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logansargeantsbabymom · 2 months

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Bar Realizations

Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

a/n: I’ve had this story in my notes drafts for a hot minute but I never posted it but now I feel like I should.

ALSO!!! I HAVE TO START A NEW F1 &F2 MASTERLIST SO BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THAT!!!!

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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I had always known I was different. From the time I was little, strange things happened around me. Objects moved without cause, emotions surged uncontrollably, and the whispers in my head never ceased. When I discovered the full extent of my powers, I knew I needed help—someone who could guide me. That's when I met Charles Xavier.

He was young, kind, and immensely powerful. His ability to control and influence minds was unparalleled, but it was his patience and understanding that drew me in. He offered to help me harness my abilities, and I accepted, desperate to gain control over the chaos within me.

The process was grueling. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, filled with intense training sessions, meditation, and mental exercises. There were moments when I wanted to give up, when the weight of my powers felt too heavy to bear. But Charles was always there, encouraging me, pushing me to my limits, and teaching me to master my abilities. Over time, our relationship deepened. I found myself drawn to him, not just because he was my mentor, but because of who he was—compassionate, intelligent, and incredibly attractive.

One evening, after a particularly challenging session, Charles suggested we take a break. “How about we go out for drinks? Just the two of us,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

My heart skipped a beat. Was this a date? Did he feel the same way about me as I did about him? Trying to contain my excitement, I agreed, and we made our way to a cozy bar in town.

The atmosphere was perfect—dim lights, soft music, and a sense of intimacy that made my pulse quicken. We sat at a corner table, and for a while, everything felt perfect. We laughed, talked about everything and nothing, and I felt closer to him than ever before.

But then, she appeared. A tall, confident blonde with a predatory smile. She sauntered over to our table and immediately latched onto Charles, ignoring my presence entirely. “Hey, handsome,” she purred, placing a hand on his arm. “Mind if I join you?”

Charles tried to gently extricate himself from her grasp. “Actually, we’re on a date,” he said, nodding towards me.

The blonde glanced at me and scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like he’d ever go out with you.”

The words stung, and anger flared within me. How dare she dismiss me so easily? I felt a surge of energy, the familiar tingle of my powers awakening. Discreetly, I focused on her, channeling my emotions into a subtle spell. Suddenly, the blonde started babbling, spilling embarrassing secrets about herself.

“I can't believe I lost my job today,” she blurted out, her eyes wide with horror. “And my ex dumped me because I cheated on him. Oh my god, why am I saying this?”

She turned and fled, humiliated, leaving Charles and me alone once more. I felt a pang of satisfaction, but it was short-lived. Charles turned to me, his expression serious.

“Did you use your powers?” he asked quietly.

Guilt washed over me, and I nodded. “I’m sorry. I just... I don’t know. I felt jealous, possessive. I wanted you all to myself.”

Charles sighed and suggested we head back to the school. The drive back was silent, the weight of my actions pressing down on me. Had I ruined everything? As we pulled up to the mansion, I couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“Charles, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I just... I care about you so much, and seeing her with you made me feel... threatened.”

He remained silent, his face unreadable. As we entered the mansion, I turned to head to my room, wanting to escape the shame and disappointment I felt.

But then, I heard his voice in my mind. “Y/N, I’m not mad or disappointed. In fact, I’m feeling quite the opposite. That was the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing. Turning around, I saw him standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. Before I knew it, Charles closed the distance between us, his lips crushing against mine in a passionate kiss.

My body responded immediately to his touch, my desire for him igniting like wildfire. I moaned into his mouth, my hands roaming over his strong chest as I returned his kiss eagerly. Charles' taste and touch were addictive, and I already knew I would never get enough of him.

Guided by pure instinct, Charles backed me up against a wall, his lips never leaving mine as he reached behind me to open a nearby door. Still kissing me deeply, he backed us into his bedroom, our mouths fused together.

Breaking the kiss briefly, Charles growled softly, his breath hot against my ear, "Get on the bed, baby." His voice was thick with desire, and I felt my core clench at the commanding tone he was taking with me. I wanted him to take control, to show me just how much he wanted me.

I did exactly as I was told, my heart pounding in my chest as I climbed onto the bed and looked up at Charles expectantly. He reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and discarding it, revealing his muscled chest and abs.

My mouth watered at the sight, my eyes roaming over his defined body as I licked her lips subconsciously.

Charles kicked off his shoes and undid his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers, his hard length springing free. Pre-cum glistened at the tip, and my pussy clenched at the sight, my own clothes feeling too tight and restricting.

"Take your clothes off for me, baby," Charles demanded, his voice hoarse as he watched her intently. "Show me that beautiful body."

I sat up, my hands shaking slightly as I lifted my top over my head, revealing my lace bra and the swell of my breasts. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my jeans, shimmying out of them, and then slowly stepped out of my panties, now completely naked and on display for Charles.

He groaned, his eyes raking over my body, taking in my breasts and smooth pussy. "You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" He took a step closer, reaching out to trail a finger along my inner thigh, his touch sending shivers through me.

"Charles..." I whimpered, my voice filled with need. I had spread my legs slightly, inviting him to touch me where I wanted and needed it the most.

As if reading my mind, Charles smiled wickedly, lowering himself between my thighs. He nuzzled my creamy thighs with his face, placing soft kisses along my sensitive skin as he made his way closer to my core.

I sighed, my hands threading through his hair as I savored the feel of his lips and tongue on my skin.

"Mmm, you taste so sweet," Charles murmured against my pussy, his warm breath teasing me. He kissed my inner thighs again before finally zeroing in on my center, his tongue snaking out to lick a long, slow stripe along my slit.

I cried out, my hips bucking involuntarily as I felt his tongue swipe through my folds, collecting my essence. "Oh God, Charles!"

Encouraged by my reaction, Charles gently gripped my thighs, spreading me open further to give him better access. He swirled his tongue around my clit before sucking it into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he inserted two fingers into my dripping core, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside me.

"Fuck, yes!" I moaned, my body writhing on the bed as Charles ate me out with skill and enthusiasm.

My hands grasped the bedsheets as she surrendered to the waves of pleasure washing over me. Charles devoured me eagerly, clearly enjoying the sweet nectar I was offering him.

It didn't take long for me to climax, my walls clenching around Charles' fingers as I cried out his name.

Charles hummed in satisfaction, licking and lapping up my juices as I rode out my orgasm. But he didn't stop there, continuing to work his magic with his tongue and fingers until I was trembling with sensitivity.

"Please... I can't take any more," I panted, my body still throbbing from the intense orgasms. "I need to taste you now."

With a grin, Charles withdrew his fingers and tongue, giving me a moment to catch my breath. Then he climbed up the bed, positioning himself above me. I reached for his throbbing cock, wrapping my hand around the shaft and stroking him slowly as I guided him to my waiting mouth.

I swirled my tongue around the engorged head, tasting the salty pre-cum before taking him deep into my mouth. Charles hissed, his hips bucking slightly as he threaded his fingers through my hair, gently guiding me as I sucked him off.

I took my time, swirling my tongue around his length, sucking and bobbing my head as I looked up at him through my lashes. I loved the power I felt in this position, knowing that I could bring this strong, powerful mutant to his knees with just my mouth.

"Fuck, Y/N... that feels so good," Charles groaned, his hips picking up a slight rhythm as he gently fucked my face.

I hummed in response, the vibration making Charles grit his teeth. He couldn't hold back anymore; he wanted to feel the tight heat of my mouth around him as he came. With a low growl, he began to thrust into my mouth, his pace quickening as he chased his release.

"Fuck my face, Charles," I moaned, loving the feel of his hard length sliding between my lips. "Cum for me."

my dirty words sent Charles over the edge, and with a hoarse cry, he spilled down my throat, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into my eager mouth.

I savored the taste of him, swallowing every drop he gave me as he rode out his intense orgasm.

We lay together for a moment, catching our breath, before Charles gently withdrew from her mouth, a satisfied smile on his face. "You are amazing, baby."

The comment made me blush, a happy warmth spreading through me as I reached up to kiss him. "Your turn to lay back and enjoy the ride."

With a twinkle in his eye, Charles lay back on the bed, his hard cock standing proud as he watched me straddle him. I smiled wickedly, reaching for a condom from the bedside drawer before rolling it onto him with ease.

I took my time, rubbing my slick folds against his length as I teased us both. Charles hissed, his hips bucking slightly as he tried to urge me down onto him. "Tease," he accused playfully, reaching up to tweak my nipples, making me gasp.

"Impatient," I retorted, aligning myself with him before slowly sinking down, taking him deep inside me. We both groaned, I threw my head back as I savored the feel of him stretching me.

Charles' hands gripped my hips, guiding me as I began to ride him, my tits bouncing with each bounce.

The sound of our skin slapping together filled the room as I picked up the pace, my hips moving in perfect rhythm. Charles thrust up to meet me, his hands squeezing the flesh of my ass as he helped to guide me onto him.

"You feel so good, baby," Charles panted, his eyes closed in ecstasy. "So wet and tight."

I moaned, my head falling forward as I got lost in the sensations. Charles' cock hit all the right spots inside me, and I could feel my orgasm building already.

Reaching between us, I started to rub my clit in tight circles as I rode him harder, my breath coming in short gasps. "Oh, fuck... I'm gonna cum, Charles."

"Cum for me, baby," Charles urged, his voice thick with his own desire. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock with that tight pussy."

As if on cue, my walls clenched around him, my juices flowing as I cried out his name. Charles groaned, his hips snapping up to meet mine as he thrust into me one last time, spilling himself into the condom.

Our bodies shuddered together as we rode out our intense, mutual orgasm.

Collapsing onto his chest, I felt Charles' arms wrap around me, holding me close. We were both sweaty and sticky, but the post-coital glow and the feeling of satisfaction made it all worth it.

"That was incredible," I murmured, placing a soft kiss on his chest.

Charles smiled, his hand gently tracing invisible circles on my back. "It certainly was. But we're not done yet."

I lifted my head to look at him, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Oh, really? And what did you have in mind?"

Charles' gaze darkened with desire. "I want to try something different. Something a little wilder."

Intrigued, I bit my lip. "Like what?"

Charles rolled them over, pressing a kiss to my neck. "You'll see," he whispered, his hand reaching down to stroke my slick folds. "But first, I want to taste you again."

————

My first Marvel story!!!!

Taglist:

@hiireadstuff @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @dhanihamidi @eddieharrington @tallrock35

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eliciana · 2 months

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Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 (here) | ...

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader, Paimon, Traveler

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. There is a taglist if you want to be tagged. Also, I may say that the characters other than the reader may be a bit OOC cause it's been a long time since I played genshin and I'm just finishing all of my works with my knowledge left from playing the game. So sorry about it 🙏🙏.

ALSO, sorry for the inconsistent updates. I'm busy with uni and my job so, I have very little time to write.

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'Oh no no no. It's the Traveler and Paimon. Shit! What do I do? What do I do?' You're heart is beating so fast that it might just pop out of your chest anytime. It felt like eternity, just looking at both of them, it's as is if time is slowing down. 'Should I just fake dead? No, that will make them worried then come up to me and then- OH NO!' You eyes widen in horror as the two come near you with worry etched in their faces.

"Uhm. Hello? Are you okay?" Paimon with her high pitched voice asked you. "Are you hurt somewhere?" The Traveler extended a hand, offering to help you up from the floor where you were sprawled upon.

[Reader.exe has stopped working. Brain circuit has malfunctioned. Attempting to restart... Failed. Reloading...]

You looked at them absentmindedly, your brain struggling to process the situation. "Huh?" The Traveler, noticing your distress, gently carried you and placed you back in your chair. They wiped the tears from your face with a handkerchief, their touch warm and comforting.

"Hmm. Traveler. don't you think that this place kind of resembles a restaurant of some sort? Or like Puspa Café? But just more... uh advanced???" Paimon flew around the Café, examining each and every corner. "And it smells so lovely in here." She kicked her feet in the air while giggling as she looked at the pastry you had on your plate hungrily.

The Traveler nodded but their attention was still on you who looked like as if their soul was going to heaven. 'As expected, they do seem familiar and their aura... Where have I felt this?'

As you sat in your chair, dazed and just all in all trying to process what is going on, the Traveler placed their hand in your shoulder. the warmth in their hand seemed to have had woken you up in your stupor. "Take a deep breathe. You seem quite overwhelmed by the situation." Gently their voice was. They noticed your drink in the table and slowly pushed it towards you. "Drink first, water would have been better but I can't seem to find any."

"Sorry for startling you. We didn't mean any harm." The Traveller smiled as friendly as they could. "I'm Traveller and she is my companion, Paimon. May I know your name?"

"Uhm... My name is... (Reader)..." you introduced yourself, voice still shaky. "(Reader)... That's a lovely name!" Paimon chipped.

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Can we know where this place might be? This place is quite different from what we are used to and as you have seen earlier, we came from that door. The door appeared during one of our commisions and our curiosity led us here. It will be quite helpful to know where we are as of now." The Traveler slowly told you, thinking that you still might be startled at the moment.

"Ah. This is a Café and I'm the owner..." you explained, trying to regain your composure.

"I see." The Traveller nodded and seemed to be in a deep train of thought at your answer.

"WAHH! Traveller! Look! Look!" Paimon squealed. She flew to the Traveller and urged them to come with her. "Wait! Paimon! Slow down will you-" Silence. An eerie silence washed over your building. It was getting awkward so you had decided to walk over to them and try to explain the very advanced planet you live in.

As you approached the duo, you coughed, albeit awkwardly, and cleared your throat. "Uhm yeahh... As you can see outside of the window, this world is not the same as your world. It's quite baffling, right? I was also the same when I saw your world on the other side of the door." You scratched your cheek.

"What is this place?" Paimon said in awe, continuing to look at the scenery outside. The Traveler just continued looking outside speechlessly, eyes darting to one thing ot another. Then suddenly your eyes widened at a realization but you still kept yourself calm.

You explained to them softly, "The planet where you are in is called Earth and we are currently in (country name) situated in (where your country is)." While they where admiring the scenery, you took a quick silent run towards the shelf where the standees of genshin impact where situated at and roughly shoved them inside an unused cabinet.

"Oh yeah, what's your planet called?" You feigned ignorance of knowing who they already are. After all, if you somehow learned that you were just a game character, what would you feel? Wouldn't you feel so detached? or something along those lines and you don't want the both of them to go into a spiral of depression and continuous questions. It's also because you don't know what kind of excuse you will make if they ever saw the standees. It's only a miracle they didn't see it earlier.

"Oh uh, we're from somewhere called Teyvat. We're currently staying at Mondstadt due to some personal bussiness." The Traveler replied.

"I see. Teyvat... I have never heard of that. Come, sit here. Choose anything you guys want, except for the *cough* pastries cause they are only going to be delivered tomorrow. Also, my treat!" You winked at them as you gestured for them to seat at a table.

"You don't have to treat us to this. We will pay you for your service." The Traveler quickly told you. "Oh please, I insist. Besides, you guys are my first customers. Now, choose what drinks and snacks you would want in the menu." The Traveler wanted to refuse again but refusing twice would be quite impolite and you seem quite the person who would not go against what they say and stick to it no matter what so, they accepted their defeat with a soft sigh and begun browsing through the menu.

"WOAH! All of the drinks and foodsin the menu look and sound so amazingg! I can't choose!" Paimon squealed. Actually, you were quite suprised that Paimon has her very first voice and not the new one. Her squeals are more tolerable and she doesn't sound like a pig going to be butchered.

After minutes of them painstakingly choosing what they want and consulting you on what some of drinks are, they finally decided on what they want. Creamy Caramel Mocha for Paimon and Hazelnut Coffee for the Traveler.

(Note: I just randomly choose what I think they would want from the drinks I have already tasted so it might contrast with what you guys think they would like.)

You went behind the counter and proceeded to make their orders while you guys talk and ask each other about you guy's worlds, of course with you feigning ignorance even though you already know most of the lore.

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Without any of you three knowing, you lost track of time and soon it was evening. You had so much fun teaching them about Earth and listening to their tales of adventure on Teyvat. Paimon even provided you with an extensive list of her favorite foods from each nation, in case you ever decided to visit Teyvat. Nonetheless, you feel grateful but you don't know when you will go to their world but probably when you have a glock in hand would be the best time to go there. For now, you were content to cherish the memories you had made alongside them.

It was now time to say goodbye. You feel kind of sad since you have bonded with them much more in this short time but it's time to let go. Maybe there will be another next time or maybe not but, you are sure that you will wait again for the time they will come back again even if it's a long time. After all, they are still looking for their sibling so they may not have that much time to be able to visit you.

With a heavy heart, you packed some of the leftover pastries to give them as a farewell gift. "Wahhh! Thank you (Reader)!" Paimon exclaimed, tackling you in a grateful hug. "The next time we come here, we'll be sure to bring some delicious treats from Teyvat!"

The Traveler looked at you warmly. "Thank you (Name). I'll make sure to bring the finest sweets next time we meet." They stepped forward and embraced you gently. "Although our time together was brief, I cherished every moment."

"Me too..." you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. Standing before the door, you gently waved them a farewell as they prepared to depart. The Traveler and Paimon returned your wave, their faces reflecting the same emotions you felt. With a deep breath, they turned and stepped through the threshold, embarking on their continued journey.

As you watched them depart, you couldn't help but feel a bittersweet longing. But you knew that their paths would cross again, and you would be waiting, ready to welcome them back with open arms and a fresh batch of pastries.

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Taglist:

@kameyo-kumo

@esthelily

@haru-tofuu

@udretlnea

@shining-nebula2000

@ifeellikejumpingoffacliff

@resident-cryptid

@allblognamesaretakenlikereally

@leilakaro

@stvrbrighttt

@chericia

@evaline-ethan

@ra404

@mmmhyperfixation

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin sagau #gn!reader #genshin series #•works[🍡]•#gender neutral reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin #genshin reverse sagau #genshin reverse isekai #cafe owner! reader au #genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader

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unofficial-underfell · 6 months

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Hey guys, I've been thinking about making this post for a long time and I think its finally time I do so. After realizing that some of my last work was done over a year ago, I don't think I can really ignore it anymore. While I haven't quite thrown in the towel on this quite yet, it's pretty evident to me and I'm sure to everyone who still follows this blog that my fervor for the project has drastically decreased. And has been kind of dead for a while. The comic has not been a priority to me, or posting online much at all actually. I did some soul searching and found that I'd started relying on outside approval for my art instead of doing art for the sake of wanting to tell a story and express myself throughout my work. I have limited energy and depression and sometimes it feels like i get such little progress done even though it takes all of my energy. While I'm trying to go to the gym more and build better habits my energy levels and mood still have a lot to be desired, and I'd rather use the limited energy I have to work on something I'm more passionate about.

I've been trying to grow my skills and absorb more stories and I've moved around a lot and started to listen to what I really felt, and I found that a lot of the art I want to focus on deals with heavier and more mature topics. I do love this story, and all of the characters and I feel like I could make a really clever subversion of what is expected from an Underfell comic. But I feel like in these uncertain times with the world and with all of the stuff going on right now, I'd like to use my energy to work on stories that hit closer to the things that I feel are important. So that's why I've not been posting much.

I'm working on a book, and I've actually got quite a lot of progress done on it, but because of all the horror stories online about people stealing author's original works, I'm kind of holding off on publishing any chapters before I can copyright the first draft of the novel. So my online activity will still be pretty scarce for a bit, though I'll still post occasionally on my @cosmicpixel01 account. I'll try better to not be so radio silent though lol. Even if that means I'll post something boring about my dog or books I'm reading just so everyone knows I'm still alive.

I don't want to call it quits on the story. But I also feel like you guys have been kept waiting to see what happens for a really long time, and that makes me feel so guilty. I will try to finish up the pages I have in the works, and I'm probably going to switch to a different format that is some drawings, some writing to finish the story. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to finish it the way I intended for you guys, even with all of the support and kind words and even the fanart that I've kept in a folder on my desktop. I am letting a lot of you down, but I feel like the radio silence is probably more irresponsible than just going out and saying something. And I'm sorry I've kept you all waiting for a not-so-happy update on the blog.

I hope that some of you will continue to follow me for some of my other exploits and see whatever other things I have going on, but I understand that you all followed me for Undertale so I don't want you to feel any sort of guilt if you decide not to. I'm just happy you all supported me for so long.

I'll try to work on this blog again soon, and if anyone has any questions, my asks are open, though I'll probably keep the asks private. Until then I hope everyone stays safe out there. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

-Avery

#not pages #unofficial-underfell #this was so hard to write i dont want to be a quitter but I'm tired #avery speaks

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princecharmingwinks · 2 months

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Thank you for tag, lovely @noyzinerd !! The snippet you provided on your post was brilliant! I have a few little fics on the go but this one is probably the closest to finished. Not named yet but it is a 5+1 Sterek where Stiles working at a bookstore slowly meets different members of Derek's pack who know Stiles is the perfect match for Derek.

It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon at Alpha Books, Stiles the only staff on while the bosses were away on their 2 year anniversary trip. He was happily humming along to the radio, reshelving when the bell jingled announcing a new customer.

Stiles popped his head out of the aisle and smiled, “Welcome to Alpha Books, can I help you find anything today?” The new customer was a girl, maybe a few years younger than him and small in stature but her whole presence radiated Tough, with a capital T.

“What do you get your older idiot brother to distract him from the ridiculousness of his life?”

Stiles tried not to grin at the exasperated tone but it must not have worked because the girl’s eyebrows crinkled into a judgemental frown.

“Sorry,” He offered in apology before completely stepping out of the aisle. “What does your brother like to read?”

She huffed out an annoyed sound but Stiles wasn’t completely convinced it was aimed at him. “I have no bloody clue. How do you work out someone’s tastes?”

“Well, what’s he like? Maybe we can work it out together?” Stiles was getting excited now, he loved a good book hunt.

She nodded, taking a moment to think. “He’s one of those crazy morning people who actually enjoys jogging before 7am. But it also means he’s in bed like an old grandma by sundown. He doesn’t like anything too horror-y or gore-y. I guess maybe some kind of adventure series?”

Stiles lit up with excitement, this brother sounded like he may enjoy one of Stiles’ personal favourite series. “Has he ever read the Bean and Pennywise series?”

The girl frowned again, “Been what?”

Stiles held up his hand and ducked down another aisle, returning in a flurry with the first book in the series in hand. He offered it to the girl and gave her time to inspect both front and back covers, including the blurb.

“This Bean guy sounds just like his type.” She gave a small smile and Stiles had a feeling it was a rare sight he was beholding.

He also had to fight against the blush that was probably forming when he realised he was about to admit that he related way too much to Bean. This girl was super pretty, if not also intimidating, and Stiles was sure her brother would be too. And based on her description, her brother sounded like someone Stiles would swoon over. Stating he was like the lead character in the novel who was apparently her brother's type was way too forward.

“Awesome! I’ll ring it up for you.” Stiles took the book back and headed over to the counter, slipping the store’s bookmark that doubled as marketing for his blog inside the front cover.

Hope you liked this snippet! Tagging some mutuals since I'm not sure who has been writing lately or not. No pressure of course :) @fairytales-and-folklore @breakingjen @elisela @haletostilinski

#princecharmingwrites #teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #cora hale #wip

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lavendertales · 6 months

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SEÑORITA: Chapter 9**

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: you get Javier to open up about his life in Colombia. meanwhile, when Steve invites the whole lot of you to brunch, it becomes tough to keep your relationship a secret, especially when Javier's confession burns on the tip of his tongue.

word count: 7k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut; lots of flirting, love confessions, mirror sex, cunnilingus & fingering, some dry humping , cockwarming, lil bit of praise kink & gentle dom!Javi.

A/N: so hiiii yes I am not dead, I am just not really posting anymore but I will see this story through. idk if this is as good as I'd hoped, but I do hope you enjoy it nonetheless 💕

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

series masterlist | AO3

There’s loud screams all around him. Smoke, screams, and the unmistakable scent of death and despair, all around him.

Someone’s screaming for him. Saying his name on a loop. Javier, Javier, Javier. Followed by Javi. Then a toe-curling help me and please, and then—silence.

A silence so loud his ears are ringing and pouring blood.

Except when he looks around him, there’s blood everywhere.

Blood, mass destruction, and an impending sense of doom that no matter how far he runs, no matter what lies he tells, it never leaves him. It is then, in that very second as he’s looking down at the bloodied and bruised face of a woman he once thought he could be with and save, Javier realizes that sense of doom will never leave him. He will remain forever locked in its harsh and cold grip, forever followed by the inevitable shame and guilt, doomed to drown in them.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “’m sorry—I’m—I couldn’t—“

“Javi. Hey. It’s okay. Can you hear me? Javi. It’s me.”

His name on a loop, pronounced so carefully and sincerely, so rich with care and an almost soul-crushing sweetness, awakens him at long last. He’s disoriented as he looks around, his temples and forehead dripping with sweat. There’s a hand gently resting on his chest, steadying his heartbeat, and it’s then that Javier’s eyes come into focus and they see your face. And then slowly the realization that he’s no longer in Colombia, no longer surrounded by pain, comes into focus as well, and that he’s in his bed, next to the most wonderful woman he’s ever known.

“Are you alright?” you ask, gently rubbing his chest through the t-shirt.

“Yeah. I’m definitely better now.”

He cracks a reassuring smile and so do you.

“Nightmare?” you ask next.

Javier nods, rather hesitantly. “I was back in Colombia. In Bogota.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Upon noticing the hesitation on his face, you’re quick to add, “It’s okay if you don’t want to though. I don’t have to know everything about your past.”

Something about that feels oddly endearing; Javier hasn’t met anyone who has been as kind and understanding as you and for every genuine word you throw at him, for every gentle caress of his hand or his cheek, he feels his chest impossibly lighter, as if all the pain he has been carrying with him for the past few years is beginning to wear off at long last.

Though his tongue aches for verbal release, Javier isn’t certain that he wants to burden you with the horrors he had witnessed and done in Colombia. You are far too tame to handle such harsh realities, even if you clearly expect the truth and nothing but it.

“I did things I’m not proud of,” he lets out in a coarser than expected voice. “Terrible things. Either for information or out of… helplessness or desperation.”

You don’t say anything; you adjust your position so that you face him clearer, even in the darkness, and let him continue.

“I’m no saint, by no means. I guess sometimes I thought my actions were justified because the end result would be good. But it rarely ever was.”

And before he knows it, Javier is telling you the chapter of his life which he deemed closed some time ago, from start to finish: he tells you about him and Steve and how they worked together; he tells you about working with the most gruesome group in all of Colombia in order to get to Pablo Escobar; he tells you about Helena and how he cared about her and how he got her traumatized simply because he pushed her too much for information; he tells you of all the people he threatened, shot, of all the plans he made and failed, how he got the so-called promotion in Cali and how it meant that Steve was the one who ended Escobar eventually. By the end of it, it’s nearly morning and you’re cuddled at his chest, listening to him breathe and caressing his cheek.

“I appreciate you opening up about this,” you murmur. “I know it can’t possibly be easy.”

“It is. It feels easier with you.”

You smile, chastely kissing his lips. Javier’s chest rises and falls with each additional shaky breath he takes as he forces his mind to collaborate with his mouth in order to get out those pesky three words that have been pressing on his conscience for weeks now. Yet the way you kiss him tenderly and sweetly, as if to reassure him that he’s safe and sound from any harm in this world, it shuts him up real good.

His mother once told him that when he’ll meet someone special, he’ll know it and he’ll know just what to say and when. He was still a kid at the time and he dismissed his mother’s words, but now he feels them to be truer than ever.

“So if we were in Colombia,” you say suddenly as a smirk graces your lips, “would I be one of your girls?”

Javier turns to you, faintly amused. He cocks an eyebrow at you, his interest visibly peaked.

“What?”

“Would I be one of many girls that fall at Javier Peña’s feet? One of the lucky ones who get to go to bed with him?”

Something aches inside Javier as you pose that question. It’s a playful one and while you have no ill intentions behind it, it dawns on Javier that the idea repulses him on a certain level. The idea of you being just another pretty face to add to that seemingly endless list of conquests, another forgettable name on there… he doesn’t want that.

Especially not when the reality could not be more farther from the truth.

“No,” he responds, shifting closer to you and removing a strand of hair from your face. “No, absolutely not.”

You smile, somewhat confused. “Why not?”

“Because you’re—better. You’re—you’re everything, you—“

His heart starts pounding, his throat feels beyond dry and it feels as if there is a huge ball of fire in his chest, waiting to burst at the slightest movement.

“I—what?”

Tell her. Tell her now.

Tell her you fucking coward!

“We should get some rest,” Javier mutters, stroking your hair and coaxing you into his arms so that you fall asleep as soon as possible. Once you do, he finally exhales, still burdened and haunted, but much more secure in his decision to finally come clean to you tomorrow, no matter what.

Except that when tomorrow comes, Javier receives an unexpected invitation.

“You free in about two hours?” Steve’s voice asks through the phone, and Javier gulps out of instinct.

“Yeah, think so. Why?”

“How would you feel about having brunch with me and Connie?”

He falters, and it’s as if Steve can sense the hesitation on his part because he’s quick to add, “Hopefully my sister’s gonna be there too. Also Sylvie and her boyfriend Zack, they’re coming too. You know, my sister’s friends.”

“Right, yeah, I think she mentioned them at some point.”

“Yeah. I thought a nice friendly meal would do us all good. What do you say?”

Javier meets your face from the corner of his eye and notices the question written all over it. He shakes his head briefly, a little “I’ll handle this for us” sign, and resumes his conversation with Steve.

“Sounds nice, I’m in,” he tells Steve.

“Great. Just gotta call my sister now. Or hope to get in touch with her at least.”

“Just call her, I’m sure it’s gonna be fine.”

The moment he hangs up, he stares at you with the same guilty face he’s been having whenever Steve’s been around lately.

“You need to go to your apartment,” he tells you in a grim voice.

You frown. “Are you kicking me out?”

Javier makes a face. “No, of course not. But you need to go to your apartment because your brother’s gonna call you and you need to answer the phone.”

“I could be sleeping in. It’s Sunday, after all. I could’ve been out last night. Hell, I could’ve been with somebody. Maybe I was with Dean and we—“

“Okay, stop.”

You try not to smile seeing the bothered look on Javier’s face. Instead, you inch closer to him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Aw, honey, are you jealous of Dean?” you peck his lips.

“I think we’ve already established that I was. But not anymore. I’ve got you, and he can go suck a lemon for all I care.”

You scoff, kissing him again, utterly enjoying the sensation of Javier simply melting into your arms, into the kiss you share.

“You really should stop with this because if you don’t, we’re gonna be stuck in here for the rest of the day, spent and sweaty,” Javier warns, to which you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, so what did my brother want?”

“He invited us to brunch.”

“Us?”

“Well, me. And he should be calling you any moment, so if you could go to your apartment and answer the phone, I’d really appreciate that.”

“But I could be—“

“Please. For me?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. “Fine. You’re lucky I’m sweet on you.”

Javier presses a kiss to your cheek, stroking your hand.

“But we need to set up some ground rules for this brunch,” he tells you sternly.

“Rules? For what?”

“We said we’re not gonna tell Steve about us until we’re ready, and we’re not really there yet, so no sitting together, no touching, no looking at each other unless absolutely necessary.”

“Don’t you think that makes it more suspicious?”

“Hopefully not.”

You chuckle. “For someone who used to be a bad boy, you sure like setting down rules.”

“I’m just saying—okay, just—just go upstairs.”

“Ooh, yes, sir.”

He knows you’re joking; he knows you’re teasing him, especially in that falsely impressed and sultry tone of voice, and yet a part of him still twitches at the thought of you being so willing, so malleable and needy for him.

It’s a thought that will never leave his mind—or his body.

The little bistro Steve chose—aka claims, because everyone knows Connie is the one who actually picked it—for the brunch is quite cozy: floral arrangements adorn the outside windows, little lights hang from the walls on the inside, and plenty of people buzzing and chatting, completely immersed in their conversations.

If he were honest, Javier preferred if the two of you showed up at this brunch separately—although in hindsight, that would probably raise more questions instead of burying them for good. But he still has a knot in his throat even when you assure him that nobody’s going to bat an eyelash and that they will all think you coming together here was nothing more but an act of convenience.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” you sneakily squeeze Javier’s hand. “Could you at least try to look less constipated? Just—you know, for at least an hour or two.”

Javier frowns at you, taking a deep breath and taking one last, long look at you, as if he’s trying to memorize every single detail about you. You crack a smile.

“It’s going to be fine,” you reassure him. “You care far more about Steven’s opinion than I do. I don’t care if he finds out.”

“I kind of do.”

“I know you do. And it’s so sweet. But so what if he finds out? I mean… what’s he gonna uncover? That his little sister is in the healthiest and best relationship she’s ever had?”

“With his friend and partner whom he particularly asked not to fool around with his little sister.”

“Javi, we’re not just fooling around.” After a pause, you continue somewhat concerned. “Are we?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry this much.”

It’s quite astounding how fast you’re capable of calming Javier down with minimal effort. But it works, and when the two of you enter the place and take your seats at the table, greeted by the rest of the party, Javier breathes a little easier. He avoids Steve’s eyes as he shakes hands with Zach and Sylvie, guilt weighing on his conscience like the heaviest boulder. He tries his best in remembering your words that this isn’t about Steve, it’s about the two of you and your newfound happiness, but alas, he remains just a little bit stiff throughout brunch as conversation starts flowing between all of you.

On the brighter side, Javier smiles to himself seeing you and Steve engaged in conversation, laughing with each other. You’re sitting side by side to your brother, which means Javier is right in front of you and gets to notice the two of you mending your relationship.

Then he thinks again of how hopelessly in love he feels with you, how he has been for the past several weeks, if not more, and how it’s all happening behind Steve’s back. Maybe you were right, though; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for Steve to find out at last. He’d find out that his little sister is happy, and that his best friend is content, at peace.

Would that be so bad?

And then he feels your foot rubbing against his, sneaking its way up, just in the slightest; he inhales a sharp breath, giving you a death stare, and he gets his answer.

Maybe it would be so bad.

“I hear you finished writing your book?” Sylvie asks you, redirecting Javier’s attention to the subject matter.

“I did,” you proudly say. “I need to do the final editing, run it by someone, but I’m pretty confident it’ll be out by next year. At least that’s the hope.”

“That’s so damn cool,” Zach says in between mouthfuls.

“Truly amazing,” Connie adds.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Everyone turns to look at Steve, who’s got the brightest smile on his face and his glass raised up. They all follow suit with the gesture, toasting your accomplishment as you stare at your big brother.

“Really, I am,” Steve goes on. “I’ve always been. Always thought you’re amazing. Much cooler than me.”

“By miles.”

The table laughs.

“But it dawned on me that I never really told you this. So… I want you to know that I am very proud of you, every day. And I love you.”

“Thank you. And I love you too.”

“Here, here!”

The conversation begins to flow easily afterwards: Connie shares Olivia’s latest endeavors and how she started walking; Zach and Sylvie talk about their relationship and how it is to live together, to which you make a tasteful joke about her pretending to still live with you as well and how you and Zach basically share Sylvie; then Steve talks about work and how he enjoys it, being similar and yet different than what he used to do in Colombia. Javier remains silent during this portion, sipping on his black coffee and pretending not to feel your leg sliding up his.

“What about you, Javier?” Sylvie asks.

“What about me what?”

“How do you like it at the precinct?”

“It’s okay.”

You eye him briefly, affectionately rubbing your leg on his shin, concealing a smile as you see him squirm in his seat.

“Javi’s having a bit of a tough time adjusting,” Steve intervenes.

“It’s police work. It’s what I know, and it’s what I do.”

“It’s what gives you nightmares.”

Everyone at the table turns towards you, the same surprised look on all of their faces. You shrug, ignoring Javier’s deadly stare.

“And you know this how?” Steve asks reticently.

“By talking. By asking and by actually getting to know people, Steven.”

“Let’s move on, shall we?” Javier suggests.

“What do you mean?” Steve resumes, focusing solely on you. “I know people, I talk to them.”

You take a deep breath, maintaining a neutral tone even if your pulse increases rapidly.

“You refer to Javier as your best friend, but besides work, how much do you really talk to each other?”

“We talk.”

“Sometimes too much if you ask me,” Javier adds.

“Point is, he is my best friend.”

“Really? Did you know that he has night terrors? Not nightmares, terrors. And not every night, but he has ‘em. He mumbles and groans in his sleep, sometimes cries or even screams. He apologizes over and over to dead people, to you and to Connie.”

“Oh, Javi…” Connie mumbles.

“Do you know how I know this?”

There’s a lightbulb moment happening inside Steve’s head, and it is perfectly legible on his face as he stares at you, then at Javier, who gulps. Steve says your name, still processing, and it is only then that Javier stands up abruptly, his eyes shooting right at you.

“Can I talk to you for a minute? All the way over there?”

You raise your eyebrows, quite surprised, but nod and follow Javier all the way to the buffet table. You notice the little crease between his brows, the way he purses his lips and you can tell something’s making him uncomfortable. Suddenly the thought makes you feel guilty.

“Javi, I’m sorry if I crossed a line—“

“You thought at brunch would be a good idea to rub your leg against me? With your friends and brother right next to you?”

You furrow your brows, even more taken aback. “Okay, not where I thought this conversation was headed,” you confess.

“Tell me.”

As much as you’d like to deny it or pretend like it doesn’t affect you, Javier’s demeanor is getting through to you in ways you wouldn’t have thought possible; the way he’s being so adamant about his request, his voice low and husky—

“I thought it would be fun, yes,” you shamelessly admit.

“You gotta stop it because otherwise I might excuse us again and fuck you in that bathroom.”

Speechless, you stare at him, mouth ajar and heart pounding in your ears. You find yourself incapable of saying anything for the next few seconds, and even more shocking, you find yourself seriously debating Javier’s words.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about it,” he says.

“Don’t tell me you’re not,” you chuckle.

Javier huffs, frustrated to the point of taking his own words into consideration.

Except he is trying really hard not to be that kind of man and be more respectful and wary.

“Gotta be honest, I thought you were gonna be upset about me saying you have nightmares,” you mutter.

“No, I’m upset because you were rubbing up against me with your brother right next to you, and I can’t keep going like this. So either you tell him about us, or I do.”

You stare at him incredulously. “Wait, seriously? You wanna tell him?”

“I need a clear conscience. And I really need it so next time I fuck you, I won’t feel so guilty.”

You chuckle, stroking his arm. You’re fully aware that the gesture hasn’t gone unnoticed by the four people who are most likely still staring at you two, but all of a sudden, you no longer care. Javier is right; just as he doesn’t want to deny or hide it anymore, neither do you.

So when you return to the table, the perfect comeback is hatched from your brain.

“Sorry about that,” you smile, turning straight to Steven.

“What’s going on?”

“As I was saying, do you know how I know all of those things about Javier?”

“Don’t say it.”

“I’ve been spending the nights at his place. Every night for like three months now.”

Connie and Sylvie are the only ones smiling, except the latter is sipping from her cup of coffee with utmost interest.

“Three months?” Steven repeats. “So you chose to sleep with my best friend to what? To prove a point, to—to laugh in my face?”

“Neither. Actually, it did start as a way to get back at you. But as it turns out, he’s great in the sack.”

“As advertised,” Javier adds.

“And you wanted to skip brunch today,” Sylvie whispers to Zach, who’s watching the exchange as speechless as Connie.

“Don’t—“Steve shakes his head.

“Oh yeah, he’s fantastic. Knows his way around a woman’s body better than she knows it. I’m talking about waves and waves of endless pleasure.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Actually, I think I might too. We haven’t really been careful, you know? It’s been a lot of sweaty, rough and yet so passionate—“

“Okay, stop! Why are you being like this? Both of you!”

You exchange a glare with Javier, both of you smiling at each other.

“Like what? Wild, unhinged?”

“Kind of, yes!”

“The way you’ve been treating me since I was 15? Which I haven’t been in years, by the way.”

“Please tell me you were using some form of birth control though.”

“Ew, shut up! Would you calm down already? We’re both responsible adults, we know what to do. Besides, we’re not just sleeping together. We’re going on dates and spending time together and… we like each other.”

“We’re not just fooling around,” Javier adds, unable to look away from you. “I’m in love with her.”

You stare back at him, ignoring Connie’s soft oh my God in your vicinity, even Sylvie’s I fuckin’ knew it towards Zach.

“Javi, it’s okay, you don’t have to—“

“I love her, Steve. And I did keep my promise to not fool around with her. What I can do is promise to keep her safe and treat her with respect and care.”

It dawns on you that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier say those words, and realizing he also hasn’t said them since his last real relationship. It’s a huge milestone in both your lives, and the fact that Javier chose this moment to confess makes you realize how much he must care about you.

“It’s true,” you add. “I—I love him too. I have for quite some time.”

“I fuckin’ told you,” Sylvie smiles. “I told you, and I knew sooner or later—“

“Not now, Syl.”

“Right, sorry. Continue.”

“Honey?” Connie presses her hand to Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t you wanna say something to them?”

“I’m really sorry, guys. I never wanted to… to treat you this way, to push you even further, sis. I guess I was just afraid that what Colombia did to me and Javier would be too much for you to handle. I know Connie got overwhelmed at some point. Rightfully so. But after all, I had her to come home to. Javier was… alone, and burying his problems in alcohol, cigarettes and random women. Relationships were out of question for him, and I saw what Colombia did to him overall, what all of that did to him. I didn’t want any of that for you. I obviously want you both to be happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I see you guys now being so happy with each other… it makes me happy.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you earlier,” Javier says. “I guess we needed some time to figure things out ourselves.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Point is, I know my sister, she’s an amazing woman, and I—I missed the angle where that might be something good for Javier. Which it clearly is. And clearly he was full of shit when he said you’re not his type.”

“Just out of curiosity,” you intervene, “what exactly is Javier’s type?”

“The usual sexy, sultry woman.”

You raise your brows, to which Steve panics. “Not that you’re not! I mean, not that I think you as my sister are sexy… okay, this is weird, let’s move on.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

“I meant, you’re more the next door girl kind of woman, I suppose, and Javier usually went for the ‘right in your face sexy’ kind of a woman.”

“Relax, I know. I’m just teasing you.”

“Yeah, it’s what you do best.”

Everyone laughs, with Connie affectionately rubbing Steve’s arm.

“But listen, as glad as I am that we are talking about this and being open and mature about it, please do be safe, okay?” Steve says, and you make a face. “Also I know this goes without saying, probably—hopefully—but please don’t have a baby just to spite me.”

“Steven—“

“Please, I’ve learned my lesson, I swear. I promise I’ll be good! I’ll stay out of your relationship, just don’t—“

“Steven!”

“I’m not totally ready to be an uncle. I need to mentally prepare myself for a baby that’s half Murphy, half Peña.”

You roll your eyes. “Would you relax? We are not there yet. We may never be there. I don’t know. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but for now we’re good the way we are. Plus he’s teaching me Spanish too.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“But don’t worry, we only do it when I get a full sentence right.”

Seeing the scandalized look on Steve’s face, you burst into laughter, and the rest follow suit.

“I’m kidding! Oh my God, it’s so fun messing with you.”

“Something is seriously wrong with you.”

You can’t help but share the laughter with the rest of the company, never quite managing to capture Javier’s eyes in your direction, not even on the way home. It only hits you the weight of the words that had been hastily, yet calculatedly, been spilled at the brunch table among friends and family once you get the inside of his apartment. You look around, finally allowing the day’s events to hit you, and then you turn to look at Javier, a warm smile gracing your face.

He confessed to everyone present that he loved you, standing up to your overly protective older brother.

“What’s going on?” Javier asks.

It somehow still surprises you that he’s able to capture the concern on your face, even when it’s not there. You’re not concerned this time around. Quite the opposite; you’ve never felt more at ease and more impressed by a partner. Granted, not that you had many serious relationships in the past, but this right now with Javier, it has so much potential to be something grand that it astounds you.

“About what you said before,” you start, your heart thrumming in your ears. “At brunch.”

Then it hits Javier as well. He inhales deeply, steadying himself.

“Right. So here’s the thing,” he clears his throat. “I’ve only ever said those words once before, and as we know, it didn’t end very well. Okay, in all fairness, it wasn’t paradise city from the beginning, it was more of a masked—that’s not the point. Anyway—“

You conceal a chuckle, staring at him with anticipation and a warmth that exceeds any expectation.

“I’ve only said those words once,” he resumes, “and I did mean it at the time. But I wasn’t really… in love when I said them. It didn’t feel like it should. But now, I think for the first time in my life, I feel those words the way they should feel. I thought I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t do relationships because I suck at them and there was never any time back in Colombia but… I think I just needed to find my match.”

You take his hand into yours. “Javi…”

“I’m serious. I’ve never met anyone so witty and funny, so—so badass. Frankly you could probably kick my ass and I’d be hella turned on.”

You don’t stifle the hearty laugh that escapes your mouth this time, and it triggers the same reaction out of Javier.

“The point I’m trying to make is… I meant what I said. I didn’t just say it to shut Steve up. I—I do love you. The best that I can, which I don’t think is near enough to what you deserve, but… I’m trying to do better, to—“

You cup his cheeks, kissing him tenderly. Javier blinks surprised at you, and his flustered face with his big brown eyes is so sweet it weakens your knees.

“You’re doing just fine, Javi,” you reassure him. “Are you kidding me? You’re so attentive and sweet and—and I love you too.”

Javier blinks in surprise again. Somehow it slipped right by him that you could reciprocate his feelings, hence why he’s rendered speechless for several seconds.

“What uh—I mean… you do?” he finally asks.

“I do. I love you. I should’ve said it sooner, I think, after you turned my story into a book. That’s… kind of when I knew. I guess I chickened out.”

“You chickened out? Why?”

You sigh. “Because… I never said the words before.”

“Wait, you never said ‘I love you’ to someone?”

You shake your head, slightly shuddering. “Well, you know my dating history and patterns, so none of those boys stuck around long enough for me to actually develop real feelings. And there was never any real connection between us. All we really had—“

“Ah, okay, I can—I can visualize what you had.”

“Aw, honey, are you jealous?”

“No. Just… not really a fan of picturing you have sweaty sex with some douchebag.”

“How about if I have some sweaty sex with a very good man?”

Though his interest visibly peaked, Javier still gulps at the notion of being referred to as “a very good man”. It’s the lie he’s told himself countless times back in Medellin and Cali and Bogota, and the same lie he operated under with the hope of excusing his horrid choices. But to hear now as something factual, something that someone as wonderful as you actually believes in…

“You could,” he finally says, stepping closer to you.

His hands roam around your waist, teasing from the small of your back; shivers run down your spine, prickling your skin.

“Is this how you were with the women back then?” you dare ask.

“Why the sudden interest?”

You shrug. “Not sudden. I’m a writer. Everyone has the potential to be an interesting character. Besides, I find the Javier stories fascinating.”

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, that Javier isn’t really around. All he was good for was some fast and rough outlet for release and… not much more.”

“So I take it that dominant, needy Javier is gone?”

He raises his brows, chuckling at the way you’re sneakily handling him. A part of him still fears this power you hold over him, but a bigger part of him is thrilled even by the still of your hand, let alone the way you’re capable of handling him.

He’s never had that, he realizes; he’s never had a woman meet him right where he’s at, handle him like a pro and then some more, and he enjoys it far more than he would’ve expected.

“I meant gone as in… gone on a vacation, not dead.”

You smile, teasingly playing with the hem of his shirt.

“That what you need now?” Javier teases.

“I want whatever you’re comfortable with giving me.”

That’s what ultimately sets him off. So when he finally kisses you, it’s rugged, needy and asserting dominance, but there’s also something very tender in the way Javier is holding you, pulling you into his body. Javier’s sole focus right now is exposing more of you to him, feeling you as close as humanly possible; therefore, he doesn’t tell you just how affected he is by your choice of words. He doesn’t tell you that this is the weakest, yet strongest he’s ever felt. If someone were to ask him how he feels, he’d easily reply “disgustingly happy”, words which he never used before.

He doesn’t tell you any of this; he lets actions speak louder. Calloused fingers, accustomed to manhandling and roughhousing, caress and cup your ass. With each passing second, the kiss you share deepens further, his pulse quickens and his jeans become more and more constricted. Never mind that it’s the middle of the day, in broad daylight; Javier wants—needs—to marvel at every inch of you, exactly as it is.

“Whatever you want from me,” he tells you through a shuddering breath as he slowly undresses you, “it’s yours. Anything.”

Javier surprises himself at how malleable he finds himself to be, caught under your spell, but he does not care one bit. When you look into his eyes and see his blown out pupils, you know he means it. You feel his words to be true.

You smile as you close your eyes and pull him in for another hasty kiss, stumbling your way to the bed. Javier strips you slowly, stealing kisses down your body while a breath catches in your throat. The sun shines right through the big windows on this crisp fall day, so there’s nothing to hide. It’s only when Javier’s hands finally pull down your panties and expose you to him that you notice you’re facing the mirror hanging from the wall of his bedroom. You shiver and on cue, Javier’s hungry eyes look up to meet yours. He smirks—because of course he does, son of a bitch.

“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” he murmurs, tentatively licking a stripe up your pussy.

His eyes don’t leave you when you sneak another glance at the mirror: it’s not huge, but big enough to fit your naked body and Javier’s head right between your legs. No good words cross your mind, even if your mind is in overdrive, begging your mouth to release some form of verbal speech. Your knees buckle and your heart beats rapidly when Javier takes his first taste. It feels like the first time he’s ever done this, though it’s really old news by this point. Recently you thought Javier’s existence is limited to one place and one place alone, and that is in between your legs, based on how much he loves spending time down there—whether he’s snug inside you or eating you out.

“Watch how gorgeous you are when you come on my tongue,” you hear Javier’s voice, lustful and dark.

“Presumptuous, aren’t we?”

You laugh a little, but it quickly fades when you feel two digits moving slowly in and out of you, a tongue collecting the slick gathered in your most sensitive spot. His nose nudges your clit, his whole mouth is seemingly buried in your pussy, and all you can do is moan helplessly, let one of your hands grab a handful of his hair and keep your eyes locked on the way your body curves and aches at his mercy. God, he’s so needy, so eager to please you and to give you orgasms; almost like this is his purpose in this world.

“Does it feel good?” you hear his husky voice.

His fingers feel like they’re splitting you open while you nearly fall apart in his mouth, and at the same time it’s not enough. It drives you insane.

You nod frantically, locked in the same trance of watching yourself getting ate out by Javier.

“With words, señorita.”

Oh fuck. You hadn’t expected that, certainly not the reaction it triggers out of you.

“Yes,” you exhale. “It feels so, so good, Javi.”

“Good. Touch yourself.”

Though your mind is in a haze, you’re able to follow his instruction. Your hand bolts to your clit, rubbing in circling motions. That, paired with his fingers pumping in and out of you and his mouth like a hot furnace devouring your pussy, it doesn’t take that much longer to get you to where you desperately need. Seeing you like this, being able to make you feel this way, it’s all getting to Javier too; he’s gotten so hard by this point it’s borderline masochistic how much pain he’s voluntarily taking in, so he unconsciously starts to rub against the edge of the bed. The friction is so good, but nowhere near enough. It’ll have to do for now, he thinks. He needs to get you off first.

A moan is harshly ripped from the back of your throat, your legs jerk and nearly trap Javier between them as pleasure jolts throughout your body. It’s electric, overwhelming, and simply unmatched. It’s too much all at once, to look in the mirror and see how painfully needy you are for this man, how beautifully fucked out you look in at this very moment. You notice his hips, desperately humping the bed, unbeknownst even to himself.

Javier pulls out his fingers, only his tongue remaining on your overly sensitive area, the strokes of it now gentler. You tug on his hair to make him attentive, and when he looks up, you see his face contorted in a mixture of delight, pleasure and neediness. And just like that, your body aches again, only this time for something more.

“Ah fuck,” Javier groans in his fast attempt to dispose of his clothes. “Didn’t notice I was—“

He sighs right as you smile, taking in the sight of a naked Javier, all in broad daylight for you to savor. He’s so hard now it almost pains you, so when you make a motion to get to him and stroke him, Javier nearly swats your hand away.

“Why not?” you ask with a pout.

“Because it’s gonna be a fucking miracle if I last more than a few seconds and I wanna be inside you when we come.”

You raise your brows. “We?”

“What did I tell you in the beginning that you’ll always have from me?”

“At least two orgasms.”

“I live up to my words.”

He’s wrapped the condom around his cock, now crawling in between your legs, the place he has claimed as his own and by far the most incredible place he’s ever resided in. He’s done this plenty of times before now, it’s nothing new; and yet, this very moment which reeks of anticipation and desire, this single moment in time when his hand is curled around his cock, guiding himself to your already soaked entrance, Javier wishes he could freeze it, keep it to himself forever.

When he slides right at home, deep inside you, you both moan in tandem. And it is the most damnable, beguiling and intoxicating sensation he’s ever known.

Probably because you’re not just another girl passing through his life and his bed. You’re not another random face or a number to the list of women he’s been with.

You’re the woman he loves, the woman he’d take a bullet for if he had to, the woman he’d move mountains for.

“Javi?”

You have this ability to bring him back with his feet to the ground whenever he tends to wander off, and Javier is nothing if not grateful for it, particularly now.

“Can you move? Please?” you plead and it’s so sweet he could come just from that.

Javier chuckles, the sound resembling that of a madman—and he supposes he is one, in a sense.

“Keep lookin’,” he instructs, a little bit of his Texan roots slipping in his tone as he starts to roll his hips. “Want you to watch how good you take me. How—beautiful you are when you take me.”

The grip you have over his shoulders tightens as his hips pick up a moderate pace, pounding into you with a mixture of greed and love. The more he sinks into you, whispering sweet nothings and giving the occasional order, the more you feel pressure building inside your belly. You do as he says, watching your body writhing beneath his in the mirror, and you shudder. His back covers a lot of the frame, so you mostly notice him from behind, pounding into you, and your nearly limp body underneath, taking him as he is giving himself to you.

The sensation of having him atop of you is stellar, something almost like it was meant for you and you alone; Javier’s stealing the occasional kiss from you, his hips more erratic with each additional thrust and his mouth whispering that he’s so close, so fucking close.

“D’you see?” he manages to get out through a wicked smile. “See how—how fuckin’ good you look hmm?”

“Yes—yes, I see it—“

“Mhm—good girl. My good fuckin’ girl.”

Javier loses any train of thought, be it rational or not, and when his orgasm finally hits, it’s all too much and too sudden, and when he can’t stop cussing or thrusting furiously into you, you cup his cheeks and tell him a simple “I love you”.

And he lets go, almost violently.

He’s struggling to catch his breath when he feels you spasming around him, and there’s pride to be felt even when he’s dumbfounded that you came almost at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you make a face at him trying to regulate his breaths. “I was kinda hoping… I’d last longer.”

You kiss him sweetly, gently, still feeling him ache inside of you. “It’s the sexiest thing,” you murmur.

“Having the endurance of a teenage boy?”

“No, the idea that someone needs you this desperately they can’t hold themselves in one piece. I love that. And I love you.”

Javier pecks your lips. “I don’t think I’ll get used to you saying that.”

“You should.”

“I love you too.”

You stay snugged up like that for who knows how long, while the sun rays beam down on your naked bodies. And then it starts to get dark, and you’re on Javier’s lap, slowly riding him and kissing him, aiming for nothing in particular but intimacy.

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tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @fallenkitten @jenispunk

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nahoney22 · 11 months

Note

hi hello I don’t know how to use tumblr but your blog convinced me (I had no idea there was such a gold mine of E V E R Y T H I N G on tumblr whew). Anyway I’m a slut for some slow burn romance, can I request something with Echo? Maybe reader has known him since 501st days and liked him since, and learning he lived and joined the bad batch just made her NEED to find him again? Ps I love you, you’re a beautiful soul ok bye

All Roads Lead to You

Echo X F!Reader

word count: 1.7k

Learning from Rex that Echo was alive, you knew you had to find him and after so many years and confess how you really feel for him before it’s too late again.

warnings: Fluff, cute reunion, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, brief mentions of Echo at the citadel, mentions of death. Safe for work. Female reader. Not proofread.

authors note: oh my darling @burningfieldof-clover I’m so sorry for the delay 🙈 this got lost in my drafts. Enjoy 🤍

"Hey, are you alright?"

Rex's voice reached your ears, but the words remained trapped in your throat. You stood there, rooted to the spot, a whirlwind of emotions raging within you. Tears welled up in your eyes as a million thoughts raced through your mind. Then again, how does one react to the miraculous news that the man you had loved for countless years, the man you had believed to be lost forever, was now alive?

It took the gentle wave of a hand in front of your face to snap you out of your daze. Blinking back your tears, you focused on Rex, who wore a concerned expression. "You okay?"

"Echo's alive?" you finally managed to croak out, your voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and hope.

A soft, reassuring smile graced Rex's lips as he nodded. "Yes, he's alive. He's been with another squad for quite some time now."

The shock of the revelation left you struggling to grasp the reality of the moment. Rex had delivered this life- news with such casual ease, unaware of the immense significance it held for you. He couldn't possibly fathom the depths of your feelings for the Arc Trooper.

Rex guided you to a quiet spot and began to unravel the incredible story of Echo's survival. To your horror, he painted a vivid picture of the ordeal Echo had endured from the Techno Union, how he was rescued and his choice about joining another squad. You truly had no ideal to cope with all this information, other than stare at Rex dumbfounded.

You had abandoned your position within the GAR years ago, unable to bear the pain of Echo's supposed death. But now, a chance had emerged, a chance to find Echo and to finally confess the love you had hidden away for years. However, the question of whether it was too late, whether Echo even held the same feelings for you, loomed large. But you had to find out one way or another. “How do I find Clone Force 99?”

Rex had been kind enough to provide you with the coordinates of the last known location Echo was heading to, and you had promptly booked a shuttle to get there. The journey was arduous, with doubt gnawing at your thoughts the entire way. Your mind whispered that this might be a foolish mistake, but the need to see Echo, to confirm his existence with your own eyes, outweighed all hesitation.

As the shuttle touched down on the unfamiliar planet, you felt a sense of disorientation and timid uncertainty. You questioned whether you should first explore your surroundings or make an attempt to find Echo yourself.

However, your gaze was drawn to the vast expanse of the ocean. It had been too long since you had witnessed such natural beauty, the sun's gentle rays dancing on the water's surface. The clean, fresh air was a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the deeper levels of Coruscant. You had overheard that this planet served as a refuge for many after the Clone Wars, and it seemed like the perfect place for it.

Lost in contemplation, you were brought back to the present by the presence of a small girl standing beside you, her bright brown eyes and short blonde hair catching your attention. She gazed up at you and inquired, "Are you okay?"

You offered her a warm smile and nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Just... taking it all in."

She eagerly inquired, "I love it here. Are you visiting someone or staying?"

Your soft laughter filled the air as you found her nosiness to be quite charming. Truth be told, you didn't see a reason to hide the purpose of your visit. "Visiting someone."

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Who? Maybe I know them?" Her eagerness was infectious, and you couldn't help but notice the familiarity in her eyes, a certain resemblance that tugged at your memories.

You began to answer, "Alright, he's called Ec—"

But before you could finish, a commanding voice interrupted, "Omega, come. We need to get going." The voice sent a shockwave through your heart, and your breath caught in your throat. It was a voice you had longed to hear, one you thought you'd never hear again.

Omega let out a sigh and offered you an apologetic look before turning and hurrying to the source of the voice. As you turned to see the speaker, your heart skipped a beat. Echo stood there, so different yet unmistakably the same. His gaze on you was strong, as if trying to piece a picture together of who you were.

"But Echo, I was helping her find someone," Omega protested, gesturing towards you. Her words were distant as Echo's gaze locked onto yours, trying to recognise the changes in your appearance from the last time he had seen you. Your hair, clothing, and your civilian guise had replaced the uniformed visage he remembered.

Interrupting the profound moment, Omega's question rang out, but both you and Echo remained captivated by the connection rekindled in that shared gaze. Soon, the other members of Echo’s squad gathered by Omega's side.

Hunter's curiosity was piqued as he observed the unfolding interaction, and he couldn't help but ask, "What's going on?" Omega simply shrugged, her eyes trained on Echo and you.

With a few more tentative steps, Echo closed the distance between you, his head tilted slightly as if to analyse you, to confirm that it was really you. Your voice quivered as you managed to say, "Hi, Echo," and he echoed your name in a soft, heartfelt tone.

A warm smile graced his lips as he admitted, "I can't believe it's you."

A gentle, albeit slightly teasing, response escaped your lips. "I could say the same."

Finally, the emotional barrier gave way, and you found yourselves locked in each other's arms, holding each other as though afraid to let go. "

I've missed you so much," you whispered into his chest, your glistening eyes revealing the depths of your longing. The tears threatened to spill, impossible to hold back any longer.

And then, an unexpected comment from one of Echo's companions, "I didn't know Echo had a girlfriend,” broke the tender moment and you could not help but laugh.

“Let me introduce you to the others,” Echo pulls out of the hug, offers you a reassuring smile and guides you to his new comrades.

Later that evening after some good, really good food, yourself and Echo take a walk down by the shore. Making small talk and catching up on everything you both have missed, it felt like nothing changed between you both. It was everything you could have hoped for.

"I really can't believe you're here," Echo chuckled, a sense of disbelief lingering in his voice. "I never thought I'd see you again."

A soft smile graced your lips as you matched his pace, coming to a stop as you spoke. "Me either."

Then, with a touch of hesitation, you blurted out, "So, uh, are you seeing anybody?" The question took even you by surprise, and it seemed to have a similar effect on Echo. His curiosity was piqued as he observed your flustered expression.

He folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "No, are you?"

Your reply came swiftly, perhaps a bit too swiftly for your liking. "No." You didn't give yourself a chance to consider the implications of your response, and Echo didn't press further.

His next question, however, held a hint of teasing, and his voice carried a subtle tone of curiosity. "Oh yeah? And why's that?" It seemed as though he was studying you, and for a brief moment, you thought he might have moved a bit closer, but it was hard to tell if it was just your imagination.

Your breath wavered as you gazed into Echo's eyes, your heart racing just like the first time you had ever met him. It felt like the right moment to lay bare the truth, to let him in on the emotions that had been tucked away for far too long.

"I have feelings," you began, your voice steady but your eyes now avoiding his, "for you. I have feelings for you."

Echo's eyes widened, and he blinked in astonishment, his words caught in his throat as he grappled with the unexpected confession. "You have feelings," he repeats, taking a step closer, his voice barely more than a whisper, "for me?"

You dipped your head, nodding as you ran a hand through your hair nervously. "I always have, Echo. I've loved you for so, so many years." The truth hung in the air between you, a confession that had been kept in the shadows for far too long.

The crashing waves almost drowned out the deafening silence that followed Echo's lack of response to your confession. Regret started to surge through you, the weight of the confession now hanging heavily in the clear air, making the situation uncomfortable and awkward.

"Sorry, I should go," you quickly uttered, turning to leave, but before you could take a step, his hand swiftly caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him. You stumbled slightly, finding yourself suddenly close to his chest, confusion painting your eyes.

In a moment that felt like a dream, Echo leaned in, nose nudging against your own and his breath brushing against your face with his lips hovering close to yours. "Echo?" you whispered, a rush of chills coursing through your body.

"I love you too," he finally uttered, his eyes closing as his lips met yours in a tender, affectionate embrace. "I've loved you since the first night I met you," he confessed, his warm breath mingling with yours as his hand moved to your waist, drawing you closer.

The kiss unfolded slowly, a perfect and intensely romantic connection, a moment that exceeded all your imagined dreams of being with Echo. It felt surreal, but his touch, his lips, assured you of his reality. When the kiss finally parted, he breathed, "Stay with us. Stay with me."

In that instant, any doubt vanished. You knew you would never even consider leaving his side again. Echo's confession sealed the bond, and you embraced the certainty that this was where you belonged, in his arms.

Masterlist

Taglist if you want to be added or removed (please note I’ll remove you if you’re not interacting with my work 🤍)

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova a @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @sol-the-otter @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @imalovernotahater @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness @photogirl894

#echo x reader #bad batch echo #the bad batch #tbb echo x reader #the bad batch echo x reader #tbb #nahoney22 writes

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sanctum-of-ramshackle · 8 days

Text

🔪🪓 GIVE IT UP FOR I.N.K.!🩸🎤

[TWST AU]: This MC/Yuu/[Reader] may have more than just fairytale magic.

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, MC/Yuu/[Reader] returns back from the “dead” and is ready to unleash their horror-based magic. Also to understand that they were resting for about 30 years.

[Gender Neutral!MC/Yuu/[Reader]]

[TW]: Mentions of murder, blood and horror movie depictions of violence.

[(A/N)]: Hi everyone. It’s been a while since I last posted any content here. Things got busy IRL and also put up some content on my main blog. I’m sorry I didn’t warn anyone about my sudden break. Anywho, I wrote another MC/Yuu variant twisted from Ice Nine Kills (the vibe of the band).

To begin this journey, there is a hidden grave deep in the forest behind Night Raven College. Nobody has visited that very spot as their families have either passed or moved far away.

The etchings of the tombstone reads…

“Here Lies [Y/N]/MC/Yuu [L/N]”

“You Left Too Soon”

“Therefore If A Miracle Happens, Doom Will Be In Tune”

Then one night as the Dorm Sorting Ceremony, a storm occurs with lightning striking down.

Then, a strike hits the unbothered grave, electrocuting the fencing that protected the grave from trespasser and the ground shakes as a resurrection happens.

[The ground cracks open as a coffin unveils its lid and reveals a well-preserved corpse.]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: *Yawns from their supposed eternal slumber* That was a long nap…Why am I in a coffin?

[The living corpse leaves their disturbed burial and walks aimlessly out of the forest, unintentionally leading themselves to the NRC building.]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: I don’t remember much, but this place…

[Then a voice boomed across the hall to grab MC/Yuu’s attention.]

Crowley: *From afar* You! Why are not at the ceremony?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: I beg your pardon.

Crowley: *Closing the distance between him and MC/Yuu* I asked what…are…you… *Stops dead at his tracks* You…How?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Old man, I don’t know what kind of ceremony is happening but I remember now. I’m already an NRC student.

[And so, after the ceremony ended, Crowley gathered the Staff members and explained they have a student returned from the dead. They weren’t pleased by this sudden information. In the meantime, MC/Yuu will have to start NRC again as a first year student and they were transferred to the infamous Ramshackle Dormitory.]

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[At the Heartslabyul]

[MC/Yuu was invited by Cater as they joined back the Music Club and the MagiCam influencer thought they were cool.]

Cater: You got a new phone? Need help with anything?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu/[Reader]: I still need help with the apps. How do you find movies on this thing?

Cater: I can teach you.

[Few Minutes Later]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Whoa! You guys released new horror films? It’s been years since I watched one. The last one I seen was some hockey-masked killer.

Cater: *Little concerned* MC/Yuu, when did you stop attending NRC?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Oh. Well…I guess around 30 years ago? Why asking, suddenly?

Cater: That explains why you asked what MagiCam is.

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[During a Dorm Leader meeting]

Riddle: You’re explaining you used to attend Night Raven College 30 years ago?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Yeah, I used to be the president of the Music Club and still well versed in the darker side of magic.

Azul: What kind of magic you possess?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: The kind if you can stomach the macabre world. The goriest parts of that field.

Vil: Necromancy, I presumed?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Sort of. It’s hard to explain about my magic, but all I know is it gets stronger when I perform music.

Kalim: Like it’s your Unique Magic.

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Yeah, like that. Crazy how today’s people are using that term.

Leona: Still odd how you came back to life. You remember your old life?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: I remember my family used to live on this island and the accident that happened in this school…

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[Chapter 5: During the VDC event and Vil’s Overblot]

[Ice Nine Kills - Welcome To Horrorwood]

youtube

Epel: We need to distract Vil-Senpai.

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Allow me. I know the perfect song.

[Then the stage is set for MC/Yuu’s performance. They magically summoned a dark dome to cover the entire stadium for the light effects and manifest some pseudo band mates to play the appropriate instruments. Finally, they summoned their cursed electric guitar to fend off the latest Blot battle.]

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: *Starts singing*

Ink fills the page

A classic killer completes the cast

If evil's all the rage

Cut to the close up, then fade to black

Sit back for the sequel of your dreams

All psychos crave more shocking scenes

Who cares if it bleeds beyond the screen?

Are you misunderstood?

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back!

[They casted some powerful spells to weaken Overblot!Vil. The rest of the gang starts throwing their spells at the corrupted Head of Pomefiore.]

'Cause everyone is just so fucking…

Desperate for fame

Can't blame the savages this town attracts

I guess we're all insane (Insane!)

So silence the critics, 'cause this is not an act

(But here's the soundtrack!)

Sit back for the sequel of your dreams

All psychos crave more shocking scenes

Who cares if it bleeds beyond the screen?

Are you misunderstood? (YEAH!)

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back

The tabloids say

"There goes the neighborhood"

But long live Horrorwood

The only place it pays to be a hack!

(But will you make the cut if you know?)

Stardom's just an afterthought

For all those stabbed in the backlot

Piled up and left to rot

“So how's this for an establishing shot?”

[MC/Yuu shoots another fire spell at Overblot!Vil.]

Are you misunderstood? (YEAH!)

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back

The tabloids say

"There goes the neighborhood"

But long live Horrorwood

The only place where everyone should

Fear the premiere

There's always a target out on the red carpet

Between 'Silver Screams' something's awakened

And you'll never make it

But enjoy the show!

[They perform an impressive solo-guitar play as they summoned restraints to trap the weakened Overblot!Vil in one place.]

Are you misunderstood? (YEAH!)

Are you more bad than good?

Welcome to Horrorwood

Where anyone would kill for a call back

The tabloids say

"There goes the neighborhood"

But long live Horrorwood

The only place it pays to be a hack

Be a hack!

Welcome back!

[After the song finishes, MC/Yuu holds up their guitar and brutally swings it at Overblot!Vil to dislodge the Blot stone.]

Vil: *Turns back to normal and groans* What happened?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: You kind of went berserk and we had stop you from almost killing everyone.

Vil: I see. My head is aching, however.

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: Uhhh…You probably hit your head during VDC.

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[Back in Crowley’s Office]

Crowley: *Shaken up by day one* I couldn’t believe they’re back…

“Dire, you wanna hang out today?”

“Dire, you forgot the assignment? Fine, just copy mine but change it up a bit.”

“Dire…You’ll regret the day I resurrect from my slumber. Heed my warning!”

???: CROWLEY!

Crowley: *Spooked by the outburst* IT’S NOT MY FAULT!!!

Crewel: Great Seven, you seemed out of your mind lately.

Crowley: Oh, I’m extremely busy, especially since their return.

Crewel: Oh yeah. They seem to be doing well with academics despite having to teach them newer materials. Their magic is what I fear about them.

Crowley: Yes, yes. Their magic hasn’t changed much.

Crewel: Dire, I heard that.

Crowley: It’s nothing. I’m just worried about the students.

Crewel: Uh huh. I’ll leave my reports here. *Leaves the office*

Crowley: *Suddenly scared* What if they remember that day?

🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼🪓🎶🔪🎵🩸🎼

[Cafeteria]

Ace: You murdered someone?!

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: I didn’t murder anyone.

Sebek: Then what is this?! *Points at the crimson stain on their shirt*

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: *Wipes it off and taste the content* Oh, ground beef. I was helping Jade and Floyd with some hamburger orders.

Jack: And you just licked it? Won’t you get sick?

I.N.K.!MC/Yuu: I’m undead. Nothing’s gonna harm me, again. *Bites into their extremely rare steak as some myoglobin leaks down from their lips*

[The First Year group felt fear of their new friend.]

✨[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]💫

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst au #twisted wonderland mc #twst mc #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #Ice Nine Kills #I.N.K.#I.N.K.!MC #I.N.K.!Yuu #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Youtube

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longing-for-rain · 1 month

Note

so I dunno if you've seen my "I just watched ATLA again" post (probably not) but something happened with it that is kind of bothering me and I was wondering if you'd be willing to take a look and tell me what you think of this.

my post was basically about how Katara was treated in LOK and how it's disturbing to me that she is completely absent from the narrative after ATLA in a way that she would literally never be if Bryke hadn't decided to assassinate her as a character. and someone responded to that with this:

is this even accurate? am I deluding myself or is this person just being a hater?? like it genuinely feels insane and scary to me that Katara was so easily sidelined now that she's married with kids, and this person says she actually wasn't that absent and that none of my concerns matter. and even though I never brought up Zutara in my post they decided the post was entirely about that and not my genuine horror at how Katara was treated after ATLA.

sorry if this isn't something you usually do. you were just the blog I thought of when this reply came because I know you're out here fighting these kinds of people and I needed another fan's advice.

No I think you’re 100% right. In fact, I think whoever wrote that post basically admitted as much without realizing it.

What these people fail to realize is, fictional characters aren’t real people. They don’t exist as autonomous beings. Everything they are is what is shown on screen. So if little to nothing of significance is shown about a character? That indicates the writers didn’t value that character and their story as much as the others. They didn’t consider it worth giving the same attention.

Admittedly she was unfortunately sidelined in the comics in LOK and didn’t have much involvement with the story or other characters…

Yes, exactly. Even the people who try and defend Katara’s treatment post-canon can’t avoid this fact. Her story was not valued by the writers. It was not included to the same extent. After becoming “the Avatar’s girl,” Katara’s role in the story was diminished. She ceased to be her own character with her own personality and arc.

…but she still accomplished a lot.

Ok, where? Did you forget that “show, don’t tell” is part of creative writing 101? I don’t care what they said Katara did or was in some supplementary material that came out over a decade later. They failed to show it in the actual story, which tells us everything we need to know about how Katara’s character was viewed.

You aren’t overreacting; you’re dead right. Sounds like this person ragging on you is having trouble separating fiction from reality and has a tendency to blame all media criticism on ship wars instead of actually thinking about it. Because I don’t know about you, but a large part of the appeal of Zutara to me is the fact that many fan-made narratives associated with it were created by women in direct response to the sidelining of Katara’s character. The continuing popularity of Zutara is in large part due to the fact it addresses many misogynistic and upsetting aspects of Katara’s fate, not the other way around.

#katara deserved better #zutara #anti kataang #fandom salt #atla #avatar the last airbender #ask #canon critical #katara #zuko

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phoenixeclipse-lmkau · 17 days

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Can we know more about the monkey demoness? Will the chapters be from shadowpeach perspective always or will we see readers or demoness point of view? Does the demoness have a name? How much does the reader know of jttw and general knowlege about the lands ahe is in. Does she speak the language natuarlly or is it a case of magic transelate? If it is magic transelate can she read written words? Will reader win them over slowly or will there be one major action that wins them over? Will the monkey demoness be part of endgame relationship or just a friend? Would demoness try and protect reader from the monkeys when they go full yandere, run away or defer to the monkey king? Am i coreect in assuming its shadowpeach/reader or is it plaltonic yandere? Will reader become besties with the demoness? How did they meet up? Is this before or after jjtw? Or does jttw not happen? Will this be a horror yandere or a romance yandere story? Will reader suffer issues from culture clash? What will your reader be like? Shy? Confident? Will she wipe out from having to walk for 3 days straight or is this something she is used to? How much will reader sacrifice to protect the ‘cubs’? Would reader declare themelves the cubs defacto mum?

If something was answered in previos post sorry mobile wont let me check your blog without loosing all my questions, feel free to answer asmany or as little as u want. Sorry for spelling mistakes, i read your fic repeatedly instead of going to sleep

I found your blog by that story and its a good read, i cant wait for next chapter, in the meantime i will be scrolling backwards theough your blog and read the rest od your stories after i sleep

😳 Wow… I did not expect this big of an ask. For starters I love that you are enthusiastic about the AU, truly I am. It’s just could everyone please stick to 1-3 questions per ask? If you have several questions feel free to send me multiple asks, for now I’ll try to answer as many from this ask as possible. I might answer a few in another post, thank you for your understanding. Now, onto the answers!

- The monkey demoness’s name is Chu Spirit, at first I made her as a simple oc out of the blue! Now I see her as a big sister type of character to Reader, she will not be romantically involved with either Shadowpeach, or The Female Reader. She is energetic and kind not one to back down from a fight. (Will answer how she met Reader in a later post)

- I have a habit of posting perspective a little crazy, so you will get a chance to get Reader’s and Spirit’s perspective! That is almost guaranteed, in fact you’ll probably get more perspectives as well of other characters that will eventually be in the AU.

- So Reader knows about JTTW because she read a bit of it but never finished it. She found the story entertaining but before she could finish it, she kind of… Was pulled to this new world and is trying to find a way home. As for general knowledge? Yeah she has no idea where she is or how to get anywhere, so she kind of doesn’t have any yet.

- Language! I didn’t even think about that! Okay, so I think she’ll magically understand it. Sometimes that magic understanding will flicker though when she’s especially weak so she’ll have to actually learn the language, eventually. As for reading, no she can’t read words until she actually learns the language.

- I think Reader will win over the Warlords slowly and in a few big events yeah. It’s not right away but it doesn’t take too long especially with how much she is taking care of them. They will definitely fall in love with her as they get more and more used to her. As for some big events? Oh I have a few ideas already! You’ll have to wait and see those though. (Cause long ask, not that it’s bad!)

- Spirit will one hundred percent try to protect Reader from Yandere warlords. She sees Reader as a little sister who helped her when she needed it most, she will do anything to keep her safe. If she had known that the monkey cubs that grew so attached to Reader were warlords? She would have totally thrown them off a cliff to keep them away from Reader. No she will not defer to Monkey King or Macaque because she really doesn’t care about them and never has. (Personal past reasons)

- Yes you are correct to assume it’s romantic Shadowpeach x Reader. Nothing platonic about how Macaque and Wukong feel about Reader… There might end up being smut later, but not sure yet.

- Spirit sees Reader as a little sister and likewise eventually Reader will see Spirit as a big sister. They met when Reader saved her from some bandits (more explained later!)

- JTTW! Okay, so this story begins before JTTW. There will be JTTW in this AU and on that topic sort of Reader will be able to get back to her world. Either willingly or not I’m still debating.

- Horror or romance? I’d honestly say it’s a mix of both, because there will be blood and gore. Reader does care about them but they absolutely terrify her when they return to their original forms. And also because Wukong is impatient and doesn’t explain himself very well before trying to take her home.

- Culture clash… I’ll try to add a few scenes of culture clash into the story. Mostly with how she acts around other people because she doesn’t fall into their ‘normal’ Because ya know she’s a 21st century woman. One with a mind that she speaks when she pleases.

- I would say that Reader is more on the shy side when it comes to talking to other people, but when she’s talking to friends she can get rather loud and confident. She just isn’t all that great with strangers. Unless if they are animals that she decides to take care of.

- After her three day walk, so at first I was going to have it where she slept during it. But after this ask I changed my mind. Spirit has no idea about the human system other than they need food. And monkey demons don’t need as much sleep as humans do so she doesn’t realize that Reader is running on fumes at the start of the story. That is until she passes out, dropping like a rock for almost a whole day.

- She will defend them with her life! She loves animals of all kinds. She doesn’t see herself as their mom because I think it’d be weird with the romance and all. But she does see herself as a friend to them. She cares for them and will try to protect them with everything she’s got. Will probably get herself hurt a few times which these bois, do NOT like after they fall in love with her. How dare someone hurt their new mate friend.

Thank you so much for your ask! I just started this Au and if you have more questions then send me an ask! 1-3 per ask would be preferred with no limit to how many asks you send. Feel free to send several! I encourage it! I hope I didn’t miss anything and have a lovely day! (PS. If you want even more in depth answers just ask one or two of these questions back at a time and I’ll have more room to answer them in depth possibly write scenes about them. But I like to answer everything in the ask)

Feel free to send me more asks and I will be happy to answer as I develop this AU more! If you have suggestions also send those too!

#dead dove do not eat #sun wukong x macaque #yandere sun wukong #yandere macaque #sun wukong x macaque x reader #Sun Wukong x Reader #Macaque x Reader #Cursed Warlords AU #Cursed Warlords LMK AU #lmk yandere #LMK OC #shadowpeach x female reader #shadowpeach x reader

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novaursa · 19 days

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The Price of Fire (11)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For all previous chapters and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (Aerys is warning on his own)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 10

- Next part: 12

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @alyssa-dayne

The private chambers Rhaegar leads you to are quiet, removed from the main corridors of the Red Keep where the weight of your father’s madness still lingers in the air like a choking fog. You barely register the journey through the winding halls, your feet moving mechanically, your thoughts muddled, as if your mind is still trying to make sense of what Aerys has done. The king’s announcement, his decree that you are to marry him—your own father—feels like a waking nightmare, something so grotesque that your mind refuses to fully grasp it.

Rhaegar gently pushes open the door to the chambers, his hand still firmly holding yours, guiding you inside. The room is small, intimate, with a low-burning fire crackling in the hearth and soft tapestries hanging from the walls. It feels far removed from the horrors outside, a temporary reprieve from the chaos, but even here, the weight of your father’s words hangs over you like a specter.

Arthur follows close behind, his presence a silent reassurance, but even he seems more subdued than usual. His eyes are sharp, scanning the room as if making sure it is truly safe, and though his expression is calm, you can sense the anger in him. Rhaegar moves you toward a small couch by the fire, gently guiding you to sit. He kneels before you, his hands resting on your knees, his silver hair catching the firelight as his violet eyes search yours, filled with a mix of concern and guilt.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I... I should have done more. I should have seen this coming.”

You blink, staring at him but feeling detached from everything, as if the horror of the situation is still too much for your mind to process. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “How could he do this? How could he... how could Father say that?”

Rhaegar’s face tightens with pain. He looks down for a moment, as if searching for the right words, but none come easily. “He’s not the man he used to be,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever kindness or reason he once had... it’s gone. This obsession with fire and blood has consumed him, and now it’s tearing everything apart.”

Arthur steps closer, standing just behind Rhaegar, his gaze fixed on you, his concern evident. “We won’t let him do this to you, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm but gentle. “We’ll find a way to stop him.”

You nod slowly, but your mind is still clouded with fear and disbelief. “He’s the king,” you murmur, your hands trembling in your lap. “How do you stop a king?”

Rhaegar takes your hands in his, his grip firm but comforting. “We’ll find a way,” he promises. “But for now, we need to keep you safe. I need you to trust us.”

“I do,” you whisper, though the words feel fragile, like a thin thread barely holding you together. “But... what if he—what if he tries to make me stay with him?”

Rhaegar’s jaw clenches, and you can see the anger simmering beneath his usually calm exterior. “I won’t let him,” he says, his voice hardening. “I swear it.”

There’s a pause, the silence heavy in the room as you sit there, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on you. Rhaegar’s eyes search yours again, and he seems to sense that the numbness has returned, that the shock has taken hold of you once more.

He stands slowly, turning to Arthur, who watches the scene with the careful, measured expression of a man who knows the gravity of what’s at stake.

“Arthur,” Rhaegar says quietly, motioning for him to step outside for a moment. “I need to speak with you.”

Arthur glances at you, his expression softening before he follows Rhaegar out into the corridor, closing the door gently behind him.

Once they’re alone, Rhaegar’s mask of composure slips slightly, revealing the fear and desperation that he has kept hidden. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his silver hair before looking at Arthur, his expression one of grim determination.

“I need you to be ready, Arthur,” Rhaegar begins, his voice low but firm. “Whatever happens, you must be prepared to do whatever I ask of you. No hesitation. No questions.”

Arthur’s brows furrow slightly, his gaze narrowing. “What are you asking of me, Rhaegar?”

Rhaegar exhales slowly, his eyes flicking back toward the door, as if checking to make sure you can’t hear. “My father is unpredictable, but one thing is clear—he won’t stop at just words. He’ll try to bind her to him, to make this marriage happen, and if we resist openly... it could mean war.”

Arthur’s expression hardens. “And you want me to... what, exactly?”

Rhaegar steps closer, his voice dropping even further. “If it comes to it... if there’s no other way... I may have to take matters into my own hands. And if that happens, I need to know that you’ll stand by me. I need to know that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

Arthur’s eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning on him. His loyalty to Rhaegar—and to you—has always been unquestionable, but this... this is different. Rhaegar is asking him to be ready to defy the king, to break oaths that have been sworn in blood and steel. Yet, as the weight of Rhaegar’s words settles over him, Arthur knows there is only one answer he can give.

Without hesitation, Arthur nods, his voice steady and certain. “You have my sword, Rhaegar. Whatever you ask of me, I will do. For her.”

Rhaegar closes his eyes for a moment, relief washing over him. “Thank you, Arthur,” he says quietly. “I knew I could count on you.”

Arthur places a hand on Rhaegar’s shoulder, his grip firm. “I won’t let anything happen to her. You know that.”

Rhaegar nods, his expression one of resolve. “We’ll find a way to stop him,” he says again, as much to himself as to Arthur. “We have to.”

The two men stand there in silence for a moment, the weight of what they’ve just agreed to hanging between them like an unspoken promise. Then, with a final nod, they turn back toward the door, ready to face whatever comes next.

Inside, you sit by the fire, unaware of the decision that has just been made, but knowing in your heart that the days ahead will test everything you have ever known.

The throne room of the Red Keep stands in a ominous, heavy silence. The sun filters through the high windows, casting beams of light that seem to flicker over the edges of the Iron Throne, illuminating the twisted, jagged swords that form its base. Behind the throne, Terrax, your dragon, is coiled in a dark mass of scales and muscle, his body tucked beneath the shadows as though slumbering. His enormous wings rest loosely at his sides, the eyes that once gleamed with intelligence now closed. But even in sleep, the dragon radiates an undeniable, terrifying presence.

The courtiers stand far back, a careful distance from the throne and the slumbering beast. Their whispers are hushed, their glances nervous. Though Terrax appears to be resting, all in the room know better. A dragon never truly sleeps, and the soft rise and fall of Terrax's breath sends ripples of unease through the gathered lords and ladies.

Varys stands quietly at the edge of the room, his hands folded within the voluminous sleeves of his silk robes. His face is as unreadable as ever, his eyes half-lidded, observing the scene with a cool detachment. The dragon's presence behind the throne, though alarming to many, is simply another piece on the chessboard to him—another tool in the ever-shifting game of power that is unfolding in the court.

His gaze flickers toward Terrax for a brief moment, noting the subtle way the dragon's tail twitches now and then, a sign of restlessness even in sleep. Varys smiles to himself, a cold, calculating expression. Terrax’s presence has changed everything. Aerys' mental instability, once a matter of dangerous whispers, is now an undeniable force, a wildfire threatening to consume the court and the realm alike. And the dragon... the dragon only adds fuel to that fire.

The doors to the throne room creak open, the sound loud in the otherwise hushed chamber. Varys does not turn immediately, though he knows who enters. The familiar clink of Aerys’ steps, the dragging of his heavy robes, is unmistakable. Aerys strides into the room, his posture proud, his gaze sharp with that dangerous gleam of madness that has become all too familiar. Behind him walks Lord Owen Merryweather, the Hand of the King, his expression carefully neutral, though his eyes betray the fear within him. He knows that he is walking a fine line, his position as Hand hanging by a thread—dependent entirely on his ability to placate the increasingly volatile king.

Aerys approaches the Iron Throne, and the room falls into a deeper silence, all eyes on him. His once-proud figure is now gaunt, his unkempt hair and beard giving him the appearance of a man who has long since abandoned sanity. But still, he moves with the confidence of one who believes himself untouchable, his obsession with power and fire radiating from him like heat from a furnace.

As Aerys climbs the steps to the Iron Throne, Terrax stirs.

The dragon shifts slightly, one golden eye sliding open, the slit pupil focusing lazily on the king as he ascends the steps. The courtiers collectively hold their breath, the tension rising as Terrax moves. The air itself seems to thicken, the heat from the dragon’s body visable even from across the room. His great tail unfurls just slightly, the tip flicking against the stone floor with a sound that reverberates through the chamber.

Aerys pauses for a moment, glancing back at the dragon with a crazed, almost triumphant smile. He seems pleased by Terrax’s awakening, as if it is a sign of the dragon’s approval of his rule, a validation of his twisted belief that the creature is somehow his and Y/N’s child, born from his rituals and madness. Lord Owen remains at the foot of the throne, his face a mask of neutrality, though Varys can see the subtle twitch in his jaw—a sign of the Hand’s discomfort.

Aerys finally settles onto the Iron Throne, his bony hands gripping the arms of the seat as he surveys the room. His wild eyes gleam as he looks upon the courtiers, who stand rigid, their faces a mixture of fear and apprehension. Terrax’s presence looms behind him, a living, breathing shadow of destruction, ready to strike at any moment.

Varys lets out a soft breath, barely noticeable, as he turns his attention back to the scene unfolding. He knows that today’s gathering is important—though not for the reasons the courtiers suspect. Aerys is unpredictable, his moods swinging like a pendulum, but Varys can feel the undercurrent of something more dangerous in the air. Something is about to shift.

The sound of measured footsteps approaching draws Varys' attention, and he turns his head slightly to see Tywin Lannister entering the throne room. The former Hand moves with his usual quiet authority, his face an unreadable mask. His sharp green eyes take in the scene before him—the dragon, the king perched on the Iron Throne like a mad puppet master, and the fearful courtiers keeping their distance. Tywin’s presence always commands attention, and even now, those who stand near him seem to instinctively give him a wider berth, despite his fall from favor.

He joins Varys near the edge of the room, his gaze lingering on Terrax for a long moment before flicking up to Aerys, who is now speaking in low, frenzied tones to Lord Owen.

“A sight to behold, isn’t it?” Varys says softly, his voice carrying that same calm, detached tone that Tywin has grown accustomed to. “A dragon behind the throne... It must remind you of the old stories.”

Tywin does not immediately respond, his eyes remaining on Aerys, watching the king’s every movement with the precision of a hawk observing prey. “A dragon can be a powerful ally,” he says finally, his voice low and measured. “Or it can be a weapon, one that even the king may not be able to control.”

Varys’ thin smile returns. “Indeed. Power, after all, is a dangerous thing in the hands of the unstable.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpens slightly, though his face remains impassive. He watches as Aerys leans back on the throne, his fingers drumming idly on the iron as he speaks to Lord Owen, who nods along, though it’s clear he is merely placating the king.

“Aerys has become... unpredictable,” Tywin continues, his words deliberate. “More so than ever before.”

Varys inclines his head. “Yes. The dragon, the fire, and his... other recent proclamations have only stoked the flames of his madness.” His voice remains soft, though his eyes glitter with understanding. “He believes Terrax is the key to his future. His obsession grows by the day.”

Tywin’s jaw tightens subtly, though he keeps his gaze fixed on Aerys. “And yet the dragon belongs to someone else.”

Varys’ smile widens, but only slightly. “Indeed. The princess holds its bond, not the king. A fact that has not escaped Aerys... though he prefers to think otherwise.”

Tywin’s eyes flicker to Varys briefly, his mind clearly working through the implications. “The king’s grasp on his own court is slipping,” he says. “And there are many who would take advantage of that... instability.”

Varys’ gaze returns to Terrax, who has settled again behind the throne, though the dragon’s eye remains open, watching the room with a cold, predatory patience. “Instability breeds opportunity,” Varys murmurs. “But it also breeds danger.”

Tywin’s lips press into a thin line. “For those unprepared.”

The two men fall into silence, watching as Aerys leans back in the Iron Throne, the insanity in his eyes more pronounced than ever. And behind him, Terrax waits, a reminder of the power that can never be fully controlled, not by kings nor courtiers.

Varys and Tywin remain still, each calculating their next move, knowing that the game has only just begun.

You lie on the bed, your body draped in silken sheets, but the coldness within you cannot be warmed by the soft fabric or the fire's glow. The weight of your father's decree still hangs heavy over your mind, suffocating any sense of normalcy you once had. A marriage to your own father—a fate too twisted to comprehend, yet one that has been decreed with the full force of his madness.

Your mind drifts, unable to focus on anything tangible. But through the fog of despair, you feel something—something familiar, yet distant. A pull. A deep, instinctual connection that begins to hum within your bones, within your very blood. Terrax. The bond you share with your dragon stirs, as though calling to you from across the castle, through the walls, across the city. You feel his presence as though he were in the room with you, his immense strength and fire coursing through you. Your breath hitches as your mind brushes against his, and in that moment, you can feel what he feels—the slow, predatory stirring of a creature that has sensed unrest.

A sudden sharpness in the connection jolts you fully awake, your heart pounding. Terrax is in the throne room, watching. Waiting. You can feel his tension, his awareness of something amiss. The pull between you grows stronger, and in your mind’s eye, you see what he sees—the Iron Throne, looming above him, the courtiers scattered like trembling mice before the beast.

But the feeling is sharper now, more urgent. And through Terrax’s eyes, you can see why.

In the throne room, the air is heavy with dread. Several lords, representatives of houses that have long been loyal to the Faith of the Seven, have stepped forward. They are rigid with anger, their faces pale but determined as they look up at Aerys on his throne, their voices rising with a defiance not often heard in the Red Keep.

“Your Grace,” one of the lord representatives begins, his voice steady but edged with the kind of conviction that can only come from deep religious devotion. “We have long tolerated the tradition of Targaryen brother-sister marriages, though it has tested the faith of many. But this... this marriage you propose with your own daughter—your own flesh and blood—it is an abomination. The Faith of the Seven cannot and will not allow it.”

A murmur spreads through the room, hushed but felt. Eyes flick nervously between the lords and the king. Even now, in the shadow of Terrax, the thought of openly defying Aerys is a dangerous one.

But then, a voice cuts through the room, deeper and more commanding. “The princess is beloved by many,” declares Lord Rickard Stark, who has remained in the capital with his son, Brandon. His northern accent gives his words a weight and sincerity that cannot be ignored. “Many who would see such a marriage as not only an abomination, but a crime against her dignity, and against the realm itself.”

The room falls into a stunned silence as the Lord of Winterfell speaks, his words brave but perilous. All eyes turn toward him, and you see through Terrax’s eyes how Aerys’ face twists with sudden, vicious fury. The king’s eyes gleam with a madness that even the courtiers know to fear. His grip tightens on the arms of the Iron Throne, his fingers white with tension.

“A traitor speaks!” Aerys hisses, rising from his seat with a swift, violent motion. “You conspire against me, Stark! You plot to take my daughter from me, to poison her mind, to steal her away from her rightful place at my side!”

Rickard does not flinch. His face is stony, resolute, as he faces the mad king. “I speak the truth, Your Grace. This marriage—this... abomination—is something no man or woman of honor could ever stand by and watch.”

Aerys’ eyes narrow, and a sickening smile begins to curl across his lips. “Traitor,” he repeats, his voice now low and venomous. “You seek to undermine the very blood of the dragon. You seek to tear my daughter from me, to plot against your king.”

Then, his eyes light up with a sudden, wild gleam. “You must burn, Stark. You and your treasonous son.”

Brandon Stark, standing at his father’s side, reacts immediately, his hand flying to the sword at his hip. “You dare!” he roars, but before he can draw his blade, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Jonothor Darry step forward, seizing him by the arms. Brandon struggles violently, his eyes filled with fury, but the knights hold him fast.

Aerys raises his hand, a signal that causes the guards to close in. His twisted grin widens as he points toward Rickard. “Take him to the dragon,” Aerys commands, his voice a venomous whisper.

Through Terrax’s eyes, you see Rickard Stark’s face harden as he is forced to his knees before the throne. His hands are bound, and the courtiers watch in stunned silence as the Lord of Winterfell, a man of honor and dignity, is treated like a common criminal.

And then, as if the world slows to a crawl, you feel it—a rush of heat and power surging through Terrax. You can feel his muscles tense, the heat of his breath as his head slowly lifts from where he was coiled behind the throne. His golden eyes, slitted and fierce, fix on the figure kneeling before him. You see through his vision, feel his blood rising as Aerys’ voice rings out.

“Burn him,” Aerys hisses. “Burn the traitor.”

A deep growl reverberates from Terrax’s chest, and you feel a horrifying sense of power and dread as the dragon opens his maw, the flames beginning to gather in his throat. The room erupts into chaos as courtiers stumble back, their faces twisted in horror. But Aerys watches with a perverse pleasure, his eyes gleaming with delight.

Through Terrax’s eyes, you see Rickard Stark, bound and kneeling, his eyes fixed forward in defiance even as the flames begin to curl from the dragon’s mouth. The voice—that voice—whispers in your mind once again, slithering through your thoughts like a serpent.

"Look at it, bent like a calf for the butcher."

The flames burst from Terrax’s mouth, engulfing Rickard Stark in a wave of heat and destruction. You feel the rush of power, the sheer force of the fire as it consumes him, burning everything in its path. Rickard’s cries are cut short as the flames overwhelm him, leaving nothing but ash in their wake.

Brandon screams in fury and anguish, his struggles more desperate now, but the knights hold him firm. Aerys’ laughter fills the room, high and maniacal, as he watches the spectacle with delight.

But he is not finished. “Bring the son to the dragon!” Aerys commands, his voice shrill with excitement.

Brandon is dragged forward, kicking and shouting, his face twisted with rage and sorrow. His eyes are wild as he is forced to face Terrax, his hands bound behind him, and you can feel his desperation as if it were your own.

Through Terrax’s eyes, you watch as Brandon is shoved toward the dragon, his fate sealed by the mad king’s whim. The flames gather once more, and as they burst from Terrax’s maw, the last thing you hear is the voice whispering in your mind.

"Burn. Burn them all."

The flames engulf Brandon Stark, and the throne room descends into madness, but through it all, you lie in your chambers, trembling as you see through the eyes of your dragon—bound to a fire you cannot control.

Arthur Dayne had been standing guard outside your chambers, as he always did, his senses attuned to even the smallest disturbance. The castle had been eerily quiet after Aerys’ latest decree, the tension hanging in the air like a sword poised to drop. It was the kind of silence that made every sound feel louder, every whisper like a shout.

Then, the scream.

It tore through the stillness like a knife, sharp and raw, and before Arthur even had time to think, he was through the door, his heart pounding with fear and urgency.

The sight that greeted him when he burst into the room made his breath catch in his throat. You were on the bed, your body trembling violently, your face pale as a ghost, drenched in sweat. Your silver hair was tangled, clinging to your forehead, and your eyes were wide, wild with terror. You clutched the sheets as if they were the only thing tethering you to the world, your chest rising and falling with panicked breaths.

“Y/N!” Arthur called, rushing to your side. He dropped his sword to the floor, its heavy thud echoing in the chamber as he knelt beside you, his hands reaching out desperately, trying to ground you, to bring you back from whatever nightmare had taken hold of you.

Your eyes darted around the room as though you couldn’t see him, as though you were still lost in the fire, in the horror. “No, no, no…” you murmured incoherently, your voice trembling, barely more than a whisper but filled with such fear and anguish that it sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine.

He placed his hands gently on your shoulders, trying to still your trembling. “Y/N, look at me,” he said softly but urgently, his voice thick with concern. “I’m here. It’s Arthur. You’re safe.”

But you weren’t listening. You were still lost, caught in the terrible vision that had overwhelmed you. “Burn... he burns,” you whispered, your eyes wide and unfocused. “I saw him... I saw them. The fire. They burned.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed with alarm, his heart hammering as he tried to make sense of what you were saying. He had heard stories of the Targaryen dragon dreams, the visions that plagued those of Valyrian blood. He had never fully understood the depth of those visions until now, seeing the terror in your eyes.

“Who burned?” Arthur asked, though he already suspected the answer, his hands now cupping your face, trying to get you to focus on him, to pull you out of the nightmare. “Y/N, please. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you.”

But your words kept spilling out, disjointed and frantic. “Rickard Stark... I saw it. Terrax, the fire. The flames... they—oh gods, no! He burned him, and then Brandon, he—” You gasped for breath, your hands clutching at Arthur’s tunic now, gripping him as though you were drowning and he was the only thing keeping you afloat.

Arthur’s blood ran cold as he pieced it together. He hadn’t been in the throne room for whatever had just happened, but your words, the sheer terror in your voice, told him everything he needed to know. The king’s madness had claimed more victims, and somehow, through your bond with Terrax, you had seen it all.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his heart breaking as he looked at you, trembling and haunted by the horror you had just witnessed. “You saw them... through Terrax, didn’t you? The fire... Rickard and Brandon Stark…”

You nodded weakly, tears streaming down your face, your grip on him tightening. “I couldn’t stop it. I—he made Terrax do it, Arthur. I saw it all... I felt it. Oh gods, I felt it.”

Arthur’s throat tightened with grief, his heart breaking for you. He pulled you into his arms then, wrapping them around you tightly, holding you as if his embrace alone could shield you from the nightmares, from the darkness that had taken root in your life. You clung to him, your sobs muffled against his chest, and Arthur could feel your body shaking, the terror still coursing through you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he held you close, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

You shook your head against him, still caught between the nightmare and reality. “It’s all wrong,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Everything’s falling apart, Arthur. He’s... he’s gone mad, and there’s nothing we can do. Nothing...”

Arthur closed his eyes, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a stone. He knew you were right—Aerys had gone beyond insanity, and the horrors he inflicted were only growing worse by the day. But right now, as you trembled in his arms, Arthur knew that his only focus could be on you, on helping you through the terror that had gripped you.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you,” Arthur whispered fiercely, his voice low but filled with determination. “Whatever it takes, I’ll keep you safe.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-streaked face looking up at him, and for the first time since your vision, your eyes seemed to truly focus on him. There was still fear there—an overwhelming, bone-deep fear—but there was also trust. Trust in him.

“I can’t lose you too,” you whispered, your voice so small, so fragile.

Arthur’s heart ached at your words, and he placed his hand gently against your cheek, brushing away the tears. “You won’t,” he said softly, his voice steady, though inside he felt anything but. “I swear it.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Arthur held you close again, his mind racing as he tried to think of what to do next.

The acrid smell of charred flesh still lingered in the air, a sickening reminder of what had just transpired. The heat from Terrax’s breath had left the floor near the Iron Throne scorched, the stone blackened where Lord Rickard Stark had met his fiery end. The hall, which had moments ago been filled with gasps and cries of horror, was now eerily silent. Even those who had dared to raise their voices against the king were too terrified to move, their eyes fixed either on Aerys, who sat on the throne with a twisted smile, or on the ashes that were all that remained of the Starks.

Varys stood at his place near the edge of the throne room, his face a mask of quiet calculation. To the untrained eye, he looked impassive, unmoved by the horrors that had just unfolded. But inside, the Master of Whisperers was watching, observing, and calculating the shifts in power, the tremors that would inevitably follow this barbaric act. The king’s madness was now on full display for all to see, and the repercussions of this public execution would ripple far beyond the walls of the Red Keep.

Next to him, Tywin Lannister’s face was set in stone, the only outward sign of his emotions the briefest clench of his jaw as he surveyed the scene. Lord Rickard Stark and his son Brandon had been publicly burned by Aerys’ command, and not even Tywin, with all his power and influence, had been able to prevent it. The Hand of the King, Lord Owen Merryweather, stood nearby, his face pale and drawn, clearly shaken by the events, though he kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to speak after witnessing what happened to the Starks.

Tywin’s sharp green eyes flickered to where his son, Jaime, stood near the entrance to the throne room, his hand still resting on the pommel of his sword. Jaime had been standing guard throughout the ordeal, but now, as the aftermath settled, it was clear to Tywin that something had changed in his son. Jaime, usually so composed, so confident, was visibly shaken.

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. His son had never been one to falter, but this—what he had just witnessed—was not something that even a Kingsguard knight could easily stomach. Jaime had watched the brutal execution of two men, one of them a father, the other his son, and it had been done in the name of a king who had clearly lost all sense of reason.

Jaime’s eyes darted to the smoldering remains of the Starks, then back to Aerys, who now sat lazily on the Iron Throne, one hand idly resting on the arm of the chair, the other drumming against the steel as if he were merely passing time. The madness in Aerys’ eyes was unmistakable, and Jaime had seen it more clearly than anyone standing guard beside the king. The boy—no, the man who bore the title of Kingslayer in another future—was pale, his lips pressed tightly together as though struggling to contain something that was rising inside of him.

Varys noticed the exchange of glances between father and son, though he remained silent. He, too, had taken note of Jaime’s reaction, the subtle shifts in his stance, the way his hand had trembled on his sword hilt during the burning. For all the knight’s skill and composure, Jaime Lannister had just witnessed something that shook him to his core.

Tywin, always a man of few words, approached his son in a manner that would seem casual to any onlookers, but Varys could see the intent behind it. There was no outward sign of concern, but Tywin’s gaze was sharp, cutting through the chaos like a knife.

"Jaime," Tywin said in his usual measured tone as he neared him, his voice low but commanding. "You are a knight of the Kingsguard. Compose yourself."

Jaime blinked, his eyes focusing on his father, and for a moment, there was a flash of something in his expression—confusion, perhaps, or disbelief. He had seen many things in his time serving as a knight, had fought in battles and defended the king’s life on more than one occasion. But this... each time ih gets worse. It was the way Aerys had smiled, the way the king had taken pleasure in watching the flames consume Lord Rickard and his son. It was the utter lack of remorse, the madness that had shone so clearly in his eyes as he ordered the deaths of men who had spoken nothing but truth.

"I—" Jaime began, his voice faltering for the briefest of moments. He glanced again toward the Iron Throne, where Aerys now sat, his eyes half-closed, as though he were basking in the aftermath of his own cruelty. "Father, he—"

"Enough," Tywin cut him off, his voice firm. His eyes flicked toward the throne, toward the mad king who had once been his friend, his ally, and now his greatest frustration. "You swore an oath, Jaime. Remember that."

Jaime clenched his jaw, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword once more. He nodded stiffly, though his gaze lingered on Aerys for a moment longer. "Yes, Father."

Tywin studied his son’s face for a long moment, his sharp mind already working through the ramifications of what had just transpired. The killing of the Starks would not go unanswered—Rickard and Brandon had families, powerful houses that would not sit idly by while their kin were burned alive in the capital. The North would be in an uproar, and the consequences of Aerys’ actions would soon come crashing down like a storm upon the realm.

But for now, Tywin’s focus was on Jaime. He could not allow his son to show weakness, not in front of the court, not in front of the king. He knew the pressures of the Kingsguard weighed heavily on Jaime, and what he had just witnessed would test even the most seasoned of knights. But Tywin would not have his son falter. Not now, when the world was shifting under their feet.

"Remember your place," Tywin said, his voice a low warning. "The king is still the king. We do what we must."

Jaime’s expression hardened, his youthful defiance tempered by the gravity of his father’s words. He knew what Tywin meant. He had always known. And yet, the look in his eyes as he glanced once more toward the smoldering remains of the Starks told Varys and Tywin both that something had changed. Jaime Lannister had seen the depths of Aerys’ madness, and while he might outwardly bow to the king’s will, the seeds of doubt had been planted.

As Tywin turned to rejoin the courtiers, Varys remained still, his keen eyes taking in the scene with the same quiet detachment he had shown throughout. He noted the way Jaime’s hands still trembled slightly, the way Tywin’s gaze lingered on his son for just a fraction longer than necessary. The spider, as ever, wove his web carefully, observing how the pieces moved across the board.

A week had passed since the horrifying execution of Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark in the throne room. The tension that had always simmered beneath the surface of the Red Keep now boiled over, infecting every corner of the castle with a sense of unease and dread. Whispers of rebellion, of discontent, had begun to spread like cancer. The embers of rebellion that Aerys himself had ignited were no longer whispers in the dark—they were taking shape, a storm gathering on the horizon.

Varys moved through the shadowed corridors of the Red Keep with the silent grace of a man well-versed in secrets. He had received a summons from Prince Rhaegar—a private audience. The Spider had always admired Rhaegar for his intelligence and foresight, a rarity in a world where most of the powerful were blinded by pride or consumed by their own lusts. But this meeting was different; the weight of what was unsaid lingered in the air, thick and charged.

He found Rhaegar in one of the more secluded chambers of the castle, a room that overlooked Blackwater Bay. The prince stood near the window, his back turned, his silver hair catching the fading light of the setting sun. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, his posture tense, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Your Grace,” Varys greeted smoothly as he entered, his voice as soft as silk. “You summoned me?”

Rhaegar turned slowly, his violet eyes meeting Varys’ with a heavy gaze. “I did, Varys. Thank you for coming.”

Varys bowed his head slightly, moving to stand a respectful distance from the prince. “It is always a pleasure to serve, Your Grace. I assume this is about the embers of rebellion your father has stoked?” His voice was calm, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity. Rhaegar’s movements, the tension in his face, suggested something more personal than mere politics.

But Rhaegar shook his head. “No. This is not about my father… not directly.”

Varys’ interest piqued. “Then what, if I may ask, troubles you, my prince?”

Rhaegar exhaled slowly, his hands uncurling from behind his back as he took a few slow steps toward the center of the room. “It’s about my sister, Y/N.”

Varys kept his expression neutral, though his mind was already turning. The princess. Of course, he had heard of the horrifying decree that Aerys had made about taking his own daughter as his second wife. The court had been shocked, appalled even, but few had the power or the courage to openly oppose the king. Aerys had become a tyrant, his madness spreading with every brutal act he committed.

Varys inclined his head. “Ah, yes. Princess Y/N. A great tragedy, what has been proposed for her.” His voice was laced with sympathy, though he was already calculating where this conversation might lead. Rhaegar was known for his protectiveness toward you, and the Spider could sense that this was more than just a brother’s concern.

Rhaegar stopped walking and looked directly at Varys, his expression somber but resolute. “I need to take her away from here.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, their significance sinking in. Varys blinked, though he allowed no real shock to show on his face. “Take her away?” he echoed softly, his tone careful. “That is… a bold statement, Your Grace. Such an action would indeed cause ripples.”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightened. “She cannot stay here, Varys. Not with him. I’ve seen what my father is becoming, and he will not stop until he has bound her to him—through marriage, through fire, through insanity. I won’t allow it. I cannot allow it.”

Varys’ mind raced with the implications. Rhaegar, stealing his sister away from the capital, away from the grasp of the Mad King—such an act would indeed ignite the flames of rebellion that were already smoldering beneath the surface. To the lords and houses that had suffered under Aerys’ rule, it would be seen as a defiant act of protection, perhaps even the first move in a larger campaign against the crown.

But more than that, it was a tale. A dragon prince, noble and brave, stealing away his beloved sister to save her from a mad king. It was the stuff of legend, of songs that would be sung for generations. And Varys knew better than most that tales had power—power to sway hearts, to stir rebellion, to forge alliances.

“A dragon prince stealing away his sister from the clutches of madness,” Varys mused aloud, his voice soft but thoughtful. “It is a tale that could inspire many, Your Grace. Those who have grown weary of your father’s tyranny would find hope in such an act.”

Rhaegar’s eyes flashed, though his face remained composed. “This isn’t about rebellion. This is about her. About Y/N. She’s been suffering, Varys. I’ve seen it—the nightmares, the visions. She’s connected to Terrax, and through him, she sees the horrors my father forces upon the realm. She felt the deaths of the Starks. I cannot stand by and let her endure this any longer.”

Varys inclined his head, his voice soft with understanding. “Of course, Your Grace. You care for your sister deeply, as any brother would.” He paused, his dark eyes studying Rhaegar’s face. “But you must understand that taking her away—removing her from King’s Landing—will not go unnoticed. Your father will not let such a defiance go unanswered.”

“I know,” Rhaegar said quietly. “But the longer we stay, the more dangerous it becomes for her. I have to get her away from here, somewhere where she can be safe, away from him.”

Varys allowed a moment of silence to pass, carefully weighing his next words. “And where would you take her, my prince? Surely you do not plan to simply disappear into the night. Your sister is a princess of the realm, and you are its crown prince. Your absence would be noted... and pursued.”

Rhaegar looked toward the window, his eyes far away as though he were already imagining a future beyond the walls of the Red Keep. “I don’t know yet. Perhaps Dragonstone, perhaps beyond Westeros if need be. But she will not remain here. That much I am certain of.”

Varys folded his hands into his sleeves, nodding slowly. “A dangerous path, but one that may be necessary, given the state of affairs.” He paused, then added carefully, “It is likely, you understand, that should you take her away, many lords—those who already harbor resentment toward your father—would see it as a sign. A sign that you, Prince Rhaegar, have made your choice.”

Rhaegar’s gaze snapped back to Varys, his expression hardening. “I have not made a choice, Varys. This is not about rebellion.”

“No,” Varys agreed, his voice as smooth as ever. “But it is about survival. And in times like these, survival often becomes synonymous with rebellion.”

Rhaegar’s lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of Varys’ words settling on his shoulders. He knew what the Master of Whisperers was suggesting—that this action, no matter how noble or personal it seemed, would be the first domino to fall in a larger game. One that could end with his father’s reign—and perhaps even his father’s life.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her,” Rhaegar said finally, his voice low and filled with conviction. “Whatever it takes.”

Varys bowed his head, his mind already racing with the possibilities, the threads that could be pulled from this decision. “I will assist you in any way I can, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar gave a nod, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, Varys.”

As the conversation ended, Varys stepped back toward the shadows, his mind already working through what he would do next. He had known, long before this moment, that the Mad King’s rule would not last forever. But now, with Rhaegar poised to take his sister away, the tale of the dragon prince who defied his father was beginning to take shape.

And Varys, ever the weaver of whispers, would be there to ensure that the story unfolded exactly as it needed to.

#game of thrones #got #got x y/n #got x you #got x reader #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #arthur dayne x y/n #arthur dayne x you #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne #house targaryen #rhaegar targaryen

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thewinchestah · 7 months

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Strawberry Fields (sonhei com campos de morango) - Alastor X Reader fic

Summary: On a dreadful night, Alastor goes to collect one of his contracts. Something goes terribly wrong. He finds you.

Warnings: fem!reader, Human!reader, smut, 18+, period sex, overstimulation, light cannibalism, blood, A LOT OF BLOOD, general creeppiness, Alastor is in hell for a reason, oral sex, alastor kind of hunts reader down, possessive!Alastor

A/N: Soooo!! This was a long time coming but here it is. This idea has been on my mind for a long time now and I wanted to test the waters before i commit to a long fic. I hope you guys like it, i'm kinda on the fence about it. I'm working on the requests and they should be out soon I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Also I got a little carried away, i'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy it. It's always a pleasure to write for you. The visuals and the title for this fic are heavily inspire by this music video. Not the lyrics tho, i always felt like the singer did a poor job with this concept and i wanted to do it justice.

Taglist: @markster666@jyoongim@stygianoir @pepperycookie@fraspent @aether-th3-enby @lady-valtieri @karolinda007-blog @jesi-pinkman@polytheatrix If the tags aren’t working or you wanna be tagged, let me know.

You curse when another sharp stone cuts your feet.

You regret it a second later when you hear the ominous sounds that reverberate through the trees. They are closing in on you.

You don’t know how you got here, you just know now you are running for your life inside these woods now. The only guiding light, a full moon that looks weirdly otherworldly.

Adrenaline burns inside your bloodstream, the forest seems devoid of any living thing. It’s only you and whoever is chasing you. You wish you could hear gunshots, you wish you could hear screams. Anything besides the occasional twig snap or wind caressing the pine trees’ leaves. The eerie silence is deafening, and worse: the eerie silence makes you even more aware of your situation.

It’s incredible how everything gets clearer when you’re about to die.

Maybe you shouldn’t have traveled alone, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to go somewhere where the closest thing to civilization is the village’s old-yet-charming dinner.

You just wanted a little bit of quiet, a place that made introspection inviting. Next time you should go for a beach vacation.

Next time? why does next time sound so… far away? Somehow your feet carry you away from the forest’s well marked path and deeper into the thick vegetation, hiding behind a large tree. You gained a few minutes on them by taking a detour.

Breathe. Remember to breathe.

Right, your mind remembers. You’re being hunted down like prey in the creepy horror film woods, time to focus on surviving again. You can overthink later.

You assess your options: you can keep going into the woods, a deadly game of hide and seek. Zig-zag through the trees, keep them guessing. There’s a good chance you will find wildlife as you go deeper. This could be a problem, it’s too dark to make anything out, an encounter could cause enough of a distraction, you could take advantage of that. Or you could end up mauled. Plus, you are absolutely positive there are bear traps somewhere. If you're gonna die, make your death less dumb. Quite an embarrassing topic of discussion in the afterlife, saying that you died like horror film pretty girls making dumb decisions that you clearly would never make in a situation like that. You just know they are incredible hunters, you need to take them out of their element, expose them.

So yeah, going deeper isn't an option.

Something catches your eye, there’s a big opening in the thick vegetation, there’s a clearing ahead and… sparks? You definitely see a light. You were told by the locals how the population is scattered across acres and acres of practically untouched wilderness, there’s also the park’s rangers stationed on specific places that grant them a visual advantage in case of emergencies. A big clearing is perfect for that. Maybe, just maybe there’s hope.

Of course bolting there will make you terribly exposed, they will know your position all the time, and they can still hunt you hidden by the edge of the trail. Besides there’s no guarantee of what awaits you when you reach the promised land, they could have a partner waiting, there could be nothing at all there. Taking this risk for nothing sounds worse than being lured into a trap. You just have this gut feeling that’s where you should go. Your brain starts to pick the plan apart, this doesn’t sound good. Hesitation can be fatal. But you are all adrenaline and primal flight intistic -

The decision was made for you, you start running again. Taking advantage of the final stretch of cover you still have until you hit the trail again, you take several deep breaths. Oxygen needs to keep coming, so you can make decisions, so your limbs can respond quickly. Your peripheral catches something that’s also running. It’s a stag.

He’s also prey. He’s an omen. He’s your cue.

You leap across some fallen branches and your scratched feet land on the main trial. As soon as you complete your first step you hear movement and hurried voices. They are onto you. “What do we say to the good of death? Not today” you give yourself a pep-talk as you keep running. Maybe thinking this is all fiction will help you survive this, detach yourself from the situation, don’t think about the consequences, just act.

And like that, you don’t stop running. You sing your abcs to focus and stop spiraling. Evolution is truly amazing, the cuts you suffered don’t hurt anymore, precious shooting adrenaline, adrenaline that makes you tunnel vision towards your objective. By now you know where to step, when to dodge, when to slow down and when to go faster. Millennia of sheer force of survival catching up to you.

breathe, remember to breathe.

You inhale a good chunk of oxygen and look ahead. There’s a man on the edge of the tree line and a few meters left. Your mind wants to sing in victory, but you refrain from that, you know better than that it only ends when it’s over-

You’re positively sprinting towards the man right now, like he is your assured salvation. Something inside you screams louder and louder guiding you to him and you follow the sound.

You hear gunshots.

So noooooow they bring out the guns? That’s low.

But that’s a good thing right? If they are shooting they are getting out of time. A single gunshot can take you down and they can smoothly and swiftly carry you away, like it’s a normal hunt. No one will question shooting something they didn’t see getting shot so deep into these woods. But shooting a girl in front of a witness? that’s for amateurs right? So, the man is not a partner you decide.

remember to breathe, you are not breathing.

You are so close now, you see an outstretched hand coming your way only a few more steps

breathe.

You don’t, instead you leap towards your loosely established finish line and take the hand an-

Dirt greets your face as you fall face first into the trail, and you crawl like a zombie that just rose from its grave. You have a collection of new cuts and scrapes now, it hurts and you can’t bite your lip to suppress the pain. Still, you intertwine your fingers with his, your other arm aggressively seeking for leverage, clinging to your flesh lifeline. You blur out a bunch of incoherent things as he effortlessly lifts you up in one swift motion.

“Get behind me, my dear.” he asks. He has a weird voice almost like it leaves something in the air that caresses your skin, an inviting voice nonetheless. You hide yourself inside the crook of his arm, giving you the ability to witness just a little bit of the action there’s about to happen. You never let go of his hand. Your prince charming feels awfully cold.

Alastor waits, rather impatiently, for his clients to arrive. Making a deal with a human is his ticket topside and Hell is still terribly boring, even with the hotel. The Radio Demon was no stranger to contracts with humans, they were a win-win situation. Those who seek him always have a taste for the wicked and deranged, so it’s easy to figure out what they want and twist it for his own benefit. When they inevitably die, be it death by old age or death by occupational hazard, Alastor gets useful men from the moment they manifest in Hell. They always know exactly where they are and why, they are not confused sinners, petty crime or moral crime sinners. They are, most times, skilled killers who take no trouble doing Alastor’s bidding. An accomplished killer in life makes an even better prolific hellish soldier, someone who will continue indulging in their desires without the constraints of society, but eternally tied down by Alastor’s constraints. With the right incentive, they can rise in the ranks and become treasured resources for the overlord. Plus, the camaraderie isn’t all bad. Takes one to know one, they say.

However, humans these days are getting careless, sloppy. This entire display is proof of that, they should be over to kill and cover their tracks alone. The basics, for hell’s sake.

Alastor only takes care of the details. Tampering with some evidence here, getting a victim on the right place at the right time there. The occasional final encouragement to give into the darkness and finally kill, some advice. A self respecting killer should be able to kill and get away with it without the demon’s aid. He’s there for consulting and making sure there are no loose ends.

But never this. Having to intervene in the middle of a kill because his client made a very very big mess that screams “you’re getting caught!” is below him. Amateurs are not worth Alastor's time.

The two men approach the tree line, clearly worked up from the hunt and shocked to see him there. If Alastor is withholding a victim, something went very, very wrong.

“Good night my good fellows!” the greeting leaves his lips in an overly-chirpy tone. Is that static in his voice? Radio static? Is that what’s leaving goosebumps on your skin? The stress and the adrenaline are making you imagine things. You took the “pretend this is all a fantasy and you the main character” too seriously. Because now you are hiding behind Darth Vader’s skirts. That’s impossible, right? right?

“Great.” you can see the sarcasm dripping from one of your aggressors. “You’re here to watch?” the question asked all passive aggressive with an edgy tone. That’s definitely a teenager. What the fuck? you were being chased by a high school kid? This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how can a teen pull this off? And you almost died? What? Your mind starts spirling.

Alastor ignores the son, is the father he cares about. They’ve known each other for years now, and he’s underperforming to say the least. He waits for the father to address him, it’s his mess after all. The older man gives his son a stern look and finally breaks the silence.

“Goodnight. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight, to be honest.’”

The second voice is much older. That doesn’t quiet your thoughts at all. Is this a cult initiation thing? Hunting girls down like they are prey? WHY DID YOU TRAVEL TO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? OF COURSE THERE WOULD BE CULTS HERE, DUUUUH. IF I WAS IN A CULT THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HIDE. There are so many voices screaming inside your head now, you are shivering. With anger, anticipation, fear. Your inner monologue overrides your brain and you are not sure you can cope with everything that’s going on. The voices, all the voices, sound wrong. They land weirdly inside your ear and you need to think hard to understand the words, you know how crucial every piece of information is. They could make all the difference when you talk to the police. They could help a conviction when you are on the stand, giving your official statement. You are surviving this. You are going to watch these fuckers get life in prision or worse. You are surviving this right? There’s so much you haven’t thought through. Whose hand are you holding again?

“Oh please. Don’t act all coy now, it doesn’t suit you old friend” Alastor is starting to cross the line from nuisance to anger. He twirls his microphone in annoyance, and makes sure to sink it deep into the moist ground. “Let me remind you about the terms of our agreement. For each 2 kills you make, one soul is mine to take. Or am I wrong?”

“No. You aren’t”. The father answers through gritted teeth. “But I never thought you would want to collec-” Alastor tilts his head, his grin widens and he snaps “Never thought what? That I would claim what I am owed at my leisure? That I would stop waiting patiently for you, acting at your whim? You earned the privilege of killing unbothered by my vigilance. Because you always delivered your side of the bargain with excellence. I can revoke said privilege whenever I want. Especially after this pitiful performance.” The seasoned killer seems to slightly cower at Alastor’s words. Good. He always regarded the demon without fear or trepidation. His work was meticulous, spotless, basically perfect. And that gave him the justifiable confidence for going toe to toe with the Radio Demon during conversations, a bargaining chip during dealings of his contracts. Few could say that.

You feel nauseous. Reality is crashing down at you hard and fast. How many people have these people killed? They are trading lives like it is the stock market, and yet you can’t let go of your prince charming’s hand. There’s no rational thought to justify it, actually rational thought is also being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb tonight, because despite the gigantic red flags you are not letting go of this man’s hands. Everything about him screams danger, everything about him screams your safety. He’s the type of paradoxical that messes with your primal senses, that makes a moth go to the lights that will kill it.

From the crook of his arm you finally gather the courage to open your eyes. You try to look up to your prince charming, but his face is concealed by the shadows of the night. Actually, everything of importance seems to be conveniently hidden from you. Your aggressor’s faces look distorted, recognizable traits melting together like watercolor painted by 100 shades of darkness, voices and words fuse together creating only cacophony. You hear things, you see things, but you can’t discern them. The three men keep going back and forth, but their conversation seems to dissipate into the air. Everything about this feels like a dream.

Of course you can’t register anything of importance. Alastor makes sure of it. You are a potential victim after all. A liability, capable of making a positive identification. It’s wishful thinking that someone would take your account of what’s happening on this dreadful night seriously.

Alastor has no shame in using the prejudices of your world to his advantage. If you were to tell, everyone would make the assumption that you are “just another hysterical woman, thinking too much about folktales”. You had too much to drink, partied too hard. Hallucinogens are a common party drug and this is the result of a bad trip. At worst, “someone tried to spike your drink, but nothing happened. You should be thankful, not getting in the way of important police work”. Alastor also knows that injustice is no real crime, and yet he decided to spare you. It doesn’t feel fair for you to perish in such crude ways, a practice run for a post pubescent, obnoxious serial killer in training. A precious thing like you should be honored, savored. In the odd chance that your voice was heard, the Radio Demon guarantees that no reliable information will come out of your mouth. His clients might be lacking, but in the dealmaking business your words are your worth and Alastor has a silvertongue. Surely that pretty mouth of yours won’t be a problem.

“I’m afraid I have to insist, my good friend. The pair of you caused enough damage already with these sloppy, impetuous spree killings. Your law enforcement is already on your scent, tracking the pattern and by the looks of it tonight’s mess will send quite a message. A message that I will have to make sure is delivered faultlessly. I will uphold my hand of the bargain, you will uphold yours. The girl will be spared. There’s plenty of prey out there, plus her death would only act as an aggravation, she’s not your type, and trust me, they will know you made a mistake, you will be exposed.” The Radio Demon’s patience is wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to humans. There’s no compromise to be found here, they went to him and the deal is always on his terms. You squeeze his hand really tight during the discussion of your scheduled demise, like a reminder that you are still there. Still afraid.

How cute. Alastor thinks. Your adrenaline is starting to wear off, dissipating into the cool forest breeze and opening space for a strong sense of false security, equally as inebriating. The smell of your sweet fear laced blood is unmistakable, assaulting your savior’s nostrils. Your knees buckle, and you struggle to keep yourself on your feet, clinging to prince charming’s hand for dear life. “Breathe darling, you are forgetting to breathe” He turns quickly towards you, his voice impossibly soft, shooting. You try to look up at charming’s face again, the only new discovery made is that he's awfully tall, and his face is still hidden by opaque darkness. You work really hard on breathing normally again, but you want to keep looking. Their faces are a monstrous distortion, vacant eyes that seem to cry blood. Your entire body tingles, you feel weird goosebumps. It takes all of your willpower to keep standing. You won’t lay yourself at their feat, defeated, like the corpse they would drag from these woods. But you just can’t keep looking, so you shut your eyes and grip the hand that has become your lifeline even tighter.

“You won’t even truly use the bitch, she’s no use for you” The entitled brat opens his mouth again. That’s the trigger.

The Radio Demon grows as tall as the native pine trees, his antlers furiously expanding and casting a shadow so dark over the two serial killers that the moon is completely obstructed. The only source of light in the forest now is the burning red dials of his eyes. The father sees the burning inferno of Alastor’s eyes and for the first time he is speechless. Maybe the realization of where destiny is sending him finally happens. The son sees raw, untamed power for the first time in his life and cowers like a scared puppy. Pathetic.

“Now let’s get something clear here. I’m only tolerating your insolence because of my decade long relationship with your father.” You shut your eyes harder, your eyelids a shield from whatever is about to happen. Foreboding making the forest air too thick for you to breathe. You finally break down and start crying, too fucking much. Alastor’s face meets the son on eye level. His teeth are bared, static picks up around the group to the point both men are struggling to breathe. A clawed hand traps the father’s face, a trail of blood dripping from the older serial killer’s cheek.“He’s as close to a professional as our kind gets. Shame the same thing can’t be said about you. This juvenile outburst does not make you more feared nor does it assert your dominance. It displays how weak you are, inept to succeed on this because you can’t keep your entitled demeanor in check. You are not owed anything in this lifestyle, if you want something you need to prove you’re worthy of it by taking it yourself. Whining like a petulant child won’t get you anywhere” You feel dizzy, the earth beneath your feet quakes, whoever, whatever is holding your hand is sheeting with rage so consuming the ground shakes with the intensity of their emotions.

Alastor’s attention is now focused on the father, the red inferno from his eyes making the man feel genuine fear for the first time in his long, violence-filled life. “Teach your spawn some manners and proper work, otherwise get him out of my sight. This was a courtesy. Fulfillment failings lead to contract termination, and contract termination means a lot of details appearing. You do not wish to make an enemy of me” Alastor delivers his last threat with a snarl. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the intensity of his words, you feel a powerful rush of wind, leaves ruffling, hurried steps and suddenly the world is at a standstill. The forest seems devoid of life excluding you, your mysterious prince charming and your two aggressors. All of your senses are assaulted with an overwhelming feeling of wrongness… darkness. Darkness that feels like the most luxurious silky dress on your skin, the most intense look of a passionate lover. It feels dangerously alluring and your will power is being gladly tempted by it.

You feel like you’ve been holding your breath for hours, the rollercoaster of adrenaline inducing hyperventilation and conscious calming breaths making your brain enter some sort of high. Is that what people felt after a battle in ancient times? Is that what It means to stare death in the face and come out victorious? You don’t understand what you are feeling, but when oxygen finally feels normal again, tall, dark and handsome is escorting you deeper into the woods and you don’t even care.

You’ve just slayed the dragon with your bare hands. You don’t care. You just want to bask on the feeling. To fucking feel. To remind yourself that you are still alive.

Alastor is drunk on something that he rarely indulges in. Desire. Pure, raw carnality that makes him antagonize one of his greatests clients. Someone Alastor awaited his inevitable death with anxiety and hopefulness, someone he could actually call more than a partner in crime when in hell. A friend. A friendship born from blood and gore but bathed in kinship and inexplicable understanding of one’s dark nature. And the Radio Demon almost killed the man and his useless spawn and fucked everything up because when he saw your running for your life something ignited inside him. When you squeezed his hand so tightly, with such abandon and trust, like he was an Angel sent from heaven to protect you when reality was the most wicked antonym.

Alastor spared you because you were prey. Beautiful, delicious prey that defied your destiny by accepting the nature of your condition. You didn’t dare to fight, you didn’t dare to think you could stand a chance against your hunters. You just fled. You fled and was perfectly lured into another trap, you doubled the bet when you held his hand and didn’t let go, serving all of your vulnerability on a silver platter to someone you deep down knew was way worse than any serial killer.

Prey, that will chew its own leg to get out of a trap. Prey, that will offer herself to the most ungodly creature around if it means she can survive a few more moments, just to spite those who started the chase. Prey, that now holds his hand completely carefree and all giggles while she is led to a much more final and insidious type of slaughter. Prey that he was now going to claim.

Your wounded feet start to land on soft squishy things, a familiar scent invades your nostris. From the scent of sweat, blood and gore now to the scent of juicy, plump strawberries.

“Hey, are we on a strawberry field?” it’s the first time you addressed him directly. You trail behind him, hurried steps crushing the strawberries on your way. You look up and for the first time you can see open skies. “You don’t need to worry my dear, you are perfectly safe now”

Are you?

You decide that he doesn’t sound like Darth Vader anymore, his voice is impossibly staticy, it prickles your skin and it feels like goosebumps that accompany butterflies on your stomach. He sounds like someone you would meet at a ball and have a cinderella moment with. The blanket of stars that illuminates the clearing you ferociously fought for grants you a better vision of his figure: scarlet red, snug tailcoat, perfectly tailored. Long legs and trousers that fit like skinny jeans. He dresses like the lead singer from a classic emo band. You can’t say you are complaining, you always loved the idea of a tall dark and handsome prince charming.

“So, you have some weird friends don’t you?” you ask him. You can hear him chuckle, it is a very pleasant sound. Suddenly the twirls you, a fucking disney princess’ musical number twirl, and you find yourself in front of very big bed.

With impeccable white sheets, you mind adds. Must be really hard to maintain white sheets in the middle of a strawberry field. Wait, what is a king size bed doing in the middle of th-

“Ah, I don’t really do friends, more like reluctant colleagues” bootleg brandon urie is the melancholic type, then.

Alastor finally takes a good look at you when you take your seat on the bed with a contented sigh. You look marvelous. Your hair is messy and wild, your cheeks and neck flushed red from the effort. Your eyes big and pliant, waiting for his answers. You look so human, so deliciously alive. He desperately wants to be the cause of your disarray, to make the blood rush to your face under his materfully wicked touch. To feel your pulse fluttering when he touches your neck.

You still can’t see all of him though. There’s stars, a big full moon whose light outstretches far, bathing the clearing in ethereal silver. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, your savior is always in the shadows.

By now you know he is purposefully hiding his identity from you, but you always liked a game. Plus you don’t really have anything to lose now, you just want to forget everything that happened to you tonight, you just want to inebriate yourself, and charming really looks like someone who could show you a good time.

Either that or you are having a psychotic break after enduring life threatening stress.

Anyway, you decide to bite. One possible psychotic murder, funny, charming murderer is better than two lukewarm ones.

“Do you always take random women to a creepy bed with impeccable white sheets in the middle of the woods or am I just special?” not a chuckle now, a laugh. A beautiful, full laugh. The residual static on your skin making you shiver.

Alastor completely understands what you are trying to do, and it’s truly hilarious. Your petulance and sarcasm towards him means to an end. You’re so precious, talking to him like this, thinking you could take him at his own game. What a beauty! Seeing you think you are succeeding in this only for him to take that conviction away from you at the last minute is going to be so entertaining. He wants you to dig your own grave, lay yourself at his feet.

He doesn’t indulge you, instead he takes a thick, silky strand of your hair and inhales deeply. You smell like sweet innocence and summer. It makes Alastor euphoric.

His head tilts down as he smells your hair. You don’t that’s creepy, it looks creepy, it sounds creepy, but you feel reverence in his action.

And then out of the shadows comes a revelation, you see his horns. You suspected his unhumanity, but the confirmation of it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes widen, you simply cannot make sense of this night, everything feels too surreal and raw reality at the same time, it’s giving you whiplash.

“Are you the devil?” you ask him without much consideration of the weight of this question. You do your best to keep your voice from failing but it’s impossible. You never dropped his hand, in fact you feel like you are permanently attached to him, like a marble statue. Your fingers open and interlock again and again, reflecting your anxiety, but you don’t let go.

You can’t see it, but Alastor’s grin is as big as a cheshire cat’s.

“Do you seek the devil?” answering a question with a question. Smoke and mirrors. Alastor waits for you to answer, but you don’t. You don’t know what to answer, you try to contemplate if enganding further could mean eternal damnation, or if you are already damned. Is he going to make you an offer you can’t refuse? an offer you aren’t allowed to refuse? Alastor will blame it on lack of patience, but the fact is he can’t wait anymore to taste you, there’s a burning desire inside him, that only gets more and more ferocious as he tastes the inebriating smell of your fear blessing the air he breathes again.

He removes your interlocking fingers, his hand quickly trapping your tiny wrist inside. You hear heavy breathing.

“Or do you seek a taste of the forbidden fruit?” The demon licks the long cut across our open palm. His tongue is sensual and cold, the sensation of it slowly dragging across your wounded skin a soothing balm. You moan, he growls. “Forbidden fruit it is.” he announces, delivered like a sentence.

You are completely free of his touch for the first time since it all began, but it feels like you just suffered an enormous loss. You feel taunted, like someone just dangled a shiny new thing in front of you and took it away. It’s like your entire being has become tunnel vision and you need to get to the bottom of this, whatever this is. Consequences be damned.

You watch closely as your paranormal paramour moves towards the bed, he is completely concealed by the darkness. Darkness deep and palpable, he morphs within it. The visuals are beautiful, it looks like one of the art’s greatest masters is painting a watercolor in front of you. Darkness from absence of light floating and mixing with otherworldly opaque darkness, flowing like a river. You wonder if it would run through your fingers like water if you touch it.

Antlers. He has antlers, not horns.

The not-devil settles himself behind you, back against the headboard. He quickly maneuvers you onto his lap, grabbing you by the waist. You squeal in surprise as more of him touches you, now pressed flush against his hard chest you feel something you shouldn’t be feeling, nonetheless resistance is futile, you spread your legs giving him more access. He has barely touched you, and yet you are completely surrendered to him.

Alastor wasn’t joking when he established that a woman like you should be savored, slowly consumed so he can extract everything you have to offer. He knows your mind is exhausting itself trying to discern what is happening, how the body and the spirit get more susceptible to succumb to desire after surviving imminent death, and he intends to take full advantage of it. Alastor wants to see you writhe under his touch, pain and pleasure. He wants to torment you and make you pay for existing near him, for making him careless. For making him indulge in carnality and arousal. But mainly, he wants to punish you, because you battled so hard for your survival against them. When you should fear him.

The Radio Demon touches your neck, exactly where your pulse is, where he can feel your beating heart, full of life pulsing. Life that taunts him and seduces him. The thump thump thump of your heart beneath his fingers like a moth going directly to the light that will kill it. He holds your entire life, your entire existence under his clawed finger, it makes him delirious.

You feel a sharp sting on your neck, fangs that break your skin and spill your blood, red and ready for his taking. Holding your breath while he sucks the life out of you, your head swims, and you drown on the feelings. You feel pleasure, forbidden pleasure from having something hurting and feasting on you.

“If you are not the devil, are you a vampire?” It might be a dumb question, but it’s the logical one. Sometimes the obvious needs to be said. He laughs again, a full deep laugh,mockery dripping from it.

“Why? If I were a vampire would it make you feel better about spilling your blood for me?” he dodges the question again. Bait and switch. He’s feeding on you and you are enjoying it.. You don’t know what he is, you don’t know his name. It only spurs the burning desire in the pit on your stomach.

Alastor licks the entire length of your neck, his other hand applying light pressure on your pulse point. He bites down on you again, harder, going deeper. You roll your eyes and moan obscenely as he sucks on it. This is going to leave a mark for sure, but you don’t care, because whatever he’s doing to you feels delirious, it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.

Your blood is dripping from Alastor’s lips, he licks it not wanting to waste a drop. He can taste your eagerness, your fear, your essence, your soul. The red liquid is solid proof of how alive and defenseless you are, completely at his mercy. You keep moaning and melting on his lap at his ministrations, a finger starts tracing your arm, feather light touch that leaves you shivering in anticipation.

He’s gently scratching, teasingly. It’s a claw, you realize. Another part of his unhumanity making you scared and deliciously trembling in anticipation. It’s Alastor’s turn to moan now, his clawed finger comes to torment your clothed nipple, he makes sure to do it tantalizing slow to give you just a taste of what it could be. He wants to hear you ask for it, beg even.

“I’m afraid I’m way worse than the Devil, little doe” his low, threatening tone makes you close your legs together and rub, desperately seeking friction, some relief.

“Re–really? You don’t sound that bad” A lie. You just want to say something back.

Your paramour laughs again, he takes your hand in his and starts making his way downwards.

“How precious are you, lying like that to me” He stops both of your hands on your lower belly, threatening to cross the point of no return. You squeal and struggle on a desperate attempt to raise your hips and get something more, anything.

Delighted in seeing you writhe this badly when he has not even properly touched you, Alastor squeezes your neck tighter, inflicting just enough pain and pressure to make you sing. The Radio Demon finally makes the decision and drops any pretense of moderation, hastily dropping the band of your panties and guiding your joined hands to your slit. “I can taste the fear in your blood, how your sense of pleasure has been forever skewed”.

The two digits tease your entrance that is coated with arousal and something more, his touch is masterful, like he knows the ways of the human body the same way a talented musician knows their way around an instrument. He makes you moan, he makes you sing with only the possibility of his actions. The idea of being taken by something unholy.

At last, Alastor finally enters your tight wet pussy, his finger guides yours as he undoes you in ways that should not be allowed. He pumps your cunt mercilessly, gone are the careful, calculated touches, he wants to make you crash and burn as quick as possible, he wants to make you understand that you crossed the most important line of your life. There’s no going back now, your pretty mortal body is forever tainted by unholiness, by his darkness.

“You spread yourself like this for me, a wanton little thing while I choke and feast on your blood”. Alastor curls the fingers inside you repeatedly making you move your hips in the maniac rhythm he has set. You ride your joined digits, moaning like a whore while your lover’s grip on your throat tightens and releases making your brain short circuits in pure unknown carnal feeling. “You are not the demure, feisty thing like you desperately tried to prove earlier. It only takes the slight touch of something forbidden to make you moan like a common whore” he adds another one of his huge fingers and starts scissoring inside you, the combination of two of his digits and your little one only adds insult to injury. You will never be able to replicate these ministrations, the feeling of being this full and stretched, you had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you are high on it and you will never get another hit on your own.

Alastor alternates between choking you and curling the fingers inside you, your lightheadedness combined with the assaulting pleasure making you feel feverishly delirious. Your body is hot from desire and adrenaline combined, a starking contrast to your mysterious lover’s touch, ice cold. The two of you distinct seasons, distinct stages of existence mixing together, life and death tethering each other, blurring the lines of worlds that shouldn’t exist together.

Orgasm building quickly, you grip the white sheets tighter and tighter and tighter but your fingers feel wet, you look down to see a mess of redness leaking from your core.

Oh fuck, you are on your period. You completely forgot about it. In normal circumstances you would feel mortified about being fingered like this while bleeding, but right now it makes things even more erotic, you’ve learned that your lover may not be a vampire, but he definitely has a thing for blood and something inside you ignites at the idea of letting him feast on your blood, eat you out while you bleed for him.

Your pussy flutters with the fantasy of that tongue working your pussy and with a particularly harsh pinch on your clit you are off. Waves of pleasure spread across your entire body like wildfire, he chokes you merciless making the urge to scream to the universe how fucking good you feel impossible. You want to scream his name, but you don’t know who he is, what he is. You just want more.

While you ride the waves of your orgasm unbothered Alastor takes the opportunity to take fingers from your pussy to his mouth, red with blood and slick with arousal, he moans audibly as he tastes you, the most intimate parts of you. Only a little bit of it inebriates him, this is better than 70% of what he does in Hell. This feels better than closing a new deal, watching the princess of Hell fail miserably at rehabilitating sinners. You taste so sweet, so alive and afraid. He’s hard with the conviction of how scared you are, of how he has permanently tainted something so innocent and pure. How you stupidly threw yourself to his mercy. Perishing at the hand of those serial killers is more merciful than him. And now you will know.

You must have babbled something while you came, about wanting to scream his name and not knowing it, because now you find yourself completely lying down, the bed feels soft like a cloud and you are sprawled like an angel, and he finally reveals something about him of his own volition.

“The name is Alastor, my dear. It has definitely been a pleasure meeting you.” Alastor, now you know, settles himself between your thighs and the pooling redness from your core. You feel him running his claws across the impossibly soft flesh of your inner thighs, you cover your face with your arm.

“Alastor I’ve never… No one has ever…” you trail off, you shouldn’t be embarrassed at this point, but nevertheless you feel your cheeks burning. Is he really going to eat your bloody pussy? fuck.

Alastor’s name on your lips sounds so soft, so pure. He wants to ruin it. He wants to destroy the careful constructed cognitive dissonance that makes you feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants you to be completely afraid and craving being scared of him, disrupting your sense of pleasure so he can ruin you completely, getting you hooked on him and delirious for more, willing to do anything for another taste of the forbidden fruit.

So, he makes you look.

“Look at me” you don’t want to. You feel a lot of things right now, but mainly you feel as if you really take a look at your dark lover tragedy is going to happen. Eros and psyche all over again, but bloodier.

He claws your thighs, you hiss at the delicious pain, but still disobey him.

“Look. At. Me” he snarls, definitely a threat. You feel yourself getting wetter.

Alastor slaps your ass, hard. He’s losing patience, his temper turning quick at the realization that you not knowing who he is isn’t a perfect plan.

You moan from the pain, from the sting. It feels wickedly erotic. You almost want him to hit you again. Since when pain felt so fucking good?

So you do, you finally look at him.

Red. The first thing that your brain fixates on is how much red there is. Scarlet red hair, red blood running down your core and staining the white sheets. Red claws that pierce your skin.

Red eyes. Burning red eyes that entrap you. It’s like you can see the blazing fire that tortures the damned inside those eyes.

If this is why people fall from grace, you totally understand the appeal now.

The second thing, the thing that makes you transfixed at the sight of him is how wrong he looks. His antlers are beautiful, growing from his scarlet hair beautifully adorning ears that look extremely soft, non-threatening, like a crown. His eyes are big and sharp, close together

while he stares at your soul, eyes of a predator in the middle of softness of prey. His grin is completely predatory, dangerous, sharp teeth that hurt and maul, but at the same time bite you just the right way to make you moan in raw carnality. The skin is pale, not in a michael-jackson-thriller-way but in an ethereal way. His voice is static that seems to tickle your skin, sometimes more than others. He’s paradoxical, everything you should be afraid of and the comfort you should seek at the same time. A force you shouldn’t meddle with. Primal and raw.

You may not know what exactly he is, but one thing is certain: he’s dangerously alluring, and you completely fell into his trap. But it hardly matters anymore, because he is about to drink blood from your pussy with that marvelous silvertongue of his.

“Fucking beautiful” you blur out, not realising he’s going to hear you.

One of Alastor’s eyebrows shoots up. He’s not regarded as beautiful often. Alluring, maybe.

He wants to make you pay for all the soft ideas you have about him.

You soon learn how hard it is to hold the gaze of your lover’s eyes, his burning red irises entrap you. It's impossible to look away but overwhelming to stare into.

“If all the mortal men you’ve been with are weak and pathetic enough to decline the dark gift of your bleeding cunt, then I’m honored to be your first” and without much more warning you feel a delicious cold tongue licking your entrance and you are off

Alastor isn’t eating you out, he’s feasting on you like you are his last chance of salvation. His face is completely buried deep in between your legs as his tongue assaults you at a merciless pace. He makes sure not to waste a drop of anything your gushing pussy gives him. His tongue enters you and the contrast between your tight heat and his coldness makes you delirious. Exquisite carnal pleasure, you could cum from it alone.

Alastor is having a hard time navigating this double edged knife: you don’t know who he is what is capable of, which means your aren’t near as scared of being this vulnerable with him as you should be, a literal cannibal delighting in your soft flesh, drinking the warmth of your sacred blood. You must taste delicious terrified. But the silver lining is that the fear he inspires would make any woman who knows more compliant to this, even offering this to him freely. You have no idea about his exploits, he can and he will tarnish you with all of his unholy darkness, wrecking your world during the eleventh hour when you realize what you’ve done, who you’ve so easily corrupted your morals and your spirit for. You’re so beautiful, so naive, so trusting, so alive. You moan “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor” soft ohhhs and aaaahs as he polishes your cunt, every sound you make, every twitch of your legs and roll of your lips reminding your ungodly lover of how delicate and rare you are, aiding him on his mission. Gripping the sheets isn’t enough anymore, you instinctively place your hands on his antlers, the texture indescribable. Again, the contradiction of the softness of his velvet and the sharpness of his teeth, wickedness of his tongue giving you whiplash. You start rubbing them furiously, trying to mirror his ministries on your swollen folds. It definitely is doing something to him because he drags his teeth along your inner tie, breaking more skin, drawing more blood, hissing. You scream at the heavenly pain mixed with unholy pleasure.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t let anyone near his antlers, arguably the most sensitive part of his body. If worked right, the sensations take him to another level of desire, insane carnality. But you taste so sweet, rich blood mixed with erotic arousal on a soft flesh platter, he consumes your innocence as he coaxes another orgasm from you. You hold on to dear life on his antlers, his velvet shedding and bloodying your hands, running through adding to the painting of reds that connects you two. Something ignites on you and it’s the most intense orgasm of your life, you feel every nerve burning from everlasting fire, that transforms and transforms until it explodes in a supernova. You don’t have the strength to scream, so you whisper Alastor’s name like a filthy prayer.

He looks up grinning like a devil. Something makes you open your eyes as you ride out the waves of pleasure. There’s so much blood, blood dripping from his lips, blood on his nose, blood cascading down his bewitching face mixing in a flowing current of red, it ends in a glistening red pool where you meet each other in immoral sin, so inviting you could jump in. It’s like what would happen if the killers had caught you, but twisted into wicked, ungodly pleasure, it’s almost worse. Because well, if you’re killed you’d be dead and would never have experienced this, but now you have and the ephemerality of this night crashes on you and you feel conned, betrayed.

He licks his lips and stares right at you, a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes, you almost cum again.

Alastor feels delirious from the bloody mess in front of him, carnality so powerful it makes him insane, he needs to finish this. He needs to sink his cook deep into your slick cunt. Pushing himself up, he starts to position his cock on your entrance. He’s so tall, the shadows of his bloodied antlers cover you and hide the welcoming silver lighting of the moon. The stars look so different today, and the welcoming sight of a full moon looks merciless, devoid of warmth and hope.

“Women like you are not meant for mortal men. They cannot honor you, they cannot savor you, they cannot satisfy you. Once you take a bite of the forbidden fruit you understand your place. Pliant and submissive beneath me. To be ravished and tamed by something beyond puny mortality. You are made to me fucked, to be owned by the better man who defied destiny and transcended what the hands of fate enforced on him. You are Helen of Troy, tailor made to fit my cock, satisfy my thirst”

He teases your entrance with just the tip, making you greedly roll your hips towards him, a primal response to the ravishing words. Alastor laughs mockling at you attempt of getting him to fuck you on your terms, your time. You may not be aware of everything but by now you know you can’t outfox and fox on his own game.

“please. please. PLEASE” you scream the last word, you can’t take it anymore. A second without him touching your body feels like an eternity.

“Tsk. You look so pretty when you beg” the condescending compliment lands like music on your ears and he finally enters you. Inch after inch he spreads your tight walls open, practically breaking you. You understand now why people in times before yours had sex after battle. It’s the most rare and coveted feeling in existence, to greet imminent death, escape her fatal calling and then do the thing that undoubtedly proves you are alive. Only to meet her again at the finish line of carnal sensations and no rational thought. Primal need to feel, to live.

Alastor finally bottoms out with an animalistic growl, making your shiver under him. He fucks you at a merciless pace, he fucks you with haste, with urgency and abandon. He knows what he needs and he is going to take it.

“Hoooooly FUCK Alastor” you scream.

“There’s nothing holy here. Everything that’s holy has abandoned you. There’s only me, your wicked god who has you completely at his mercy, to fuck, to break” he takes it all out and enters you at once. You try so bad to look at him, to hold his piercing gaze with adamantine conviction but you can’t. It’s too much, overstimulation creeps on you and everything hurts. You shut your eyes.

“Look at me. Fucking look at me or I will stop” it’s not an order, it’s a threat. You should be scared, you feel scared, but tonight fear is diesel to your desire, and the pain makes you enter a mind numbing stage. The lines of torture and relief blurring together until you can’t discern a thing, you feel.

You do as you’re told. You look at him as he fucks you, thrusting like a mad man, obscene sounds reverberating throughout, you are being so loud you are sure they can hear you back on the village. The village, your cabin. You had a life before tonight. Will there be life after tonight?

You don’t have time to have an existential crisis because what Alastor does next gets your undivided attention.

“You will look at the demon who is ruining you, fucking you. You are no immaculate maiden anymore. You are a common whore for the Radio Demon” your eyes widen at the revelation. He is not a vampire, he’s not the devil. The fact that he is a demon and not satan makes you even more mortified, like you’ve settled for less. Just a little demon is what it takes to completely undo you.

Alastor keeps thrusting at a breakneck pace, feeling vindicated. He did exactly what he said he would do, he took the last fiber of comfort, of dignity away from you. He can see your entire world shattering on your beautiful doe eyes, making you finally feel the right amount of horror on the edge of a rapturous orgasm.

You feel true terror now, there was still a slimmer hope that he wasn’ evil incarnated, that he had a redeeming quality. After all, he saved you. Didn’t he save you? Or did you start something you are not even close to understanding? You feel terrified because there’s a demon fucking you, biting you, feasting on your blood and you fucking love it, you want it every night. You really took a bite from the forbidden fruit and ruined yourself.

“It’s too much, Alastor I can’t” the words leave your lips and feel like confession, like somehow if you admit your complete surrender it will absolve you of something.

“Too. Bad.” Alastor punctuates his point with delicious sharp trust after each word. He finally tainted you with his darkness and made you aware of it. He feels delirious, he feels like victory incarnated. Your moans grow louder and louder, now pleasure means pain, hell means rapture. Things that should not exist together making you feel the best you have ever felt. Tears spill from your eyes, the overstimulation something you’ve never felt before, mind numbing and life-altering.

In an act of paradoxical mercy, your demon lover rubs your clit and you’re out like a light. Your walls tighten around Alastor’s cock, and white hot pain, blinding red pleasure overcomes you. You feel like falling, you feel your literal fall from grace as your body tingles and burns with ineffable, forbidden pleasure. Alastor howls and cums inside you.

You land on silky, comfortable, alluring darkness.

The cool forest breeze greets your abused skin, it stings but feels soothing at the same time. Paradoxical, like everything from this night. Alastor holds you tight, cradling your head on his chest, petting your hair. He draws lazy circles on your hip bone, featherlight touch, careful and coy. You turn on your side to face him.

“Can you see it now? It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful” your mind asks you. You agree.

You start giggling, laughing. It is also so funny.

“What’s so funny, little doe?” Alastor asks you, genuinely amused. He feels elated from this night. He feels satiated, contented. It’s a very rare feeling for him.

“For a while I seriously considered you are an alien” you tell him, you can’t contain your laughter now. You are so silly. Alastor’s eyebrow shoots up, quizzical. He chuckles and indulges you. “Alien, is so mundane. You could never be an Alien, it’s way too easy”. What your giddy minds means is that now you know Alastor is anything but easy, actually there’s nothing like him. He’s something else. Something entirely different, a delicious mystery that creeps inside your heart, haunts you forever.

You stop laughing when realization hits you.

“Will I ever see you again, Alastor?” you ask him, your voice failing, nothing more than a whisper. You feel the ephemerality of this night, you feel daylight closing, ruthless sun rising that ends this everlasting dream.

Alastor stares deeply into your eyes, he sees your wanton desire, your trepidant expectations. “That depends entirely on you, my dear doe. It’s time to make a decision.” his voice is so soft it fucking hurts.

You look at the fading moon on the horizon, the distant stars judge you, the earliest of birds sing for you.

Yet from those starts, no light but rather, darkness visible.

You open your eyes, you feel impossibly rested. Your bed feels soft and you want to visit dreamland again, but the noise stops you.

Songbirds and blazing sirens mix together a cacophony of urgency. You get up fast, trying to remember little bits and pieces of the crazy dream you had and run to the big window across the room.

You look down, you see ambulances, police cars, lab coats and tall guys in FBI jackets.

Something definitely happened here last night.

That explains it then, the nature of your murderous dreams. The sirens creeped their way into your subconscious making that murderous, dreadful dream. You take a quick look and your hands and see nothing. Perfect, unblemished skin.

It felt so real. Strawberry fields and blood.

Your neighbor from across the street gestures manically at you from her window.

Fuck, it must have been really bad. There’s a lot of people at your doorstep.

Hurrying to put your robe on, you fly down the stairs towards the bustling crowd outside.

You are dying to know what happened. You were always a vivid dreamer.

You reach the hall and open the door, a polite officer starts talking to you.

You don’t notice the old radio on your vanity, or the opaque darkness that followed you from the corner of your room to the world outside.

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