#tw: corruption arc

[thebucketgod]

Mindbreak and corruption (teaching you how to play mahjong)

[tsuutarr]

Your guardian angel was so excited to get his first assignment, and to such a pretty human, too! 

You're so cute and so sweet – he loves watching as your eyes light up when you eat something tasty, when you smile because you see something cute… Gods, he just loves seeing you be you!

He follows you around, frets about your health, and has general disdain for those that flirt with you. You're his human, so why are other people looking at you? You're his and he's the only one that knows everything about you. He hates it when other people think they can ever love you like he does.

Wait… why does he dislike it when other people think you’re pretty? You are pretty! You're so, so lovely – obviously other people can see that too! But why does it make him feel so... so... vile?

Your guardian angel’s thoughts are halted when you let out a loud moan. He watches with enraptured eyes as your fingers dip into your wet folds, the heel of your palm pressed against your clit. For the first time, your guardian angel feels hot, fire numbing his fingers. He watches and watches and watches until he can't take it anymore and has to touch.

[cosmicourple]

Blender Timeloop! OdyPenZeusseidon, but crying during sex..

[primarilymedievalish]

as-as a birthday present (my birthday was yesterday wheee) can I get that sausage corruption ramble you promised? 🥺

Oh my gosh, happy late birthday!

Here is what I have so far. It’s not super polished yet, but I hope you enjoy!

(I’m going to make a lot of references to canon, here, to help illustrate my thinking and give me a place to start. Because do I ever have a lot of thoughts about this. This is going to be very, very long.)

In the beginning, Sausage tries his hand at sorcery and magic. We all know this. It starts in episode five with the gem crystals and the trees. He starts learning magic before the end heist; before the cod wars even begin or the wither rose alliance is formalized. It starts with magic from an outside source, channeled without really understanding how it works or what it takes, and he keeps experimenting and branching out and learning from trial and error. All well and good. This is the baseline.

Time passes. Fast-forward to episode fifteen, titled “THE MAGIC SUMMONING CIRCLE!!!”. This is the most drastic escalation yet. He uses a huge array of magical items, collected from around the world specifically for their amount of power (not type). I have a full list of the items he uses, but that’s not the most important part. The details of the summoning circle’s construction and the form the ritual takes are interesting; I have a friend, who’s relatively knowledgeable about this, who has variously described the summoning circle in Mythland as “more of a sacrificial altar than a summoning circle” and “a better place to summon things than to contain them.” Sausage throws the item into the sacrificial cauldron, kills a blood sheep, and summons Bubbles into this realm. He also claims to have consulted with many authorities, including the Sorcerer Supreme.

For the sake of transparency, I will say that my friend thought that Sausage’s ritual practices in episode fifteen were reckless, dangerous, and likely to go wrong in drastic ways. Please make note of this.

Shortly thereafter, Sausage puts on his blue sorcerer robes, almost abandoning his courtly attire completely. Sometime around this time, he claims to be making attempts to visit the spirit realms, and describes them variously as shadowy and cold. His behavior begins to draw concern from his friends. This is also the point in canon where he starts assassinating people.

In episode nineteen, Sausage first encounters the demon Xornoth outside the gates of Eastvale, who almost immediately singles him out as useful to court. Sausage seeks out their attention, and offers to free them.

Here’s why this all matters:

In my earlier post, I mentioned how fireblight, one of my real life inspirations for corruption, enters plants through injuries and natural openings. It is my belief that Sausage’s corruption began before he met Xornoth in Eastvale. His sorcery was risky, and held few safety measures. I imagine the results to be like a metaphysical strain or contusion; relatively minor, but an easy prelude to lasting complications. In addition, the summoning circle’s design, and the description of “cold” and “shadowy” spirit realms leads me to believe that Sausage found the fringes of Aeor and Exor’s realms, respectively, and caught the attention one attached to the latter of these two powers. Xornoth, being an opportunist, took the chance they had been given, before he even had the strength to be fully corporeal.

It doesn’t start that night by the gates of Eastvale. There’s not enough time for that.

Gem describes Sausage’s magic as ‘dark’. There’s a few ways we could take this, but I’ve found an interesting definition of dark magic in Empires SMP to be magic that is hungrier than usual. All magic leaves its marks on the caster, but dark magic devours. It’s not unlike a corruption of its own. The difference between a mutualistic symbiotic relationship and a parasitic one isn’t in their closeness. It’s that, ultimately, one side benefits at the other’s expense. Even before the demon, Sausage wasn’t exactly taking safety precautions with his sorcery. A perfect target. None of this is very cut and dry, but I don’t find it too hard to believe that it started to twist him. Fireblight infects its hosts through openings, especially injuries. Sausage’s experimentation with sorcery provided the perfect opening for Xornoth’s corruption to take root.

The summoning circle changed things. It was the first time his use of magic went from passive to active, using hazardous procedures and with limited experience. Sausage messed around with the nature of the universe without accounting for the nature of the universe messing with him. Before, his forays into magic don’t really affect him in ways that cannot be easily attributed to his baseline characterization. I do not believe that, if our ‘normal’ Sausage had been faced with the demon at the gates of Eastvale, he would have reacted the same way as the Sausage of episode nineteen. I don’t think that he would have been so easy for our demon to court. Sausage may not have thought of it as a big deal, or a betrayal, or anything that he couldn’t manage. That’s kind of the point.

You may be wondering how we can tell if his behavior in this arc, before meeting Xornoth, is due to his innate character reacting to the sudden availability of the pursuit of more advanced magic, or some subtle corruption, some spiritual mark. I’m certain that Sausage, too, would like to know the answer to that question. There’s no way to know for sure. But the thing about corruption is this: it finds its way to your heart, and there is where it grows, feasting on the worst parts of yourself. You will do things, and you will claim them as your own, because after all, they come from your very heart. Sausage needs no convincing to offer to kill the dragon and free the demon then threatening the life and home of one of his closest allies. His being, warped. Nothing new; only magnified. Helped along, by inches.

There’s no way to know for sure, but the results to me seem suggestive.

In episode twenty, Sausage does a few things of note. The first is take the title of Sorcerer Supreme, previously one of the authorities he consulted for approval before summoning Bubbles. Isn’t that interesting? A magical authority, separate and sought out, incorporated into his own name. Isn’t that an interesting thing to happen as his entanglement with dubious magical forces escalates? Isn’t that an interesting coincidence as he searches for ever greater magical power? A seeker of knowledge abruptly becomes its giver.

Secondly, Sausage subsequently makes his deal with Xornoth, forgetting all doubts as soon as Xornoth claims him as a friend. He furthermore, offers Gem and Jimmy protection from Xornoth in this same episode, and Gem at least finds his behavior markedly unusual and extremely offputting. He tells her about the demon, and his interest, although not the deal; Xornoth told him to keep it between them. He is still speaking with his own voice. He’s still acting within the framework of his own character. He’s not even free of doubts, or at least, not entirely.

It’s not inconceivable that Sausage would do this any of this own volition. But all together, I think it’s telling. By episode twenty, Sausage is being corrupted. And people are noticing. From other people’s perspectives, it’s obvious that something’s up. From his own, however, the creep is far more subtle.

I imagine he begins to show physical signs of corruption at about this time. Scrapes that don’t quite heal. Lumps and bumps that ache and sting and ooze with pressure. Black blisters, streaking beneath his skin. Nothing that can’t be covered up and denied. Nothing so great it can’t be ignored. It’s him, his choice. His own heart. He’ll tell you. He doubles down on his sorcery, in this period. Grows ever closer to the blood sheep and the demon. Is it corruption if it feels like himself?

He is being eaten. Cankers and galls and thoughts he can’t quite finish, routes he can’t quite take. He has always wanted; wanting is at the very core of his character. But the shape it takes is different, now; just a little. Twisted upon itself. If he notices, he doesn’t care.

Often, some types of parasites will hijack some aspect of the host organism’s behavior to serve their own needs. The host will act in ways that benefit the parasite, and may be completely alien to their own behavior and best interests. This is obvious from the outside. But from the inside, corruption is so hard to detect. Why shouldn’t you do this? Of course you would do such a thing; look, you’ve already started.

For context: all of this happens before Lizzie and Joel even get married.

So by this point, he’s already being eaten pretty rapidly. But the thing about corruption is that it feels like yourself. You are what you eat, after all; and he is like a cored and rotting apple, all worm-trails and bruises. It feels like himself, slippery sickness and all. He has yet to receive a single power. His alliances are crumbling. His body is starting to show the signs. All the harm to the host, all the benefit to the parasite. He does not waver. He is going to free Xornoth. He is going to kill the dragon. Of course he’s not corrupted. What a ridiculous idea!

There is no longer a clean line where Sausage ends and the corruption begins. There might never have been; but by this point, it is so deeply entrenched that I cannot imagine him even noticing as he grows ever more distant from his own self. I think you described it as dying a slow and horrible death while you can’t stop hearing the whispers? That’s pretty accurate for his case, too, with the caveat that he can’t even care. It’s just numb. He can’t feel the seams.

At about this point, Xornoth gives Sausage something called “Hive Corruption” via the summoning circle, which Sausage receives eagerly and delights in testing on a villager’s house—one that he, not so long ago, was so joyous to welcome his kidnapped librarians home into. He spreads the corruption without a thought. Why should he care if his people suffer? Why would that that a concern? Earlier, many of Sausage’s projects as king were for the glory, pride, and benefit of Mythland. People were fed and housed just as happily as mercenaries were directed into the heart of Pixandria. But of course, destroying part of his town is just him. Nothing out of the ordinary here. It’s his own heart. He wanted to learn magic. He wants to be more powerful than Gem. He will be more powerful than Gem, soon.

I can’t imagine the Hive Corruption being anything but a test. Xornoth likes tests; likes to see how far things can be twisted. It’s entertaining, for them, to watch people squirm and bend and lose their nature. I imagine that they were satisfied with the answers they received.

Xornoth is relatively subtle. It’s not possession; not yet. I imagine that actively directing a host’s actions requires much more effort and energy than eating them from the inside out. Xornoth still isn’t free. There’s not a lot of energy to spare. And why bother? Why bother, when the twisting and warping and stringing along is serving its purpose just fine, and getting Xornoth plenty to eat? Parasitism, after all, is a very successful strategy. So long as Sausage keeps willingly feeding them all that strength and vital energy… it’s a whole kingdom, effectively under their control, with a nice banquet to go alongside. A win-win.

Corruption is a parasite. Demons are corruption personified. You are what you eat. We will come back to this.

I could talk forever about this arc. But just around the corner is the Nether betrayal, and I can’t do justice to the topic of Sausage’s corruption without it.

I could talk about the lead up. I could talk about how, by this point, Sausage was convinced that his allies weren’t really his allies anymore; that his only real ally was Xornoth. I could talk about how fWhip and Gem grew ever more fearful of the same. But what I want most to mention is this: I believe the nether betrayal to be the first instance of outright possession in canon (not counting a few implied, brief instances earlier—like I said, Xornoth likes their tests). When Xornoth whispers in the nether, Sausage speaks only in echoes. Almost word for word, he parrots Xornoth. I highly recommend watching Sausage’s perspective of the battle; the degree to which he unthinkingly repeats and obeys is genuinely creepy. This is also the first time when Sausage actually receives special powers from Xornoth; further deepening Xornoth’s control over him in a way that doesn’t depend on direct corruption, solidifying Xornoth’s position as the single most important figure in Sausage’s life.

This, like the summoning circle, is a turning point. But his face is still his own. His voice is still his own. Xornoth whispers to him: he is special, he is strong, they’re betraying him, he should smite them with his sword. Xornoth whispers, and he obeys. It’s automatic. It’s unblinking. There’s not even a question in his mind. It’s not even his own heart by this point: it’s Xornoth’s. Why should it be otherwise?

Xornoth tells him to smite them with his sword. Sausage tells them: “I will smite you with my sword!”

His eyes are still blue. His face is still his own. His voice still sounds human. fWhip and Gem see his face, in that frantic, furious fight: it is utterly still. No leering grin, no wolfish snarl; no expression to match his voice. His face has never been still a day in his life, before. It’s like a death mask. It’s like a stranger. It’s like a shapeshifter stole it, wordless and alien and terrifying.

It doesn’t look like his own face, anymore, though the features all are his. Possession is active, costly, and so often pointless when you can twist and leech and rot instead. But I think Xornoth found it worthwhile in this instance.

Xornoth whispered; Sausage obeyed. This is the point of no return. This is the point where the distinctions stop mattering. This is how it ends: with a whisper. There is no Sausage without Xornoth. Who needs those other people? He has a better friend now. Xornoth told him so. Xornoth gave him special powers. Gem and fWhip are out to get him.

When the power fades, he doesn’t mind what he’s done. Why should he?

Rotten from the inside out. He’s not his own. He doesn’t care. He is being devoured; let’s say 60% of his soul is left uneaten. If you tried to exorcise him now, he probably would not survive.

He is dying. He does not care.

A thing about some behavior-changing parasites: the brain is left intact. Circumvented. Rendered irrelevant. So it is here, as well.

His face is still his own.

Of course, then the Dragon dies. This, too, changes things, but not much. He gets his powers, at long, long last. I imagine the blisters and cankers have popped, by now. I imagine his lymph nodes are swollen and dark. I imagine he aches all over. I imagine his hands tremble, when the strength recedes. I imagine it stings like lye in his veins. Animals fear him: he smells like death, not a human being. I imagine he, distantly, remembers his fear. But only distantly, for after all—the power is great, and isn’t his heart still his own? And if it’s Xornoth’s, it’s all the same. He still speaks with his own voice. He still looks at his reflection and sees his own face. Doesn’t he?

The powers he gains are a direct result of his physical corruption. Since corrupted tissues function more or less like normal, but with a connection to a whole network of power, it is fairly straightforward for Xornoth to leech some of the stolen vitality back into Sausage, making him faster and stronger. Of course, this is extremely deleterious to his health, and only hastens the rate of rot. When he is not being fed strength, he is therefore in even greater physical pain, and often has difficulty with physical tasks, due to rewired muscle memory and the extreme stress his body is under.

Of course, some of the vitality he’s fed for these powers was once his own. Never let it be said that the universe doesn’t have a sense of humor.

It is about this time that Sausage starts telling all and sundry that he is not possessed. He’s still in control. He made this deal of his own free will. Even if he fears—what then? What then? What friend does he have beyond Xornoth?

There are these scenes, now, where his mouse trembles on the screen. I imagine that it means something.

It is when he first loses himself that he truly remembers fear. His time is gone and his body is changing, and Pearl said he spoke without memory, with a voice that wasn’t his own, with words that weren’t his own—

Remember: corruption is what consumes. Demons are corruption personified. You are what you eat; and he is all but eaten away. And now we’re at the meat of the matter: the part I promised.

Demons form from active corruption. There is more of him that had been eaten than what which hadn’t. This is how demons are made. It’s not his heart, anymore. The corruption has a face, now: it has taken his. It has a voice: it has destroyed his. It has a name: it stole it from him, and called himself Supreme. Sausage is a side thought, now, a footnote, a thing drained almost dry. There is something else inside him, now, and it does not want to share. It grows, and with it, so does Sausage’s fear. But it’s too late for fear. There is nothing left of him. He knows this. And still, the power is great.

He does not remember his days, anymore. Later, they will be a void—blank, black, fleeting, fearing, doomed, deserving. He asked for this. He asked for this, of his own heart! It was his own heart, then, or at least, it felt like it. What’s the difference, in the end? He writes his will. He counts his days. He tracks the darkness and filth spreading beneath his skin. His eyes are still his own.

His face is still his own. And it is the face of a man who knows he’s dead.

He has his power, still. That is his doom: no one is strong enough to stand against him, anymore. He is sure of this. If there was, they could stop him. But here he remains.

The arena is the last day he remembers. His body’s destruction still lags behind the rest, but not by much. There’s nothing left of him intact. There is nothing the demon hasn’t touched. He doesn’t need to be twisted or possessed, anymore: he will do it all of his own heart, and laugh.

It isn’t his voice, anymore; nor his face. To the causal eye, Sausage looks like a different person, and a dying one at that. His eyes have burst from bleeding, and his hands are twisted black. There’s a pallor in his skin and a dullness in his eye. He’s lost weight; neither Xornoth nor Sausage Supreme think about eating when the corruption will sustain life, and when he is himself, he’s often too exhausted and in too much pain to even try. There is a gray-burning sludge oozing on his knuckles, staining his robes. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. There is nothing left of the king of Mythland.

This is how demons are born. And he’ll play his role willingly.

Xornoth is shown as a vaguely humanoid figure, twisted beyond recognition, nothing left unblackened, nothing that has not burned. The same here, just not quite as far along.

And then, he fights with Gem. It turns out there is a speck of him left, in the end: just enough. The barest inch of him still existing. He asks for death, and dies in his own mind.

Like I wrote in my fic, Gem kills him accidentally, by ripping the corruption out. She thought it would save him. But the thing is, you can’t remove some parasites. They’ve grown too close to the host. Their lives are intertwined. There’s no way to separate them without killing the host. So: Gem uproots the corruption that had eaten itself replete on his soul, and Sausage dies.

The corruption, however, wasn’t destroyed. Ripped out with one staff, and sent away with the other—and Gem didn’t care where it went! She just wanted it gone.

I believe that Sausage Supreme is a demon: the corruption that consumed him, given solid form. It ate enough of Sausage to be able to survive the separation where Sausage couldn’t. It isn’t his ‘bad parts’, though that would be an easy mistake to make. He is what became of all of Sausage’s soul that got eaten, reshaped in his warped image; just barely recognizable. And he is not happy about this. He had everything! Power, life force to nourish him, things to corrupt, things to destroy. Now, he’s trapped in the void with nothing to do but hate. So hate he does.

Meanwhile, Sausage gets revived, barely.  Upon completion of his quest in the Spirit Realm, he is provided with enough vitality to return to his body and regrow the damaged and missing portions of his body and his soul. The process is not quite perfect; he is left with nothing missing, but nothing that was eaten is restored to exactly the way it was. Scar tissue. He wakes up sometime before his funeral starts, at least; he doesn’t remember when exactly, and who can blame him? Now we get to the fun part: he may have survived, but he has to live with being more scar than soul, with knowing what could be created from his own heart, with knowing that it felt like his own heart. And this has consequences! It changes him, in more ways than one.

Firstly, magic. His new powers, involving being essentially untethered from time and space, are a direct result of being devoured, ripped apart, and shoved back into life with a huge influx of raw power to keep him from just dying again due to the extent of his wounds. The common feature of all the magical skills he develops during the season’s final arc center around being somewhere he is not. We see this magnified  in season two, where, a thousand years and many lifetimes later, increasing exposure to magic starts fragmenting his presence and sending him to lives and times not his own. We see him both watch without any kind of physical presence (for instance, his view of Xornoth’s defeat) and interact with his surroundings in other worlds (such as ruining Rivendell in revenge for Scott hurting Gem). Ultimately, they and all inconsistencies in what he can and cannot do are rooted in the inherent instability of these powers, as they derive from the piecemeal nature of his death and revival. He died slowly, and was dragged back wrong. This lingers.

I suspect that all of the timeline nonsense and messy reincarnations that occur later are rooted in this: Sausage came back, but he did not come back whole. He is mentally, physically, and magically messed up, to the degree where it doesn’t really straighten itself out. Lifetimes later, he still feels the echoes, without knowing where they come from or why.

(Sausage’s death and subsequent visions have actually become the source for a lot of my headcanons about the nature of prophecy in Empires! To have visions of the past and future, all you need to do is weaken your connection to your current time. And what untethers like death and a not-quite-clean revival?)

Second among the impacts of Sausage’s death is the mental and physical scarring itself. He is not okay. He is so far from being okay. He is, quite literally, scarred for life. He can’t sleep. He can barely eat. He can barely walk for a while. He came back in better shape than he should have by rights, he knows that, but it doesn’t really feel like it.

Something I use from time to time is the idea that, in Mythland, the body is seen as an integral part of someone’s being. Sausage’s body is no longer one he recognizes. It’s not the fact of scars; it’s what they represent. Degradation. Downfall. Turning against everything he’d ever loved to get what he was sure he wanted. Sausage’s yearning had often somewhat ineffectual. There’s horror there, and disgust: this is what became of him when he finally got what he wanted.

Another element of this disgust is that dead bodies are often described as “corrupted flesh”; rotting and unrecognizable. He lived through the rotting of his own body, and then he died, and then he came back. Sausage at this point almost thinks of his body, and by extension, the rest of him, as a dead, hateful thing. Something that should have been put to rest, and is still wandering around in the broad daylight, worms and all.

There’s a lot of interesting medieval imagery about death and the pollution of the rotting corpse. Since it can get very graphic, I’m not going to go into too much detail here, but suffice it to say that all of that is running through Sausage’s head. Worms and all.

These scars are very distinctive, and cover most of his body. Since they are faintest on his face, and fashionable court dress involves high collars, long sleeves, and very little skin showing, many people don’t know the extent of his corruption.

The physical repercussions are more than aesthetic, as well. Exhaustion, lingering pain, and sensory disruption are part of it, as is retraining once-familiar tasks. Part of this is a direct result of having various tissues be eaten away and healed over; part of it stems more closely from the effect of his borrowed strength and speed. These powers put more stress on the body, and trained it in ways counterintuitive to healthy, long-term function independent of the corruption. I am not a physical therapist. I am not a doctor. But I do think that there would be a lot of work—usually hidden, somewhat shame-riddled work—needed for him to be able to comfortably do a lot of his usual tasks.

He has strong, visceral reactions to magic now, especially dark magic. It feels like it’s eating him alive again. That’s part of what keeps him from going back to his studies of magic, alongside his immense guilt and shame. It hurts to be near it sometimes. It’s just too much.

He has nightmares almost every night. Of what he’s done, and what has been done to him. He wishes he could wish they would not stop. Isn’t it only just that he suffer for what he has done? All the same, he tends his scars, and sleeps with the dogs (for they are warm and do not flinch away), and pretends he is at peace.

Sausage doesn’t remember being corrupted very clearly. He’s also got a boatload of trauma from this, and as time goes on I do think it develops into PTSD.

This leads us to the third thing he has to figure out after coming back: living with himself. Because you can bet that, by this point, Sausage absolutely hates himself, and his own stupid heart for leading him here. (It all felt like his own heart. Where does the corruption end? Where does he begin?) He doesn’t trust himself, anymore. He doesn’t know himself, anymore. If you thought he had issues before all of this, you should just see him now.

How does he even begin to keep going?

Just for fun, I imagine him finding some solidarity with other corruption survivors, if he can get over the guilt. There aren’t many of them, and he had the most severe case on record (you can bet he’s ending up in the textbooks for this). But the piglins and the people of the Crystal Cliffs especially had some survivors, and one way or another, he meets some of them. Just knowing that he’s not alone helps, I think. Seeing the same scars on someone else’s skin, and knowing that they lived, too.

Last of all, the conflict between Sausage and Sausage Supreme ends in season two with a duel where Sausage consumes the demon that ate his face, his name, his voice, and his being; the one that rotted him hollow, and left him scarred.

In the end, Sausage looks at the thing that ate him, and he eats it right back.

[jarchivism]

Fearpocalypse Avatar Meetup!!

As the clock strikes midnight, I think we're all aware of what day it is now. I've got all the party supplies in the corner, all readied up. I'm not the best artist, but this is what it looks like so far.

We’ve got:

- Way too many doors. (Much more outside this image.)

- A suspiciously raw meat plate.

- Crickets

- Brownies (From someone who said they would bring baked goods. Probably the forever brownie.)

- A lot of sky. (Understatement of the century.)

- A feeling of slight isolation and vertigo.

- The smell of ozone.

- I may or may not have summoned the eyepocalypse.

Almost all contributed by the avatars who came into my askbox as of late. Thank you for bringing stuff to the potluck.

May our convention go well!

[incangencence]

first blood || the master & gene

@sclfmastery gets a starter from this prompt

“I-… I-it was an accident…”

Gene’s whole body was shaking, the blood still dripping between her fingers. She stared helplessly down at her hands. A killer’s hands. She felt cold. Sick.

Her dark eyes lifted to find The Master’s. Shocked. Pleading. “I-I didn’t-… I-it was an a-accident…”

[rottmnt-residuum]

Wym it starts when i go back to tgerapy

Is this a sign

i- i hope not?? i dont think theres anything really therapy worthy in the first update... hmmmm. i guess looking at it right now, it might be a little upsetting? very low grade, though

[purple-rex]

Content Warning: lots and lots of blood :'D

Oc content here we go!!! Coy, the messenger for the council!

Nobody ask me where i got the concept (´＿｀。)ﾞ

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

Suspected Plasma--don't blame this on us, you bastard--

[kekewrites]

How to make a baby 101

Tw. dubcon, dark content, virginity loss, breeding kink, creampie, size difference, a lil age gap (2-4 years), sex education gone wrong, cunnilingus, coercion, nicknames, creampie, overstimulation, corruption, reader is ignorant and innocent (sheltered, kinda went a bit mute at the snusnu part), nerdy to cocky (character)

***

Step 1: Ask your childhood friend to help you study for your exam.

"Hmm? How to make a baby?" His eyes widen a little, a small flicker of something in his eyes as you ask him about reproduction system or along that line.

"Well," he said slowly, his voice still composed but with a hint of surprise, "that's not quite how it works." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Making a baby is a bit more...complicated than that."

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, you listened attentively as he explained the mechanics of reproduction, his deep voice a low rumble. The bedroom lamp cast a warm glow over the scattered textbooks and printouts, illuminating your curious expression.

"Okay, so the male produces sperm, which are essentially cells with a tail..." He paused, realizing how bizarre that sounded. He pressed on. "Right. And the female ovulates an egg once a month. When the egg is fertilized by the sperm, it starts dividing and..." He flipped to a diagram showing the developing fetus week by week.

Your brow furrowed, your finger tracing the arc of a tiny spine. "But... how does the sperm get inside the egg?" you asked, genuinely puzzled.

He cleared his throat, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down his neck despite the coolness of the room. He'd been dreading this part. "Uh... well, that happens through... sexual intercourse."

You blinked at him, "What's that mean?"

Fuck. Think, choose your words carefully.

"It means... when a man and a woman... um... physically join... their genitals..." His face felt like it was on fire.

You tilted your head, studying him with frank curiosity. "You mean like... when you put your penis in a girl's vagina?"

Direct, to the point, no nonsense. Just like her.

He blinked. Twice. Thrice. "Y-yes. Exactly like that," he managed to croak out.

"And the penis is like a big, FAT sperm," you said, matter-of-factly. "So the sperm comes out of there and swims up to the egg when the girl ovulates, and then they meet and the egg gets fertilized."

He stared at you, momentarily lost for words. "Er... yes. More or less," he agreed weakly.

Jesus fucking christ.

"But... why do you think the penis has to go inside the vagina to do that? Why can't the sperm just swim through the girl's belly button or something?" You asked, genuinely puzzled.

Because it fucking feels incredible, that's why. Among other reasons.

"W-well, because..." He took a deep breath. "The male... releases the sperm directly into the female's reproductive tract... to increase the chances of fertilizing the egg," he said, trying to keep his voice level.

God, could he sound more like a robot?

You nodded slowly, considering this. "Oh. Okay. So... the penis goes inside the vagina, and then the sperm comes out and swims up to the egg. That's how a baby gets made."

You're oversimplifying it, but... yes. Basically.

"That's right," He confirmed, feeling like a fraud. He'd failed to mention the vast majority of the process – the hormones, the emotions, the raw, animalistic need that drove humans to couple.

At least until she's old enough to understand... and maybe hate me for it.

Looking down at the diagrams strewn across the bedspread, frowning slightly. "I still don't really get why the penis has to be inside the vagina though..." she mused. "Is that like... really important?"

Fuck me, it's not just important, it's essential. Indispensable. Irresistible.

And I really need to stop thinking about this before I embarrass myself.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even. "It's... yes. It's very important. For biological reasons," he said shortly.

Like the fact that a man loses his goddamn mind with lust when he's buried inside a woman's tight, wet heat. Fuck.

"Oh. Okay..." You said slowly. "I guess that makes sense."

Thank fuck for that.

Tapping your chin thoughtfully. "So... the penis gets hard, and then it goes inside the vagina, and then the man ejaculates the sperm, and that's how a baby happens..."

Too fucking right it is. Among other things.

"...and then the egg gets fertilized, and the baby starts growing in the womb..."

He nodded jerkily. "Yes, that's... that's pretty much it," he agreed, feeling like he was standing in the middle of a firing range with a live grenade in his hand.

And I'm the fucking grenade.

"And then the baby comes out and..."

And a man comes so fucking hard he sees stars, buried balls-deep in a woman's clenching, spasming cunt...

You were still talking, but your voice faded into static as a dizzying rush of images flooded his brain. The slick glide of a woman's hot, velvety walls gripping his aching cock like a fist, the filthy slap of skin on skin, the debauched sounds of pleasure spilling from kiss-swollen lips...

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Step 2: Preparing to make a baby.

"So first you need to get comfortable, lie back on the bed." He instructs calmly, his deep voice low and clear. He watches as you reluctantly complies, easing herself onto the edge of the bed.

"Good girl," he praises softly, careful not to let his growing desire bleed into his tone. "Now spread your legs for me, nice and wide. I need to inspect you closely first."

You hesitate a moment before slowly parting your thighs, revealing your most intimate area to his hungry gaze. He feels his cock twitch in anticipation but forces himself to focus.

"Beautiful..." he murmurs, more to himself than to you. He kneels down between your spread legs, bringing his face level with your core. Inhaling deeply, he catches the scent - musky and heady, already tinged with arousal.

"The first step is to get you nice and excited," he explains, his voice still calm despite the building heat between them. "I'm going to start by stimulating your clit. Can you tell me where that is?"

When you glance down uncertainly, "Shh, it's okay. I'll guide you."

He parts the lower lips with his thumbs, exposing the delicate flesh of your inner walls. Your clit peeks out from beneath its hood, already glistening slightly.

"There it is," he murmurs, tracing the swollen nub with the pad of his thumb. "It's this sensitive little button here. When I touch it, you'll feel sparks of pleasure. Don't fight it."

True to his word, he begins to stroke your clit with a feather-light touch, circling and flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves. Almost immediately, you gasp and writhes beneath his ministrations.

"That's it sweetheart," he encourages, his own breathing growing a bit ragged. "Let yourself feel good. Get nice and wet for me..."

His fingers delve deeper, parting your slick folds and seeking the entrance to her channel. "You're already so wet," he groans softly, feeling her silky walls clench around his probing touch. "That's perfect..."

He works his fingers inside, curling them to brush against that spongey spot deep within, as his thumb continues to circle your clit. The dual stimulation has you arching off the bed, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Good girl, just like that," he praises huskily, pumping his fingers steadily in and out of her tight heat. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Getting so nice and ready for me..."

He leans in closer, his warm breath ghosting over your drenched folds. The scent of your desire is intoxicating, making his head swim. Unable to resist, he dips his head and runs his tongue along your slit.

"Mmm, you taste divine," he rumbles, his voice vibrating, "I could eat this pretty pussy for hours..."

He seals his lips around your clit and suckles gently. At the same time, he increases the speed and pressure of his fingers pumping into, curling them to ruthlessly stimulate that special spot inside.

You cry out sharply, hips bucking up against his mouth as your pleasure spirals rapidly. He just grips your thighs tighter, holding in place as he continues his relentless assault. Feeling your walls starting to quiver and clench erratically around his plunging fingers.

"That's it, baby," he urges between licks and suckles, his words slightly muffled. "Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my tongue..."

He redoubles his efforts, determined to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. His cock throbs almost painfully in his pants, leaking pre-cum at the thought of burying himself inside.

Crying out, back arching sharply as orgasm crashes over you. Inner muscles clench and spasm around his invading fingers, gushing fluid that he eagerly laps up.

As your spasms slowly subside, his tongue now lapping softly at your sensitive flesh, soothing through the aftershocks. He releases your clit from his lips and places tender kisses along the inner thighs as he slowly withdraws his fingers.

When he finally lifts his head, face is glistening with juices, a look of deep satisfaction on his handsome features. He crawls up your body to capture your lips in a deep, passionate kiss - letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"Mmm, you're exquisite," he murmurs against her mouth when he finally comes up for air. "So responsive and sweet..."

Step 3: This is how a baby is made.

Taking a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he gazes down at you, naked, flushed form. He can still taste you on his tongue.

"Now, sweetheart, the next step is for me to enter you," he explains, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. "I'll need to guide myself inside your tight little cunt. It might feel a bit intense at first."

His hands skim down your inner thighs, parting them further as he settles himself between them. With one hand, he frees his aching cock from the confines of his pants. It springs forth, thick and hard, the bulbous head already glistening with pre-cum.

Wrapping his fingers around the base, giving himself a few slow pumps as he lines himself up with your entrance. He can feel the slick folds fluttering against the tip of his member as he teases the opening. Biting his lip, he fights the urge to simply slam forward and bury himself to the hilt. He needs to go slow, to let her adjust to his size.

Slowly, he pushes forward, feeling tight walls parting for his girth. He has to grit his teeth at the exquisite sensation. You let out a shaky moan, fingers digging into the sheets below.

"That's it, baby," He grits out. "Take me inside you, feels so fucking good." He bottoms out with a low groan, heavy balls nestling against your ass. He stays still for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of being so utterly stuffed full.

Leaning down, he capture your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing whimpers and moans as he begins to move. He starts with shallow thrusts, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside, before plunging back in to the hilt. Gradually, he increases his pace, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm as he claims her body as his. He savors the taste of your mouth.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your throat, pausing to nip and suck at the racing pulse point. "You feel incredible," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So tight and perfect, like you were made for me..."

His hand drifts down to your breast, cupping the soft mound possessively. He kneads it with gentle pressure, thumb brushing over the stiff peak of her nipple. Feeling it pebble further beneath his touch, he dips his head to take the hardened nub into his mouth.

You gasp sharply, arching up into him as he suckles the nipple, tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh.

"Gonna...fuck...cum inside you," he grunts, feeling his release fast approaching. "Gonna pump you full...make you...mine..."

His strokes become erratic, each driving thrust pushing him closer to the edge. He can feel his cock pulsing and jerking inside her slick sheath, his heavy balls drawing up in anticipation.

"Remember sweetheart," he pants harshly, eyes burning into you. "For me to fill you with my seed...you need to be ready to receive it. Open for me, baby...let me fill you up..."

He reaches down to rub tight circles over throbbing clit, wanting to feel you spasm around him as he finds his release deep inside. The lesson is simple - to make a baby, they both need to let go. Body tenses, muscles coiled taut as a bowstring as he teeters on the brink of ecstasy. With a hoarse shout of your name, he hilts inside one final time and erupts. His cock jerks and pulses, painting the insides white with his hot, thick seed.

"Fuuuuck, yes! Take it baby, take my cum!" eyes squeezing shut as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him. Holding you in place as he empties himself deep inside.

Head thrown back and eyes rolled up as your own climax slams in your core. Milking him for every last drop of his potent release.

They remain locked together, chests heaving and sweat-slicked skin pressed close as they bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

"Mmm, you did so well, sweetheart," he murmurs after a long moment, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. "Took every drop like you were made for it."

He leans in to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss.

"That's how you make a baby," he whispers.

[vixletserenity]

♫

Send me “♫“ and I’ll choose a song that reminds me of our muses! -accepting

Just let us adore you Today, right here, right now I'll love again I've already found someone

Rocket Verse

Yes, one day I’ll again gather them in my hands The fragments of Deadly Sins In that moment, Hell may turn into A Utopia for my daughter and I

[reidsmanuscript]

Cracks in the System

Summary: What happens when a string of murders tied to the District Attorney's office lands on the BAU's desk, a high Spencer Reid struggles through withdrawal, and reader, the genius A.D.A., stumbles upon Reid's darkest secret? Tensions rise as professional and personal boundaries blur, leading to revelations that could shatter them both. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HEAVY ANGST, a little bit of comfort, open-bittersweet-ending Tw: spencer's addiction arc, no y/n but reader has a lastname and a nickname bc it would be impossible otherwise, mental health issues, mention of food and skipping meals?, imppliead reader's past with drugs and abuse (not graphic tho), canon typical cm violence, reader dislikes gideon as father figure wc: 9.2k! A/N: i always HATED how reid´s addiction got portrayed so here´s my take on it, english is not my first language part I - part II - part III - ... - masterlist

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In the chill of autumn morning, while the BAU reunited for the debriefing of a case where their help had been specially requested per the District Attorney, old college friend of Hotch, a string of murder had been recently connected due to the victim’s correlation to the office.

Morgan, Prentiss, Gideon, and Hotch sat in their usual spots, reviewing the files as JJ prepared to brief them. Spencer Reid entered late for the second time that week, a distant look in his eyes, his demeanor unusually absent. No one acknowledged his lateness.

JJ took it as her cue to begin. “A string of murders have been committed around the capitol's perimeter, 3 women all killed and found at the surroundings of their home, Sarah Jennings, 23, defense attorney. Found in a downtown alley.." She clicked to the next slide, revealing another victim. "Second, Nicole Hart, 25, paralegal. And finally, Emily Russell, 30, judge. Found just outside her apartment. All victims were killed within a three-month span. Each one of them were found with a different note”

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Mitigating circumstances should not overshadow the gravity of the crime."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

“M.O.?” asks Prentiss. “Strangulation and multiple stabs to the chest were revealed by the reports” answers JJ.

Morgan adds “So overkill and legal connection, did they knew each other?”

“Families have denied any possibility of any of them being friends with each other” JJ answers.

Reid, who has been anxiously tapping his fingers in the arms of his chair, huffs in frustration, ignoring how annoying his subtle tremor is “So outside a simple note no connection.”

Gideos shoots him a glare but before he can say anything Garcia appears through the tv screen “My dear fuzzy friends, i have found something," She adjusts her glasses and clicks away at her keyboard. "All four victims have recent ties to cases handled by the District Attorney's office, big ones, too. Corruption charges, high-profile lawsuits, political scandals. It's a feast of legal drama."

Morgan leans forward, his interest piqued. "Anything specific about their involvement?"

"Funny you should ask," Garcia says with a wry grin. “Jennings provided testimonies in ongoing cases. Hart did legal research for one of those cases, and Russell? Well, she worked directly with the DA's office on prepping trial strategies. But here's the kicker—none of them worked together. Different cases, different departments. And all of them seemed to be very successful on their own"

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "So 3 successful women with overkill, that sounds like envy to me"

Reid, his voice laced with a nervous edge, blurts out “Envy could be a factor, but it's also the level of violence. Overkill is usually a sign of a deep personal rage. It's like the unsub is targeting not just their professional lives, but something deeper, maybe the idea of success they represent.”

Gideon glances at the screen. "Any connections between the cases themselves?"

Garcia shakes her head. "Nothing that stands out yet, but I’m digging deeper. Let me keep working on it. I'll be needing access to the information the D.A. office has”

Gideon folds his arms over the table. “If they're found around their personal home it could mean the unsub is following them or getting the information from somewhere else. Someone inside the DA’s office could be leaking it."

Morgan shakes his head. "How do we narrow it down? A place like that probably has dozens of people handling sensitive information."

Hotch rises from his chair. "We need a list of who has access to it and interrogate them, but first, we should brief the DA. If someone in their office is compromised, they need to be aware of the risks."

JJ nods. "The District Attorney requested our help specifically. She mentioned an ADA, Woodvale, her right hand, who might be able to help us get a clearer picture of the internal dynamics in their office.” A photo of you in professional attire, looking sharp with an almost predatory confidence appears on the tv screen while JJ explains how you have been working with all the victims for different cases.

Morgan smirks. "Sounds like she’s got her hands full with this mess."

Reid rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Another overachiever."

The team exchanges uneasy glances but says nothing. Hotch sends Morgan and Reid to the D.A. office while Prenttis, Gideon and him go to the victims' workplace. As the team disperses, Reid lingers behind, rubbing his temples in frustration. Gideon notices but says nothing.

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At your office, returning from Judge Gibson’s chambers after pushing for a warrant, your assistant, Molly, looks up from her desk.

"Austin’s waiting in your office," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You thank her and add, “Call the detectives and let them know the warrant is secured.”

As you step into your office, Austin is lounging in the chair across from your desk, a familiar paper bag dangling from his hand.

“Your mom sent you this,” he announces, lifting the bag as if it’s a prized trophy.

You let out a sigh, already knowing what’s inside and taking off the clip that holds your hair in a half pony off, relaxing a bit. “Can you stop going to my parents’ house without me? It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not weird. She always gives me sweets and pastries. You should see the look on her face when I take them.”

“Well, I’m glad someone enjoys them” you mutter, dropping your leather bag in your chair, taking the bag and peeking inside, finding a full banana loaf and a neatly packed sandwich that your mom always sends every couple weeks to ensure you eat enough and take time to rest.

You grab the loaf and glance back at the door. “Molly, I’m taking fifteen for lunch” you call. As you step toward her desk, handing over to her the dessert, you notice two men standing in front of it.

Neither of them looks familiar, no badges in sight, so they're not cops or detectives. One of them’s dressed too casually to be a lawyer, and the tall one has a leather messenger bag just like yours. He seemed distracted, his sharp features catching the light as he frowned slightly, visibly uncomfortable with the brightness in the room.

Molly glances at you, then back at the men. “They asked to see you, Ms. Woodvale.”

You study them for a moment, your fingers still wrapped around the paper bag from Austin. The tall one stood out, his tousled hair, a quiet intensity in his eyes. You quickly push the thought aside. “And you are?”

The broad one steps forward, offering a warm but professional smile. “Agent Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, not out of distrust but because an unannounced visit from the FBI rarely means good news. “FBI? What’s going on?”

Morgan’s gaze shifts between you and Austin who is now standing behind you with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Can we speak in private?” he asks, his tone calm but firm.

You frown but nod slightly, feeling the sensitivity of the conversation, opening the door widely for them to enter, looking at Austin apologetically, and you see him frowned as well but gets the hint.

Austin pushes off the doorframe, clearly reluctant to leave. “I’ll be outside if you need me, Woody.” you would’ve preferred he did not use the dumb nickname he gave you in front of the feds, but at least it softened the tension in the air. It was a subtle reminder that you had allies.

Once inside, you clip your hair back and slip into professional mode as they take in your office, your diplomas, the little wooden chess board your father gifted you when you were 15, your little trinkets arranged through the shelfs. You set the paper bag down on your desk, smooth your blue suit, crossing your arms as Morgan steps forward, his tone polite but serious. “We’re here about the leak in your office. The D.A. suggested you might have information that could help us.”

Your expression hardens, a mix of frustration and worry bubbling beneath the surface. You’d been working to deal with the fallout, but if the FBI was here now, it meant the situation had escalated far beyond your control. “I’m already working with the detectives assigned to the case,” you say, keeping your tone even. “Why is the FBI suddenly involved?”

“Because people are dying,” answers Reid sharply and a bit too harshly, with a too obvious expression.

Morgan glares at him briefly, before stepping in to clarify. “We believe the leak in your office is connected to a string of murders. The unsub is targeting individuals tied to the office, we believe is a male driven by envy towards powerful and successful women and possibly has someone from here leaking personal information. Does that ring any bells?”

Your brow furrows as you digest the information. “Envy over women?” You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That doesn’t help or narrow anything down in a place like this. And ff there’s someone leaking information in this office, I would’ve—”

“Maybe you’re too close to it to see the cracks,” Reid interrupts, frustration clear in his voice. His gaze is sharp, challenging, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re being dissected under a microscope.

“Excuse me?” The words come out clipped, your irritation flaring at his insinuation.

Morgan steps in, shooting Reid a pointed look that speaks volumes. “What Dr. Reid is trying to say,” he begins, his tone patient, “Is that we’re not ruling anything out yet. We’re here to figure out how the information is getting out, not to place blame.”

Your eyes linger on Reid for a moment. His posture is rigid, his hands curling around the straps of his bag, fingers flexing into fists before relaxing again. There’s something raw about him, an edge that feels out of place but oddly familiar. You can’t decide if it’s irritation, exhaustion, or something else entirely.

“And what exactly makes you think the information is still coming from here?”

Morgan reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thin file. He places it on your desk and flips it open, revealing photos of victims and case files. “These are the people we’ve identified so far. All of them were connected to cases your office has handled in the past 3 months. The timeline suggests the leak is ongoing.”

You skim the photos, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. “And you’re sure this isn’t coincidental?”

Reid answers again, his voice tight. “Murders tied to your office’s cases? That’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

“Reid,” Morgan says firmly, his voice a quiet warning.

Reid exhales sharply, scratching his neck he mutters, “Sorry. I mean... it’s statistically significant.”

You straighten up, your gaze flicking between the two agents. “What do you need from me?”

Morgan’s grin softens the tension in the room. “Your insight, the D.A. said she trusted you to be our inside guide. We think you can help us fill in some blanks.”

You go through the file and nod “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I want access to everything you have so far. I don’t work blind.”

“Fair enough, we will also need a list of the people who have access to sensible information for our tech analyst, and if you can come to our office it would be useful” Morgan says.

“I'll have my assistant send it, let me just get some stuff” they nod and step out of your office, you grab your coat, satchel leather bag swinging it over one shoulder and eyed the untouched lunch.

“She’s going to be pissed if you give that to anyone else,” Austin says from the doorframe. You roll your eyes and bite the sandwich, your mother is an incredible woman and baker, but in your opinion she always excels herself when it comes to savory. “What was that about?” He asks.

“Apparently we have a mole in the office that's connected to murder by someone who’s envious of women” you answer halfway through that sandwich.

Austin’s expression sharpens as he steps closer. “Need me to look into it?” he offers, he’s an experienced private investigator who’s helped you through more cases than you can count. His connections, street smarts, and knack for digging up information have been invaluable to you, especially when things get too tangled for the usual channels. You could call him your best friend; though sometimes you threaten to kill him for knowing way too much about you.

You nod, finishing the sandwich, crumpling the paper bag and walking to the door “I'll text you if I need your help” you leave the office, going through the hallways to find the agents who lead you to their SUV on the way to Quantico.

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At headquarters, you stand in a room in front of the plastic board, all the victims, your ex-colleagues, none of them were truly friends, just girls you have worked with and you have lamented their deaths when you find out. You never thought their deaths could be related, less so to your office. You never thought their deaths would affect you so… personally.

You had already been introduced to the team, they all seemed professional and grounded, though you already knew Agent Hotchner from when he was a prosecutor, you shaked hands with Prentiss, Gideon, and JJ, letting your coat and bag in one of the chair’s arm in the conference room after being hand out the files.

The team gathers around the plastic board, Reid standing slightly to the side, tapping a pen against his palm with restless energy. He was looking at you and the way your eyes moved through the board, like you were physically trying to connect the dots, the way you were flicking your nails unconsciously, it was driving him crazy.

They had given the full profile of the unsub. Male from 30 to 35, probably has a job in the criminal justice world but his work goes unnoticed which lead to him being envious of women and blaming them when it comes to injustice, therefore the accusing notes.

You could think in a couple names from that description, but none of them were capable of murder, let alone how violent the crime scene pictures showed. From the list of people with recent access you had gave out, you secretly wished they were wrong about a mole. Although something sat wrong for you when you looked at the notes, why would someone-

A bright sound cuts through the room and your thoughts, Garcia’s voice, announcing through the screen, “Okay, folks, I’ve cross-checked the office access records with everything we have so far, and guess what? We have a match.” She sounded confident “Someone on the inside had access to all of the victims’ files. And it’s not just anyone. We have a name, and a face.” she announced showing a picture of a Paralegal friend of you, no. “Ana Lopez” Garcia continues, the name sounding almost foreign as it leaves her lips. “She’s been in and out of the office with access to every victim’s file, and I’ve cross-referenced her movements—she’s had a direct connection to every single one of them. And what's more... she had an unusual interest in the victim's case files long before things escalated.”

“it´s not Ana” the words leave your tongue before you can stop them.

Prentiss looks at you with a concerned expression “is she your friend? look i know it can be hard to digest that she-”

“She's very advocate to the victims,” you interrupt, with a voice tight, as you shakes your head. “Ana's been one of the most outspoken advocates for justice in the office. She’s passionate about these cases, about the women who get overlooked. She doesn’t fit the profile. This isn’t her."

“People can do out-of-character things when they’re pushed to their limit” Gideon interjects calmly, cutting through your spiraling thoughts and rambling. His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable weight to it. “We’ve all seen it. The pressure can change people. It’s not always what it seems.”

Hotch nods, already stepping into action. “We’ll have to bring Ana in for questioning. Morgan, JJ, go to her house, Garcia will send you the address.”

Morgan gives a nod, and JJ’s gaze flickers to you, but she doesn’t say anything, respecting the heavy tension that hangs in the air.

You stand still, a knot of frustration tightening in the chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness in all of this. Partially because Ana was a steady paralegal who wouldn´t hand out sensitive information, and partially because you felt there was something else buried deeper, and you needed answers.

“Look… let me dig further into this,” you reach for your phone, desperately avoiding the feeling of becoming someone who clings to conspiracy theories. “How are you planning on doing that?” Hotch’s voice is firm, questioning, but not dismissive.

“You have your sources, and I have mine,” your tone sharp as you speed dials a number. The phone rings once, twice, before it clicks. “Austin,” you step into the bullpen to take the call. “They think the mole is Ana”

“Lopez? That can be it. One time, I saw her take down a guy who was trying to cut corners on a case. She was too righteous about it, if you ask me.”

You exhale sharply, a mix of frustration and confusion clawing, making the room too warm for your liking, leading you to take your navy blazer off and settle it over a desk chair. “I don’t know, Austin. My gut tells me there's something more. I need answers.”

“You think someone’s using her name? Hacking her or setting her up?” Austin asks, picking up on her suspicions.

“Exactly,” you answer quickly. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I need you to dig into everything—anything that could explain this. There has to be something we’re missing. Get me answers, Austin.”

“Understood, Captain,” he replies, his voice laced with a touch of humor despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll get to work on this and call you with anything I find.” he hangs up.

You save your phone, square your shoulders and take a deep breath, noticing Prentiss walking towards you, concern in her eyes. She stops just a few feet away and speaks gently, “Hey… I know this is a lot, and I know it’s close to home for you. Do you want some coffee? It might help clear your head for a moment.”

You glance at her, tired but appreciative of the offer. A small sigh escapes your lips as you nod. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

She leads you to the break room, a quiet part of the office where the noise of the investigation feels a little further away. The sound of the coffee machine brews in the background as she pours two cups, and you deny when she asks for how much sugar. She hands one before sitting down across from you at the table.

You take the mug in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through, the bitter and burn taste grounding your thoughts. “I get that you’re all just doing your jobs, Prentiss. I understand that. It’s just... as an attorney, you learn to read people. And sometimes, you have to trust your gut. Right now, my gut is telling me I missed something, not about Ana but about all of this.”

Prentiss nods like she understands what you are saying, letting the silence settle between you for a moment “You know you seem young to be A.D.A.” she jokes lightly.

Raising up your cup “That’s what the defense always says before losing” you say back, thanking internally for the attempt to ease up “I'm 22… I graduated from law school at 18 and immediately got an internship… so since then i’ve been working up my position”

Prentiss chuckles softly, leaning back in her chair. “Don't tell me you are a genius too… I can see why though. You’ve got a sharp edge to you—good for the courtroom, probably not so great for poker.”

You chuckle, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Well, let’s just say I prefer chess.” Sensing where the conversation might go, you subtly steer it away, curious about what she meant by too but before you can say more, Austin’s ringtone erupts, cutting through the quiet hum of the break room. You quickly pull your phone out and answer. “Got you answers” he says.

That was enough for you to put him on speaker mode and head back to the room with the rest of the team.

“Turns out Ana had an intern who’s been frequenting closed files, Daniel Reeves” he states, and when you don´t recognize the name it weirds you out. “I don’t recall that name”.

“That’s because he was at the office while you and I were on vacation in L.A. in February,” Austin explains. You’re too focused on connecting the dots to notice Gideon’s raised eyebrows or Spencer’s subtle eye roll.

“Anyway,” Austin continues, “This kid’s good with computers and had access to her credentials. Nobody paid too much attention to him, but an officer told me he’s been prowling around the file room for the last couple of months. I can’t guarantee he’s your guy, but it’s definitely worth looking into.”

“Daniel Reeves…” Garcia says through the desk phone speaker. “Graduated top of his class in computer science, specialized in cybersecurity, and interned with several law firms before Ana’s office. If anyone could hack a system and cover their tracks, it’s him.”

“Looks like he had access to the same systems Ana uses,” Garcia adds “And—oh, this is interesting—there’s a flagged incident from his previous internship. Something about unauthorized access to confidential records, but no charges were filed.”

Hotch steps forward, his posture commanding as always. “Garcia, send the new address to Morgan and JJ. I’ll let them know we found the mole”

“On it, Hotch. They’ll be there in no time.” She answers.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead and letting settle the satisfaction that you are being useful to stop this madness. You glance at the phone, and press the speakerphone off. “Thanks for your help, Austin.”

The voice on the other end crackles with a slight delay, but Austin’s tone is unmistakable “Glad I could help Woody, take care”. You smile faintly at the nickname. “You too,” you say before hanging up and saving your phone in your bag, returning your attention to the team.

Reid, still fidgeting with the files in front of him, looks up briefly, his gaze lingering just a little too long. The flicker of his interest escapes you, your thoughts focused on the notes but you don't acknowledge it, choosing instead to focus on the case.

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There was something oddly familiar about the notes; and, of course, you were the only one noticing it. Since Austin’s discovery, they had brought in Daniel Reeves, who confessed to being blackmailed, claiming he had no idea who was behind any of this, so it was almost a dead end. You flicked your nails unconsciously, if you had a pen you would swirl it and if you weren’t so anxious you would be seated with your leg bouncing.

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice." That one had stuck up with you. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. The way it rolled through your tongue gave you the clue of something else. You knew you had used those words before, if you could only place where; thousands of citations, warrants? Your eyes would move from point to point like you were physically searching, your nails would flick faster and faster. Where?

“God, could you stop doing that!?” Reid snaps, his gaze sharp with annoyance, and you look at him with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights.

You have learned over the years to not take stuff thrown at you personally, whether it is an out loud objection, a dirty trick in court with a judge, an inmate yelling at you for getting a sentence, an annoyed face in the search of a judge to sign a warrant, you do-not-take-it-personally.

But the look on Reid’s face made you feel like a 15-year-old misfit again, the girl who would cry, jump, and be on the verge of a panic attack if anyone accidentally touched her or if something too sweet triggered memories of hands creeping up, a teenager surrounded by college students who believed she was a narcissist egomaniac violent freak, a look you were afraid to find in your parents eyes when the therapist had told them about your anger issues and impulsiveness after you had destroyed the lamp in your bedroom, a look of plain annoyance not for what you had done but for who you are and what you represent, a mere obstacle, you were awkward and overwhelmed by everything. For a moment, the confident prosecutor, the woman in charge, vanished.

And you knew everybody in the room had noticed it, even after you had recovered from that second, you noticed it in the look on Derek's face, the way he looked at you apologetically, “Reid.” Gideon said, like a father scold his kid.

“It's okay I'll.. i need a coffee” you excuse yourself out of the room as fast and collected as you can, looking for some air.

In the room Reid senses his outburst has landed harder than he would’ve imagined. “Reid, go back to the scene. Start digging through the evidence again. There might be something we missed.” Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, and he opens his mouth to protest “Now.” Hotch remarks, which stops him from going further.

It was just so fucking annoying, the way she flicked her nails nonstop. Why did nobody see it?. So on his way out he grabs the leather bag that’s in one of the chairs of the room and finds it so irritating when Gideon follows him to notice there’s another satchel, in his desk chair covered with a blue blazer, his satchel.

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You had poured yourself another cup of extra bitter coffee, why did it affect you so much? god it was pathetic, you had faced worse than some guy calling you annoying. Maybe because you haven't seen it coming, maybe because it was so… reckless.

Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard.

Now where the fuck did you know that from? While being focused you sensed someone coming and discovered it was Morgan’s footsteps echoing through the bullpen, drawing your attention back to the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as he stepped into your line of sight. “How you holding up?”

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. “I’m fine, just… thinking. I guess.” you tried to brush off, your mind was already elsewhere.

“Look, Reid is going th—”

“I’ve had it worse, really. I mean, law school is not for the weak,” you interrupted, joking, before he could start feeling pity for you.

He huffs with humor and decides to drop the apology on Reid’s behalf. Instead, he leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes watching you carefully “Occupational hazard I suppose... you know sometimes I wonder what happens after we catch the Unsubs”

“Well the fight doesn't end there, it does bring peace to the victims but believe me.. the legal battle sometimes is worse than the haunt.” you stare at the wall as you recall some of the people you have helped over the years.

“What do you mean?” Morgan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer, genuinely intrigued.

“Well…” you began, taking a deep breath, “The system is messy. It’s not like TV where the bad guy just goes to jail, and everyone walks away happy. Families have to relive their trauma during trials. There are plea deals, technicalities, appeals... It drags on. And sometimes,” you pause, gripping your cup a little tighter, “Justice doesn’t feel like justice at all.”

Morgan tilted his head, his voice softer now. “You’ve seen that happen, haven’t you?”

You exhale sharply, giving him a sidelong glance. “More times than I’d like to admit. You work so hard to get the right outcome, and then… loopholes, errors, or even just bad luck. It’s like pouring water into a cracked glass. It never fills up.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And the people who go through that… they don’t always come out the other side, do they?”

“No, they don’t.” You look down into your coffee, your mind turning over the notes again. “Sometimes they snap under the weight of it all, the pain, the guilt, the blame, the...”

Blame

Your head snaps at him as you realize. “Blame.” That was it.

He furrowed his eyebrows not catching your thoughts “What?”

The cup clatters onto the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway, but you’re already moving, your steps brisk as you head toward the conference room. Morgan calls after you, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey, hold up! What’s going on?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind racing as you burst into the room. The others look up, startled by your sudden entrance. Without a word, you grab the bag containing the notes from the board, your hands moving with purpose as you spread them out in front of you.

“Blame,” you say, your voice firm, almost breathless. “These notes and murders—they’re not coming from someone who’s envious, but from someone who’s blaming the system. Not because it didn’t recognize them, but because it failed them!” The words tumble out faster than you can organize them, your thoughts racing ahead of your mouth. You’re not even fully conscious of what you’re saying, already dissecting the next connection in your mind.

JJ steps closer, his brows furrowed in curiosity. “Failed them how?”

“They’re not jealous of the people they’re targeting,” you continue, pointing to the scattered notes as your mind sharpens. “They’re angry. Angry at the system for not delivering justice, for letting them down when they needed it the most.” You reach for one of the notes, holding it up as you ramble. “Look at the phrasing they’re accusatory they’re challenging the idea of accountability, of consequences it’s not about wanting what these people have it’s about punishing them for what the unsub sees as complicity in their pain.”

In your state of mind you barely recall the sound of Hotch’s phone and him stepping out of the room, too focused on looking at Morgan, Prentiss and JJ.

“The profile is wrong” Prentiss says, nodding slowly as she starts piecing it together herself. Her eyes flick to the board covered with crime scene photos and victims’ profiles. “That’s why he’s targeting people from both sides, defense and prosecution. It’s not about personal grudges against individuals; it’s about what they represent.”

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice firm. “He sees them as symbols of a broken system. Defense attorneys, paralegals, judges—they’re all complicit in his eyes. They’re the ones who allowed the system to fail him.”

Prentiss gestures to the timeline on the board. “But what was the trigger? What pushed him from feeling betrayed to committing these murders?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the notes again. “It’s got to be personal—a case he was directly connected to. Something happened that made him feel like the system didn’t just fail, but actively betrayed him. He have go to the records”

Morgan pushes off the table, already reaching for the phone. “Hey, Babygirl, we need you to go through court files and find something that stands out, any cases around three months ago when the murders started.”

“Okay, do you have anything more specific to know what I’m looking for?” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, the familiar clacking of her keyboard filling the room as she prepares to search.

“We need to focus on high-profile cases that could have shaken the system. Look for any parole hearings, controversial verdicts, or any case that resulted in a big upset—something that would’ve made the Unsub feel like the system betrayed him,” He explains, already pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Got it," Garcia responds, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. "I'll start pulling up all cases with defense or prosecution lawyers involved. High stakes stuff."

But before all of you could start digging and theorizing, Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, leaving you all frozen. “They’ve found another body with another note.”

The tension in the room thickens. Your breath takes off and without missing a beat, you all gather your things, it takes you a minute to find your blazer but in the heat of the moment you didn’t question why and how had your bag gotten under it, instincts kicking into gear as you rush to the scene.

“JJ you are with me, Gideon and Reid are already going to the scene” they all nod at the commanding voice of Hotch and you rush to get in the back seat of the black SUV with Morgan and Prentiss.

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In the car you take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts to be able to think of anyone who can feel betrayed enough to commit murder. The problem is that anyone can feel betrayed enough to have an outburst. Hell, you were no one to talk about outburst if more than a couple times you had imagined yourself throwing something to inmates or smashing their heads against the table when all the evidence pointed at them being guilty and insisted on dragging the trials off.

“Can I ask why L.A. in the winter?” Prentiss' voice from the passenger seat brings you back to the car.

“What?”

“I mean it wouldn’t be my first choice for a romantic getaway” she thinks out loud.

“Ohh.. wait, romantic? Austin is not my boyfriend.. I just don’t like travelling alone” you are quick to correct her. You weren't lying, the statistics show how dangerous it is for women to travel alone and it gave your parents some peace to think someone will be there to keep you company that they trusted, plus he’s a good travel buddy because he knows when to bother and when to not do it.

Prentiss nods, as if taking mental notes, probably profiling you. “I just thought L.A. in the winter was more of a vacation spot, you know? Beaches, sunshine... not really the first place you’d think of for a quiet getaway.”

“They hold the biggest Doctor Who convention there during that time of the year ” you mumble, noticing how both Morgan and Prentiss look at each other as if sharing a thought and before you can ask, the blue and red lights hit you, announcing the arrival to the apartment complex, the crime scene.

You all step out of the car, the place is full of officers and you rush to where Gideon and Hotch are standing, note in hand. You notice how Reid has some urgency to tell you something but when JJ hands you the bag that secures evidence with the note.

"No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

Glancing at the note, your mind races, piecing together fragments of information, second chances. “Parole,” you murmur “The unsub is a victim, and their victimizer got out on parole!” Your eyes dart from point to point, connecting the dots. “That’s what he means by second chances.”

Hotch nods sharply “Garcia is already going through parole records.”

Just as the words settle, a new idea strikes you like lightning, and you barely take a breath before blurting, “I think I know something about the notes!” The sudden burst of realization sends you sprinting to the car, leaving the team, and a startled Spencer Reid, in your wake.

“Wait-” Spencer starts, his voice tight and laced with something unspoken, but you’re already too far gone to hear the rest, leaving him with panic in his eyes and an open mouth as he was about to say something.

Fumbling through your bag, your hands shake with the adrenaline coursing through you. “Your silence speaks for itself. Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves. Reckless disregard for justice. Second chances...” You mutter fragments aloud, recognizing the phrases. They weren’t random. You’ve read these words before, somewhere specific. A draft of a closing statement? A court transcript? Your fingers move frantically, searching for your phone, your notes, something. Why did you brought your copy of Crime and Punishment? and why did it look a little bit newer than yours? Where's your phone? Where are your files?. Not every criminal can get out on parole—they need good behavior, a stable support system… Maybe you put it in the front pocket.

Your hand grazes something cold and smooth. Glass. Then something sharp, metal. You freeze, pulling the objects into view. Two small bottles of Dilaudid and a needle. Your throat tightens, and you feel the air around you thin and the familiar warm that comes with anger starts to settle down your back.

You glance up, almost instinctively, and your furious eyes land on him. Spencer’s standing a few feet away, his expression is a contorted pale mask of fear, guilt, and helplessness, his eyes wide and pleading as they lock onto yours, making you look away at the full disclosure of a crime scene.

The chaos of the crime scene rushes back to you. The flash of blue and red lights dancing across every surface, the sharp crackle of radio chatter blending with raised voices, the metallic tang of blood still fresh in the air. Officers move purposefully, their dark uniforms a blur of activity as evidence is collected and barriers are secured.

There are 3 things going on in your brain right now.

This is not your bag, it's Spencer’s.

Spencer is an addict.

You are in the middle of a crime scene, surrounded by cops with a full stash of illegal drugs.

You have to think, think fast and now. The unsub, the drugs, the notes, his sharpness, the victims.

You see Morgan stepping out of the building, his sharp gaze scanning the scene. Panic rushes through you like ice water. You shove the Dilaudid and needle back into the bag, your hands trembling as you close it. Your mind races, desperate to piece together what to do next. “Morgan I need you to drive me to my office”

“What? Why?” he looks at you like you are out of your mind.

“I need a file I thought I had it with me but I don't and it would be faster I don't think the words of the notes are random I think I have seen them before in some legal file that could lead us to the Unsub” the words rush, you are rambling desperate to get out that place, clutching the strap of the bag to your chest.

Morgan’s sharp gaze lingers on you as he signals the car. “Get in,” he says before telling Prentiss and Hotch about it and getting in the car.

You slide into the passenger seat, gripping the bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Morgan settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the rumble of the car barely masking the tension between you. As you approach your office building, you mentally rehearse your next steps. Get upstairs, dispose of the drugs, and look for the file. Your mind spins with the weight of the discovery, but you shove it aside as Morgan pulls up to the curb.

You get out of the car and enter the building. It’s past 10 pm so no one is around, except you two, as you get closer to your office you hear a noise somewhere that makes Morgan instincts spark up. “It's probably the janitor” you brush off.

“I’ll take a look” you nod and ask for his phone to call Garcia if needed, he gives it to you as he takes off his gun and you thank whatever mess that cleaning man was making, giving you the opportunity to execute your plan alone.

You open the door and rush to the bathroom taking the bottles out. How could Reid do something like this? Did his team know? The anger, a familiar flame, burns through you as you flush the contents of the bottle and went back to the office to look for the paper bag that had contained your lunch this morning.

It was irrational for you to be this angry at him without even knowing him but it was there, simmering under the surface. How could someone do this to himself? To his team? To the people who rely on him?

The crumpled paper bag from earlier sat on your desk, you broke the needle off, and shoved it inside with the empty bottles to dump it deep into one of the trash cans in the hallway. Out of sight, out of mind. At least for now.

You go through your cabinets, looking for the draft files. “Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, flipping through yet another folder. The contents were a jumble of case summaries, old briefs, and legal drafts, but none of them held the connection you were chasing. You were good with names, especially if it was tied to a legal document, which could be sad but right now is useful when you finally stumble upon a file that felt too familiar. You pulled it out, the edges worn from use, and opened it. A closing statement you’d written 5 years ago during a case.

Lawrence Finch. Larry.

Father of two kids with a wife, family that was taken away from him because in a car accident where the other driver was a rich guy who was too high to understand anything and got out harmless, Evan Grayson was his name. You remember how hollow he looked and how much he had thanked you after you got the guy sentenced. In your closing statement you spoke about the depth of his loss, about the void that could never be filled. You'd used his words, his pain, to hammer home the injustice, the lives lost because of one reckless decision. You remembered how his face had softened in that brief moment of relief after the sentence was handed down. He’d shaken your hand and said, “You gave me my justice.”

Glancing at the words you realize how the words you’d written, once so full of conviction, now echoed in your head, twisted and distorted. The Unsub had taken your closing statement—Lawrence Finch’s words—and turned them into something chilling.

"Your silence speaks for the victims. They can no longer speak for themselves." had become "Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity is the foundation of justice. It means holding those responsible accountable, no matter who they are." was now "Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"His behavior demonstrates a complete disregard for human life, a pattern of recklessness that cannot go unpunished." had morphed into "Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

And the final sting, the one that had sealed the fate of the driver who’d taken a family’s life, was now twisted into something far more personal "No one is above the law, not even those who believe their privilege protects them from it." turned into "No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

He wasn’t just echoing your words—he was using them, warping them into a weapon.

You grab Morgan’s phone and look through the contacts before pressing call “Garcia, I need you to look up something for me,” the urgency was clear in your voice.

“You are not my chocolate thunder but speak and you'll be heard” Garcia responded, always upbeat even when the stakes were high.

“Evan Grayson. I need everything you can find on him—parole status, criminal record, anything recent,” you said, pacing the room as your mind spun with connections you were still piecing together.

"Got it! Give me a second, I’ll dig into the system,” Garcia said, her voice clicking into business mode. A few moments of silence passed, you hear some rustling outside but ignore it, before she spoke again, her tone more focused. “Okay, here we go. Evan Grayson, 27, convicted of vehicular manslaughter five years ago. Served three years, got released early on good behavior.”

“Garcia, they guy murdered almost an entire family five years ago, the only one left was the father Larry Finch, he’s our unsub, he’s been using the words of trial for the notes!” you said, your voice tight. “We need to localize him and inform the rest of the team that-.”

Before you could finish, a scuffle echoed from down the hallway, followed by a muffled shout that cut through the silence of the building. Morgan’s voice calling your name with an edge of panic. Garcia’s voice asking what was going on felt far.

You bolted toward the sound, heart pounding in your chest. The door to your office was ajar, and you caught sight of Morgan wrestling with someone, a blur of motion. The other figure was struggling, trying to break free, but Morgan’s grip was like steel.

"Get down!" Morgan barked, his voice gruff with exertion.

Your eyes widened as you recognized the man, Larry Finch, the very person whose family had been torn apart in the accident. He was here. Right here. In your office. Probably looking for you.

Your mind raced, trying to process the situation, but Morgan didn’t give you time to think. He quickly subdued Larry, pinning him to the ground with the precision only years of training could provide. The fight drained from Larry’s body as Morgan cuffed him, his breath coming in ragged gasps with his gaze towards the officers that were running towards him.

His words pierced the air, heavy with accusation. “You promised me he would never get out! You failed me! All of you failed me!” Larry’s voice was raw, full of grief and rage. This wasn’t the grieving father you’d met 5 years ago, this was a man hollowed out by loss, filled with nothing but rage and betrayal. His words struck deep because he wasn’t wrong, you understood profusely the feelings and you had failed him somehow and maybe if you had known about Evan Grayson getting out you could’ve done something. Those eyes full of hurt and betrayal were locked on you as they pulled him away, Morgan´s concerned gaze on your figure frozen behind the door of your office, with your hands still clenching the statement.

He went to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you “Wanna step outside for some air?” he offers. You shake your head, moving on to the next task, locking your feelings away “i’ll meet you outside, I just… I need to do something real quick.”. He hesitates but nods and leaves you alone giving your shoulder a brief squeeze as you walk back to your desk, focused on the pace of your breaths and working on keeping them even. You see Morgan’s phone screen with a message from Garcia “i heard noises and called for backup”

So everyone was downstairs. Everyone including Reid. Reid. Dilaudid. Your fault. Anger.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in control and not destroy or throw anything that was at your reach, you grab the black desk phone, speed dialing 9 without even looking. When a calming “Hello?” sounds in the other line you breathe deep again, the grip on the phone getting tighter, you close your eyes, steadying yourself as you grab a pen and paper with shaking hands.

“Dr. Fitzgerald i… i need your help”

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You step outside just as JJ and Reid emerge from a black SUV. JJ barely spares a glance before rushing toward Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, but Reid stops. His gaze lands on you, then drifts lower to the satchel slung across your body. His satchel.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t give him the chance. Before he can take a step in your direction, you move first. Quick, deliberate. You make your way to another SUV, open the backseat, and set the bag inside without so much as a glance in his direction. Then, with Larry’s file gripped tight in your hand, you head straight for the team.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

But it doesn’t stop you from feeling the weight of his stare. From sensing the way he lingers, trying to find a moment, an opening, to talk to you alone. You know exactly how that conversation will go, how the fury and frustration bubbling under your skin will erupt the second he speaks. If he tries, you will yell. And you don’t trust yourself to stop.

So, instead, you focus. You lay out what you’ve found to the rest of the team members, flipping through the notes, explaining the connections, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, trusting that he’ll have the decency to not approach you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Reid. He’s walking toward another SUV, the leather bag, your leather bag, slipping from his shoulder as he places it inside without hesitation.

He caught on.

You force yourself to keep talking, to keep your focus on the case, but inside, you're torn. Part of you wants to be grateful that he understood, that he’s playing along. Another part of you hates that he did.

Because it means he knows. And that’s almost worse.

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You watched the chessboard, considering the game’s progress. The case was wrapped up, but you still had some files and reports to gather. More than that, you liked talking to the team, there was something about the spirit of family among them that you hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling, one that tugged at you.

“Would you like to play?” you heard someone ask you, making you turn around to see Agent Gideon, speaking of “family”, you had noticed how he acted like a mentor or father to Reid, maybe he was. You knew fathers weren't perfect, you guess that extended to figurative ones too, but how could someone so proud of playing that role ignore something as obvious as Reid’s addiction? No help, no support. Did he even know what it was like to battle something like that? did he even know what it was like having an addiction? did he know Reid has one?

“Yes” you answer to him, chess has always played an important part in your life, a way out, literally and metaphorically, a board of 46 squares and more possible moves than the amount of atoms in the universe, a regulated and controlled space, where you had all the control.

You both sat at opposite sides of the board, rearranging the pieces. “Black or white?” he asked. “I'm fine with either”. You didn't believe in luck or coincidences, so when he grabbed both queens and made you pick, drawing black, you didn't think much of it. Mathematically you were at a disadvantage, when two machines play chess, black always loses. But you’d gone through enough to know better than to give up on a weak starting position.

So move after move, you weren't playing to win really, and judging his moves he wasn't either, you can tell a lot from someone's way to play chess. “It's nice to play against someone new you know?”. Gideon glanced for a second at Reid with a brief smile. That made you doubt your next move, because your rage has always made you freeze for a second and erratic the next. How could he?. Yes, you have been avoiding Reid at all costs. No, you didn't know if he and Dr. Fitzgerald had talked. You had helped him in the best way you could've possibly found fighting to not panic too much.

So you hummed in response, letting the wheels in your head turn as you shifted your strategy, so when you started playing to win, the game was too advance for him to do a proper counter attack.

“Checkmate” a smile appeared on your face, the same one when you knew the inmate was going to get convicted, when your closing statement had convinced the jury. When someone underestimated you.

Gideon tilted his head, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He glanced between you and the board. “Didn’t see that one coming,”

With your fingers still resting lightly on the queen, you paused for a second. “Yeah there's a lot of things you either don't see or choose to ignore, Agent Gideon” your piercing stare and a cool voice, heavy with the weight of frustration.

Gideon’s smile faltered, and for the first time, his eyes showed something more than just the calm resolve he always projected. Your words had hit the mark. He knew it wasn’t just about chess.

You had outplayed him, just as you had outplayed the situation. And just as you had done with Reid, by realizing and taking action, something that clearly no one else had.

After talking to Hotch, reports in hand, as you walked out of the Headquarters and stumble upon Morgan, who gives you a warm and friendly smile as he says hi.

"Hey umm.. I wasn't really able to thanked you the other night after you saved my life, I truly thought it was just a cleaning lady" It felt so shameful how unaware you had been at the danger that night because of your meltdown.

He moves his hand as it was nothing. "Hey I'm just glad I decided to go with you instead of waiting in the car"

Reaching for one of your presentation cards, neatly saved in your new black leather bag, holding it between your index and middle finger to him "Well... I still own a big one. So if you ever need legal help or anything else, don't hesitate to reach for me"

He takes it nodding and reads it out loud your full name with a funny pace "I'll hold on to that one Miss A.D.A. Woodvale".

You laugh at his way to pronounce it, feeling too formal for the moment "Please just.. call me Woody"

He chuckles "Wait like the Toy Story character?"

You chuckled too "Yeah it's uhh.. dumb name but.." you shrug as a friendly smile paints your face as you realize you had made a new friend which was weird for you but felt oddly satisfying as you said your goodbyes and walked in opposite's directions.

Your thoughts wandered to Spencer, against your better judgment, they always did recently. It was infuritating the fact that your mind always went back around him, you couldn’t quite say why exactly, because if you would've have never found out what you did, he would've have stayed as the rude and annoying agent you met once.

But then you remembered the other side of him—the trembling hands, the lost stares, the outburst, the bottles you found in his bag. You couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t separate him from the shadow of his addiction. And it broke something inside you, because you knew what that darkness looked like, how it devoured people whole.

You wanted to reach for him, to offer more than the cold anger and frustration you’d shown, but you were too afraid. Afraid of what it might mean for both of you if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fight his way out. Afraid that you would fall too, trying to save someone.

You hoped he would get help. You prayed to gods you didn't even believe in for it. You knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped in that cycle, in your body. You couldn’t bear the thought of him staying there, lost.

And so you walked away, keeping your distance, even though a part of you that you didn’t understood ached to stay.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

part II Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @gullableh @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @nyxthedeity @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hxsxxk-180294 @wordacadabra @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @purplefluffycows @raikan624 @avengemepercy @killerwendigo @winterjaysoldier @magnoliamoogle @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @paintmekala @knowingnothingnoel @captain-shannon-becker @jainaeatsstars @mm4t @houseofthechaos @chachkid @escapefromrealitylol

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Tw: Cussing, tendrils, angst, creepiness, reuniting

Part 2

Touch that Takes - Part 3

The air is stale with the stench of mildew and long-dead machinery. Old fluorescent lights flicker dimly from cracked ceilings, illuminating rusted tables and broken lab equipment.

Walls are marked with faded Cyrillic and smeared blood. Snow flurries drift in through a shattered skylight, settling in silent layers.

Tony walks ahead, arc reactor pulsing faintly. He mutters, mostly to himself, mostly to keep his mind off what they might find.

He taps idly at the old machine, that passed as a computer in this lifeless place.

“‘Operation Lifedrain,’ huh? You know, for a bunch of Nazi knockoffs, they really nailed the creepy brand.”

He taps through corrupted files. Diagrams. Videos. Unreadable logs.

A half-decoded line flickers.

SUBJECT 437 – Stable. Absorption rate above expectation.

Power loss in previous hosts confirmed.

Energy contained, then—

The next line is gone.

Peter shifts uncomfortably, his breath fogging in the cold. “Wait… absorption? Like… stealing powers? Energy?” He glances at Tony. “Did… did she always have powers?”

Tony’s smirk fades. His tone turns bitter.

“No. She had kindness. A knack for making people feel safe. Not this.”

Behind them, Wanda exhales slowly, red flicking behind her downcast eyes.

"The serum they used,” she says quietly. “ … wasn’t meant to amplify strength. It amplifies need. Hunger. Pain.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “I never met her. But… sounds like she was nice”

Bucky doesn’t speak at first. He stands in the middle of the room, his breathing low and deliberate. His flesh hand brushes across a metal gurney. A leather strap hangs loosely off the edge. He remembers what those feel like.

His jaw clenches.

“They can't turn her into anything,” he finally says, voice low and cold. “They might've tried, but ... she’s still .... she'll be in there"

He walks to a wall, where a large filing cabinet has been burned out from the inside. Still, Bucky rips open drawer after drawer, scattering ash and metal.

He pauses at one, a cracked photograph wedged at the back. Burnt edges. Faded. Your face. Staring blankly into the camera, eyes dazed.

437 scrawled in red pen at the bottom of the photo.

Bucky’s hand shakes. He presses the photo to his chest, flesh fingers curling over it. For a long moment, he doesn’t move.

Tony is muttering sarcastically to himself. “Bio-energetic absorption. Sounds like something out of a vampire novel. Bet they had matching cloaks, too.”

Vision floats in quiet contemplation. Wanda, her expression grim, is silent beside him.

Peter looks over at Bucky, who’s crouched stiffly, still gripping that scorched photo of you.

Peter speaks up softly. “Mr. Barnes? Did she ever talk about wanting powers? Or… being different?”

Bucky’s eyes don’t move from the spot on the floor.

“Nah kid, she talked about helping” he says. “That’s all.”

He finally looks up at Peter.

“She never asked for this.”

Tony paces across the floor, boots crunching over shattered glass and scattered metal. He’s reading from a salvaged console, voice dripping with sarcasm and discomfort.

“Congratulations, Hydra, you invented vampire spaghetti. What were they doing—trying to bottle souls?”

He grimaces at a screen. “Jesus. This one says, ‘Subject 437 required full sedation after limb detachment.’ So glad I skipped breakfast.”

Peter winces, standing beside Wanda and Vision, glancing at the eerie shadows on the ceiling without truly seeing what lurks there.

“I… don’t think this was just science,” he says nervously. “It feels… wrong. Like that old movie...”

"Kid, seriously what have I told you about pop culture references" Tony cuts him off.

"Sorry, Mr Stark."

Bucky moves slower than the others. Not hesitant—measured. Like he’s walking through someone’s memory.

“C'mon Doll, give us something.”

He breathes out, rough and trembling. The sound echoes up—reaching the ceiling above.

The sound of his voice cuts through you like a blade made of memory.

Doll.

Someone used to call you that... maybe ... your not sure.

You didn’t know who you were anymore—but that name lingers.

The tendrils twitch.

Recoil.

Flex.

You tilt your head slowly, eyes narrowing as the ache behind your eyes surges, like light trying to break through frostbitten glass.

For just a moment—your heart thumps.

Not with power.

With something else.

Bucky walks back into the open light of the chamber, pausing beneath the flickering light. The others are still busy—Tony’s ranting, Peter’s scanning readings, Wanda’s staring at the floor like it speaks in ghosts.

A draft brushes past Tony, who pauses mid-snark. His arc reactor glows faintly in the gloom, casting a soft blue light that dances across rusted panels.

Then—a sound.

Not loud.

A soft animalistic chittering.

Peter stops breathing.

“Uh—Guys?”

Wanda freezes. Her eyes narrow, focusing beyond what sight can offer.

From the darkness overhead—something drops.

It hits the floor without a sound.

Just the dull hush of bare feet landing in grime. Crouched low. Coiled. Like something that doesn’t need language to kill.

You.

But not you.

Your body is familiar—still the frame they remember. Taut and wrong in posture, on all fours as black, serpentine tendrils slither from your fingers. They taste the air—smell them—shivering in anticipation.

Your skin is pallid, your lips cracked and dark. And your eyes… solid black, all pupil and hungry.

Tony takes an instinctive step back. “Nope. No no no. That’s some Ring-girl-exorcist-Hellraiser mashup, and I do not do demons before lunch.”

He raises a gauntlet—light warming.

Peter stumbles beside him, “S-she’s not… she’s not attacking—why isn’t she attacking?”

Wanda backs away slowly, her fingers already glowing with scarlet, though her face trembles.

“It’s not her. Not fully. But… she’s still there. Trapped.”

Vision floats forward, but his synthetic form hesitates. Even he, a creature of logic, is unnerved by how alive the darkness in you feels.

And then—you move.

One step. Another. Your head tilts unnaturally far to the left, the sound of chittering echoing off the walls.

Bucky is the last to react.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move.

His eyes stay on you.

For a moment, the memories come in a flash.

You curled against his side, tracing the metal plates of his arm.

You, laughing softly as you struggled to reach something on the top shelf.

You, calling his name like it made you braver.

Now?

Now you move like death incarnate.

But his voice is calm. Rough with emotion, but grounded.

“Doll…”

Your body goes rigid at the sound. The tendrils freeze mid-air. Your head jerks toward him, a flicker of confusion twitching through your brow like muscle memory.

He steps forward.

Hands open. Not a threat.

“I see you,” he says, chest rising and falling slowly. “You still know me. I know you do.”

The others panic. Tony’s gauntlet flares.

“Barnes, the hell are you—”

“Don’t.” Bucky snaps, not looking at him. His tone is steel. “Put it down. All of you.”

The silence is so loud it rings.

You sniff the air. Your lips part—and the sound you make is nothing human.

A rasping, guttural snarl escapes your throat.

Not rage.

Not fury.

Just unrelenting hunger.

Heavy boots thud through the corridor.

Steve enters first, shield raised instinctively. Sam flanks him. Nat follows close. The second they see you, they freeze.

Steve’s voice drops. “What the hell…”

Bucky doesn’t break eye contact with you.

He steps closer, fingers flexing.

Your head jerks sharply to one side again, teeth gnashing like something inside you is trying to warn him.

You don’t attack.

You just watch him.

Tears slip down your face.

He lowers his voice to just above a whisper

"Please…Doll"

The walls are sweating with mildew, rust leaking from the pipes like old blood.

The lights flicker overhead, shadows shuddering with each buzz of dying electricity. Footsteps echo from the other corridor—measured and confident.

Thor enters first, his heavy stride rattling loose bolts in the floor.

His golden hair and cape blaze against the darkness like a defiant flame.

Clint flanks him, weapon ready but eyes wary, already sensing something is wrong.

Deeply wrong.

You slink forward— feline in your grace. Tendrils trail behind you, curling around debris and licking across the metal floor. The movement is unnatural, like they have minds of their own.

Your body is gaunt, sickly. Hair hanging limp, eyes black voids that devour light.

But then… you smile.

Not kindly.

Not softly.

Predatory.

Your voice is silk wrapped around razors.

“Mmm… You look delicious.”

You don’t point. You don’t shout.

You purr—at Thor.

His grip tightens on Mjolnir. His chin lifts in offense, but there’s the flicker of confusion beneath the arrogance.

“Lady—?”

But you’re already moving.

Your black eyes narrow with otherworldly hunger as your hand raises ever so slightly—more gesture than attack.

The tendrils don’t hesitate.

Like shadows dipped in ink, they shoot out and snake toward Thor, coiling around his wrist and forearm. They pulse—with purpose, with appetite. One, then another, and another. Black ink twisting around a god.

“Let me taste the sun…” you whisper.

The moment they connect, Thor’s body seizes.

His back arches with a grunt, muscles tensing like he’s being electrocuted. But this isn’t electricity. It’s colder. Hungrier.

Mjolnir clatters to the floor beside him with a heavy clang.

Black veins spread like spiderwebs from the point of contact. The golden tone of his Asgardian skin turns ashen, then gray, then charcoal black.

His fingers begin to curl in on themselves. The nailbeds blacken. His knuckles blister. The skin shrinks and cracks, turning leathery and thin like parchment dried in a furnace.

The worst part?

He doesn’t scream.

He groans. Like a dying animal clinging to dignity, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

“Lady ... please ... We're friends,” he chokes out, staring at you—not with rage, but with disbelief.

Frozen for a heartbeat, Steve's eyes dart between you and Thor.

“What the hell… did they do to her…?”

He takes a step forward—shield raised, but it’s trembling slightly in his grip. There’s no protocol for this. No enemy to punch.

He knew you as soft-voiced and sunlit, someone who always brought an extra blankets to movie nights “just in case.”

Now… you stand wrapped in shadows, draining the life from a god.

He looks to Bucky for answers—but Bucky is already walking.

Nat’s breath catches in her throat.

She says nothing at first.

But her eyes sharpen—taking in every detail like she’s cataloging a kill. The way the tendrils twitch when someone steps near. The flicker of hesitation in your stance. The almost blissful way you tilt your head as Thor weakens.

"She’s not in control,” she mutters to Clint, hand hovering at her belt for the Widow’s Bite.

“She’s… possessed. Or programmed. Or both.”

But her jaw tightens as she sees your face—the hint of recognition in your shifting features.

“Goddammit”

Clint's already notching his bow.

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

But he doesn’t fire.

Because he sees something the others might’ve missed.

“She’s not attacking,” he says quietly. “She picked Thor.”

He’s thinking tactically, yes. But there’s a layer of unease—like watching a friend get devoured by something wearing another friend’s skin.

“She’s not a monster,” he adds. “But she’s not herself either. Not right now.”

And then there’s Tony.

He doesn’t speak at first.

He stares. Like he can’t compute what he’s seeing. You were the one person he could tease without offense. The one who used to fix his tie on gala nights, offering him comfort food when he was stressed.

He remembers your eyes.

Bright.

Always seeking the good in people.

Now they’re black voids.

Bottomless.

Soulless.

And they’re looking at Thor like food.

“Shit, Sunshine…” he breathes.

His armor hums with defensive energy, but he lowers his repulsors.

“We should’ve found you,” he mutters. “I should’ve… protected you.”

When Thor collapses to one knee, eyes fluttering, Tony takes a hesitant step forward—tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Thumbelina, it’s me,” he tries. “It’s Tony. Remember? I gave you your Stark phone and you shut it in the printer tray?”

No answer.

Your face doesn’t move.

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

The tendrils dig in deeper.

But then—

“Doll.”

Bucky’s voice cuts through the noise like a blade.

Everyone turns. Even you.

As the tendrils feast, your posture changes. The bones in your spine straighten.

Your sunken eyes briefly glow with a sickly, wet sheen, then their real colour returns.

The cracks in your lips start to seal, skin smoothing over with each passing second.

Where there was hunger, now there’s restoration.

Your cheeks regain color—only slightly, but it’s enough to see the outline of the girl they remember.

And that’s what hurts most.

They see you again.

Not fully. Not yet.

But glimpses.

Like a photo caught mid-burn.

And when Thor gasps—falling fully to the floor, one arm shriveled and blackened—the Avengers move.

But Bucky’s already there.

He walks between you and the rest, hands outstretched—not as a fighter, but as a shield.

"She’s not the enemy.”

He turns back to you.

“Come back to me, Doll. Please.”

His voice is not loud. But it cuts through the chaos.

You freeze.

The tendrils pause—hesitate.

Just a twitch.

But it’s there.

Bucky steps forward. His expression is torn between horror and heartbreak.

His gloved metal hand curls into a fist, like he’s bracing against instinct.

“Doll,” he says again, quieter now. “This isn’t who you are.”

Your head jerks into a tilt, movements still stuttering like a broken marionette. Your lips part—but what comes out isn’t words.

It’s a growl.

Low.

Guttural.

Wounded.

“But I’m… hungry"

Your voice cracks. Like the last thread of humanity inside you is begging for help.

He takes one more step.

The tendrils shiver. Unsure.

The team watches him like he’s gone mad. No one breathes.

Your eyes twitch. Something falters.

And slowly—almost reluctantly—the tendrils begin to unwind from Thor’s arm, they hiss back slowly into your body.

You stagger back.

Your mouth opens in a soft gasp.

“Your ... eyes?”

Two words.

One flicker.

And then—you collapse.

Recognition, maybe.

[steviebbboi]

Demon's Devotion

Pairing: Incubus!Lloyd x F!Hunter!Reader

Word Count: 6.2k~

Summary: A deal that should have been black-and-white has suddenly become grey. Swapping souls means swapping places. You just didn't think that meant to spend eternity with him.

Disclaimer: This is my submission for @yenzys-lucky-charm & @sweater-daddiesdumbdork Horny Hootenanny writing challenge~ sincere thanks to lovely Yenzy and Amber for being the gems that they are <3 I'm also going to submit this into my own writing challenge (lol) Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge . Anyone is welcome to join~

Dividers and banner by me :)

***I don't give any permission for this to be reposted anywhere! Pls do not steal work, plagiarism isn't cute~~~~

Warnings/Triggers: 18+ Minors DNI; dubcon, non-con, softdark!Lloyd (but mainly dark tbh), mentions of death, very slight slight mentions of infidelity, drugs, alcohol, Reader has low self-esteem/self-worth, demonic manipulation(?), Latin dialogue (cannot claim accuracy!).

Tropes/situational prompts: fantasy/supernatural AU, the villain/monster has feelings (or thots) for you

Kinks: size, cockwarming, belly bulging, praise, possessive, squirting, corruption.

Seasonal prompts: meeting a demon/ghost/witch on All Hallows Eve

Smut dialogue:  "You gonna be good for me?" + "I'm gonna make you mine" + "you love it like this, don't you?" + "If you only knew the things I want to do to you" + "Tell me you're mine" + "You wanted my attention, now you have it" + "Please! I can be good. So good for you. I promise" + “You belong to me now” + “Look at that, I think I broke your pretty brain, made you all dumb for me” + "Just a little more" + "Look at how good you're taking me" 

Other kinks: mild choking, spanking, overstimulation, dumbification; degradation, thigh fucking, dacryphilia, aphrodisiac/demon trance (if I missed any TW, feel free to lmk)~

A/N: this is the first time that I'm writing Lloyd too so I hope I did him some justice. Also, mild references to the tv show Supernatural (I do not own the lore of TGM nor Supernatural)!

The wood was splotchy– and itched against your skin uncomfortably as you sat on your knees. The ‘devil’s trap’ was intact as you leaned over to complete the chalk-circle. Quickly gazing over the symbol to ensure the correct sigils, you leaned back once more to close your eyes and take a deep breath. You tried your best to calm your body and connect with that part of you justifying the reasons behind calling upon a demon.

“Promise me that you won’t do anything stupid.” 

You cringed as you heard your ex’s solemn request echo in your thoughts. Yet again, you made a promise that you couldn’t keep. But this time, it was for his life. His soul. Your relationship was never perfect, and that’s certainly what nipped your romantic relationship in the bud, but you’ve known each other for so long…you couldn’t let him go through with it.

Broken promises was the cycle of your romantic relationship together – whether it was infidelity, drugs, alcohol, all the way to the end of the spectrum where it would also be just him going on extensive hunting trips without proper communication. 

You both knew that the relationship was doomed when it started. He wasn’t capable of showing up for you the way that you were ready to do for him. You knew that, that’s why you ultimately ended the relationship. 

And yet, here you sit in a mildew-infested, smelly, abandoned church on All Hallow’s Eve - ready to trade places with him. 

He was meant to do a lot of good in the world. He was a good hunter, a good brother, and a good friend. He was the main character in a story that you weren’t meant to be a part of, and that’s fine. You didn’t belong in his arc. You were a side character that had a stunted narrative for a while, but didn’t belong nor play any significance into moving the story forward.

When you heard the news about how he made a deal with the crossroads demon, it suddenly clicked on how you could actually do something worthwhile. You knew that he experienced a loss, a real hit from what you’ve heard. They fell in together not long after you both ended your relationship. While that fact spared no pain on your end, you did your best to stuff it down as he obviously loved her enough to have made that deal for her life. So you did what you did best, extended light and support through your pain. Feeling so selfish to have even felt a mark of bitterness.

A hunter’s life is a grim one. Everyone knows that any relationships that you do end up having either end in misery or in blood. But the value of something light and wonderful like love was tempting for people in the life. But, it always seemed to have a cost.

You were a shit hunter, maybe a mediocre person, but maybe, just maybe, your life could have purpose by doing this one thing. 

Something that just makes the pain that you have endured worth it. 

It was that purpose that hardened your resolve. Any lingering doubts solidified into genuine acceptance as you relaxed your body and invited a deep breath, “I summon you, anima daemonium. Anima obscura, i vocare te.”

You repeated the command two more times until you finally felt it. A warmth that seemed to grow steadily hotter which had you hiss in pain as you felt the sordid temperature through your jeans. The chalk circle in front of you started to beam this blinding, white light that illuminated the dark vast space for a few seconds. Your eyes couldn’t hold open for too long as you scrunched them closed in alert from the sudden, bright visual. 

The air in the room became thin and you could feel your lungs expanding to fill them up with as much air as you could with your breath falling heavier with each silent minute that passed. The silence was consciously loud as you looked around the still empty dark space. 

“Hmmm…now what’s this?” 

You heard a low rumbled, amused voice come from behind you. Your heart was beating so fast and you could feel your stomach just plummet to the floor. He was supposed to manifest within the circle…if he bypassed it like that completely, that meant that he was no ordinary crossroads demon.

A deep and intense fear rose up in your throat as you attempted to ground yourself out of your frozen state. You could feel your body tremble as you slowly turned your head to look over your shoulder only to find a looming, darkened figure standing directly behind you. Your gaze drifted upwards to find the identifying face to the haunting voice and you couldn’t hold back the gasp that left your dry lips. 

He was…human. A tall silhouette that exuded an air of danger and allure. His skin seemed to absorb the light around him, contrasting sharply with the piercing, smoldering gaze that flickered an ice blue in the dark. A chiseled jawline gave him an almost otherworldly handsomeness, while his full lips, donned with a daring mustache, curved into a knowing smile that hinted at secrets best left unspoken.

Your confusion to his form, and his looks, felt like an aside as you took in this almost invisible yet loudly formidable being standing over you. 

“Who are you?” Your lips moved faster than your brain could register any coherent thoughts. Your curiosity peaked the moment that you saw him appear in the space.

The handsome demon merely chuckled at your confusion before indicating towards his own body. “This meat suit? Mmmm, not too sure. A poor, unfortunate soul shrouded in his own darkness enough for me to climb into him and take over.” A resounding smirk followed his explanation as he narrowed his gaze at you with an interest that you couldn’t place.

You could only stammer out, “B-but, you’re h-human?” You looked over his figure again as he donned an unorthodox causal fit that you would never have pegged a demon, or honestly anyone, to wear. But with the way that he carried himself, the demon’s confidence was palpable. He was comfortable in this physical form, that’s for sure. The power that was exuding from him was staggering.

The demon cooed at your naivety, “Oh, sunshine. You have no idea who you’ve called and what you’ve just done, do you?”

He moved with a grace that was both mesmerizing and predatory as he knelt down to meet your petrified stare. There was an intoxicating aura about him, a magnetic pull that made it impossible to look away, even as a primal instinct warned of the peril he represented. His presence was electric, a heady mix of danger and desire, making it clear that this was a being not to be trifled with—a seducer cloaked in darkness, where charm and menace intertwined seamlessly.

You’re frozen in place in dual fear and pure fascination as he leaned forward into your personal space to clutch your chin with two fingers, prodding up your face for his invasive inspection. You weirdly felt awkward as you knelt before him under his scrutinous gaze. Piercing blue eyes were washing over the features, nooks-and-cranny, details of your face. Every so often, he would tilt your head to the side to inspect your profile, all the way down towards your kneeling body, and just smirk.

After 5 minutes of his torturous appraisal, he let go of your chin suddenly only to lean closer to your face. His pointed nose brushed yours so lightly, you couldn’t help the urge to look down at his mouth, feeling the hairs of his mustache graze your skin. But you could also see and almost feel the softness of his pink lips. His smirk grew on his face as if he figured something out as he turned to brush said lips against yours very faintly, almost teasingly. 

You gasped at the unexpected contact and a haze washed over you that you didn’t question and felt compelled to close your eyes. Almost as if you didn’t, you would pass out from the intensity of the contact of the potential of his kiss. You leaned in slowly as your mouth was almost waiting for the pressure of his teasing brush…but it never came. 

Coming back to yourself, almost like out of a trance, you gasped harshly at noticing the proximity between the two of your bodies and pushed against his chest to sit inside of the chalk circle to gain distance. 

Breathing heavy at how close you just were to this supernatural inane being, you cursed yourself for letting yourself get entranced into his allure as it hit you.

“You’re an incubus.” A sneer was released unconsciously at the realization. The demon’s smirk only softened at your disdained use of the term and his only response was to deeply hum in confirmation.

“I suppose that is one name that people know me by…but I sense that you may not be so comfortable with that. How about we go with…’Lloyd’?” He proposed as he stood up with his hands in his slack-pockets. 

You ignored his comfortable jeering to stand from your coveted position within the circle. “I didn’t call for you, incubus. I’m here for a crossroads demon.” You clarified sneeringly.

“And yet again, another name that people may know me by.” Lloyd said simply with another smirk on his face. He couldn’t help but let his gaze wander over your shifting body once more. You certainly looked like a hunter, but your ignorance and naivety gave you away at how utterly unskilled/trained you were in the craft. 

The realization made Lloyd’s dark soul tremble in excitement at the potential of catching a brazen, beautifully innocent, yet idiotic soul like yours. And to feast on one that looks like you, with an energy so devoting and submissive…he was suddenly ravenous.

The haze that you felt earlier felt almost like a white, hot energy that was wading towards you when you noticed ‘Lloyd’s’ gaze shifting over your figure once again but with this newfound hunger in his eyes. You shifted uncomfortably as your body responded to the shift in the air. You couldn’t help but close your eyes briefly in shame as you felt it…the wetness that was accumulating in your underwear. 

It didn’t matter that he was a literal sex demon who preyed on women– it was like all boundaries didn’t matter as you felt a similar urge to throw all inhibitions out the window, stalk over to him to have him throw you down on the dusty, creaking floor to just take you over and over again as you begged him for more. 

You shook your head to clear your sinful thoughts, knowing that demons can sense wicked thoughts– but to your detriment, Lloyd seemed to clock something about your tense and conflicted frame and suddenly inhaled deeply. 

You knew that you were caught when you saw that his cocked head straightened in discovery at smelling your arousal in the musty space. He released a deep grunt as his eyes rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. The atmospheric drop in the air was palpable and the room became so distinctly warm, you could feel sweat dropping on your temple at the change. 

Panting at the sudden rise in heat and thinning air, tears started to build in your eyes at looking over the demon’s now darkened gaze. He looked like he was going to attack you, and it didn’t scare you that you may lose your life nor was it that he would take you without consent. 

What was scary was that you wanted him to take you. You wanted to feel him in his own heat on your bare, naked skin as he thrusted his hard cock into your eager pussy and feel the supernatural strength of his grip holding your hands above your head. So much so that you wouldn’t be able to escape him. You didn’t want to leave him, you wanted him to devour you.

You tried to shake your head out of these fantasies and get back to the present but the heat wouldn’t let you. The haze felt so strong. You could hear yourself mumbling something about the heat and subconsciously took off the denim jacket you’re wearing in desperation to feel cool.

In your present view, you could see Lloyd walk determinedly towards you and you found a consciousness present enough to take a few steps back to the tops of the chalk circle. You knew that he wouldn’t be able to enter it, that’s why he bypassed it in the first place. A demon’s trap is meant to do exactly that, he wouldn’t risk losing his prey and enter the circle where you could easily escape. 

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, Lloyd’s eyes narrowed in mirth as he released a dark chuckle and stopped before entering the circle. “Oooh, sunshine, you’re so cute to think that you could escape me now. You wanted my attention, now you have it.”

He took one dramatic step inside. 

Your eyes widened in shock, not being able to process what he was doing and you turned to run out but you couldn’t. 

You physically could not leave the circle as you felt an invisible barrier brush against your hands that were banging against them to desperately leave. “NO! What’s happening, no–,” you gasped out, tears started to roll down your flushed cheeks as you felt him close. What was worse was that even though you wanted to get away, you wanted him to get even closer. To keep you inside of the circle with him. Delightfully trapped.

A large, warm hand touched your shoulder and spun you around as you shrieked. Tears of panic and confusion were still streaming down your face. Using the sudden invisible barrier as a wall, you shrunk yourself against it as much as you could, trying to resist the confusing and tempting pull, but it didn’t work. Lloyd gripped your waist and pulled you tight against him, your body non-resisting to his touch even though your mind protested.

Your hands reacted to instinctively catch yourself against his suddenly bare chest. You released another squeak at the feeling of his skin. The heat of his naked torso felt so relieving against yours. 

“Just like you thought he would feel like…” You thought to yourself, eyes narrowed in its seeming haze. The part of you that was still conscious and afraid frowned at the feeling of his skin on yours. Looking down, the both of you were bare naked. 

“What- !” You shrieked, not even remembering when or how your clothes disappeared. A wave of insecurity rushed through you at the vulnerability that you were left with in front of Lloyd, who although is a demon, was shaped like a Greek god. You felt as if dignity was taken away from you as Lloyd’s hands wandered over the skin of your naked back and up towards the back of your neck. His touch was not forcing though, it was as light as a teasing feather.

You tried, you really did, to get away from his wandering, sinful hands but he felt so smooth, warm, and so comforting. The reality was that you didn’t want to get away as he kept you pressed against him where you could feel everything. His hardened cock that you weren’t able to really look at earlier was firmly pressed against the pudge of your stomach. You couldn’t tell where the intense rush of heat was coming from, whether it was this haze or him, but you felt it flushed in your cheeks at feeling Lloyd’s erection. The knowledge that he was turned on by you.

“Of course I am, little one. Look at you. So beautiful before me. Calling for me. I'm gonna make you mine.” Lloyd murmured seductively as he responded to your hazed thoughts. His other hand moved to grip the front of your neck carefully.

He wasn’t choking you, his grip was deceivingly light, but the promise of it was what had you whimpering in response. You just barely registered how he was able to give you a response to something that was being noticed in your head.

“What’s happening to me? How are you doing this?” The only curiosities that your clouded mind was able to circle around were asked as his grip turned your face upwards to sultry and lustfully graze your lips against his.

Lloyd wickedly grinned and hummed again before he murmured his response against your pillowy lips, “You’re sleeping, sunshine.” 

You could only look up into his mirth-filled eyes as you mildly registered the shock settling in your system. “No, that can’t be…I drove here and drew the circle, I called…” you drifted in your disbelief as Lloyd turned your bodies so that he was behind you. Your view no longer obscured by his taut body, you looked down to see your limp body…just laying there, seemingly unmoving.

Your eyes only widened more as Lloyd petted your hair soothingly, sensing your distress. “Oh my god, I’m dead. I’m. dead.” Flooded with panic, your body was frozen as your thoughts ruminated in a vicious cycle.

Almost condescendingly, he noted carelessly, “You’re not dead, little one. Your body is in what we call, the in-between. Or purgatory, as some may say.” 

A high-pitched ring sang in your ears as you tried to take in Llloyd’s words. “But, I didn’t let you in. I didn’t give you permission.” You remarked disbelievingly as you tried to recall the regulations and rules surrounding demon possession. It’s only if you invite them into your soul, do they insert themselves, almost brutally, into your physical body and spirit. But you didn’t say the words…

“Didn’t you though?” Lloyd deviously smiled again in response to your disbelief. He hummed against your skin as he proceeded to inhale your hair and down towards your inner neck. 

Unknowingly, your eyes closed deliriously as you felt his breath brush against your skin. Lloyd nosed your shoulder affectionately while he revealed mockingly, “Sealed with a kiss – a brush against the lips is all it takes to bind a human soul with a demon. And you, sunshine, are the sweetest soul that I’ve taken in a long, long time.” 

His cerulean blue eyes met your shocked filled irises as he witnessed the reflective realization wash over you. Noticing the tears in your eyes, Lloyd thought that you’ve never looked more beautiful than you did right then and there.

He cooed at you again and turned your frozen frame to face him once more. “Aw, little one. I promise to take good care of you. If you only knew the things I want to do to you.” 

Lloyd’s large hands grasped the back of your head to pull you hard onto his weathered lips. You were stunned at the sudden move but also couldn’t hold back the pleasured moan that left your throat at the feeling of his wet tongue caressing yours. You’ve never been kissed like this in your life– feeling cherished or owned by somebody…something else. And it felt so fucking good.

An insidious and sudden gratification came over your body as your hands clutched onto Lloyd's muscular frame to clutch yourself to his body. The heat felt overwhelmingly dangerous as you kissed the incubus demon with as much eagerness as he was extending upon your aching lips. 

You couldn’t remember the reason as to why you even came here in the first place, nor do you even recall where you were at that moment. All you could feel was Lloyd as he kissed you languidly and passionately. He was all that you wanted to feel. 

Breaking the kiss, Lloyd drew back but kept his hands in your hair to ensure his control. "You gonna be good for me, sunshine?" 

The only thing you could do is cry desperately as the warmth overtook your body once again. Feeling flushed and needy for his skin on yours, you wantonly cried out, “Yes! I promise I’ll be such a good girl for you, Lloyd. Please! I can be good. So good for you. I promise. Please.” 

You didn’t sound like yourself at all, but at that moment, you couldn’t find anything in you to care. You were desperate for him. You only wanted to be touched, wanted, and seen by him. Almost as if you needed him to know how devoted you were to giving him all of you, your soul.

Lloyd’s eyes rolled back in his head in derived pleasure as he smelled the desperation and need come off of you in waves. He nuzzled your nose against his with a gratified hum and said, “Tell me you're mine. You need to say it, sunshine, and then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

In one breath, you didn’t even hesitate, “I’m yours. Please, I let you in.” 

Hearing the words explicitly spoken from your pouty lips, Lloyd growled out possessively while granting you another deep and wet kiss. As he pulled back, his teeth bit your bottom lip slowly and seductively as he finished the deal against your pursed lips, “You belong to me now.”

A binding force tingled from your feet and up all over your body once his words were spoken. It felt ethereal and other worldly, but it felt right. You didn’t even recognize what you’ve just done as you have suddenly found yourself on your back, Lloyd kissing you so softly, it felt so contrasting to his demonic nature.

“I’ve treated all of my soul thralls as I see fit in the past. Though you, little one, are by far the brightest soul that I’ve come across in a millenia. Right when I saw you kneeling right by my feet, those eyes looked up at me so delicately. There was longing in your gaze that I needed for myself. Seems like you knew that you needed me too, hm?” 

You only could nod preciously against his soft lips as you pursued another kiss from him. Your tongue sought his as you battled for his attentive mouth, and before you knew it, just as you predicted and wanted, he was laying you on top of the chalk-drawn circle. 

Not even registering the cold harsh wood against your back, you felt so enveloped by his aura. Something internally shifted as you felt that warmth that radiated from your physical body internalize and bloom into something so wholesome, almost as if you felt that hole in your heart repair into a strong, full organ that wanted for nothing. 

You felt complete. 

A gasp escaped you as you broke away from the impassioned kiss. The warmth in your chest seemed to materialize all over your body, inside of you and out. A keening moan left your mouth as you felt the heat start to rush down to your core between your legs. Another gush of wet just seeped out of you and Lloyd growled as if he could feel it escaping too. 

You questioned him breathlessly against his impatient lips, “What’s happening?”

Another whimper left your throat as you felt this deep desire from before just amplify into something that felt not of this earth. It felt transcendent, ancient, and light. It felt like a high that tuned up the feeling of pleasure and ecstasy so that any brush of Lloyd’s skin on yours, the smell of him, the ridges of his muscular body, turned you on so delightfully.

Lloyd teasingly brushed his lips against the exposed length of your neck and you could feel his smirk almost seep into your skin with the following words.

“Our souls just became one, sunshine.” 

A brief moment of panic escaped that cloud of bliss that overcame your conscious body and mind. Sensing your panic, Lloyd cooed at you once more to provide a comfort that you didn’t know that you needed in that moment. A reassurance of sorts against the thought that this feeling between you in this moment was fleeting and temporary. 

“Don’t worry, little one. I’m yours just as much as you are mine. Forever.” His lips whispered against yours intimately before he licked into your yearning mouth, capturing your tongue in another heated dance. 

His words lit a fire deep inside of you and you felt your pussy clench on nothing but his promise. You gasped and tilted your head back in pleasure as Lloyd proceeded to press heated kisses down your throat and towards your breasts. 

“Forever?” You gasped out as your lungs tried desperately to breathe in more air. The conscious part of you incredulously realized that all of this made no sense to you. How was he able to read your body so well? Your thoughts? How is he able to impact you like this? Give you the greatest pleasure and burning desire that you’ve ever felt in your entire life? 

Taking a pert nipple into his mouth, his tongue brushed over the tip teasingly while you pressed his head closer to your chest at the sensation. 

“A soul contract is an everlasting bond between your soul and mine. You have something valuable that I need, and so did you. I just needed you to submit to me, give yourself completely to me in order to make the trade.” He spoke in between placing wet kisses on your sternum to switch his attention to your other breast. Blowing cold air on your nipple, Lloyd smirked and darkly chucked as he witnessed you tremble in delight. You sobbed at feeling the cold air brush against your warm skin, a temporary aid in relief for more.

“But, you didn’t even know what I wanted.” You attempted to recall the reasons as to why and when you summoned him. Although, you were unsuccessful as that part of you was dimming as time went by, especially the more that you felt Lloyd descend closer towards your heated core. 

Lloyd chuckled against the smooth flesh of your soft tummy and to your detriment, kissed his way back up towards your lips. After taking you apart with his fervent mouth once more, he gathered your clenched fists to hold them against the sodden wood in one strong grip. 

Your wrists were now caught in his powerful hold and he leaned in close to capture your yearning gaze. His eye contact was so intense as he stared back, even though he already had your soul, it was almost like he was trying to peer inside.

“You didn’t really want to save that piece of trash hunter, did you?” He kissed your cheek innocently as you felt a shock wave up towards your newly-filled heart. 

“How did you…? But I didn’t say anything about him…” Your shock was on full display as he continued to press small kisses over the frozen expression of your face.

“He abandoned you. Mistreated you. He left you for another woman, and you still wanted to go and save him?” He whispered darkly against the swell of your ear before pressing delicate kisses to your earlobe. Nipping lightly, he continued to murmur ominously, “He isn’t worthy of your loyalty, little one. So, I decided to take it instead.” 

A tear fell down your cheek at the feelings of loss and sadness, memories of your old life flashing behind your bewitched eyes. Lloyd quickly licked up the fallen tear with a growl, “He didn’t deserve you, sunshine. You and I both know that even though you came here for him, you really came here for yourself. You wanted to give yourself to something that could actually hold you. Tame you.”

Your deepest thoughts of yourself being verbalized by Lloyd in such an unconcerned manner brought more flashes to recent memories, it played like a movie in your mind’s eye. Moments where you felt that abandonment by your ex, hearing his resolute voice on the phone as he mentioned the deal with a demon for the ‘love of his life’, a woman who wasn’t you. 

Pressing kisses to the corner of your eye that was now freely leaking fresh tears, Lloyd made sure to nuzzle you in comfort, “But you weren’t meant for that life. A life that only involved the killing of creatures, demons– living a hunter’s life wasn’t what you were destined for, little one.” 

Your teary gaze met his confident blue eyes as he leaned over you once more, “Don’t you see, sunshine? You were made and meant for me. And for me alone.”

With that, Lloyd pressed his curled lips against you harshly and any traces of sadness or loneliness left your soul. A feeling of wanting to be possessed completely by him replaced the aloneness that came over you from before. It was like he was the only cure. 

Eagerly and recklessly losing yourself in the enriching feeling, you were almost inhaling his kiss as you pressed your naked body up into his. Feeling his erection against your inner thigh, you writhed against him to finally make him take you.

"You love it like this, don't you? The fact that I own you and now, I’m going to ruin you, little one." Lloyd groaned against your warm and willing skin. Shifting just so, you gasped as his hard cock brushed against your weeping pussy. 

“Answer me, my little thrall.” Lloyd allowed you to grind against his cock but just barely against your slit. Fucking into your wet and slippery thighs, you whimpered and tried to rock your hips closer to him to push him inside you.

“Yes! I love it! I need you to take me, please! I don’t want to be alone anymore, please.” You begged the demon as the tears returned, feeling this want and power surge through you as your soul and body fully submitted to him. It was so overwhelming. All you knew was that his possession helped smother the darkest depths of yourself from coming out. He welcomed you into himself and you gladly gave it to him.

Lloyd groaned quietly and deeply inhaled the darkest of truths that were emoting from your pheromones within the crook of your neck while he whispered seductively, “Ah, there it is. Thank you, sunshine. Shush now, my good girl.” 

He raised his head to look into your weepy eyes once more, “You’re never going to be alone again.” A soft smile graced the strong features of his face and a warmth full of genuine love blossomed inside of you at the sight. Around your repaired heart sat Lloyd’s genuine smile, such a stark contrast to darkness that you would’ve ever expected to receive from the incubus. 

The warmth only expanded as Lloyd pushed his cock inside of you with one smooth thrust, your wetness facilitating the most pleasurable union. Instantly, your eyes rolled back in complete bliss as you were so worked up, it was the feeling of his girthy cock just sliding inside of you that made you come undone. You cried out in pure ecstasy and a ringing sound numbed around your ears where you could barely hear Lloyd’s wicked chuckle as he praised you for surrendering yourself to him. 

He didn’t stop thrusting inside of you, not even when you clenched around him so tightly that he gritted his teeth at the sensation. His cock was stretching you out and hitting spots deep inside of you that no lover ever could– the gratification of finally being joined together was just too much. His hands weren’t idle as they caressed your breasts and roughly groped your waist, down towards your plush ass where he slapped the reddening flesh. 

He slapped your ass again and tilted his hips so that you could feel him go even deeper. You released a squeak at the novel feeling and Lloyd took that as his opportunity to slow his pace, but not lessening the controlling grip that he had around your waist. You marveled and whimpered at the thought of seeing his marks on your body later as you tore you apart. 

Going deep and slow, his thrusts became harder and your body jolted with every thrust he gave you as you were inundated with how good his cock felt, finally reaching the spot inside of you that made your mind go blank. It activated that switch where your body just went limp and you felt even more vulnerable to the demon’s ravaging. You didn’t even care to feel embarrassed by your loud moans and whimpers, nor the drool that was escaping you. Your eyes simply rolled shut as you lost yourself in the consistent press against your g-spot. 

“Aw, look at that, sunshine. I think I broke your pretty brain, made you all dumb for me.” Lloyd had a smug smirk on his face, accentuating his intimidating presence even more. 

You could only release quiet ‘ngh’s as if in a trance as he continued to fuck you hard and deep. The knot in your stomach started building again as tears of heartfelt satisfaction and adoration filled you once more. You couldn’t describe it, but it was like Lloyd was fucking you with purpose and intent to show you that you were truly made for him. Almost as if he already knew all of your kinks and was exploiting them for proof– evidence that he will always be what you need. 

“Thaaat’s it, just a little more," he groaned out and readjusted his grip so that he could tilt your hips just right until your eyes opened in startled ecstasy, a cry leaving your lips as his cock went even deeper. “There you go, my little thrall. Look at how good you're taking me." He gestured to the slight bulge protruding from your lower stomach. The sight of his cock being that deep inside of you was what had you shatter around him for the second time.

You released a guttural moan as you let go, barely coming down from your orgasm when Lloyd decided to rub your swollen, drenched clit with the rough of his thumb. Your back arched and your legs thrashed until Lloyd held down your body and fucked you faster with his thumb still placing frantic pulses on your bundle of nerves. 

At your limit, your face contorted into an expression that can only depict unrestrained and unexpected bliss as you screamed out your orgasm, squirting all over Lloyd’s wide cock.

The feeling of your sopping cunt gripping his cock made Lloyd release a dark, guttural and infernal roar as he came inside of your still pulsing channel. He gave you three more half-hearted thrusts as his spend leaked around his cock, inadvertently pushing his cum deeper inside of you. 

Lloyd caressed your trembling thighs soothingly as he also attempted to catch his breath. He couldn’t help the last resounding smack against your supple flesh as he noticed your fucked out expression. Eyes wilted with pleasured exhaustion, your body shaking as exhilaration died down.

“You're so beautiful like this, sunshine." He moaned adoringly as he pulled his half-hard cock out of your still quivering pussy. You moaned at the loss of him and could feel your shared cum dripping out of you.

“Mmmm, a sight that will never tire me, I’m sure.” Lloyd groaned out deeply with his smirk still upon his pink lips. He leaned over you for a moment to continue taking in your post-coital glow. He pressed a hand to your chest covering your heart and shuddered at the warming feeling it brought him under his palm. 

What you would find out later is that every sensation that you felt, he felt. Your thoughts were now his thoughts too. Your desires were his. While you were exhausted from your soul celebrations, the enmeshment gave Lloyd an invigorated rush of power. He only took pieces of you with every orgasm he gave you. Your heightened arousal would become his, and so on, everytime that he would take you.

The way that his own empty hearted chest filled with a lightness and charge that he’d never felt before since his existence. He knew that he would, indeed, keep you forever.

Lloyd genuinely smiled in satisfaction as he felt power rushing through his veins. Nuzzling your flushed cheek with affection, he murmured, “Now, little one, let’s go home, shall we?” 

Final A/N: Welp! that happened. I originally was writing this SoftDark!Demon!Lloyd as a stand-alone from this poll but when the Hootenanny challenge was announced, I thought it would be a perfect fit 😈 Hope you enjoyed reading this ficlet, and reblogs/comments are very welcome~

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[kowwpow]

~with great power, comes great need to take a nap~

A/N: Was inspired by this playlist :3 credits to them for making it and giving me the idea!^^ (tagging @zenitsustherapist and @saffron0v0)

~Sypnosis~

Napping + corruption aftercare with Chuuya as he recovers because I said so

TWs ⚠️: GN!Reader bc we include everybody 👏😌 Dazai is low key a jerk- Chuuya is in pain, but it’s just mainly tooth rotting fluff. Might not be paced well, I apologize for that-

Spoilers for the cannibalism arc!

You weren’t expecting Lovecraft to be this strong, strong enough to need Chuuya’s corruption.

It was fascinating to watch the way he moved freely and destroyed anything in his path. It was a little terrifying, yes, but you knew you were safe since you were not on the receiving end of that power.

As always, Chuuya was able to strike down the enemy with remarkable speed, and Dazai was able to nullify his ability when he was done.

You watched in amusement at Dazai’s blatant lie about taking care of him, knowing the man would just walk off without a second thought about Chuuya.

Well, you didn’t mind caring for him, not in the slightest.

It was a little bit of a struggle to haul him back to his apartment after he had passed out, but you managed to get him on your back.

Thankfully, you knew where he kept his spare key and quickly unlocked the door. You kicked it shut behind you and trudged to his bedroom where you set his slowly awakening body down on his bed.

He slowly blinked his eyes open and groaned as a throbbing, nauseating pain enveloped his head. He lifted his body into more of a sitting position and his eyes landed on you taking his shoes off.

Realizing it was just you, and not just some random stranger, he fell back into a laying position with a huff and scowl.

You smiled as you tossed his shoes somewhere else in his dark room and walked to disappear into the bathroom.

You soon emerged with supplies to clean the blood from his face and skin and he peeked his eyes open ever so slightly to see your form walking towards him.

He exhaled loudly as he closed his eyes again, shivering slightly when a cold washcloth made contact with his face. He slowly relaxed into it, and was even snoring lightly by the time you were done.

When you were about to step away, but his hand shot out to grab your arm. He pulled you closer and eventually on the bed with him.

He scooted back and took the washcloth from your hand, tossing it on the bedside table before wrapping both arms and legs around your body.

“J’st… stay still, will ya…”

Well, you weren’t going to object.

Your arms wrapped around him and your fingers found their way to his scalp, massaging it gently.

He sighed loudly and snuggled into your embrace, falling asleep just as quickly as he did the first time.

A/N: THE ENDING SUCKED SO BAD- OMG IM SO SORRY-

Reblogs would be greatly appreciated! :D

I hope you enjoyed! <3

[gumbootillustrations]

day 20 - quote

"you are garroth, protector of the innocent, sworn to care and love for those in need"

my take on what should've happened at the end of s1. context and uncensored image below the cut (tw // mild gore (blood splatter))

so uh... yeah. at the end of season 1 of ashes, ashes, garroth kills zane in irene's cathedral.

the setup for this series of events goes wayyyy back, back to the first war of the magi. in ashes, ashes, xavier was a divine warrior, the justiciar - i've talked abt this in a few of my other posts (specifically in this one), but essentially he founds the jury and carves off nine pieces from his relic to form the juror relics, which give the jurors their uh, for lack of a better term, juror powers. however, during the first ru'auni-tu'lan war (about 400ish years before the main story of ashes, ashes takes place), the relics went missing - leaving the jurors as little more than figureheads for a good few centuries.

then, about 20-25 years before aph shows up on the outskirts of phoenix drop, the high priest of o'khasis at the time figures out a way to give the jurors their juror powers without the relics via a blood magick ritual. said ritual is successful, but it upsets the balance of the universe so badly that the primordial gods intervene and sick a plague on o'khasis, killing roughly a quarter of the population and almost including lord garte ro'meave in that statistic (yes, this is the "near-death experience" that is cited as turning him from a kind-of-asshole into a right cunt). during the plague, a toddler-age garroth gets really sick, and goes for a wander throughout the ro'meave residence and ends up in the attic, where he finds a strange, glowing rock that seems to be calling out to him... he remembers bugger all of this, and what he does remember he puts down to a fever dream.

later on down the line, after nicole fakes her death and disappears about three or so years before the start of ashes, ashes, zane begins to show signs of what garte believes to be dissatisfaction with his regime, and in an effort to bring zane back under his control, he forces xavier's relic into his only remaining son. if zane had the spiritual constitution to wield said relic, this would be all fine and well, but because he doesn't, he begins to suffer the effects of relic corruption, which slowly drives him insane until he's the mad, devoted-to-his-interpretation-of-irene-and-her-doctrine-above-all-else, lawful-evil, war-criminal priest that he's introduced to us as during the wedding arc of season one.

then, during the battle for phoenix drop, garroth hands himself and the amulet over to zane in an attempt to save phoenix drop from a battle that he knows they're doomed to lose. and zane turns him into a juror via the ritual - and because garroth has (unknowingly) been holding esmund's relic in him this whole time, everything turns to custard, and garroth is rendered effectively comatose for pretty much the entire confrontation between zane, lillian, and the phoenix drop gang (aph, aaron, laur, and katelyn) - until zane moves to attack and kill aphmau right after she's absorbed irene's relic.

so you know how in starlight we're told that the relics are sentient? and you know how in starlight we're told that the relics have the ability to control the bodies of their hosts?

well uh. esmund's relic reacts to the threat against its matron that it senses. and with garroth essentially catatonic and in no state to fight back against the possession, he stands up, corners zane in a barrier, and rips xavier's relic out of his brother's chest - killing him almost immediately - before collapsing again, leaving the others to drag him out of the cathedral when zoey shows up with the portal. the entire time, zane is screaming at him to snap out of it, to remember who he serves, to remember who his brother is, and all the while the others can only watch on in horror as garroth condemns the one man hes spent the entire season trying to save to death.

garroth doesn't find out that he's killed his only remaining sibling (to his knowledge) until he wakes up two days later.

so yeah. ro'bro angst.

let me know if u have any questions! :3