#she will never not be abusive and controlling

[pupyuj]

dubcon pervy! g!p gym trainer yujin who touches you on parts she’s not supposed to?🤤 you’d be bent over the equipment and she’d press her hard cock against you with her fingers ghosting right above your breasts but that’s ok cuz she’s only correcting your form, right? right??!? it goes on for many sessions but you were a bit dumb to realize her advances :( so one day as she instructs you to do a stretcg that bends you over and gives her a delicious view of your ass, she loses all self-control, pushes your head against the yoga mat, and fucks you from behind hard and nasty like a rabid dog😫she’s been restraining herself for soooo long! and poor you couldn’t do anything but take her big cock cuz she was too strong (grabbing both of your wrists behind your back) :( both of you go on fucking in different positions, on every gym equipment, nonstop. and did i mention, you were a dumb virgin :( and it only turned yujin on even more when you were crying and begging her to stop bc you were unfamiliar with this (extremely good) sensation stirring up in your stomach :((( poor reader has never even touched herself before :( and all yujin wanted to do was to corrupt you😵‍💫

-🍒

this ask has been rotting in my drafts for months omg apologies 🍒 anon 😭😭💔 as always one can never go wrong with pervy yuj 🤓

[cw: dubcon.]

totally into the idea of this yujinnie here being someone you’ve actually known beforehand like maybe she’s an older sibling’s friend or smth so you feel super comfortable around her and is thus blind to anything weird she does to you 😵‍💫 bcs as far as you know that’s just who yujin is: affectionate and naturally touchy-feely with people that she knows! ofc that made it especially easy for her to get away with doing pervy things such as very very sexual comments about your body that she passed off as either jokes or ‘really specific compliments’, briefly brushing her hands against your boobs, touching your ass, etc. 🫣 and the touching doesn’t even stop outside of your one-on-one meetings! seriously, how could you be so stupid to ignore how her hand always rested so suspiciously low whenever she had an arm wrapped around your waist… she was almost disappointed that it was all too easy but you were still so pretty that she needed to fuck you 😳😳

she was hoping to slowly push you into wanting her back just so nobody can tell her shit about abusing her ‘position’ over you as this mentor figure, but one day you just showed up in a particularly skimpy outfit and that was the last straw for her! all morals out the window 😭 and it didn’t help that yujin hadn’t gotten off for days too.. it was perfect! yujinnie watching with bated breath while you were doing your cute little warm-up stretches, she didn’t care to hide her hard-on anymore because why would she?? you’ll get to see her dick in a matter of minutes anyway 🥰 but as morbidly horny yujin was, she doesn’t get to it right away! she had some manners! 😤 she helps you out with a few workouts as per usual, shares a few jokes and conversations here and there, she even showed you some pictures of her little puppy just to get you nice and comfortable… then you were finally laying on your back on a yoga mat while yujin towered above you, ‘helping’ you with some sit-ups although that wasn’t something that was in your routine before…

ah, yujinnie taking advantage of your exhaustion.. your head seemed to have taken you elsewhere bcs you rlly didn’t notice how she had fit herself in between your legs, her hard cock poking at your clothed cunt, her hands keeping your legs apart without too much pressure so you wouldn’t notice… that was until you blinked and set your eyes on yujin again.. “uhm.. unnie?” oh you were so stupid! really!? that’s all you’ll say about this extremely awkward and frankly, humiliating situation??! yujin couldn’t believe her ears, and her eyes! you didn’t make a single move to scuttle away like she expected you to!

it takes yujin a thrust of her hips for your poor instincts to finally kick in and you attempted to push her off.. only to have your wrists pinned above your head 😣 and before you knew it, your pants have been pulled down and you were taking yujin’s thick cock very painfully slowly.. she doesn’t bother to use her other hand to cover up your mouth, she needed to hear your voice.. hear how you whined and winced in pain but would moan her name at every thrust… and she likes how you got yourself to be free from her hold just to grab at her shirt and claw at her arms.. yk what she liked even more?? how you begged in tears for her to ‘wait’ and ‘slow down’ but didn’t make any attempts to push her away like before.. and ofc yujin doesn’t miss the way you’ve practically wrapped your legs around her waist—you wanted this!

if you ask me she was wayyy too ecstatic to help you with some other kind of workout 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ yujinnie practically manhandles you the entire time you fucked in that room… grabbing your waist tightly to the point she made marks on your skin with her nails then she’d aggressively push you around, making sure you’re in the perfect position to take her cock smoothly… face down, ass up, both of your hands gripping the mat for dear life while she pounds your holes… even making you gag and spit all over her fingers just to massage your clit in a way that makes you bite your lip until it bleeds… everything was painful, but it was also all just too good that you sat there and took it like the good girl yujin kept muttering that you were 😍

yujin’s big on praises for you bcs she always made sure to encourage you in your sessions but she was especially fond of you while she fucked your ass, for some reason! 🥰 so many “good girl”s and “good job”s… her praises only wanted you to be better for her ☹️☹️ so ofc you parted your own ass so she could go all out… literally thrusting into you like she will never fuck anyone ever again, biting your shoulder and drooling all over it like a dog in heat… you have never felt more accomplished in your life until yujin came inside you.. filling you up while you simultaneously squirted on her dick (which she liked very much btw!!) with a sweet moan that will surely be stuck in yujin’s head for daysss to come 😵‍💫

[ssa-dado]

7 - Cogito, ergo Sum

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: slow burn, sad just sad stuff, angst

Summary: On a train to Riverhead, you confront buried memories of your father’s death and the complex emotions stirred by Peter’s welcome back party, where Hotch’s past with Haley left you feeling like an outsider. Hotch, haunted by memories of his abusive father and first love with Haley, grapples with his choices and regrets. Meanwhile, Hotch and Peter clash over your safety and personal boundaries on the job, discovering the next target of a series of poisonings. Warnings: Grief, domestic violence, emotional abuse, anxiety, CM case. This is quite sad

Word Count: 4.5k

Dado's Corner: Not me sobbing like a kid while writing this haha. Poor Aaron you deserve a hug. That said, I experimented a bit with the style of this chapter - it's quite cinematic. I drew inspiration from Suits' 2×08 where Harvey goes to visit his father's grave and the narrative interlaces flashbacks, present and the characters' point of view so beautifully. Also - this has a sister chapter coming up next so don't worry.

previous chapter ; masterlist

The train rattled gently as it made its way toward your hometown, Riverhead, each passing mile pulling you deeper into a past you had long avoided. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks was a steady, relentless metronome, marking each second that brought you closer to face your father’s grave.

You glanced up to see a little girl holding her father’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his as they made their way to a seat just past yours. The sight was simple, ordinary - something that happened every day - but today, it felt like a punch to the chest.

Watching them, you felt the train become a catalyst for everything you’d been trying to bury; the pain surged, raw and unfiltered, hitting you all at once. The easy affection between them, was a reminder of what you could never have again. Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill as you stared at the floor, trying to swallow the ache of everything you’d lost. In that fleeting moment, the emptiness of your own hands felt unbearable, as if the absence of your father’s presence echoed a thousand times harder in the quiet hum of the train.

You stared out of the window, but the passing trees and fading buildings blurred into the background, their muted colors mingling with the fog of your thoughts. You’d taken the rare step of taking a day off to make this journey, a day that was supposed to be about finding some semblance of closure, or at least confronting the loss you’d tucked away behind your work.

But you hadn’t been able to think only of your father. Your mind kept drifting back to Peter’s welcome back party the previous week. Where you sat at the table, Gideon’s words lingering in the air, the concept of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis feeling painfully apt in that moment.

“Everyone, this is Haley,” Hotch said, his voice carefully controlled. “We… we go way back.”

Only now you could clearly see at how Haley smiled, but her eyes were constantly on Hotch, her presence radiating a sense of ease that only came from years of knowing someone deeply. “It’s been a long time, Aaron,” she said, her tone gentle but layered with unspoken memories. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You watched the interaction with a heavy heart, feeling like an outsider in your own team. The connection between them was undeniable, and for a moment, you felt a pang of jealousy, a sharp twist in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You had just started to let your guard down with Hotch, to allow yourself to see him not just as your stoic coworker who would crack a joke every once in a while - but as someone you could trust, someone who understood you. And now, here was a piece of his past that you hadn’t been privy to, thrown in your face without warning.

As the evening wore on, you tried to engage, to laugh at Rossi’s jokes and nod along with Gideon’s stories, but your mind kept drifting back to Hotch and Haley. You couldn’t help but feel the sting of not knowing this part of him, of realizing that no matter how close you’d gotten, there were still walls between you.

At one point, Hotch caught your eye from across the table. His expression softened, a silent question in his gaze, as if he could sense your discomfort. But before he could say anything, Haley leaned in, pulling his attention back to her, and the moment passed.

Gideon, ever observant, leaned closer to you, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over you.

“You know, Y/N,” he said thoughtfully, tapping the cover of the book you’d bought for Hotch, “Hegel’s all about finding balance. Sometimes, the only way forward is to let go of what you thought you knew and embrace the contradictions.”

You nodded, but the words felt too close to home. You weren’t sure how to find balance in this moment, how to reconcile the sudden wave of emotions crashing over you. All you could do was hold on and hope that, somehow, things would make sense again.

Now your mind was buzzing with a mix of emotions: shock, confusion, and a sinking feeling of being completely blindsided. It was in the way Hotch and Haley exchanged glances, the comfortable proximity, the shared history etched in every small gesture. It hurt more than you’d ever thought it would, making everything sounded distant, muffled, like you were underwater.

The gathering had been a lively affair, full of laughter and shared stories, but a specific moment kept replaying in your mind: Haley’s warm smile as she said goodbye to Hotch, “It was really good to see you, Aaron, I’m glad you’re doing well. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

Hotch nodded, his expression warm yet tinged with a hint of sadness. “Yeah, Haley. Take care of yourself. See you around.”

With that, she gave a small wave to the table and headed back to her group of friends, leaving Hotch standing there, momentarily lost in the past. As he returned to his seat, you could see the way he was grappling with the emotions stirred up by the unexpected reunion. He caught your gaze briefly, offering a small, almost apologetic smile that only deepened your sense of uncertainty.

As she walked away, Rossi had thrown a smirk Hotch’s way, raising an eyebrow as he quipped, “So, old flames burning bright again?”

Hotch rolled his eyes, though there was a faint, embarrassed flush to his cheeks. “Rossi, don’t start,” he warned, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Aaron,” Rossi continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Haley’s quite a catch. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a little lovestruck.”

Hotch sighed, but there was a softness to his demeanor that hadn’t been there before. “It’s not like that, Dave. We… had our time. It just didn’t work out. She wanted a family, a stable life. I was too caught up in my career, trying to make it into the Bureau. We were just… heading in different directions.”

There was a pause as the table absorbed his words, the rare glimpse into Hotch’s personal life catching everyone a little off guard. You could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes, the acknowledgment of choices made and paths taken, and it resonated deeply with you. It wasn’t just about Haley; it was about the sacrifices, the regrets, and the constant pull between duty and desire.

You had stood on the sidelines, listening, and telling yourself it wasn’t jealousy you felt, but something else entirely. Hotch and Haley’s history was full of things you couldn’t touch, memories you couldn’t rewrite.

The ease between them that felt unreachable, at least for you. It highlighted your own struggles, the way you and Hotch danced around each other’s guarded edges, each too closed off and too stubborn for way too much to admit the walls you’d built were anything but necessary. You had worked hard to break through those barriers, inching closer to something that resembled real friendship with Hotch, but seeing him with Haley made it clear how far you still had to go.

One of your coworkers, ever the instigator, smirked and raised their glass, turning the conversation light again. “Ah, first loves. We’ve all been there, right? High school sweethearts, college crushes, and then… life happens.”

They nudged Peter playfully, their grin widening. “I bet you’ve got some stories, too. You and Y/N? Seems like you two have your own history.”

The comment, though playful, struck a chord. You could feel all eyes momentarily on you and Peter, the unspoken insinuations hanging in the air. Peter chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface. “Oh, come on, let’s not dig up the past. Y/N and I? We were just kids. We studied, we got into trouble, and then we grew up.”

Rossi, always enjoying a chance to stir the pot, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? ‘Just kids,’ huh? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Seems like more than just studying to me.”

Peter shot you a sideways glance, his smile both teasing and sincere. “Well, you know me, Dave. Always mixing business with pleasure.”

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your ears. “Please, don’t encourage him. Peter was more like the annoying older brother I never asked for.”

The table erupted in laughter, and for a moment, the awkwardness eased. But underneath it all, there was a thread of unspoken tension, a reminder that you and Peter’s relationship, much like Hotch and Haley’s, was layered with complexities that no amount of jokes could untangle.

Hotch watched the exchange quietly, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it understanding? Regret? You couldn’t quite tell, but it was clear he was processing his own thoughts amidst the lighthearted teasing. The parallels between his past and what was unfolding now weren’t lost on him.

Then memories shifted, drawing you deeper into the party’s ambiance: the clinking of glasses, the chatter of old friends reuniting, and Peter’s infectious laugh as he moved through the crowd.

You remembered the moment he found you in the corner of the room, handing you a glass of wine with a casual, “So, are you ever going to let me take you out on that date?”

You had laughed it off, deflecting with a joke. “You’d have to catch me when I’m not buried in case files.”

Peter’s smile had softened, and he leaned against the wall beside you, his eyes searching yours in that disarming way he had. “I’m patient. You know that.”

There it was, an offer that seemed perfect on paper. Peter was kind, funny, and someone you could talk to for hours without feeling the need to perform or pretend. He had always been a constant, someone who understood your messy family dynamics and never judged you for them. Yet, for reasons you couldn’t quite name, you had hesitated.

It wasn’t just fear that a relationship might ruin your friendship, though that was part of it. No, this hesitation was something deeper, something that had started to shift within you over the months you’d been at the BAU.

The job had changed you, had made you see the world differently, and maybe that change had rippled into the way you saw Peter, too. He was familiar, a comfort you could rely on, but when he looked at you with that earnestness, you felt a strange dissonance, like you were two notes that no longer harmonized as they once did.

You shook off the thought and turned back to the scenery, trying to refocus. The landscape outside shifted, becoming a blur of rolling hills and scattered houses, but all you could see were memories of the afternoons you’d spent with Peter.

He was a piece of your past that felt safe, steady, and uncomplicated. You remembered the day he’d chosen your mother as his thesis supervisor, the excitement in his eyes as he explained why.

“She’s brilliant,” he had told you, sitting at your kitchen table, his hands animated as he spoke. “I mean, I’ve read everything she’s published. Working with her is like… I don’t know, getting to play with a master.”

Your mother had smirked from the kitchen, where she was brewing tea. “I’m not sure if ‘play’ is the word I’d use,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m glad you’re eager. I could use someone with your enthusiasm.”

Those afternoons felt like moments frozen in time, filled with academic debates that stretched into the evening. You would sit with Peter, surrounded by books and papers, discussing everything from human behavior to obscure psychological theories. Your mother would occasionally join in, her sharp insights cutting through Peter’s eager optimism, and you would feel an odd sense of belonging, of being seen and understood in a way that was rare. You and Peter fit so easily then, like two pieces of a puzzle that made sense together.

So why now, when Peter had finally asked, did you feel that familiar comfort turn into something that almost felt suffocating? It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was something more complex, more tangled.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but whatever it was, it had kept you from saying yes. Part of you wondered if it had to do with the person you’d become at the BAU, the person who had learned to live in the shadows, to thrive on the unspoken and the unsolved. There was a distance between the you that Peter knew and the you that existed now, and you weren’t sure how to bridge that gap.

As the train chugged closer to Riverhead, you let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of your own thoughts settle in your chest. This trip was supposed to be about your father, about facing the memories you’d buried along with him. But as the scenery continued to blur outside your window, you realized it wasn’t just him you were here to confront. It was yourself, and all the tangled, unresolved things you’d left behind.

.

Back in his apartment, Hotch stood motionless in front of his closet, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching his ears. It was supposed to be a simple, mindless task: changing out of his work clothes, slipping into something comfortable to signal the end of another long case. But that morning, the weight of the past lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating, refusing to be ignored. Seeing Haley again had shaken something loose inside him, memories that he had tried to bury beneath layers of duty, responsibility, and the unyielding armor of his carefully crafted stoicism.

He stared at the closet door as if it were a portal to another time, a past version of himself that he had spent years trying to forget. His hand hovered over a hanger, hesitating before he finally pulled the door open. He reached for a pair of sweatpants, the movement automatic, but his fingers brushed against something unexpected, something soft and familiar. He pulled it out, holding it up to the dim light of the room. It was an old pirate hat, worn and faded, buried at the back of the closet like a forgotten relic.

The sight of it was enough to send a rush of emotion coursing through him, his heart tightening with the weight of memories long left untouched. It was a small, silly thing - a costume piece from a high school play - but it held the echoes of a time when life had felt simpler, when love had been a lifeline rather than a distant, unattainable dream.

Hotch turned the hat over in his hands, his thumb tracing the worn edges. It felt lighter than he remembered, the fabric frayed but still holding the shape that had once made him feel like someone else - someone braver, someone who didn’t wake up every day terrified of what the morning might bring.

Holding it now, he was transported back to those days in high school, when he had first met Haley during their school’s production of The Pirates of Penzance. He could still remember the nerves that twisted his stomach into knots as he stepped onto the stage, feeling every bit the awkward, shy boy who never quite knew how to fit in.

His father’s presence loomed over every aspect of his life, a dark, volatile force that made every day feel like a minefield. Mornings were the worst; he’d wake up before dawn, his heart pounding with the dread that his father would already be up, the stale stench of whiskey on his breath and anger simmering just below the surface.

Every morning, Hotch would lie still in his bed, his ears straining to hear the slightest sound - a creaking floorboard, the clink of a bottle, the unmistakable thud of something heavy being thrown against the wall. He’d close his eyes tightly, his breath catching in his throat as he braced himself for the inevitable: the harsh sound of his father’s voice, slurred and laced with venom, cutting through the stillness of the house like a knife.

“You worthless piece of shit,” his father would sneer, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. The insults were always the same, a relentless barrage of contempt that felt like punches to the gut. And sometimes, they were. The bruises left behind were easy to hide, but the fear lingered, seeping into every corner of his mind.

But then there was Haley.

Haley, with her bright smile and infectious laugh, had entered his life like a beam of light piercing through the darkness. She was everything his world was not: warm, kind, and unafraid to be herself. He could still see her as she had been that first day, standing backstage with an easy confidence that seemed to light up the entire room. He had been fumbling through his lines, tripping over words as he tried to keep his hands from shaking, feeling the familiar grip of anxiety clawing at his throat. But then she had turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Not bad, Hotchner,” she teased, her voice light and teasing, breaking through the wall of his self-doubt.

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder, her touch gentle but grounding. “But if you’re going to be a pirate, you’ve got to look the part.” She reached up and tilted the hat on his head, adjusting it with a flourish. “There. Much better.”

He had laughed then, a rare, unguarded sound that felt almost foreign to his own ears. It was a laugh born of something deeper than humor - it was relief, joy, and a sense of being seen in a way he never had been before. That moment had been the start of everything: the stolen glances, the whispered secrets shared between classes, the way she’d lean in close, her eyes bright with something that made the whole world seem less terrifying.

Haley became his first thought in the morning, replacing the dread that had once greeted him when he opened his eyes. Instead of the anxiety that his father would be there, ready to strike, his mind was filled with thoughts of her: the way she smiled, the sound of her voice, the softness of her lips whenever they kissed, the easy way she’d tease him about his nervousness on stage. She was his anchor, the one person who made him feel like he wasn’t drowning in his own fears.

Every morning, instead of waking up with his heart racing at the thought of his father’s rage, he’d wake up thinking of Haley. He’d think of their rehearsals, of the way she’d roll her eyes when he messed up a line but would always follow it with a grin that told him she was proud of him anyway. She had made him feel safe, like maybe, there was more to life than the fear that had defined his every waking moment.

Hotch hadn’t just fallen in love with Haley; he had clung to her like a lifeline. She was the first person who had shown him what it felt like to be cared for, to be valued for who he was, not for what he could endure. She was his sanctuary from the storm that raged inside his home, and for a while, she had made him believe that he could have something good, something real.

But as he stood there now, holding the hat, those memories were tinged with the bittersweet realization of what he had lost. The love that had once saved him had crumbled under the relentless weight of his ambition and the demands of his career.

He had chosen the Bureau, chosen to bury himself in the pursuit of justice, thinking that if he worked hard enough, if he dedicated himself to the job, he could finally be free of the shadows that haunted him.

But in the process, he had lost Haley. He had lost the last piece of innocence that had made him believe he could balance it all: love, career, and a future untangled from the pain of his past. Now, the hat felt like a symbol of everything he had tried to bury, a reminder of the boy he used to be and the love that had once made him feel whole.

Hotch closed his eyes, a wave of grief and regret washing over him as he placed the hat gently back in the closet. The memories of Haley, of the warmth she had brought into his life, were still there, but they were shrouded in the painful truth that he had let her slip away. He had spent so long running from the fear of his father, trying to replace it with something brighter, but in the end, he had pushed away the very thing that had saved him

The shrill ring of his phone cut through his thoughts, jolting him back to the present. “Hotchner,” he said, masking the turmoil beneath his usual calm.

Gideon’s voice came through the line, urgent and clipped. “We’ve got a situation. A series of poisonings in Long Island, targeting public spaces. Libraries, parks, shopping centers. It’s escalating, and the unsub’s leaving messages. We need you here, now.”

Hotch glanced back at the pirate hat before slamming the closet shut. “I’ll be there in twenty,” he replied, shoving the memories aside as he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. There was no time to dwell on the past; the present demanded his full attention.

At the BAU, the team gathered around the conference table as Gideon outlined the details of the case. The poisonings were strategic, each attack aimed at places where people gathered, spreading panic through the community. The unsub’s taunts came in the form of cryptic messages, each one hinting at the next target.

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he scanned the crime scene photos, feeling the familiar pull of duty override everything else.

“We’re splitting up,” Gideon said, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Hotch, you and Peter will head to the latest crime scene. Rossi and I will cover the first.”

Hotch nodded, his face impassive as he gathered his things. He was already mentally mapping out the approach, compartmentalizing the emotional weight of the morning. But as they drove, Peter, clearly uncomfortable with the silence, tried to break the tension.

“You know, about that bet I won,” Peter began, glancing over at Hotch with a hint of a smile. “The date… with her. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it special.”

Hotch’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, his expression tightening at Peter’s words. The mention of you - the team member who had started to break through the cracks in his own carefully guarded exterior - sent a surge of conflicting emotions through him. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Have you really thought this through?” Hotch asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “You and her, both in the field, both seeing the worst of what people are capable of… it’s not as easy as you think.”

Peter shrugged, trying to maintain his casual demeanor, but there was a defensive edge creeping in. “We’ve always been good at separating things. She gets it - she’s smart, one of the smartest people I know. We can handle it.”

Hotch’s frustration boiled over, his tone sharpening. “It’s not about being smart, Peter. This job… it changes you. It gets into your head, your heart. And you’re fooling yourself if you think it won’t affect you both. What happens when you’re forced to make a choice - her safety or the job? How do you keep that from clouding your judgment?”

Peter’s smile faltered, and his eyes flicked toward Hotch, the beginnings of anger flashing across his face. “You don’t think I know that? You think I haven’t thought about it every damn day since I realized I wanted more with her? At least I’m honest about where I stand. I’m not hiding behind this job like it’s the only thing that matters.”

The tension between them was palpable, the car’s interior charged with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on the road, but his mind was racing. Peter’s words hit closer to home than he cared to admit, scraping against wounds that had never fully healed. Peter’s willingness to embrace his feelings, to take the leap Hotch had always hesitated to make, stung in a way that was hard to articulate.

“You don’t get it, Peter,” Hotch said finally, his voice quieter, more resigned. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with the consequences of those choices. I’ve seen what it does to people, how it tears them apart. This job… it doesn’t let you have a normal life, no matter how hard you try.”

Peter stared at him, searching for something in Hotch’s expression that he couldn’t quite find. “Maybe not. But I’d rather take the risk than spend my life wondering what could have been.”

They lapsed into silence, the argument left hanging between them, unresolved. Hotch felt the weight of Peter’s words settle heavily on his shoulders, mingling with the guilt and regret that had been simmering beneath the surface since seeing Haley again.

He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know if he even had the right to. Peter’s defiance, his willingness to fight for what he wanted, was a painful reminder of the choices Hotch had made and the things he had lost in the process.

When they arrived at the crime scene, Hotch pushed all of it down, shoving the emotions into that familiar place he rarely let himself go. The crime scene was chaotic, with officers milling about, evidence markers scattered across the library floor.

Hotch’s keen eyes scanned the room, piecing together the unsub’s method, the subtle clues left behind. But something caught his attention: a bulletin board crowded with flyers and notes, too chaotic at first glance, but hiding something.

He moved closer, pulling back layers of paper until he found it: a cryptic message, written in neat, deliberate script. As he read the words, his blood ran cold, the implications settling like lead in his stomach.

The riddle painted a clear picture of the next target. Hotch’s hands trembled slightly as he stepped back, the reality sinking in.

Riverhead.

The place you were right now.

Without a word, Hotch turned and sprinted out of the building, his heart pounding with a fear that went far beyond the professional. This wasn’t just another case. It was personal, and every second mattered.

[discoscoob]

YOUNG DONNIE BARKSDALE HEADCANONS

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🍂⋆｡˚ Note: contains upsetting and distressing themes involving teen suicide, murder, abuse and parental neglect. This is angsty as hell, fellas :(

Note ii: I do not intend to romanticise or excuse any of the following, these are merely thoughts and ideas inspired works of fiction. I do not support or defend men like Donnie in the real world. If you think the following will be upsetting or triggering, I strongly advice not reading. You are responsible for your own choices. Thank you!

I’m using Keanu’s character Matt from the film River’s Edge as inspiration and a template for my headcanons for young Donnie Barksdale.

Family Dynamics

➤ Donnie never had a proper father figure in his life growing up and he never knew his real father.

➤ His mother suffered with alcoholism, leading to her neglecting him and his younger siblings.

➤ She would drift between different relationships, often with toxic boyfriends that Donnie would frequently get into verbal or physical fights with in an attempt to defend/protect his mother and younger siblings.

➤ As the oldest sibling, he felt responsible and pressured to fulfill a paternal role for his younger sister and brother.

➤ Prematurely stepping into this paternal role, without any healthy or positive guidance to draw from, meant Donnie didn’t possess the emotional maturity needed in order to fill that role properly.

➤ Donnie received little to no experience of healthy discipline himself growing up, which resulted in him mimicking the only discipline he ever experienced, which came from his mother’s toxic boyfriends.

➤ His first experience of using violence and aggression as a form of control and punishment began with his younger brother.

➤ When his younger brother started heading into a rebellious and reckless phase, without any sign of growing out of it, Donnie attempted to take control of his behaviour by using violence and aggression.

➤ Donnie’s softer side came out towards his little sister, the youngest sibling. He tried to be more protective and nurturing towards her. Despite his intentions being good natured, his attempts to overcompensate for the emotional and physical neglect she faced from their mother, lead to his protectiveness over his sister to become increasingly more controlling.

➤ This overprotectiveness would later extended to his romantic relationships with women and evolve into more possessive and controlling behaviour.

➤ Because Donnie never had a proper, healthy role model to look up to, he was never taught how to properly manage his emotions, leading to an inability to manage conflicts healthily.

His Friends Influence

➤ Donnie’s high school friend group became the only male influences in his life he had any positive association with. His friends were the only thing he had to fill the emotional voids within his life, this made the sense of brotherhood he felt he had developed with them incredibly sacred to him, something which he would protect no matter what.

➤ His loyalty to his friends was put to the ultimate test when one of his friends, John, murdered his girlfriend, Jamie. Donnie was pressured by his friend group to stay quiet in order to protect John.

➤ This had an everlasting detrimental impact to Donnie’s moral compass and desensitise him to violence, especially violence against women.

➤ The fear of losing the only sense of belonging he ever had on top of his fear of abandonment was enough to convince him to overlook John’s crime.

➤ This is the point in Donnie’s life where loyalty vs betrayal became more important to him than right vs wrong.

Prospects and Substance Abuse

➤ Struggling in school would often lead to Donnie skipping class or not showing up to school altogether. His poor performance in high school, on top of the poor amount of opportunities in his rural town, left Donnie with very few options.

➤ Donnie was already pretty disillusioned by life at a relatively young age, due to the lack of opportunities in his rural town and any dream of escapism he had seemed unattainable.

➤ He would smoke weed with his friends when they skipped school and when Donnie became older and accepted any, usually low-paying and physically demanding, job he could find, he would turn to alcohol and other harder substances as a coping mechanisms and a form of escapism.

➤ His drinking and substance abuse would only contribute to his violent and abusive behaviour.

His Sister’s Suicide

➤ Matt was in his mid to late twenties when his little sister took her own life. She was still only a teenager. She was struggling to cope with her own issues that developed from growing up within her toxic and dysfunctional family dynamic.

➤ At this point in his life, Donnie was already struggling with alcoholism and substance abuse as a coping mechanisms for his unfulfilling life, but it would become far worse after losing his sister.

➤ None of his romantic relationships were ever healthy, thanks to a combination of factors such as his abandonment issues, his relationship with violence and his inability to handle his emotions in a healthy manner (to name a few.)

➤ Most of his relationships failed because any potential threat to the relationship or lack of control triggered his anger and insecurities, usually caused by his jealousy or controlling behaviour.

➤ But losing his sister only worsened his toxic and unhealthy behaviour within his romantic relationships.

➤ He would cling tighter to his partners than ever before and that would manifest as manipulation and control. He would isolate his partner from their friends and family, forcing them to be completely reliant on him. Any hint of disloyalty or emotional distance from his partner would trigger violent outbursts.

➤ Donnie views his sister’s death as another one of his failures in life. Blaming himself for not protecting her enough, even though his protection of her had already developed into something that was toxic and overbearing, unknowingly contributing to the number of issues his sister was struggling to cope with.

➤ Donnie always perceived his intentions towards his sister to be good natured, as that’s how they began and honestly she was the one person he genuinely loved the most. Although he never learnt how to nurture and maintain healthy feelings and emotions, resulting in them all becoming warped and toxic. In his mind, he never hurt his sister or contributed to her turmoil.

➤ Therefore, when she took her own life, part of him saw it as a betrayal after all the sacrifices he made to protect her.

➤ The fragile relationship Donnie developed with masculinity, due to the major influences from his high school friends, his mother’s toxic boyfriend’s and the old rural town’s dated attitudes, left him unable to process his grief in a healthy manner—perceiving sadness as weakness. His grief would instead be channelled in bouts of uncontrollable anger and deep, depressive episodes.

Jamie and Jessica parallels

➤ When Jessica’s body is pulled from Donnie’s lake, it gives him flashbacks to seeing Jamie’s body at the river’s edge.

➤ When Donnie becomes a suspect and later charged with Jessica’s murder, questions about his involvement in Jamie’s murder resurface.

[sokkastyles]

I'm sorry, I'm just really morbidly curious about how Zucest shippers have beef with Zutara shippers? What's the lore?

Sure, the ships share a character but they're wildly different in everything. I would never guess a little ship war would break out here.

There is a group of Azula stans (small, but with a lot of free time) that also ship KA, whether due to hating Zuko and thus also hating zutara on principle, or due to the fact that Aang feeds their victim complex in the same way that Azula does, because of a perception of being wrongfully hated in the fandom, or a combination of both, I don't know. My guess is that these ideas feed off of each other, but I absolutely think these people only really like Aang/KA because of how it feeds into their Azula stanning. Their hatred for zutara isn't so much about a ship war as it is that zutara makes Zuko look good, because it's one of the relationships that most highlights his growth in the series. And because Azula's downfall serves as a foil to highlight Zuko's growth, this group of Azula stans can't have that.

You see, it isn't so much that they ship Zuko with his sister, it's the way they do it. All their ideologies are about making Azula look better, and feeding that sweet sweet victim complex. The way they do this is by headcanoning Zuko as an incestuous rapist. Either to demonize him or to make him seem "just as bad" as Azula, it varies, but both come from the same place.

Even though (or more likely because) in canon, it's actually Azula who abuses Zuko. Not sexually, but she does try to use his relationship with Mai to control him in a way that's pretty skeevy, and is emotionally abusive and manipulative towards him. So a lot of this is just basic DARVO behavior.

Although I do think some of them have been drinking their own kool-aid so long that they genuinely think that Zuko is an abuser, which explains why they think zutara would be abusive, if you tilt your head sideways and chug a gallon of whiskey.

I also think there's some fascinating misogyny at work in the belief that Zuko raping Azula is hot whereas poor Katara must be protected from the bad man even looking in her direction.

[antiquepearlss]

Angsty headcanons because why not (cw in tags)

Rapunzel had days in the tower where she just couldn’t motivate herself to get out of bed. Life just felt so boring and monotonous, pointless and endless, she felt no reason in moving, eating, breathing…

Moving to the castle and living a fast paced royal lifestyle was such a shift for her that she had regular breakdowns.

Eugene and Stalyan had a mutually toxic relationship but she was slightly physically abusive at times. Not horrendously, but enough that Eugene still flinches when he’s around her again. 

Lance has never been in an actual relationship. Just situationships and hook-ups. He doesn’t have much time to date outside of raising two kids and having a job. He doesn’t let the loneliness set in but if he looks at Rapunzel and Eugene with some jealous bitterness on occasion..well, that’s his business. (The guilt is worse than the loneliness)

Quirin’s father died when he was 14 and was very emotionally distant. As Quirin felt death looming over him in the amber, he realized he was repeating the cycle.

Neither Hector nor Adira ever knew their parents.

Rapunzel still harbors some body image issues from Gothel repeatedly making comments about her weight and appearance. As much as she loves sweets and trying new food, sometimes she restricts her plate when she feels like she’s gained too much weight lately.

Honestly, Rapunzel, Eugene, and Varian all suffer from eating disorders to an extent.

Werewolf transformations are painful for Catalina and can be borderline unbearable. Somedays it’s seamless, some days it feels like her skin is tearing itself. As an adult she’s covered in stretch marks.

Kiera has a tendency to be too controlling because she feels like she has no control over her life

Varian still suffers from anger issues, he tends to bottle everything up so he isn’t as angry as he used to be, and so he doesn’t dwell on the anger like he used to; but it backfires in tantrums and outbursts- mostly on his loved ones.

Eugene can be incredibly overprotective of the ones he loves, as he has never had a family before and he doesn’t want to risk losing what he’s dreamed of his entire life.

One day when Eugene had pissed Varian off with his hovering, Varian yelled at him to “just lock him up in a tower” and the two didn’t talk for a week after that. Mostly because Varian felt too guilty to be around him and vice versa.

Arianna and Frederic tried for more children after Rapunzel, solely just to secure their lineage, but she miscarried everytime. Arianna feels guilty, but, she’s glad she did.

Cassandra made multiple attempts on her own life after she left Corona. Luckily they all failed.

Varian has an incredibly weak immune system due to his time in prison.

A plague swept through Corona the first official year of Rapunzel’s reign. Luckily she didn’t get sick, but Eugene, Catalina, Kiera, and Varian did. Eugene almost died.

Out of everyone, realistically, Eugene and Varian are going to be the first to die. Rapunzel is the last.

[80rosequartz08]

Some more Hazbin redesigns 🔥⭐

CW/TW: S/H mention, Abuse

I wish they were better quality, but eh, I'll live

Charlie 🔥❤️

Really proud of myself for coming up with the rings/that last name. Like, really patting myself on the back for that one.

Valkyrie ⚔️🪽

She not an Angel in my version, I honestly thought her OG backstory (dying by SH) was much more narratively interesting. Besides, her being an Angel never really made sense to me.

Angel Dust 🕷️❣️

I specifically chose "Colombo" because I thought the meaning was sweet when applied to Angel and his story/character. BTW: The gold accents on him and Valkyrie don't mean the Gluttony ring, they're just a fun splash of color.

In my version Angel is still under Val (or whoever I choose to replace Val)'s abuse and control, but I also really want to focus much more heavily on his relationships with the Hotel members and his Mob ties.

[birdinabowl]

Pearlrose vs Jaspis

Japis and Pearlrose are not comparable in the slightest. They are not both toxic (only jaspis is). Even without digging into their characters and chemistry their fusions are a great example of how different they are.

Generally, the more humanoid a fusion is, the more stable they are which reflects in the relationship of the gems involved in the fusion. Rainbow Quartz is on the same label of stability as Garnet, who is the embodiment of love and a healthy relationship. If Pearl and Rose had an unhealthy power dynamic like Jasper and Lapis did, their fusion would be far more monstrous.

Along with having multiple legs/hands for feet, Malachite was stuck under the ocean for an extended period of time- malachite gems in real life are toxic in water. This is telling of the fusion as nothing about her is healthy unlike in Rainbow Quartz. In Malachite, they bother struggled and fought to have control over the other, there was never any love between them.

I often see people say the order gives Rose and Pearl a similar power dynamic to Jasper and Lapis but I would have to disagree. Rose didn’t realize the true effect of the order on Pearl, she didn’t realize how it would impact her. We never see a hint of this again, Rose even says this is her last order to Pearl. Jasper and Lapis however just wanted control and power over the other, they wanted a power dynamic that put them in control.

Rose never wanted Pearl to be subservient or submissive towards her. As Pink- before she disguises herself as a Quartz- she tries to talk to Pearl, she’s disappointed when Pearl doesn’t respond back as her own person. She tells Pearl “please don’t even stop” once she starts imagining things because she wants Pearl to be her own person.

Rose loves Pearl, there’s nothing malicious in this scene. They’re both finally happy and on earth, they’re away from homeworlds and the diamonds constant abuse and they can finally find themselves. Pearl starts to fall for Rose because Rose is finally happy. She’s in a form she’s happy with and even if it’s just for a little bit, Rose can be herself on earth and Pearl loves it.

Jasper meanwhile stalks Lapis to beg her to fuse with her again, she calls Lapis a monster. She never loved Lapis, only the power she could get from her. Lapis never loved Jasper either, she liked hurting Jasper- she said this herself! While Lapis does have strength over water, Jasper is physically bigger than her and uses this to jerk her around. There is nothing soft or loving about their interactions unlike interactions between pearlrose.

Pearl’s memories of Rose all show a Rose who is sweet, quirky, kind, and gentle gem

None of Pearl’s memories show a Rose that is controlling or manipulative. None of Pearl’s memories show Rose wanting power over her. Meanwhile, every scene with Jasper and Lapis interacting is tainted with toxicity. Neither of them want to see the other thrive, neither of them want the other to get better. Jasper and Lapis will never be compatible. Nothing would ever fix them.

Pearl and Rose were not perfect but this is to be expected. Rose was abused on homeworld for eons, this lead to a lot of Rose’s mental issues/problems which led her from hiding things from even Pearl (Bismuth, Lion, etc.). This is something that could’ve been overcome had Rose gotten helped instead of dying. The order did hurt Pearl but it was completely unintentional. It is still bad Pearl was hurt, however it is a big difference from Jasper and Lapis deliberately hurting each other. Pearl and Rose helped each other way more than they could ever hurt each other. Many of their issues were situational but they could still talk and argue, they did not have an unhealthy dynamic and they were not toxic.

The biggest difference is that Pearl helped each other heal while Jasper and Lapis just ruined each other. At the end of the day, Japis will always be toxic while Pearlrose will always be a healthy ship.

[peculiarbeauty]

kinda psa but

been kind of nervous about giving my thoughts on this but there has been a few people who attempted to follow me that i would feel safer with if i didn't see pairings they wrote that are um. a little pro shippy ? i'm uncomfortable with the romanticizing of characters that are incestual , abusive , or overall just deemed hugely problematic. for example , belle does not like gaston. i would never make the excuse that she somehow could COME AROUND to liking him to romantically ship with a gaston writer. belle is abused by gaston. he hopes to control her and is incredibly problematic with how he wishes to possess her. he is jealous , vindictive , narcissistic , and even when she makes her feelings clear that it is held with someone else .. he wants to kill the person who is in his way of being with her.

also obviously i do not write snow white but i HAVE wrote her and this was prevalent on my blog when i did. snow is canonically 14 years old. things outside of giddy laughter and childish cutesy banter that go into inappropriate territories i do not believe should somehow be JUSTIFIED. i'm uncomfortable with that just as i am uncomfortable with people writing pairings that are problematic under the guise that it's essentially okay that this happened. so anyway ?? even if i might LIKE your portrayal , if you tend to gravitate towards pairings that are very very problematic and attempt to justify that .. i just cannot in good faith support following.

i want to treat this as a place where we can all write our barbie doll characters and live in our fictional worlds and stuff but then also .. i don't want to sweep aside my own feelings on the matter. and tbh i'm also not saying you can't love a villain's arc because i LOVE a ton villain arcs. so yeah !! here's to setting my own boundaries on the matter.

[rattlingmystars]

on nesta and the inner circle

i'm not anti inner circle but i AM anti hypocrites.

to begin with;

everyone but feyre in that group is over 500 years old and they are going to war over a 25 year old. a traumatized, scared, lost 25 year old whose only crime was being mean.

this is not defending nesta's actions in the cabin, but i think many forget that she was also a child. as the youngest in my family, if at any point my parents passed during my childhood, it is sure as fuck not my brother's responsibility to parent me.

elain was just as guilty as nesta was elain and unlike nesta, did not follow feyre into the woods.

the IC, and a lot of, imo toxic acotar fans, forgive and ove her. not because she did no wrong, but because she is soft, submissive, and easy to control.

feyre's triology is first person and incredibly biased.

please reread acotar and how she described rhysand.

reread the START of acomaf and how she described rhys to tamlin and lucien. it is stated MULTIPLE times indirectly that she is a young, biased, narrator.

nesta being expected to get over her trauma, trauma that horrified rhys once he saw it, in less than a year is crazy. especially when you remember that everyone else is over 500 fucking years old.

a lot of anti nesta people argue that due to nesta being the eldest, she should've taken initaive, but they will defend 500 year old fae for literal war crimes.

the argument isn't that nesta was perfect, she wasn't. the argument that taking away a traumatized woman's autonomy, when that was the source of her trauma, humiliating her, and villainizing her for reactionary comments, while ignoring all she's sacrificed is wrong.

i've seen a lot of people say pro nesta fans must be abusers.

i'm pro nesta and i survived being strangled and stalked by a physically and emotionally abusive man. i know what abuse is and while nesta was toxic, she was never abusive. the most anyone could ever try to claim was she was reactionary abusive as the majority of her harsh comments were in response. especially in the context of the world this is made in.

i have a lot more to go off on, but honestly i'm in a sci fi feminst class rn and should be focusing on my lecture since i'm usually one of the main debaters.

rhys and nesta are mirrors of each other, but one is a man with bat wings people can fetishize, and the other is a woman who isn't afraid to make her voice known.

i love rhys and i love nesta, but i hate how this fandom allows internalized misogyny to poison them.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 24

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. This chapter is a lot heavier, so please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: heavy violence, mentions of rape

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Just as I’m about to drift off, a loud banging makes me shoot upright. In my half-asleep state I run to the door hoping that Jensen changed his mind and came up for a final goodbye. But instead of his warm embrace and a passionate kiss, when I open the door I feel a cold hard sting on my cheek as my ears ring with the sound of a slap. Tears burn as I blink and try to make sense of what happened. I take a step back but the unfamiliar man follows and snatches my wrist and pulls me to his chest harshly.

“Where is she?” he spits out. I recoil at the feeling of specks of his saliva hitting my cheek. I keep my lips sealed and fight back tears. I know I need to stay strong. I gather up all my courage and elbow him as hard as I can in the ribs and try to pull away but he digs his nails into my wrist as he yanks my other arm around my back before gripping my hair and pulling me into a tight headlock. I scream at the pain but also in an attempt to wake someone. He pushes me further inside and slams the door behind him. “Where is she?” he spits again harshly near my ear. 

I try to pull away again but his grip on my hair is tight and I wince at the pain. Despite the pain I manage to spit out just as harshly, “Like I’d tell you, you abusive son of a bitch!” He yanks my hair again and twists one of my arms back to the point where I’m terrified it’s either going to pop out of its socket or the bone’s going to snap completely. I refuse to give in. “This what you did to her? Pin her in place and force her to have sex with you?”

His grip tightens and I brace myself for the snap and unimaginable pain, but it doesn’t come. Instead he leans down, takes my earlobe between his teeth roughly and pulls back ever so slightly and growls, “I bet you’d like that. Nice and rough.” He trails his lips down my neck where Jensen’s had been not an hour earlier. “You won’t tell me where she is, I’ll take you instead. All I need’s a nice wet hole anyway.”

He manhandles me until I’m laying face-down on the couch, both hands pinning tightly at the small of my back with one of his hands. I try to kick out but he sits on my legs. I lose the fight to my tears as I feel one of his hands reach around to undo the button and zip on my jeans. I feel helpless and scared in a way I never have before. But instead of worrying about myself, I wonder how many times Anna had to endure this treatment and for how long. He slips his hand into the waistband and tries to pull them down but struggles with one hand. Obviously only thinking with rage and his dick he lets go of my hands briefly to pull my jeans and underwear past my hips. As he does, I quickly scramble around reaching for my phone which I know is amongst the cushions somewhere. My fingers briefly stab and glide across the cracked glass but I don’t get a hold of it before he’s roughly yanking my arms back. I feel the vibrations under me, sparking some hope that I managed to do something. Luckily it’s silenced by the sound of him undoing his belt and jeans. I have no way of knowing who called, whether I got the emergency function or just a random person from my contacts, and no way of answering anyway. He grips my hair and yanks me upright so my bare ass is touching his front. I scream out again and he slaps me. 

“Last chance bitch, tell me where she is or you’re becoming my new plaything.”

“At least use a condom, you pig. I’m not on birth control. So unless you wanna pay me child support.” Feeling his erect dick against my ass I fully start to panic. Seeing as it’s been ages since I last slept with anyone I let my script lapse. And as much as I don’t want to be raped by this abusive psycho, I also don’t want to be forced to carry his child. I pull against him with all my strength and scream at the top of my lungs. He slaps me across the face again and covers my mouth with one hand effectively muffling my sounds. This gives me better access to lick and bite at his disgusting skin. He recoils as my teeth sink into his palm. With his weight on my legs I can’t move, but I use the opportunity to free my hands and reach for my phone again. I manage to swipe across and return the missed call, but I don’t see who it is. He snatches my phone from my hands and pegs it at the tiles causing the screen to shatter completely before switching to black. I continue to scream myself hoarse as he crushes me into the couch. I can feel against my back that the pain had an impact but he’s now even more irate. With all of his weight holding my front against the cushions, he takes his free hand and slaps — not sexual spanks, hard, bruising slaps — my bare ass countless times.

My head is spinning, overrun with fear and pain. I can’t move my body. I can’t roll over, pull my pants up, reach for my broken phone, I’m completely petrified. I block out everything as I accept my fate. I can’t even tell if I’m crying or screaming anymore. I can’t hear myself. I barely even feel the lasting sting of the pain he’s inflicted. I just feel numb.

When he speaks again he sounds like I’m underwater. It’s muffled and slurred and I can’t focus on the words. I just lay there completely numb letting it happen. I have no fight left. He’s got me completely pinned and I have no mode of contact. I tell myself it’s over.

I don’t feel him pull away or stand up. I don’t hear the door breaking down. I don’t notice when a group of people enter the apartment. I’m too far removed. I can’t even pull away when I’m wrapped in a blanket and pulled into someone else’s arms. My limbs are too stiff, my mind is too numb. When my chin is tilted up to meet the person’s eyes I can’t focus, everything is blurred. But as numb as I am, I know it’s someone else. I feel warmer, safe. And my body shuts down.

When I can finally open my eyes all I see is white. There’s a dull, steady beeping from somewhere behind me. As my senses slowly return I feel a weight on my right hand. I instinctively squeeze, but am shocked when the feeling is reciprocated. I furiously blink my eyes and try to sit up.

“Hey, Hey, Darlin’. It’s okay now. You’re safe. Take a breath for me.”

I look towards the voice and can’t believe my eyes or ears. I must still be asleep or hallucinating. My mind starts to race. Am I still on that couch? Is that rapist still here?

The beeping speeds up and I feel a squeeze again as the deep voice continues. “You’re safe now. I’m right here. You’re safe. Deep breaths.”

I try to hold onto his words. Real or not, they’re grounding and comforting. I’m just shocked that the voice of my subconscious is not Stella or my parents. It’s a man that I’ve known for two and a bit months. But when the weight in my hand disappears it all starts to feel real. My eyes fly open and I finally manage to survey my surroundings. There’s an IV in my arm, a clip on my finger and monitors to my sides. I sit up quickly and look around for my things. There’s no way I can afford this treatment. As I swing my legs off the side of the bed I hear footsteps behind me. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, it’s good to see you’re awake and doing better but we need you to stay in bed while we run a few more tests.” I reluctantly turn around to face the voice. “I’m Doctor Matt, the paramedics brought you in after you passed out from what at this stage seems like a panic attack, but we want to be sure…Especially considering the circumstances under which they were called.” He takes a few steps closer to the bed with a tablet in his hands. “There’s a few questions I need to ask you, but let me know if at any stage it becomes too much.”

I nod but then my eyes drift past the doctor to the man standing in the doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, a look of worry etched on his face and his emerald eyes look bloodshot. He nods at me, “I’ll be in the waiting room.” I nod back as he turns and disappears behind the curtain.

“We’ve checked your physical injuries and they appear superficial and will heal in time, but you can take anti inflammatories for the pain. However, given the circumstances I wanted to offer for one of our psych counsellors to speak with you before we discharge you and let the police do their questioning.”

I look at the doctor and hesitantly ask, “Did you do a rape kit already?”

He shakes his head. “We wanted to wait for your consent. But also, as the man responsible is already in custody there may be no reason to put you through that. But if you want to be sure, I can ask someone to come down and run one.”

I nod. “I need to know. What if-What if I’m pregnant?”

“Unfortunately there would be no way of knowing this soon. If you take the test we’ll know if there’s any signs of ejaculate, but regardless we can also provide emergency contraception.”

I nod. “I want both. I need to know. I’ve been through too much to not know.”

“Okay. I’ll ask someone our sexual assault unit to come down.”

I nod again, but then ask, “How much extra will all this cost? You should already know I don’t have health insurance. I can’t afford-”

“We can see if we can register you for NYC Care to try and bring the bill down. In the meantime, did you want me to send your boyfriend back in to wait with you?”

“My boyfriend?” I shake my head in confusion and then it clicks. “Uh, sure.”

He notices my hesitation. “I can tell him you’re resting?”

“No it’s okay. I should talk to him.”

“You coud wait until after you speak with psych. I know this must be a difficult situation.”

“Thanks, but no. I should talk to him.”

Doctor Matt nods and walks out of the thin, paper curtain. A few long minutes later, the curtain rustles again and Jensen walks in. I want to fight with him and tell him to go to Vancouver, that he shouldn’t have skipped his flight for me, but instead I burst into tears. He rushes to my side and sits on the edge of the bed. He hesitantly takes my hand and pulls me into his arms.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you now.” He rubs his hands up my back as he hushes and soothes me. 

“Y-You shouldn’t-”

“Hey, hey. I’m exactly where I should be. I’m just glad I was here. I can’t imagine…I’m so sorry.”

I continue to cry into his shoulder while he holds me close. “Y-you t-told … boyfriend…”

“I’m sorry. I know, they wouldn’t let me in otherwise…it doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t expect anything from you right now. You just need to heal, but I also wanted to be here for you.” I can tell there’s so much more he wants to say but is holding back for me. 

“Jens…H-How d-d-“

“You were typing for ages. Those bubbles were there for ages and it seemed off and then when I called you didn’t answer. And the second and third time it went directly to massagebank. And then I realized…” He hugs me closer. “I’m so sorry. I should have told Clif to take you to your friend’s.”

Hearing him blame himself breaks me further. I try to hug him back. “Thank you for saving me,” I manage to get out between sobs. 

“I wish I could’ve gotten there sooner or got the emergency services. I’m sorry you went through so much.”

The curtain shuffles again and a female doctor steps inside. I pull slightly away from Jensen to look at her. “Hi Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Julie, I’m a sexual assault examiner, Dr. Matt said you wanted to get a rape test.” I nod and Jensen stands up but I grab his hand. 

“Please stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please…”

Dr. Julie looks at both of us. “He’s welcome to stay if that’s what you want as the patient, but if he does, I need to warn you both that if it comes up positive and you decide to report this crime to the police he could be asked to be a witness.”

Jensen nods. “That’s fine by me.” He looks at me, “I called the emergency services in the first place, I’m already a witness. I’ll do whatever you need me to. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

I nod. “Stay.”

He helps me lay back down on the pillows before sitting on the edge of the bed and facing me. He keeps holding my hand while the doctor gathers all the supplies. She then helps pull the blanket down and checks over my whole body while taking some swabs and samples.

Jensen squeezes my hand comfortingly as he keeps his eyes on my face, not straying once.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

@lmg14, @superrey

[saintsbuffy]

You’re an angel, i’m a dog.

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook Lucanis/Rook/Spite

TW: injury detail, heavy sexual references, abuse, grief, suicidal idolisation, implied non con, spite being a freak, possession, substances.

Word count: around 5000

Chapter: 2/?

2 - DEVIL LIKE ME

— Rook is injured, Lucanis tries to help.

Lucanis - Bold

Spite - Italics

We've been waiting for this haven't we.

Spites familiar voice echos in Lucanis's head, the feral creatures nails claw his mind as the shadow figure takes form beside him.

Rook tentatively approaches as Lucanis glances around the room before pulling over a large crate for him to sit on and gesturing for Rook to take the armchair opposite him. Even though the crate is slightly too small for him and a few inches shorter than the chair it manages to hold his weight and leaves him eye level with her.

She's watching him and he moves the equipment to one side, careful to pick up any glass shards as he piles tubes and viles into a corner and stacks the books clearing the space between them. His face remains a mask of ease but she can't help but notice the small bead of sweat that forms at his brow. When was the last time he had hosted a girl in his room? He couldn't remember. Come to think of it, when was the last time Lucanis had hosted anyone in his room?

Lucanis shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his arms. He had always been bad at making small talk but now he felt like he'd forgotten how to speak entirely. After a moment the silence is broken by a low humming noise, some variation of a song his grandmother would sing to him many years ago. The noise fades in and out but Rook dosent react, Lucanis is the only one who can hear it.

Quiet.

The girl is studying he realises. Head cocked to one side she watches how he moves and breathes, her guard his up, her discomfort increasing and yet she dosent make a move to leave.

"So..." Rook rests her arms on the oversized chair, one knee crossed other the other, fingers tapping on the edge. "Are you going to tell me how you did that thing out there." She raises her hand and seems to be trying to project her power but all he sees is empty air.

He had felt her magic approaching of course, the thrum of power had given him plenty of warning. The spell she had encountered had taken almost a decade to perfect, he had spent countless hours working on it with his Cousin. The barrier could be locked to one room and only lasted as long as the creator was present. It was supposed to keep out any magic users that didn't possess the Dellamorte bloodline. Clearly it was faulty if Rook had gotten through. He'd have to ask Illario about that when he next saw him.

"I am not entirely sure." Lucanis takes in the way her eyes waver, she doesn't seem annoyed that the spell had managed to stuff her magic but curious, perhaps slightly hopeful? "I do not use many spells, my specialities lie more in weapons and potions. My cousin helped with this one, you might have seen him around.”

She can see that from the display on his desk to the objects that fill his room and line the shelves, a few swords hanging on rusty nails that stick out of the stone.

"Ah, the handsome one." Rook recalls, as he shoots her an unamused look. "So could you, create a spell or a potion to stop it?"

"Why would you want to stop it?" He queries watching the way her hand goes to a chain around her neck, the small opaque crystal attached to it resting just between her breasts, Lucanis moves his eyes away quickly. His gaze goes back to her face then to the wall behind her as he avoids her eye contact.

He had seen the necklace before but had never gotten a good view of it, in fact he could not recall a time he seen her without it. No bigger than a marble, the edges jagged but dull enough to not cut into her skin. Whatever it was it meant something to her. Another piece of the puzzle.

"I mean, to help control it. Like the way your daggers seem to hold power, I can't have another mission go sideways because of me." A half truth.

He does not have to look her in the eyes to know that's not exactly what she meant.

"Perhaps you should ask Emmrich about that kind of stuff, maybe he could make you some sort of object to hone your energy."

In his time here Lucanis had seen the man do incredible things with his gifts, he had even come to him for help occasionally to identify any objects found whilst out on missions.

"I don't think that would work." Her lips pull into a grimace as she continues to fiddle with the silver chain. "And besides i'm not really sure how to feel about the old man, he frightens me a bit." Rook was both equal parts unsettled and intrigued by the man and his skeletal companion.

Lucanis raises an eyebrow but lets her talk.

"Don't tell him I said that though, you two are friends right?"

She recalls the few times she had watched Lucanis enjoying himself over dinner and drinks, in the library studying whatever it was he was searching for. Out of everyone here the two men seemed to click, both quiet and strange in their own way.

"I do not know him that well." Lucanis does not have friends. He is here to complete his contract and keep his home safe, that’s all.

Misunderstanding his blunt reply as sarcasm, Rook laughs. It's muffled by a hand over her mouth.

His chest tightens, wondering what it would sound like to hear a full true laugh from her. He wanted to find out. There was no question that Rook was attractive. Her elven features mixed the human way she spoke and carried herself made most people find her off putting. She tried to make herself invisible, had spent her first weeks at the Lighthouse brushing off everyone's attempts of inclusion but Lucanis had seen the way she made their companions laugh without even trying, the way her smile lit up a room. She didn't even have to try, he couldn't stand it.

Had the room always felt this small? Of course it had he was sleeping in a dammed storage closet for gods sake.

The desire that coiled low in his stomach was not as easy to ignore now as it was when he'd first laid eyes on her. All it takes is one moment of wanting and a mirror image of Lucanis draped in shadows manifests through the table. The creature contorts and twits its body, limbs cracking into place until it's crouched beside Rook. Lucanis closes his eyes reaching deep inside to sever that tie between man and demon but it's already started to knot. The door a-jar.

Lucanis grits his teeth as Spite inspects her, but the more he tries to shut him out the more the demon takes form. His discomfort and Rook's distraction only seems to make Spite more excited as it moves from side to side head twisting like a starved animal about to feast.

I can see why you're so fascinated by her. Such a pretty little thing.

Spites hand is less than an inch away from caressing Rook's cheek, hand going, lower, lower, until it comes to rest just below where Lucanis can't see under the table. Lucanis lets out a disgruntled cough, clearing his throat then scoots his crate back from table.

Spite's eyes snap up at him, and it lets out a laugh the look of hunger fading into a feline grin.

Leave us. Do. Not. Touch her.

You can't make me.

If you're going to stay, be quiet and behave.

Spite lets out a whine and glares back at him but obeys hands up in surrender as those glowing eyes ablaze. Some days Lucanis could push him out if he really tried. It would take all his strength and then some but each day was different. Recently the active days seemed to be outweighing the quiet ones. It had taken him years to train his mind against the demon, to build up walls and keep the doors locked. But no matter how badly Lucanis wanted him gone he would always let Spite back in.

There was no one without the other, they depended on each-other for survival. He had wasted almost his entire life trying to find a cure for this curse placed upon him and had come to accept the grim fact that if he wanted to live, Spite would be along for the ride.

Fine, fine. She's all yours. I won't touch her...unless she asks us to.

Lucanis stands to his full height kicking back the crate, he moves through the shadow demon purposefully causing the the smoke to separate. As Spite's form reconstructs itself it watches him as he places two china cups onto the table, both different sizes and designs. Rook lets out a small yawn as she waits, utterly unaware of the domestic currently playing out between the demon and the man as she watches Lucanis. There's a clattering of boxes being moved and rearranged then he lights a flame under what appears to be some sort of homemade stove. After a few minutes he returns with a steaming pot and the smell of coffee fills the small room.

Rook holds out her cup for him as he pours out the dark brown liquid until it reaches the top then fills his own. Now that he's closer she can see the black power under his nails, a cluster of tiny white scars standing out in contrast against his tan skin. She wants to ask about the experiment he was doing when she had interrupted him earlier or pry more about her magic but it's late and she's exhausted. Shes beginning to ajust to the dim candle light, the subtle warmth the flames gave off as the occasional gust of cold air moved past her and the presence of the man sitting opposite her.

Sure, it was a bit awkward and she wasn't sure if he was utterly repulsed by her or just had invited her out of civility but Rook had been searching for a distraction from her restless sleep and she had found one. They didn't need to speak, to fill the silence, just being in each others presence was enough. Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off that had made her feelings intangible but could swear she felt a strange sort of comfort when she was with him.

Instead of voicing the million questions she yearned to have answered Rook leans back in her seat against the worn velvet and lets the cup warm her hands as raises the it in a thanks then takes a sip. It's bitter and warm, not hot enough to burn but the taste leaves an unwelcome flavour on her tongue. The disgusted expression on her face forms because she can stop it. Lucanis is waiting for her reaction.

"What? No milk or sugar?" Rook's voice sounds strained as she gulps down the liquid mid sentence forcing herself to take another sip.

She'd had coffee before, at the training camp it was valued as much as gold. But that had been a watered down version, reheated and shared between large groups, whatever Lucanis had was strong and fresh. Perhaps this was another thing she'd have to adjust to.

The corner of Lucanis's mouth raises, those full lips forming an almost smile as he watches her drink before trying his own.

"I like it black." He states before refilling his cup.

Rook hides another nervous laugh and gives him in a look that says of course you do. She would not make a very good spy he thinks.

She coughs as she reaches the bottom of the cup wiping a hand over her mouth before placing it down and pushing it slightly away from her. A fake smile of gratitude plastered across her face.

"Thanks for the coffee, and the company."

Lucanis's doesn’t seem to register the comment, his gaze entirely focused on the spot just behind where she sits, eyes occasionally flicking to check that she hadn't moved then back again to not so empty space. The humming song starts again.

There an obviously tension between Rook and Lucanis but neither of them quite wants the moment to end. Lucanis had never been very good at making friends, hell, he struggled enough as it was to keep loose acquaintances. But since he would be staying here for the foreseeable future he might as well try to be civil with her. He couldn't leave now, not when he was so close to finding a cure, not when he and his cousin had a chance at freedom, not when this girl was before him could be the key to everything. Regardless of his intentions Rook had played a part in his rescue and he would be indebted to her until the contract was completed.

I think she's starting you like you. Thats a first, should we tell her what we really are?

I thought you were staying quiet.

How can I when I can hear all your thoughts. I wonder what she would say if you told her what you want to do to her-

Spite seems to forget what it was saying as the creature stops mid taunt, turning in a circle sniffing the air its hollow eyes turn from Lucanis to Rook and back again.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

Lucanis's temple is throbbing as he rubs the palm of his hand against it trying to mask the feeling with more questions. If he could keep her talking for long enough maybe he could gain back enough control for Spite to leave them.

"When you have these nightmares, what do you see. Tell me about them."

Straight to the point then. Rook thinks, it would be easy for her to lie about it but she has nothing to lose.

"You want me to help you or not?" Lucanis barks out when Rook doesn't immediately answer. He doesn't mean for his tone to come out like that, cruel and disingenuous. Every step he makes towards Rook feels like another two back into the dark.

"Sorry-" She starts only to be cut off by his raised hand.

"Stop apologising." He shuts her down. "Just start from the beginning, anything you can remember might help us to better understand your...situation. When did they start."

She should be sorry, she was a Mage who had killed tens, if not hundreds of innocent people. Even if she had been following orders, even if it had been an accident, she had killed, no man would ever mourn one less Mage in the world.

You have more blood on your hands than she does.

I take no pleasure in killing, unlike you.

It’s impolite to lie Lucanis. I know you get off on it as much as I do. Oh look you've made her cry…

Spites observation panics him for a moment but when he looks at her there's no tears present. The only evidence of sadness is a fait sheen to her pale eyes, that haunted look he had seen before in the mirror on his own face. Greif.

As Rook recalls her nightmares and the memories that interlinked them she wished, not for the first time that they had left her to die in that rubble. How was it fair that the gods got to pick and choose who gets the power of creation, of life and who gets that of death and destruction. How she longed to be able to bring her friends back from the dead, reach down upon the earth and feel the roots grow.

"I think they must have started when I was a child but I could never remember anything, only waking up to find myself screaming. The night after the first time my magic manifested there was a thunderstorm, I started dreaming about this woman, I can't recall her face but it was like she was glowing in green flame."

Lucanis's focus is wavering as he tries to hang onto each of her words, something about green flames, a wolf, the sound of thunder, demons and the veil. His time is running out. The pain was behind his eyes now, vision blurring as he blinked over and over trying to shut it out.

"Lucanis." Rooks voice brings him back for a moment. "Are you alright?"

Smells like blood.

Get out of my head.

Can't you smell it? Let us taste her, just this once.

I said, GET OUT.

But Spite was right. The metallic tang in the air was undeniable, he could smell it. A shudder of dread snapped him back into reality. He was looking at her how, really looking. Had Rook always looked this pale? Her eyes were hollow, sunken in slightly and ringed with grey. Her lips parted as she paused mid sentence.

"You are bleeding." Lucanis's voice startles her as she has a moment of confusion before the realisation sets in.

She shifts the seat back a few inches looking down at herself before placing her hand to where the black shirt was sticking to her side. When she brings it away her palm is covered with a fresh coating of blood. Her mouth forms a silent 'oh' as she places her hand back against the wet shirt and holds it in place.

Before Lucanis can stop her she stands up swaying slightly using her free hand to steady herself against the table as he rushes to her side, the crate he was sat on lets out a screech against the stone as he flys across the room towards her.

Told you I smelled blood.

"LEAVE US." He doesn't mean for those words to be voiced aloud. Lucanis's voice comes out through gritted teeth, if Rook notices him speaking to the air she doesn't react - too focused on trying not to pass out.

It's not the blood that makes Lucanis feel like he's going to throw up but what comes after. This is how Spite feeds, the demon can't touch her in its usual state but pain, death and bloodshed calls to it the way a holy man might call upon the gods. When in battle the bond between Spite and Lucanis is forged from violence, all it takes is for the first kill to commence and then two become one. Most days the demon can do little more than cause him headaches with taunts and mind games but in battle Spite can take over fully possessing him and using Lucanis's body as a vessel for violence.

He wasn't sure if Rook's injuries would be enough to let Spite in all the way there was no rule book for this kind of thing but he didn't dare send her away. Not when she was in so much pain, not when seeing her in pain caused him so much.

With one arm under hers and the one carefully hooked around her waist so not to touch the wound he guides her to the table and holds up her weight against his own until her legs secure against it, the table is low enough that when he pushes her back slightly she's able to sit on it without much strain.

"Keep pressure on the wound." He leaves her for just a moment hurrying across the room and pouring out something that look like water onto his hands then wiping them clean on his sheets.

Lucanis was not healer but had learnt survival young and patched himself up after many a battle. He had been nine the first time he'd had to fix a dislocated bone, thirteen when he learnt how to stitch his own wounds.

Rook winces as she feels the throbbing pain grow, her skin heating as sweat begins to coat her skin. She has no idea how long it’s been bleeding or when the stitches had ripped. It was as if until she saw the blood there had been no pain and now it felt like she had an arrow in her side all over again.

When Lucanis returns he's holding a pile of clean cloth and a bottle of clear liquid. "I'll need to redress the wound and clean it."

Rook continues to look down at her side fingers now slick with her own blood she acknowledges him with a faint noise that he can’t make out.

"I need you to look at me. I don't think Varric will forgive me if I let you bleed out on my table." That earns a pained laugh. "This is going hurt." He adds.

"Okay." She nods again this time meeting his eye as Lucanis hand holds her chin to look at him. Defiance lives in her eyes but she agrees to let him help her, this is a woman who does not want to be pitied or saved. He knows exactly how that feels.

Lucanis lets her go and pushes his sleeves up further until the material can't go any higher up his biceps. With little effort he rips the cloth into strips and places it onto the table beside her along with the bottle. Slowly, cautiously, he stands infront of her assessing the situation. Rook moves her body slightly so that she's turned half to the side giving him better actress to her and her hand beings to pull up the bottom of her shirt.

"Do you want me to stop, it's not too late. I can wake one of the others-"

"No it's fine." Rook cuts him off. "It really doesn't hurt that much." Her face says otherwise.

It would be easier for him to remove her top completely but the thin material leaves little to imagination, it's clear Rook wears nothing underneath. Instead Lucanis pulls a dagger from his belt and cuts away at the ruined fabric leaving only enough to cover her. The bulk of the bandages are almost completely soaked through. As he unbinds them from her ribs and throws them onto a pile on the floor Rook swears when the wound is exposed to the cold air.

We could have her right now, on this table.

"It's not as bad as I thought, but you're to need to sit still for the next part. Drink this." He holds the bottle up to her lips and lifts it so she can drink, one hand underneath to catch anything that spills.

Rook splutters and coughs as it burns the back of her throat but takes a few gulps as Lucanis lets out a loose a breath.

With the old bandages removed and blood wiped clean he can now see only three out of the eight stitches had torn open, and other than the irritated red skin around the wound there’s no sign of infection.

"That was fucking disgusting. Do me a favour and just keep talking. If I don't pass out from this, I might die if you serve me anymore beverages." Rook states, eyes closed as she lets out a low whimper whilst Lucanis begins to wipe away the blood. “And if I die.” As grits her teeth. “I will come back and fucking haunt you.”

Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth.

Don’t look at her.

Imagine the sweet sounds she would make.

"I'm not very good at talking." Lucanis confesses, undeterred by her empty threats.

He doubts very much that she would want to hear about how he'd spent almost his entire childhood being experimented on in a cage by the only maternal figure he'd never known.

"Oh i've noticed." Her eyes are wide and alert now, pupils dilating. "Seriously say anything, sing a song tell me a story, make something up. Tell me about possessed life, I bet he's here isn't he, the demon, is he here? Is he a he?"

Rook might not have been thinking clearly to start but now she’s racking her brain for everything she learnt about this man so far. Not only was she about to let an almost stranger - at best coworker, operate on her in a storage cupboard she was about to let a man possessed by a demon to do it. Other than overhearing Neve refer to the demon as 'Spite' once she had no idea if that was its name or what it even was.

Did demons even have pronouns?

"It's here, it likes the blood." If Lucanis was trying to comfort her he was failing miserably.

From the corner of his eye Lucanis can see spite crouching beneath the table, its slightly see through finger poking at the small pool of blood on the ground. Despite the finger going through the blood and stone floor Spite puts it into its mouth and pretends to lick the finger clean.

Delicious.

"Great, well there's plenty of that here. Sounds like a charming guy." Rook lets her head fall back and stares up at the ceiling as she waits for Lucanis to fishing threading the needle.

Lucanis bites down on his bottom lip as he finishes threading the needle then sterilises the wound with what smells like alcohol. He dabs at the blood with no warning and she clutches back as it stings sending shivers down her spine that make her want to kick him.

"What does it feel like?" She asks the corners of her eyes glistening but again, no tears fall.

"At first I thought my soul had been split in half. But now, it’s more like having two sets of hands instead of one, eyes in the back of my head. The power is…unimaginable."

He pulls her skin together holding the flesh with a forefinger and thumb as the needle pushes through for the first stitch. Over rooks deep breathing he swears the faint sound of thunder booms overhead.

"I have heard sories of demons that can possess men. The Grey Wardens knew a lot about dark magic. How did you come to be this way? I mean what happened to you. You weren't born like this, were you?" Rook seems to be sitting straighter now, the tonic kicking in and numbing some of the pain.

"That-Is none of your concern."

"Does it hurt?" Rook knows she should probably change subjects from the strain in his voice but when she looks up at him the answer is written all over his face.

"Yes and no." The look of agony is gone in seconds and he's back to concentrating on her wound.

His hair despite being tied back falls over his shoulder as is long enough that she feels it brush against her bare skin. She can feel his warm breath against her torso and the occasional faint tickle of his beard as he gets too close.

"Does it hurt right now?" Rook wonders looking around the room as if she would find a demon spawn hiding in the shadows, but she sees nothing.

"You don't have to worry about me. You are the one bleeding."

The second stitch is though.

"I'm bleeding all over your bedroom and you won't even tell me how you got possessed by a creepy demon, wow." Rook tries to make an exaggerated gasping sound but it's cut short as the third stitch goes though and the wind is knocked out of her. "Fucking ouch."

"You are very dramatic." He was glad she couldn't see his faint smile as he continued to work.

This was good, if she’s was coherent enough to make jokes and swear at him hopefully she wouldn’t pass out anytime soon. Lucanis makes a mental note that Rook often uses humour as cover when she's hurt.

The pain has faded to a dull ache now, Rooks body already starting to feel a bit stronger with each passing moment but her mind is still hazy. She’s trying to stay awake but all she can think about was how wants him to never stop talking. Each word keeps her tethered to this plane. That accent, she could listen to it forever.

“We are almost done.” Lucanis moves closer to her - his large body is almost completely covering hers as he leans so that he can tie the bandages around her back. He stops half way realising he can't quite reach it without the possibility of hurting her. Rook feels his hand lightly touching her shoulder indicating which way she needs to move as she swings her legs back round to give him better access.

Now Rook sits on the other side as he leans over, legs hanging over the table, back facing him. He doesn't mean to stare when he looks down at her exposed back but there's no helping it as his eyes travel from the bottom of her spine to the top of her half ripped shirt and the array of scars that covered almost every inch of skin in between. Some more faded than others, the freshest couldn't have been more than a year old. Each one thin and precise line, this had been no accident, she had either been forced to take a beating or let someone do this to her.

"Arms up." He instructs as she strains lift them with little protest but manages to keep them held in place long enough for him to loop the cloth around.

He begins to tie the fresh bandages around her, one hand laying flat across her ribs to keep them in place. The rough contrast of the tips his fingers brush against the exposed skin above her bandages. Once he's sure the bandages are tight enough he feels himself moving without thinking. Rook doesn't react as a finger traced the outline of a particularly deep bit of scar tissue that falls almost directly in the centre of her spine.

He had seen this kind of torture before, often inflicted on disobedient soldiers or deserters. It was possible to get rid of most scars and wounds with certain kinds of magic, for cosmic or personal reasons he had seen it done more than once. But some were not as easy to remove as others and perhaps she had chosen to keep them as a reminder for what had been done to her. He shouldn’t care, it was none of his business.

He could feel the demonic energy that ran in his veins drumming under his skin as he flexed his hand by his side. He was only human-ish after all.

Who did this to you? He wondered. I will make them beg for my blade. He should have no right to care. He had done that and worse to his own enemies, what made seeing it on her so different? Spite who had had been suspiciously dormant the entire time Rook had her wounds tended to was now flicking in and out of existence behind her. The demon Rook from its crouch by her side and for once the demon had nothing to say.

They were both thinking the same thing.

"These are not from battle." Lucanis states as he pulls the cut up edge of the shirt back down to cover what he can see of her side.

"No, they are not." Rook answers as she moves off the table to stand. Her cheeks have more colour to them now he notices as she refuses his help when she steadies herself. "Thank you, I think i've ruined your night enough. I should get going now."

Lucanis accepts her thanks with a nod not sure what to do now. He wants to ask her to stay. Only so he can keep an eye on her incase the wound gets worse of course. He couldn't exactly offer up his bed, a girl like her deserved to sleep on beds of silks and feathered mattresses.

In his first week at the Lighthouse he had been given a large room in the north wing with a plush four poster bed and a dozen pillows. It had felt like he was suffocating in the comfort of that bed, he had tried removing all the bedding on the second night. Placing the mattress on the floor on the third then welcoming the cool stone against his bare back on the fourth. None of it had worked. He felt like a dog without the comfort of its cage. It had been years since he'd slept on anything more comfortable than a couple of crates pushed together with a blanket over the top. Not that he slept much as it was.

As Lucanis begins to put away his things he can feel eyes on him as Rook stands as if she's waiting for him to say something. "Right, of course." Lucanis clears his throat then grabs something off his bed and passes it to her. "Get some rest if you can, i'm no healer so you should probably get somebody to look at that in the morning if you can."

Rook takes the shirt from him and begins to pull her old ruined one over her head with one hand as Lucanis turns to give her some privacy. He can feel his blood heating as the awareness that she’s half naked in his room sinks in. She places the discarded top on the pile of bloody cloth and bandages and cringes as she takes in the mess around the room. Dried blood on the floor, glass on the table, the door hanging on its hingers. After today she didn't think she would ever be able to face him again.

His cream collared shirt reaches her mid thigh, the size of it looking ridiculous on her. She was shorter than the average elf and even though Lucanis was tall for a human he only had a few inches on her but his build had made the shirt seem least thrice her normal size. When she finishes dressing Lucanis is still facing away from her - arms resting against the table as he tried not to think about what Rook might look like in his shirt. He can hear Spites perverted thoughts begin to pile up in his mind making him want to flip the table and its contents scores the room. Instead he re arranging his work and places the books back onto the table as he finishes cleaning off any trace of blood, any trace of her.

"Goodnight, Rook." Lucanis mumbles.

The way he says it sounds like goodbye. So this was it then.

"Goodnight."

Rook waits a few more seconds to see if he will turn back and then, she’s gone.

end chapter notes -

everyday i learn something new about his family and backstory (thanks twitter)

this chapter was only meant to be 3k long but i ended up writing about 6k and cutting it down a bit, their dynamic is so fun to write. anyone has information, head canons or theories about him pls share id love to hear them!

do we hate grandma or not? (i think we do)

as always @/saintscain on twitter, hope you enjoyed

[lunarpiscesangel]

i hate my mother holy shiiiiittttt

[sarcastic-clapping]

LET YOUR DAD DIE: IT'S FINE IT'S FINE IT'S WHAT HE DID TO HIS DAD.

Lestat + Claudia: Patricide & The Cycles of Violence - INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE (2022) - Catherine Lacy, "Cut" (2019) / Anne Rice, "The Vampire Lestat" (1985) / Anne Rice, "Interview with the Vampire" (1976)

[conditioned-to-obey]

Let your submissive rename you.

You belong to them just as much as they belong to you.

[thehollowwriter]

I've witnessed first hand how fucking awful an overly controlling and manipulatuve mother can be.

It destroys your mental health. It makes you question your own worth and intelligence. It makes you unsure of who or what to believe. It makes you terrified of others perceiving you in anything but a positive light. And that's just mentally.

When people say Riddle's backstory was "tame" I want to strangle them because no, no it fucking wasn't. Just because she (supposedly) isn't beating him doesn't mean he has a "less bad" or "less tragic" childhood.

[angelnumber27]

It’s so embarrassing and heartbreaking being in so much pain over losing someone while knowing they don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Your favorite person becoming a stranger is a special kind of hell.