasoned to himself, she won’t be here after today, so it shouldn’t be an issue. He just hoped that Jake didn’t decide to take any shortcuts while traveling. Jake wasn’t a flier, he rarely took planes unless absolutely necessary. He loved driving on the open road across the states. “You never know when you’d run into one of the Undead,” he’d always say. He didn’t mind side quests to pick off a few more Vampires as long as it didn’t interfere with his main plans.

As he tossed his phone to the side, he heard the water shut off in the shower. The tips of his ears tinged pink when he realized just how fast he whipped his head in the direction of the bathroom door. He turned back to look down at his hands when the door opened, not wanting to be caught staring in your direction. But he couldn’t help himself, and slowly turned his head towards you as your footsteps made the old floor creak.

He was frozen in his spot on the sofa, seeing you walk out in his boxers and t-shirt, hair still wet from the shower and pulled to the side, all of your makeup from the night before gone. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying, “wow” out loud.

When you saw him look up from the sofa, you almost tripped over thin air. Those big brown eyes looked even wider, and was that a hint of red on his cheeks? His jaw was clenched tightly, but his adams apple was bobbing. Did he forget you could hear how fast his heart was beating? Did he realize you could hear it hammering in your head? Most of the time you tuned out human heartbeats. It was second nature to you. But his was too loud to ignore. Was he aware of how it stuttered when you made eye contact with him? Did he know that you could hear it thumping harder and harder as you walked closer to him?

You stopped a couple feet away from him, shifting your weight from foot-to-foot as you looked down at him on the sofa. You felt like a silly little girl. This was just Josh. The same man who had you up against a tree with a knife to your throat not even two nights ago. The same man who pledged his life to hunt your kind down.

Boy Scout.

Instead, you felt your own cheeks heat up at the way he was staring at you. Why wasn’t he blinking? Why was his stare so intense? Why the fuck couldn’t you even speak? You were just standing there, still damp from the shower, wearing his old clothes. This wasn’t…this wasn’t a big deal. He was still sitting there, still in his attire from the Den, though his shoes were off and his shirt was unbuttoned a few buttons.

But all you could lamely say was, “if you umm…if you need the shower its open…”

You wanted to fall through the floor and never be seen again.

At your words, he finally blinks at you and nods, “right.”

You take turns taking airy breaths through your noses as he stands up and awkwardly side steps you on his way to the bathroom. You didn’t dare turn around as you heard him rummaging through his drawers for new clothes. It was too domestic. That's not what this was supposed to be. You were just crashing here while the sun was out. The minute it disappeared beneath the horizon you were out of there.

At last, you heard the door to the bathroom shut. But you didn’t let your shoulders fully relax until you heard the shower start. Desperate to distract yourself, you took a glance around the apartment once more. The first thing you noticed was how the crossbow and stakes were nowhere to be found. You didn’t fight the way the corners of your mouth twitched at the observation.

Once again you were alone, and you were taking advantage of it to be nosy. For someone who hadn’t been living there very long, Josh sure loved his knick knacks. His apartment looked so…lived in. You could tell he had tidied up while you were busy in the shower, which wasn’t helping your previous thought spiral. There was a classic ship-in-a-bottle sitting on the end table under the lamp, and you wondered where he got it from or what the significance was. The ship was specifically a pirate ship as well, which was an interesting observation to you. You’d have to ask him about-

What the fuck…

As you entered the bedroom portion of the apartment once again, you turned to the far wall that you hadn’t really paid attention to earlier. Before you was dozens of papers and photos tacked onto the wall, with an almost comical amount of red string zigzagging around from paper to paper. On the floor in front of the display were a few folders. He really wasn’t kidding, he genuinely had files on us, you thought. You got closer to the wall to inspect his handiwork. There were post-it notes slapped onto every photo, with what you realized was Josh’s chicken scratch filling up each yellow square. A lot of the photos were street views of the city, with at least 6 photos of dead humans in the corner. The bodies that had been found. You weren’t sure how to react when you recognized one of the street views. In fact it wasn’t even a street at all, but an alley. The alley that Josh had almost captured you in. A post-it was peeling off of the top corner labeled, “First Encounter.”

You stood there, motionless while trying to decipher his evidence board. His thought process was all over the place, that much was obvious. As if he was trying every theory he could come up with and seeing what stuck. It was cute how he had papers with information about Vampires scattered amongst the “evidence”. Some of it was right…but a lot of it was blatantly wrong. Most of the papers seemed to be pages torn out of books, and you wondered what the hell kind of books he was getting these out of. There were a few “famous” books written by hunters for other hunters to give them tips on how to properly destroy the Undead. But the joke was on them, for Vampires had been spreading misinformation about their kind for centuries just to throw off hunters. The rumor that Vampires didn’t have a reflection was started by a Vampire Persuading a hunter into spreading that as fact, and even now in the present you’d still hear humans mentioning it as a “foolproof” way to spot a Vampire.

Looking back down at the floor where the files were, you slowly sat down in front of them to start reading. Unsurprisingly, a file with your name on it was sitting on top. The first page to greet you after you opened it was a basic summary page of you. Standard stats like your name, hair color, eye color, height, age, presumed birth place, etc. The rest of the file consisted of multiple stories about you from over the centuries you lived. Places you had settled in, Nests you had been a part of, but most of it was…inaccurate at best. Or at least, whoever had gathered this information had the right idea, but most of the details were wrong. This didn’t bother you, because they didn’t need to know your real business anyway, but it was so funny to you how they tried their best and still came up short.

One detail did catch your eye when you flipped back to the first page, at the bottom of the paper in the same scribble from the post-its were the words:

Favorite color: Purple.

You were so engrossed in reading “about” yourself that you didn’t even hear the water shut off, or the bathroom door open. You didn’t hear the skipping heartbeat behind you, or the slow footsteps making their way over. But when you felt the floor creak next to you, and a gentle thump as your hunter sat down, that's when you looked up and turned your head towards him. His knee was so close to yours that you could feel the heat coming off of his damp skin, his leg hair gently brushing against your own knee. He was dressed similarly to you, boxers and a t-shirt. His curls were still damp and not as poofy. Once again he looked so…normal. There was worry written all over his features, as if he was bracing himself for your reaction.

“You actually wrote that my favorite color was purple?” The way his shoulders visibly relaxed when he realized you weren’t upset at it was adorable.

“Could be useful information, you never know.”

“It would suck if I had just been fucking with you and it wasn’t actually purple.”

Joshs eyes went wide and he started to reach for the file, which you snatched away from him and held it above you, “is it not…?”

You laughed at him, “no Boy Scout, it is, but my age is wrong.”

“It is?”

“Yep. I turn exactly 350 this year. Well, 325 if you don’t count my human years.”

His brows furrowed inquisitively, “You were 25 when you were turned?”

“A full quarter century of living in the sun, yes.”

“Do you miss it?”

You hummed at him, “miss what?”

“The sun?”

“I miss when it wasn’t trying to burn me alive, but sunny days themselves? No. It took awhile to adjust to being completely nocturnal but it is what it is.” You shrugged and looked over the file again, “who put this together anyway? Did you?”

Josh shook his head, “no, my little brother Sam gets all the credit for these,” he waved his hand at the rest of the files. “He handles the bulk of our intelligence. The kid always has his nose in a book or on the internet researching things. It was his idea to start a file system. He was tired of flipping through journals and books and wanted a centralized system that he spent a week locked in the basement consolidating information not only in physical files but he digitized it as well.”

You held back a snicker, “well…no offense to Sam…but most of this is wrong. But I’m ok with that. The less your family knows about my history, the better.”

He smiled and leaned closer to you, letting your shoulders touch, smiling, “he didn’t even know I took these…he left me a pissy voicemail earlier when he realized he had files missing.”

You laughed softly, “Whoops.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed black markings on his right thigh, peeking out from under his boxers. “Is that a tattoo?”

Josh looked down at his leg and back up at you, before pulling up the leg of his boxers far enough to show you the mark in question. It was a triangle with a circle in the center, criss crossed with different lines. It wasn’t a small mark by any means, it took up a substantial amount of space on the top of his thigh. “Sort of…”

“What do you mean?”

Josh took a breath and answered, “it's a sigil…to prevent Vampires from using their Persuasion on me.”

Goddamnit, Les was right again.

“How the fuck did you get a Witch to give you that?”

“My brother Jake has this Witch friend. She’s been a friend of the family for a couple years now and after a while she came to him with these to help us out.” Josh explained it so matter of fact, but your eyebrows raised nearly to your hairline at this information.

Witches and Vampires weren’t exactly friends…but there was typically a mutual respect between supernatural creatures. Generally, Witches trusted humans about as much as Vampires did, and while friendships weren’t unheard of, a Witch going out of her way to help out a hunter? That was…that was a betrayal. You started to spiral at how wrong that was, until you looked up Josh, and remembered you’re wearing a hunters clothes, sitting in a hunters apartment, after using said hunters shower. It wasn’t the same…but it wasn’t that much different either. You did question what it was about Jake that made the Witch essentially betray her own kind to help him.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and gently traced some of the lines of the sigil. The silence was deafening, and his eyes never left your hand. The muscles in his thigh felt firm, especially when they tensed under your touch. It looked like a regular tattoo, but there was a heat in the ink. You had seen sigils a few times over the years, mainly on Witches themselves, but you had never touched one. Not like this. You didn’t realize the marks felt…alive almost, as if they were living in the skin of their hosts.

“Do you feel that all the time?”

Joshs skin felt like it was on fire, but for an entirely different reason. He wanted to answer your question, but words were escaping him. He could only focus on steadying his breathing while your fingers lightly traced his skin.

You heard it again, his heart hammering in his chest, and it spurred you on to trail your fingers up to the top of the triangle. He was so easy to mess with. His skin was so soft?

Goddamnit, focus.

You snatched your hand away from his thigh and turned your attention back to the files, sifting through the others.

Josh was a mess of conflicting emotions, still watching you like a hawk while he barely moved. But finally he spoke, “to answer your question…yeah…I feel it all the time.”

You wanted to look over, look at him again, but you didn’t allow yourself to do so. Silence filled the room once more. You needed to change the subject.

“Dimitri is super picky about humans being turned, Monica probably didn’t want him to see how Ethan was acting last night.”

Right, back to business, Josh thought. “He’s a walking liability. I don’t think she was telling the truth at all about how long it had been since their last “incident. But does Dimitri have any actual say over who gets turned and who doesn’t?”

“It's not like…an actual rule, but he is the oldest Vampire in this area. It's more of an unsaid agreement out of respect. He rarely turns people himself, but he’ll string along humans for years on the promise of it, before setting them loose with no memory of him at all,” you explained.

“If that’s the case then it was pretty stupid of your friend to bring him around, especially to the Den of all places,” Josh countered.

You nodded in agreement, “definitely but I think Monica was trying to be…normal. I’ve known her for a long time and she’s always been pretty lonely.”

“Lonely enough to turn the first human to look at her twice?”

You turned to look at him, “it happens.” Josh opened his mouth to ask another question but you cut him off, “...no I have not considered doing the same.”

Another beat of silence.

Josh reached over to grab the post-it notepad on the floor and a pen. He scribbled Monica and Ethans names and slapped the post-it on an empty spot on the wall.

“Do you think she’d be du-...naive enough to bring him back to the Den any time soon?”

“You want to go back?” You were surprised at the suggestion.

“It's not like I want to go back…but I do want to hear more about these “incidents” she mentioned, and they ran off before we could ask any real questions.”

You chewed on your lip, “knowing her, she’d go back.”

“Tonight?”

“You want to go back tonight?”

Josh shrugged, “the faster we get more information, the faster we can figure this out,” his hand waved at the wall. Truthfully, he just wanted to get this out of the way before his brother showed up and threw a wrench into his plans.

You blinked and considered it. “Fine, but as soon as the sun sets I’m out of here to go get ready at my place. Can’t show up wearing the same thing as last night, can I?”

Josh nodded in agreement, “deal.”

The yawn you had been fighting finally escaped you. You needed sleep, especially if you had a long night ahead of you.

Josh jumped up and immediately went over to his bed, “if you umm…need to sleep, you can sleep here. I can take the couch.”

You stood up and walked over and looked at the bed. Of course he’d have the standard navy blue plaid bedding. But it looked…comfortable. The mere existence of a real bed frame was a plus. “Ok…but you don’t have to sleep on that rickety couch. The bed is big enough to share.”

He donned the most skeptical look you’ve ever seen him make, “the couch is fine.”

“That couch is held together by duct tape and a wish. I know how fragile human backs are. I don’t need you hobbling around the Den because you slept funky.”

“Fine.”

Without another word, you slipped into his bed. Josh wanted to point out that you were technically on his side, but he decided against it. It was just one night, or day? It would be fine. He climbed in on the other side, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore how close you were. You also were looking at the ceiling, refusing to look over at him. All you needed was a nap before you began your night. No big deal.

“Good night.”

“Night,” you rolled over and clicked off the lamp, throwing that end of the apartment into darkness. Well, as dark as it could be in the middle of the day with the blinds shut.

Sleep came for both of you pretty quickly, the exhaustion of the previous night and the walk to his apartment this morning taking its toll.

~!~

You weren’t sure how long you slept, but the next time you opened your eyes the apartment was substantially darker than when you had fallen asleep. The second thing you noticed was an arm firmly wrapped around your waist. Josh. Shit. You started to reach down to peel his arm off of you when the arm in question suddenly tightened up and nearly yanked you backwards. What the hell? The next thing you heard was Josh mumbling in his sleep. You couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he sounded pissed. Carefully, you rolled over to face him. His eyes were screwed shut, brows deeply furrowed. His grip around your waist tightened further, and his legs started to kick. Was he having a nightmare? Oh no. The mumbling continued, and you still couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Get the fuck-,” was clear as day coming from his lips.

Using your strength, You pushed him on his back and hovered over his face. He had your t-shirt balled up in his fist against your back. Softly, you reached up and gently touched his cheek, his jaw twitching under your touch.

“Josh…Josh, wake up.” That didn’t work, and he continued to squirm underneath you. “Come on Josh, you gotta wake up. You’re having a nightmare…,” you tapped his face a little harder. “Boy Scout…wake up.” The sweat was beading up on his forehead, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. You hated seeing him like this. Reaching for his shoulders this time, you began to lightly shake him, gradually increasing the force as you did so.

After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes shot open. Immediately, he seemed confused, as if he wasn’t sure where he was. He looked up at you, and the hand that was gripping your t-shirt flexed against your back.

“Hey…it's ok…it's me,” you shushed him quietly.

He sprang away from you, sitting up against his head board, still trying to get his bearings. You used this as an opportunity to flick on the light, returning to face him.

His eyes still seemed a little lost, as if he was still trying to wake himself up and plant himself in reality. “What…what time is it?”

You looked over your shoulder at the clock on the nightstand, 7:38 PM flashed in red letters. “About twenty-to-eight. Nighttime.”

He nodded slowly while running his hands over his face. “You should umm…you should probably head home then. To get ready.”

“Are you ok? Do you want to talk-”

“I’m fine. It was just a nightmare.” His voice was stiff and cold. He didn’t want to talk about it, or acknowledge his bad dream at all. They were common for him, nothing to worry about.

“You don’t seem fine,” your voice was laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. He hadn’t used that tone with you since the other night in the park.

Nodding, you got out of bed and began to gather your things. You peeked outside one of the windows. It wasn’t super dark yet, but it was dark enough that you could make it home without any problems.

Josh hadn’t moved from his spot in his bed, but he was watching you move around his apartment gathering your things. You were leaving, but he would see you later tonight. He just…he needed to be alone right now. Your dress was draped over your arm, your heels in your hand and you were almost to the door before he sprung out of his bed. He wasn’t a complete douche, he’d get the door for you. As he reached for the doorknob he looked down and saw you didn’t have any real shoes to walk home in.

“You can’t just-” he grumbled to himself before turning around and marching back to his bedroom and scooping up a well-worn pair of Birkenstocks and a zip-up hoodie. He almost let you leave without shoes. He felt even worse now.

“Here, I think your feet have been messed up enough for one day,” he said as he met you back at the door and gently set the Birks in front of you to step in. It was the least he could do, but the thoughtful gesture struck you anyway. You eyed him for a second before slipping your feet into them and surprisingly, the size wasn’t too far off from your own. When your feet were secured he handed the jacket to you. You started to protest but he cut you off, “I don’t care if Vampires can’t get cold, you’re taking it.”

You smiled softly at your hunter. You were just as worried about him. Did he have nightmares that bad all the time? How often? What were they about? You hated that he wouldn’t let you truly help, but you understood it. It's not easy to open up about something as personal as dreams. Your hand gently brushed his as he handed the jacket to you, and you slipped it on silently as you continued to look at him.

“Thanks Josh…,” the sheepishness in your voice was foreign to you, but you didn’t mind it.

“I’ll uhh…I’ll see you tonight. Same time?”

“Same tree?”

Josh nodded, “same tree.”

“See you soon, Boy Scout.”

With that you turned and started going down the winding stairs, a little sad when you heard the door shut behind you. But that was ok, you had a few hours before you’d see him again. As you landed on the third floor, you caught the eye of one of Josh’s neighbors in the hallway. The old man looked you up and down, noticing your attire, before glancing up at the stairs behind you. He turned to open his own door, muttering, “good for him…,” before disappearing into his apartment.

Oh god, you rolled your eyes and beelined out of the building, needing to get home to get ready for your next exciting evening at Dimitri’s Blood Den.

~!~

This time when the two of you descended the stairs into the Den, you were ready. The game plan was more solid this time, as Josh knew what to expect. Instead of going towards the booths, you opted for one of the antique couches in the middle of the room, where you could have an even better vantage point.

You sat next to your hunter, about to get up and go to the bar for a drink when he turned to you and said, “A-Negative Manhattan, right?”

His assertiveness caught you off guard, but you liked seeing him more settled into your world. You nearly beamed at him and said, “of course, thank you.” He nodded before getting up and going up to the bar to order your drink.

When you had met up in the park earlier, he hadn’t spoken that much. He seemed fine, but you could tell something was bothering him. You decided against asking him if he wanted to talk about the nightmare, or how he had tangled himself up with you in the process, in favor of keeping it light and “work” related.

Josh was still at the bar waiting for your drink when you spotted Monica and Ethan come down the stairs. Relief flooded through you that they had showed up so quickly, and you made a big show of waving them over to sit on the couch opposite of yours. It was when they sat down that you noticed they had a human girl with them tonight.

“Who is this?” you feigned interest in their new companion.

“Oh this is Rachael! We found her earlier tonight,” Monica replied brightly. Rachael had a dreamy expression on her face. She had definitely been Persuaded to be there. Tale as old as time. Ethan was seated between Rachael and Monica, and it made you nervous.

You were snapped out of your reverie when a familiar cocktail was held in front of you. You took it eagerly and looked up at Josh while he sat down beside you. For the briefest of moments, the gesture felt so…normal. You were afraid of even thinking of the word domestic, but it was right there, begging to be dreamed about.

“Oh my god you did end up keeping this one!” Monica squawked from her couch.

“What can I say? He was too pretty to let go,” you mused, playing your part. At least you thought you were just playing long. You reached up and gave a playful pinch to his chin, which earned you a look from Josh, but you could see him fighting a smile.

At the sight of Josh, Ethan snapped his attention from Rachael and zeroed in on the hunter. What was it about Josh that Ethan was so fascinated by? A thought occurred to you, that typically new vampires' sense of smell was especially heightened as they got used to their existence. Being able to suddenly smell blood was an indescribable experience. It was too complex to be merely described as a new type of food. The first feed one has after they’re turned is a complete out of body experience. Human psychedelics don’t even come close to how your brain warps and rewires itself in real time. In that regard, you almost pitied Ethan in his clear lack of control. It's often said that not every human is meant to be turned. It isn’t cut out for everyone. The same could be said for other supernatural creatures who have the ability to turn humans into their own kind. Someone could be a complete disaster of a Vampire, but an incredible Werewolf. But no one ever knows for sure until it happens. Until their precious human lives are completely dismantled and changed. Until their very DNA is unrecognizable.

You wondered if Ethan was literally smelling Josh, and that's why he was acting the way he was. It was a thought you had refused to allow yourself to have. Any thought of tasting him died when you learned he was a hunter. Even when Dimitri had his teeth in him, you were more worried about his well being than what kind of snack he’d be. But what was it Dimitri said? That his blood tasted…spicy? Was he being literal? Was he just fucking with him?

“I want him.” Ethan blurted out.

Monica leaned over and shushed him, “no Ethan, he’s her Human Companion tonight…you have Rachael.”

“She can share,” he gritted out. You felt Josh stiffen next to you. No. You weren’t allowing this to happen again. You took a long sip of your Manhattan, giving Monica a warning look. One hand gripped your glass, the other reached across Josh’s lap and planted itself on his right thigh. You could feel the subtle heat of the sigil through the fabric of his pants.

Ethan grew restless in his seat, completely abandoning Rachael and turning his full attention to Josh. Monica threw you a pleading look, as if she was hoping you’d relent and let him have a taste, but you refused. Dimitri might have not given a shit about pleasantries, but he was older than you, and had more authority, and honestly intimidated the hell out of you. Monica? Not so much. She was younger than you by nearly 200 years. She was a toddler in comparison.

Setting your drink down on the coffee table between the couches, you kept your glare steady on Ethan. Your hand moved from Josh’s thigh to his wrist, you gently rubbed your thumb over the veins and tendons. A visual reminder that if anyone was feeding from him, it was going to be you.

Monica looked visibly panicked, “if you just let him have a taste he’ll be fine I promise…”

“No. He’s mine.”

Josh turned to you, trying to silently give you a signal. He didn’t want to whisper to you and risk Monica, or worse, Ethan overhearing what he was saying. In the last two days, he had come to realize he had known far less about Vampires than he previously thought, but he could see a struggle for dominance when he saw one. He didn’t want a repeat of last night just as much as you did, and at this point, there was only one way to make sure that didn’t happen.

Making eye contact with you, he slowly turned his neck to the side, offering it to you. If he was going to get fed on, by you especially, he wanted the real deal. He didn’t want his wrist used as a straw. If you were going to feed on him, you were going to feed on him.

You saw what he was offering, and your eyes locked with his, making sure you understood him correctly. With the slightest nod, you got your answer. You threw a side eye to Monica and Ethan, it was your time to shine. At this, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself to truly inhale Josh’s scent. God, you thought. You had caught a faint whiff of him in the alley, when he was distracting you with that kiss, but this was so different. There was something bright about his scent, citrusy, clean, a hint of vanilla? It was delicious, and it was about to be yours.

With a steady hand, you tilted his jaw to the side a little more, giving yourself better access. Nearly raising yourself to your knees on the couch, you leaned in close to his neck. Your breath fanned over his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The one good thing about Dimitri feeding on him the night before was that he had more of a clue as to what he was in for. He thought he did, at least. He cast his eyes down towards you, your fangs descended from your upper jaw, and he realized just how well they suited you. Like they were made to be part of you, as if you were born for this.

You gave him one last look of reassurance, before lowering your teeth to his skin. You huffed out a final breath against his neck, before your fangs finally began piercing his skin. It was quick, and the familiar burn started at the puncture wounds. But that wasn’t the best part. No…when your lips sealed themselves against his skin around the punctures, and you took that first true pull of his blood? His eyes instantly rolled back. Whatever your technique, if you could call it a technique, you used was so drastically different than Dimitri. This time, being fed on didn’t feel “weird”, it felt…good. This time, the way his blood went backwards against its natural current, it was invigorating. He felt his veins come alive. With each subsequent pull from you, he felt like he was floating higher and higher. Your hand shifted from his jaw to the other side of his neck, pulling him even closer.

As for you, the second his blood hit your tongue you were moaning against his neck. You were right, the citrus notes, the undercurrent of vanilla, but the aftertaste was strong, and oh so Josh. You needed more of him. It felt like a privilege to feed on him, you would forever rue the day that Demitri got to be the first Vampire to taste him. He didn’t deserve that honor. But something in the back of your mind wanted to make sure you were the last Vampire to ever feed on him. There was no one else in the room in your mind other than Josh. You were so focused on his taste that you almost didn’t notice his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you to straddle his lap. Immediately you complied and settled yourself onto his thighs, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck. The growing bulge underneath you almost made you pause your feeding. It made you smile against his skin when you realized he was enjoying himself. Instinctively you grinded down against him, delighting in the moan that rattled his throat against your teeth. His hands moved to your hips and pulled them down even harder against him, gripping your hips so hard that would’ve left bruises on a human woman. But you weren’t fragile like that, you could take it, whatever he had to offer, you would take it no questions asked.

You had been latched onto him for a while at this point, and you still had enough wits about you to listen to his heart rate. It was beginning to slow down, which was your cue that his body had enough. For now. With the slightest reluctance, you withdrew your fangs from his neck. You couldn’t resist going back, licking the excess blood around the puncture wounds, cleaning up your mess. With a flurry, you pricked your finger with your teeth to draw enough blood to heal the wounds. When they started to close up, you raised your head to look him in the eyes. Those big brown eyes, nearly black now with blown out pupils. He looked completely blissed out, and it was all because of you.

You felt his blood dripping from the corners of your mouth, and you could feel it smeared all over your chin. Before you could push any excess back into your mouth, Josh’s hands reached up and pulled your face to crash against his. Oh god, you thought once again. The feeling of his lips against yours made you grind down on him again, and he moaned into your mouth, which gave you access to slide your tongue against his. You still had blood in your mouth, and even if he was human and not getting the full scope of how good it was, he was getting a taste of not only you, but himself. One of his hands was tangled in your hair, the other slid down to grip your ass underneath your skirt. You were vaguely aware you were causing a scene, even if enthusiastic feedings were considered the norm, the private rooms existed for a reason, and you were quickly approaching the territory of needing one.

With the both of you wrapped up in each other, you weren’t aware of how the music changed, how the live pianist took their post at the piano bench, playing a familiar melody. You didn’t see Dimitri and Yvonne enter the room. You didn’t see how Dimitri was watching you both, an unreadable smile on his face. You especially didn’t see Yvonne’s hard stare, wheels turning in her head.

You pulled off to let Josh breathe, and you opened your eyes to stare down at him. His blood was all over his face, all in his goatee, his mustache, even dipped in his cheek scar. He looked so fucking beautiful that way, with his hooded, blissed out eyes. You wanted, no you needed all of him.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“My place is closer,” he breathed out. Of course, and this time you didn’t have to fight the sun to get there. The night was still young.

You smiled and slid off of him reluctantly, reaching out to help him off the couch. As he rose to his full height, he intertwined his fingers with yours.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, “lead the way, Boy Scout…”

He smirked at you before leading you through the various groups of people, through an empty private room, and up the stairs to the street. This time only moonlight greeted you at the second landing, the chilly night air washing over the both of you as you went back to that cozy attic apartment you hadn’t wanted to leave hours prior.

Maybe it was the blood talking, but you didn’t want this high to ever end.

To be continued…

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#josh kiszka #josh kiszka x reader #josh gvf #greta van fleet #enemies to lovers #slow burn #my fics #I see hell in your eyes #🩸🖤

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