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shewroteaworld · 5 months

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PCOS

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

100 Follower Celebration Request: "🤨 + 'You’re braver than you think and more beautiful than you know.' "

Premise: You've been keeping a secret from your boyfriend. At the most inopportune time, it thrusts itself into the light. He doesn't have the reaction you feared.

Warnings: mentions of Criminal Minds--typical violence, mentions of nausea, discussions of chronic illness, mentions of poor self-esteem

Word count: approx. 3,000

When the unsub impaled you with the knife, you gasped awake.

You blinked open your eyes to pitch black darkness, a pulse of 200 beats per minute, a stomach frothing with queasiness, and cold skin sticky with sweat.

Something velvety constricted your body like cling wrap. The suffocation was akin to being buried six feet under. Fortunately, the feather pillow cushioning your head and the soft foam squashed beneath your fingertips broke through your sleep-addled mind.

It was only a nightmare. You were still laying in bed next to Aaron Hotcher.

Your breath caught, and you went rigor mortis still. Once A’s soft snoring reached you, you relaxed.

Tiredly, you smiled at a ceiling you couldn’t see. You didn’t wake him. The last thing A needed after a horrifying case was to not only be woken before dawn but also be woken by his girlfriend gasping in terror.

Your boyfriend of six months, Aaron, was an FBI supervisory special agent. As a civilian, there was plenty of work information to which you were not privy, especially if a case went south. Often, Aaron didn’t tell you where he flew for work. All you knew was, he’d be away for days. However, sometimes you’d know where Aaron was flying back from once the case was handled. Either, he could tell you once the target was apprehended or you found out via news report.

Based on the news reports from New Mexico that featured the BAU's media liaison, Jennifer Jareau, a cult leader ended his sadistic campaign with an AR-15 shootout and a murder-suicide that caught the state police completely off guard. The FBI caught the scent of his plan, but by the time they sniffed it out, they were 5 steps too far behind. Thankfully, Aaron nor any of his unit members died.

Aaron returned to his DC brownstone to ceramic pans full of your best dishes— all piping hot— on his kitchen counter. You made sure to prepare enough food to last him a couple weeks; emotionally trying work events and tons of paperwork were the perfect recipe for Aaron to not eat enough, and you weren’t going to make it easy for him. The past work weeks had been a whirlwind for you as well; you’d billed 15 plus hours every day for the past week to resuscitate a major merger on its deathbed. You set the last dirtied spoon on A’s drying rack two seconds before he unlocked his front door.

Aaron left the details of his past case vague. He kept the details of his emotional state even vaguer. But you could tell in the extra tight grip of his hello hug that he was in need of grounding. You anchored him with a constant, comforting grip, on his calloused hands. You fed him your best mac and cheese; you even cut back on your beloved pepperjack for his spice sensitive taste buds. Later that evening, you took a soothing shower together and collapsed into bed. You broke your typical bedtime routine: instead of discussing the latest novel you’ve read or life realizations, you watched a so-bad-it's-good corporate soap and ripped it a part for its inaccuracies. That’s when Aaron laughed for the first time since he came home.

You were relieved you didn’t wake him. Even though food comas were “scientifically disproven,” a factoid Aaron passed on to you from his team's young genius, Doctor Spencer Reid, you hoped the welcome home dinner you made him helped sustain his deep sleep.

Your adrenal glands calmed. You closed your eyes, but, not a second later, you were rudely interrupted by a sharp pain three inches below your belly button--- right where the unsub stabbed you.

It was just a dream. With a quiet huff, you rolled onto your side and curled against Aaron’s back.

That’s when you felt it— a tacky liquid sticking your satin pj pants to your thighs. A swell of nausea overtook you, and you feared it was not a byproduct of anxiety alone.

Gingerly, you slid out of bed. With the nausea sliding up your esophagus and the sensation of the room spinning, it wouldn’t take Holmes to confirm the cause, but you refused to panic without irrefutable evidence.

Gently, you folded the covers back. Not daring to turn on your phone flashlight, you tapped your home screen and raised the brightness.

When you hovered the light over the bed sheet, deep red splotches of smeared period blood screamed against Aaron’s stark white sheets.

Something deep and cold coiled in the pit of your stomach. You clicked your phone off. Carefully, you took a few steps back from the bed.

Your stomach whirled. A shiver crawled up your spine. You hurriedly tiptoed across the carpet to Aaron’s ensuite. Even in your haste, you quietly shut the door behind you. As soon as the door was in its oak frame, you turned the lock.

You pulled the roots of your hair with an iron grip. Shit. Shit.

You collapsed onto the edge of Aaron’s bathtub. There was blood all over your pj bottoms. You stood in a panic. You looked back and, of course, in a matter of three seconds, you stained the white acrylic.

You went to his faucet and patted ice cold water on your cheeks. Get a grip. Stress would only make the inevitable worse. Why it was possible for your body to malfunction this severely, you’ll never understand.

If you’d only been blessed with a normal body, one that menstruated on a timely schedule and didn’t come with a laundry list of ugly, graphic symptoms, tonight would be nothing more than a minor embarrassment.

The guilt for waking Aaron on tonight of all nights would be strong, but all you would have to do is tap him awake, apologize, and attack your blood splotches with a hydrogen peroxide–soaked cotton ball and the night would revert back to a typical night with your boyfriend.

You wished you were well enough to clean his sheets. Unfortunately, for you, it wasn't possible. You’d get even more nauseated. Or too lightheaded. You already felt sick when you woke up, which meant you were menstruating for a few hours.

How did you not catch this? Your body at least has the decency of shooting some warning flares, and the new medication your OB/GYN prescribed three months ago was far from 100 percent effective at calming your PMS symptoms.

You ran a hand over your face and through your hair. You were two weeks early after billing unbelievable hours for that merger dispute. This was stress induced.

You forced a deep breath. You needed to find a way out of this.

Suddenly, your vision swam. With no other option, you sat on the stained portion of Aaron’s bathtub. You gripped your stomach as the pain twisted deeper into your abdomen. You hunched over yourself.

Tonight could not become Aaron’s baptism by fire into your PCOS. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. He shouldn’t have to deal with all the baggage that comes when you experience the most natural thing in the world for a woman.

The nausea crawled up your throat, and you forcefully swallowed it back with a groan.

You put your head in your hands. You didn’t bring enough pads. Or tampons. You didn’t have any anti-emetics. What if you got a migraine? What if you fainted and A woke to what appeared to be your corpse lying on his bathroom tile?

Your spiral was interrupted by the man in question. “Honey?” Aaron called, voice strung.

Before you could respond, he yelled. “Honey?!”

You stood, and Aaron’s bathroom tilted on an axis. You barely managed to stumble to the doorway.

Fumbling, you unlocked the door just as Aaron reached the it.

His brown eyes were wide blown and wild. You'd never seen that expression on him before. “Are you okay?” He held your forearms as if he were afraid you’d crumple with too harsh a touch.

“I saw the blood and I…” He swallowed. He scanned you from head to toe repeatedly. “I thought the worst.” He whispered. Your heart fell through the pit of your stomach to the soles of your feet.

He cupped your cheeks. “Baby, you’re really off color. I need you to talk to me. Where are you hurt?” The blood stains on the back of your pants were out of his view.

“I’m not hurt, A.” You said.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Your side of the bed is blood stained.” He said, his voice taking a sterner edge.

“I’m on my monthly.”

“Oh.” He released your arms. His cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, honey, I…” He ran his hands over his bedhead. “I should’ve…I jumped to conclusions.” He sounded shocked with himself.

“You’ve had a long day.” You whispered. “Give me a minute. I’ll clean.”

Suddenly, everything went blurry. Your muscles slacked, and your forehead dropped onto Aaron’s pectoral.

A hand was back on your forearm, this time with a tighter grip. A calloused hand tapped your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Baby. Stay with me.”

Carefully, he walked you away from the door. “Sit.” Fully supporting your back, he sat you on the floor and leaned you against the bathtub.

As soon as your back was fully supported, his ensuite regained color. You could take a deep breath again.

Aaron knelt in front of you. “Honey,” Aaron said, his stare piercing through yours. He stroked your hair out of your face. “I need you to be honest with me. What’s wrong?”

“I told you.” More accurately, you began to tell him.

You shivered. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and stroked down your cheekbone.

“I don’t have a fever.” You insisted. “It’s just my monthly.”

He pecked your forehead. He didn’t believe you. “Is it always this bad?” He asked with a mix of concern and skepticism.

“Yes.” You sighed. “I have polycystic ovarian syndrome.”

“PCOS?” He asked.

You were shocked. “You know what that is?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of it.”

“It can make my time of the month super severe.” Stubborn tears leaked from your eyes. You wiped your cheeks with the cuff of your pajama shirt.

You were supposed to be the woman who kicked ass in the boy’s club of corporate law by day and kicked ass as the perfect girlfriend by night.

He was not supposed to see you trembling before him, huddled in pain. He was not supposed to see you on the verge of throwing up from period cramps when he almost died in a hail of bullets less than twelve hours ago. He was never supposed to see how weak you truly were.

He took over wiping your tears with his thumbs. “Scale of 1 to 10—how bad is the pain?”

“Maybe an 8?” You said. It was a 9. If you could’ve managed without your head aching, you would’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. The one thing about dating a profiler is they always know when you’re fibbing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

You sniffled. “About my condition or that I’m in pain?”

“I think those are a package deal.” He said gently.

You sighed. Your instinct was to lie, but you stopped yourself. Aaron could see right through you. He was one of the best behavioral analysts in the entire world. For the first leg of your relationship, you’d managed to avoid this confrontation which was a blessing in itself.

“I didn’t want you to see how sick I get. How sick I am.” You toyed with the ends of your hair. “I didn’t want you to know how weak I am.” You whispered.

His eyes softened. “Honey, you’re not weak because you have PCOS."

“There are months where I can’t even stand up.” You said, voice taught with tears.

“And that’s why I need to know." He smoothed your hair. "Have you been going through this every month by yourself?”

“Since I moved out of my mother’s place for undergrad, yeah.” You sniffled with a watery smirk.

He wrapped an arm around your back, then hesitated. “Can I hug you?”

“Please.” You whispered

He pulled you into a hug. His hold was looser than normal, but his embrace still filled you with warmth from head to toe.

“Darling, I love you so much.” Aaron said. “I would never look down on you for this.”

“It’s just…I’m not used to….”

“Being this vulnerable.” Aaron finished sympathetically.

You nod. “It’s just…I get so sick. It makes me so ugly.”

He shook his head. “Hey.” He made sure you were looking him in the eye. “You’re never ugly.”

You chuckled. “You’ll revisit that answer when you see me dry heaving at 3 in the morning.” You said, unpleasant nights resurfacing.

His lips don’t do so much as quirk upwards. Rather, he looked shattered. He squeezed your hands. “I won’t.”

“What can I do to help?” He pivoted.

“You can change the sheets.” You looked to the top corner of the ensuite door frame as more tears welled. “And go back to bed.”

“I won't ever leave you on the bathroom floor in pain, alone.”

“But you should.” You said. He cupped your cheeks with his homey hands. He gently pulled your chin back to level your gaze, but you resisted.

“Why should I?” He asked.

“Because you’re tired. And I’m sick. And I’m broken. And there’s nothing you can do.” You make eye contact and immediately are wracked with full body sobs.

Suddenly, every second of you’d spent building up your self-esteem went out the window as your deepest insecurities broke through. You were never supposed to be a burden to him.

He pulled you into chest and wrapped you in his arms..“Helping you when you’re sick is never a burden. I love you so much.”

“What if you get tired of me?” What if this made him stop loving you?

“I won’t.” He promised.

He pressed another kiss to your forehead. “We’ll return to this conversation when you’re feeling better.” He stroked your cheekbone with his thumb. “What helps? Do you have medication?”

“I have daily medication. I’m still working with my doctor to get a regimine that works.” You wiped your eyes. “Heat helps. I drink this peppermint tea to help my stomach when I’m at home.” You rambled.

“The one by that British brand?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“When I saw their tea in your apartment, I bought some to keep here. I might have some peppermint. I’ll be back, honey.” He left you with a kiss on the cheek.

The tailoring he did to his world to accommodate you would never cease to flutter your heart.

The pleasant moment was quickly halted by your stomach bubbling.

As A’s slippers padded down the stairs, you crawled across the tile floor over to the toilet. You forced your head between your knees.

About ten minutes later, you heard the clack of his slippers against the bathroom floor. “Nauseous?” He asked.

You nodded.

He sat the mug close to you. “Your tea to your left within arm's reach. I’m going to grab some blankets and pillows. I’ll be right back. Shout if you need something.”

You learned by “some blankets and pillows” Aaron meant an entire blanket set.

As you leaned your head back against the wall, Aaron began prepping your makeshift bed. In your peripheral vision, you laid pillows as floor cushioning.

“I won’t judge you if you go to sleep in bed. This gets ugly.”

“Baby, I’m an FBI agent for the BAU. Even if you threw up on me, it wouldn’t make the list of the top fifty gross things I’ve experienced by miles.”

You scooched onto a pillow. Aaron slipped the blankets around you.

Your head found the soft crook of his neck. He pressed his head onto yours, and the pressure instantly relaxed you. Unfortunately, your your uterine muscles corkscrewed. You squirmed in pain.

Aaron shushed you. “You need to breathe. This will pass, just breathe.”

You clasped his hand like a lifeline. What feels like hours later, when the pain begins to ebb away, you pant, “It’s alright if you need to go to sleep.” Aaron already relayed his plans to go into the office on Saturday morning to attack some dense paperwork.

He placed his free hand overtop of yours. “You will always be a priority for me. I hope I’ve shown you by now that I will always take care of you.”

You smiled into his shoulder.

“Also, the heating pad is charging in the bedroom, and, before you ask about the sheets, they’re already in the wash.”

You sighed in happiness. “I could kiss you right now.”

“What’s stopping you?” Gently, he pressed his lips to the top of your forehead.

You smiled again. You could count on your hand the number of times you’d smiled when you’re like this: on the bathroom floor, nauseous and dizzy.

You squeezed his knee with your free hand. “You promise you’ll stay with me?”

“Of course I’ll stay with you. I love you. And, just for the record…this may be tough, but you're not ugly and you're not weak. You're braver than you think and more beautiful than you know. I'm grateful to be the one holding you through this."

In the coming days, you’re certain you’ll have a laundry list of next steps from your boyfriend: call your doctor, check in with a dietitian, monitor stress, anything he could think of to lessen these symptoms. He’ll probably want to talk more about why you didn’t tell him sooner.

But, for now, you're both satisfied with sitting on the bathroom floor and riding this out. And in a moment where the pain could split you in pieces, you somehow felt whole.

Author's Note: I'm happy to say the 100 follower celebration fics are finally going live!

I hope you're having a good day or night! Thanks for taking the time to read my work! And, to anyone struggling with a condition similar to the reader's: you, too, are braver than you think and more beautiful than you know!

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

#aaron hotchner x reader #shewroteaworld 100 follower celebration #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner

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bangtaninborderland · 8 months

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JJK-SEVEN

Summary: you know it isn't healthy, you know you should leave, but you can’t and neither can he.

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst.

A/N: self indulge from my own experiences

BTS MASTERLIST.

JK POV

You get home a little past 6 pm, Jungkook isn’t there, he is always busy though so that’s normal. You set your bags down, slip your shoes off and head straight to change into some comfy clothes. You loved the confidence you felt ready for the day, the way you felt a little braver as you applied a hint of concealer under your eyes, masking the lack of sleep you’d had but your favourite time of the day was the moment you could come home and remove it all.

It doesn’t take you long to dress down and situate yourself on the couch. You eye your phone a few times, debating whether or not to call Jungkook ultimately deciding against it. He would probably be upset if you called in the middle of a schedule especially if he was in a meeting or something. You settled for a simple text:

You: I’m home, will you be here for dinner?

J🩶: No, working late, don’t wait up.

You: Okay, Love you.

Message Read 6:48PM

The message is left unread but that’s okay, Jungkook is a busy person with things to do. You don’t take what you have for granted so instead of mourning the time you don’t have you focus on the time you do have. Which albeit isn’t much, even when he isn’t working he finds better things to do.

You’d never stop him though, he worked hard, and he deserved that time for himself. You couldn’t be a burden.

You settle on ordering takeout for dinner, it was pointless cooking a meal that would never get finished. The leftovers from three days ago are still in the refrigerator, untouched, despite the note you’d left telling your boyfriend that they were there.

The food arrived an hour later, you turned on the TV and tucked in, letting yourself be drawn into the world of another sappy drama but not even that could keep your mind from wandering, from thinking about how everything got so messed up.

You’d started out years ago, two young kids just wanting some affection and care. Jungkook had just left another relationship, being three years older than you it was safe to say you’d had significantly less experience in the dating department but you fell hard and fast. You’d call all the time, things were busy then but never as busy as now, he would often wait up until late at night when everyone else was asleep to call you from the shared Bangtan dorm room, even if it meant he was a little more tired the next day. He would write you sweet messages whenever he had time, a few words that you would cherish and reread anytime you missed him.

Sure there were rough patches, fights, disagreements, the distance was hard whenever he was on tour and even though it hurt you, really hurt you, there was something always holding you in place so you never left, you couldn’t even imagine it, the few times Jungkook had proposed a break-up or a break you’d denied, argued against it, plead your case as though you were on trial because you couldn’t lose him. He was all you had.

You had friends sure but none that you were actually close to, family wasn’t something you found comfort in, and the arguments that came with being around them were something you’d rather not experience so you stayed away, stayed alone. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to adapt to everything Jungkook was, there hadn’t been a single thing you’d done without him in mind.

You’d been his place to let out everything he felt, most of his emotions bottling up until it came out as a wave of evil anger, words that lacked truth still tearing you apart piece by piece. Still, his apologies were sweet, warm, and soft, they gave you comfort. So you smiled and said it was okay, smiled and tried to ignore the list of names and backhanded comments you’d heard.

Besides, the next day everything was okay, everything would always be okay eventually.

You’re still sitting on the couch when Jungkook gets home, he walks straight into the bedroom, ignoring your presence as though you don’t exist but you remind yourself it’s dark, you didn’t have the lights on so he probably didn’t see you.

“Marco?” He called out and you couldn’t help but smile at the silly American game he had taught you a few years ago.

“Polo.” You called back, unable to hide your grin.

As he came closer you smelt the soju on his breath. “I thought you were working late?”

He groaned, slumping against you on the couch. “Yeah, well we finished around 7 so Mingyu asked if I wanted to get drinks.” He shrugged. “Don’t get all mad.”

“I’m not mad Kook.” You were thankful no lights had been turned off, although you could cover up the shake in your voice the sadness in your eyes was significantly harder to rid yourself of. “I just missed you.”

“Fuck I know okay, I know but I don’t need you putting pressure on me too I’m already working hard twenty-four seven, you want me to come home and be the perfect boyfriend to you but where is my time? Where is the time for me? It’s selfish of you to always put your wants first.”

“No I just meant that I missed you I didn’t-“ you sighed, the argument dying on your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say that. You just ruined a good day…god” he huffed, a hand running through his hair. “I’m going to shower and then I’ll sleep.” With that he was gone, his footsteps retreating.

A coldness settled over you, an unspeakable pain simmering in your chest. He had misunderstood, the words you’d said with honest intentions had been taken out of context and twisted to portray you as a selfish person.

As much as you loved Jungkook he had one flaw, he failed to see what wasn’t directly In front of him. He wouldn’t ever be able to realise or understand the extent to which you’d given up everything of yourself to be with him. The friends you couldn’t have because you felt awful having such an important secret that you couldn’t share with them, the fact Jungkook was…Jungkook meant the relationship you had couldn’t exactly be paraded around, your own paranoia preventing you from having friends in case they found out and shared it with the media. You’d hidden your own dark days whenever something was troubling him, you chose your words carefully to prevent him from worrying too much. You’d always hold off discussing things that had been awkward or uncomfortable until it was suitable for him and by then those feelings and situations were too far gone to bring back up.

It all piled up and then what was once a small ball of insecurity, sadness and longing had grown into a boulder, one that you carried around on your shoulders every day, the weight crushing you slowly.

Still, you didn’t pick a fight, you let it be. Tomorrow would be better, you wouldn’t talk about it, not seriously, you never did.

You waited until you heard the shower switch off, giving him time to fall asleep before joining him in bed.

Maybe it was just habit, something that you’d both done for so long it happened involuntarily but Jungkook reached out for you, tucking your body under his as he whispered a soft “I love you” with a kiss to your head.

The next day things were better, Surprisingly you found him at the stove, singing along to some slow song, probably something Taehyung had sent to him. “Good morning baby.”

You smiled at the term of endearment. “Good morning.”

“Come here.” He called out to you, turning the stove down before opening his arms for you. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Your heart ached at the reminder of his anger the night before, his misunderstanding of your words, his lack of understanding of how you felt. “It’s okay.”

He pushes you back a little, observing your face. “Is it really? Do you forgive me?”

“Always, I’ll always forgive you.” You smiled back and it wasn’t a lie. You would always forgive him, regardless of what he did, or how he hurt you, you would always forgive him because you simply could t live without him.

You both knew it wasn’t healthy, knew it wasn’t okay to act this way, to brush over the misunderstandings you dealt with daily but you couldn’t help it. Facing just how bad things were between you, facing just how poor your communication and trust was meant facing the reality that there was no way to fix it.

The only fix would be to separate and you knew, you knew without a doubt you wouldn’t take that step and neither would he.

So you both held on, ignoring the boulder because you couldn’t let go, even if it was just attachment, you’d let yourself be safe here in the familiarity of everything you shared together for a little longer, even if the boulder was killing you.

You held onto the false reality you’ve created between yourselves, you were sure you always would even if it was insincere because the pain of being the person who took every negative emotion out on was nothing compared to the pain and emptiness you’d feel if he wasn’t there with you, if you no longer had him to hold you and brush your tears away.

“I’m in love with you.” He leaned down to kiss you, tilting your head upwards for easier access.

“I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

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dabblingreturns · 10 months

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Bit obsessed with the idea that If the ninth wasn't so disfunctional, Harrow, Ortus, and Gideon might have formed a sort of Freudian Trio....

Ortus genuinely cared about both girls but didn't seam to ever have enough self confidence to try and mediate between the two....

So instead both girls just had a sort of farmiliar pitying contempt for him....

But if he had been a bit less sad, a bit less smothered by his mother, and a bit braver he could have been a great big bother to both girls....

He clearly understood them better than they understood each other and possibly themselves. And he had the vocabulary ( so much vocabulary) to engage both girls in there special interests.....

Gideon would have loved a synopsis of any research ortus had found on how Matius Nonius fought and how his opponents reacted.

Harrow would have loved to have someone to talk to about the difficulty finding old records in the ninth and the history of her family and the tomb.

And think how wonderful ortus would have felt to have someone to talk to....to joke with...to not be alone....

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #tlt #ortus nigenad #harrowhark #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon nav

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cobragardens · 7 months

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The Golden Lion

For all that Aziraphale is the more frightened of the two of them, Crowley is the snake: he camouflages himself carefully, and his first instinct is always to flee.

Aziraphale's is to stay. He insists on facing the Apocalypse. He insists on facing the Second Coming. He insists on trying to make a difference. He doesn't want to go up to Heaven, but he does it anyway, alone, because he wants to stop the destruction of Earth (again) and keep Crowley safe.

He's very difficult to shame, too. He never gives up his innocent pleasure in eating, even though Heaven, Hell, and probably people on Earth all mock him for it. He's soft and he remains soft, even after Gabriel shames him for both his physical and metaphorical softness. That takes a lot of strength and an unshakeable character.

You know the gold ring Aziraphale wears as a badge of office, that functions as the counterpart to Crowley's snake tattoo? The charge on that ring is a lion.

The heraldic attitude of the lion is rampant (i.e., reared up): it stands on its hind legs with its forelegs raised, as though attacking, and its head is forward-facing: it looks forward, toward the future.

Obviously in popular symbolism, lions represent bravery, and that definitely fits Aziraphale. He's literally leaving the only person who has ever loved him to go make the universe a better place for that person and for everyone, and he's going alone amongst the people who have despised and shamed him his whole existence and tried to kill him at least once; those people are mfing Heaven and have been entrenched in their power for thousands or millions of years. It doesn't get a whole lot braver than that.

In Christian symbolism specifically, the lion represents Christ. (He's referred to in the book of Revelation as the "lion of Judah" because the heraldic symbol for the tribe of Judah was a lion and Jesus was said to be from the tribe of Judah because his [step]father Joseph was from Judah.)

Normally when a story draws a parallel between a character and Christ, the parallel is one of self-sacrifice. That's not what's happening here. When symbolism for Christ represents his self-sacrifice, Jesus is invariably associated with a lamb--the sacrificial lamb--not a lion. When that symbolism represents Christ's mercy or holiness or divine nature/ordination, the dove of the Holy Spirit is used.

But the lion is a symbol inherited from the Old Testament. It represents royalty, power, threat, and seizure from others by force. Jesus is symbolically depicted as the lion upon his return to Earth during the book of Revelation. The lamb is Jesus' self-sacrifice and death for the sins of humanity, but the lion is Jesus' return, powerful, royal, and triumphant.

Does Aziraphale's ring foreshadow his involvement in the Second Coming of Christ? Probably! Is it a symbol that Heaven is the proverbial (and biblical) "lions' den" where they should be doves and lambs? Maybe.

I think it more likely that Aziraphale himself will be the lion, on a righteous rampage like Jesus chasing the moneylenders from the steps of the temple, telling them "It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves." Because the ring is a signet ring, meant to impress a seal that legally represented the wearer as an individual. So the lion is linked to Aziraphale himself.

Aziraphale is soft. It is one of his very best qualities. And soft and weak are not the same thing: because he is soft, he tried to kill the Antichrist, a child. Because he is soft, he stood alone before a demon in defiance of the will of Heaven and demanded with no power whatsoever to back him up that the demon spare children whose murder God had authorized. He, an angel of God, worked with a demon to deceive the Heavenly Host and, as he points out himself, thwart the will of God. Even before that, because he was soft, Aziraphale gave humans the gift of fire and self-protection and then lied to God Herself about it. I mean it literally does not get any more courageous than that.

And I can't stop thinking about what that lion, and that softness, and the link between the two is going to mean for S3.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens aziraphale's ring #aziraphale's ring #aziraphale #good omens analysis

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leeneir · 4 months

Note

Hehy! If you are writing Yandere can I request canons for Iso?

Look at Me Please; Shy Yandere!Iso x Reader Headcanons P.1

I'm working on another req fic as we speak, but I'm taking breaks to do this one bc him being "Mine all mine" is very appealing🥰🫶

And yes, part 1. This prompt just got my Iso loving brain rolling.

Pre Relationship

I want you to think of these like its u and him progressing, as if its a timeline of ur relationship.

- A shy possesive yandere. You are his, no questions. But he doesn't have the courage to show it enough (for now.)

- Iso was always forced to cut off his connections due to the organization, but the Valorant Protocol was different. He found someone there worth going against everything he's known all his life.

- The moment his eyes set on you, he had an overwhelming urge to always be near you and always wanted to know where you were and who you were with.

- He spots you and Jett having flirty banter in the hallway and later during training 'accidentally' shot a bullet which shoots through the wall right next to her head. He barely glances at the wind radiant and mutter a half-hearted apology, but that glance was enough to give Jett the creeps.

- You notice how he's always near or around you and you decide to befriend him like the friendly person you were, you'll notice how his eyes fixate on you as if you were a precious jewel in the muddy dirt but don't pay it any mind.

- While you were chatting, he suddenly blurts out "You're beautiful," and immediately goes red in the face and stammering out apology after apology while he pulls his collar up to cover his face.

- You laugh as you try to calm him down, saying that you were flattered that he thought so. You place your hand on his shoulder while his back is turned to you and he freezes for a good 3 seconds before he looks back at you, his eyes had such intensity as they met yours. You pat and reassure him again, telling him that you thought he was handsome too.

- He decided something that day. Killing Omen wouldn't be worth it because it meant he'd have to cut off the valorant protocol, meaning he'd never see you again. Being with you was better than having to deal with his employers anyway.

- You, and your voice he couldn't get enough of, and your amazing skill and talent both in and off the battlefield, and your pretty face, and your pretty body, and your enchanting self that he wants all for himself.

- Back to actual headcanons. He's always very desperate to get your attention but he's too shy to actually ask for it. Which is why he'll always make sure to outperform everyone during training so that he can receive sweet praises from you that he'll repeat in his head for weeks.

- When you get injured out on the field on the same mission, Iso will go berserk. Even if it's just a graze. All you can do is hope that he'll be ok when he goes silent on the comms.

- Iso does NOT listent to reason and destroys his earpiece as he slowy digs his knife deeper into the enemies throat. How DARE they ruin your perfect body.

- He's always watching. Always in the darkest shadows where you never even know he's there. He has his eyes on you more than Cypher.

- Speaking of him, Iso has threatened Cypher to keep his prying eyes and ear aeay from you. He doesn't deserve to even be on the same world as you. His arena has space for a new corpse if need be.

- He doesn't take snacks offered to him by other agents. If you offer though, he wouldn't even eat it. He'd place it in his room with all the other memoirs he's collected from you.

- As time goes on, he gets braver. He starts putting his hands on your back, he initiates conversations, he offers you private training sessions and more. But that doesn't stop the ever growing urge to hold you, touch you, and keep you all to himself and not let anyone else even look at you.

- No one will get in the way. And I mean no one.

- If you get hurt again, he'll insist he'll patch you up himself. There's no need to go to Sage when he has an excuse to touch you can fix you up too.

- One day, you shoot your shot. You ask him out on a boba tea date, and he has to take a moment to compose himself. YOU were asking HIM out on a date? Was this a dream? Was this a prank by you and the others?

- Either way, he agrees with a soft smile, saying how he's been interested in you for a while and also wanted to ask you out but never knew how to. You laugh, your sweet, sweet, deliciously beautiful laugh he wants to hear more of and you joke about how you beat him to it, before setting up a time and meetup location before going off to your room to get ready.

- You don't notice the way his eyes are eating up the sight of you, and you don't notice how his soft smile turned into one of pure ecstasy and hunger. His face completely red at the idea of going on a date with you and is just so happy that he almost forgot about his plan to cause a minor life-threatening injury to Yoru for being such an asshole to you earlier that week. Almost.

#iso valorant #valorant #valorant iso #li zhao yu #iso #i love iso #valorant iso x reader #iso x reader #iso x reader hcs #valorant x reader #reader x valorant

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bucketsofmonsters · 1 year

Text

The Witch's Apprentice - Part 3

cw: demon summoning, prolonged isolation, voyerism, masturbation, vaginal fingering, size difference, more tags will be added as the story continues

male demon x afab reader

Word count: 5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

“It’s two days, I’ll be fine.”

It became clear after the thirtieth attempt to reassure her that your promises were doing nothing to settle her nerves but you refused to stop trying.

She was supposed to have left an hour ago but instead she’d been wandering around, checking that everything was in place over and over again. There was only so many times someone could check their warding before it became clear they were stalling.

She pointed accusationally in your direction as she lifted a rug to check once more that the carving underneath remained intact. “I need you to swear to me that you won’t try and pull anything. Just keep everything clean and stay out of trouble, okay?”

You nodded. “Promise.”

She left you with one final rule that you knew you’d be breaking. “Don’t be stupid.”

You stared out the window as she left, chin perched on the windowsill as you patiently waited.

She quickly exitted your line of sight, engulfed by the woods. When she did, you started counting.

one. two. three.

The wind blew through the leaves outside, the trees beckoning you forwards. They’d started to turn, shifting to bright reds and oranges. It suited them, like the bright colors poisonous animals had plastered across their backs.

one hundred. one hundred and one. one hundred and two.

You made sure to wait a beat between each number, refusing to accidentally speed through your counting. You wouldn’t get overeager. You wouldn’t blow this chance.

nine hundred ninety nine. one thousand.

You sprung up, your self imposed deadline complete. A thousand seconds and no sign of Eden turning back or losing faith in you. Whenever she turned back, she did it quickly, quick-witted and self assured even in her about-facing.

You tried to calm yourself, not wanting to summon your new second-favorite conversation partner with the frantic look you knew was in your eye right now.

Deep breaths. You’d done this before, you would be just fine.

You spoke the words slowly, with intention. Most of the waiting had already gone by, you could wait a few minutes more to make everything went right.

Finally, your patience paid off and Lucien appeared before you once more.

“Why didn’t you tell my witch about me summoning you,” you asked, skipping the formalities and rushing through your question, eager to reach the conclusion of the little script you’d been working over and over in your head.

“I thought she wasn’t your witch?”

You’d known he was going to dodge that question, you knew him well enough to figure that out by now. It was more of a primer than anything, establishing the subject of questioning.

“Are we friends?” It sounded a bit desperate but for the life of you you couldn’t figure out another way to phrase it.

“No.”

“Oh. Then why?”

“Friends don’t imprison each other in summoning circles.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to get your line of questioning back on track. “No, not why aren’t we friends, why didn’t you tell her? I can’t think of any other reason than you not wanting me to get in trouble and stop summoning you.”

“Then you lack imagination. Why aren’t you whispering?”

“What?”

“You always whisper, even when she’s out,” he noted. “You’re not whispering anymore.”

“I just got excited.” Your tone was too defensive to be convincing, not that it would have mattered anyways. He had a knack for figuring you out regardless of how hard you tried to hide things.

“Maybe. Do you know what I think? I think she’s left you alone and it’s made you braver.”

“You’re good at reading people.”

“Only when they’re easy to read,” he said offhandedly and you bristled at the comment. “So that’s it, is it? The cat’s away?”

“She doesn't mind, it's just a summoning.”

He tisked at you and you knew he didn’t believe you. “Keep lying to me and maybe I won’t cover for you next time.”

Maybe that was a hint for why he hadn’t told her. “If you’re trying to threaten me it won’t work,” you informed him. “Tell her if you want, you won’t be able to make me do anything.”

He appraised you and the confidence you were doing your best to put on. “I suppose we’ll see about that. Sweet of you to keep dragging me here and letting me try.”

That mocking tone was becoming ever so familiar to you.

“I just-” Your words were cut off by a bang coming from outside the house.

Your head jerked towards the door, where the echoing noise sounded like it had come from, and Lucien chucked behind you.

“Maybe you aren’t as alone as you thought you were.”

The demon’s teasing was immediately forgotten in favor of desperately trying to figure out what was going on. It had sounded like it came from behind the front door but it was far louder than any knocking you could imagine. It almost sounded like someone was barrelling into it.

The air was very still as you waited, staring the door down as if maybe if you looked hard enough you’d be able to see whatever was on the other side.

You’d half convinced yourself you’d imagined it when it happened again, the sound of someone slamming into the door echoing throughout the room.

Noone was supposed to be able to see this place at all, the warding kept anyone other than you and your witch from percieving it, let alone getting near enough to bang on the door. This wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be happening.

Surely Eden had protected you against this, right? She would never have left you vulnerable, You’d watched her check every single piece of warding in the house, you were safe.

The pounding at the door told a different story.

You should dismiss Lucien. He was a loose canon in a dangerous situation, having him around could only be a liability.

And yet you just stood there, frozen.

No dismissing the demon, no moving towards the door, just standing absolutely still.

At the sound of the next crash, you shrunk closer to the summoning circle without thinking, Lucien’s snickering getting louder as you pulled back and towards him, panic running through you.

Lucien was doing exactly what you’d expected, he was taking advantage of the situation.

You hadn’t even realized he’d begun talking, too focused on the pounding on the door. “I wonder who’s out there? You’re running out of options, better think fast.”

Your eyes darted around, looking as if there was anything in this room that you didn’t already know about, know exactly how it worked and where it lay. Nothing in here could help you. Maybe it could help Eden, or someone with some real power, but not you.

He was right, you were running out of options. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have any.

It was a stupid idea. Of course it was. But you liked your chances better with your demon than with whatever was out there.

You dragged your foot across the floor, through the summoning circle, breaking the continuous lines Eden had so painstakingly drawn.

For a moment he did nothing, staring down at you incredulously, completely unmoving.

The inaction didn’t last long. His arm shot out and yanked you towards him, wrapping around you as you were pulled into his chest protectively. You couldn’t see anything, your vision shielded by his embrace.

The banging stopped.

The first thing you noticed when you pulled away wasn’t the sudden change in setting.

The first thing you noticed was that you were hungry. No, not hungry, maybe you were tired? Or maybe you were lonely. You needed something, that much you were certain of. You were tired of waiting.

“How’s it hitting you?” He was looking down at you and only then did you realize you were still wrapped up in his arms.

“What?”

“Hell. How’s it feel?”

Is that what this was? It didn’t feel like eternal torment or burning fires, it just felt like want.

He let go of you and you pulled away, stumbling backwards. A hand grasped your arm, stopping you from tumbling to the ground.

He propped you up, gently leaning you against the wall so you could support yourself, hovering next to you to make sure you wouldn’t collapse again.

“There you go, easy does it.”

He left you to catch your breath and sort through the flurry of sensations and you leaned against the wall, catching your breath as you took in your surroundings.

Hell was cozier than you ever could have imagined. There were soft pillows and blankets scattered across the floor and you wanted nothing more than to curl up on one and fall asleep forever.

Everything was bright and colorful, the floors and walls covered in deep, rich shades. It was an assault on your senses. You were practically certain that Lucien was the only thing in the room that came in a shade of gray.

The colors were muted only by the lighting. It was dark, with an ambient glow like it was coming from candles but there were none in sight. Every time you tried to trace the glow it led nowhere, just drifting through the air as it pleased. It wasn’t dark enough that you couldn’t see properly but just dim enough that it made the room feel even cozier.

The wall you were leaning against was draped in a tapestry covered in the depiction of a bright, setting sun. You were close enough that you could see every stitch, your head leaning against a bright orange.

“What… why am I here?” you managed, not sure you had anything but questions in you right now.

“Didn’t have anywhere else to take you. I didn’t think you’d actually free me.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Do you want a tour?” he asked casually, like you weren’t experiencing the most confusing torrent of sensations that had even filled you.

You stared up at him incredulously.

He rolled his eyes at your furrowed brow. “Don’t worry so much. Besides, if you faint the pillows will break your fall.”

Against all odds, that was mildly reassuring. No matter what happened, it did seem practically impossible to hurt yourself on anything in here.

He hovered above you as you started to walk, making sure you wouldn’t immediately collapse. You managed to walk just fine, although every bone in your body was begging for you to just lie down right now and go to sleep.

It was a quiet, small space, completely empty except for the two of you.

“Where’s everyone else?” you asked, your voice instinctively hushed so as not to disturb the peace.

“They’re all out there, this place is mine. I would stay in here if I were you, other demons might be less nice to a strange little human invading their space.”

It probably should have registered sooner that this was his home. You weren’t sure where else you thought he’d taken you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You aren’t. Just stay put, okay?”

Amidst the sea of soft things was a little table covered in food. Not just any food, it appeared to be exclusively sweets, dozens and dozens of them.

He presented it to you. “This is where I usually take humans,” he said. “You tend to respond well to it.”

You didn’t even reply, your instincts taking over as you sat by the table and immediately grabbed some chocolate, nothing more important to you than eating in that moment.

He stood across from you, just watching. “I’m shocked sloth didn’t get to you first, you really looked like you were nodding off there.”

You looked up from your food. “What?”

“You were staring at the pillows and you seemed like you might take a nap. This place, it encourages you to act on your desires. It isn’t strictly limited to the sins but those are the most common things you humans deprive yourselves of so they tend to pop up here. Most people get angry or self-absorbed or horny or fall asleep, you seemed like the sleepy kind.”

You half absorbed his explanation. At the very least it drew your attention away from the food and onto him.

“You’re really pretty, have I told you that?” you asked as you stared up at him.

“Maybe I was wrong, maybe you’re stopping by lust first.”

“No, not in a lust way, just in a look at you way. You seemed very convinced I’d be scared of you but like, you’re super pretty. Isn’t that a thing, demons being pretty? Lucifer was gorgeous from what I can remember, that’s part of the deal isn’t it.”

“I’m not pretty, I’m scary.”

“You’re not scary, you’re just big. Big and gray and also pretty. And your teeth! They're so big and sharp, I think about them more than I probably should.”

“Alright you need to get some rest, you’re getting a bit too honest.”

He couldn’t stop you fast enough. “Do you know who else is pretty?

He jumped in immediately. “Don’t say her name.”

You giggled. “Right, you’re not supposed to know that. Sweet of you to warn me. My sweet demon. I think I’m growing on you. She’s gorgeous though, have you seen her? And she’s incredible and smart and talented. She’s literally perfect, have you noticed that?”

“Not how I would describe her,” he spat, his resentment clear in his tone. “Don’t you feel a little bitter towards her? I’ve seen how she treats you. Or at least jealous of how much better at magic she is than you are.”

You shook your head adamantly. “No, of course she’s better at it than me, she’s perfect. Weren’t you listening? Perfect perfect witch.”

Lucien groaned. “Alright, I don’t know if I can stomach this much longer. You should try and sleep this off, you’ll adjust faster if you just give into it for a bit.”

You fell backwards onto one of the many pillows strewn about, giggling as you went down.

You managed to catch Lucien rolling his eyes playfully between fits of giggles before you were being swept across the floor, the pillow you were laying on being dragged over to Lucien in the corner.

Being moved across the floor didn’t bother you. You snuggled into the red pillow as Lucien haphazardly tossed a blanket on top of you. The way it fell, it was just draped across your midsection but you were warm enough already that you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

As he moved to stand, you grabbed at him, trying to keep him with you. You knew you couldn’t actually hold him there but your sleep addled brain insisted you try.

“You should stay,” you said.

“It could’ve been anger,” he bemoaned. “That would have been so much easier to deal with. Why couldn’t you just get angry?”

Despite his protests he didn’t pull away, settling down next to you as your grip remained firm on his arm.

It only took a heartbeat to fall asleep, it overtaking you the second you gave yourself permission to drift off and fall into a restful, dreamless sleep

The first thing you felt when your mind left its fuzzy, exhausted state was embarrassment as your ramblings from the day before came flooding back to you. It wasn’t the most dignified you’d ever been but you supposed there were worse things you could have done than go on a compliment rampage. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself to cull the tides of the self-consciousness.

He was right, the sensations had settled down, or at least you’d gotten more used to them. They were still there, bubbling under the surface, making everything feel a little easier, but you felt like you could think properly. Like you were yourself again.

As your eyes cracked open you saw the same room you’d fallen asleep in. “I’m still here,” you muttered, the observation shattering the thought in the back of your head that perhaps this had all been an elaborate dream. You noticed Lucien looking down at you from beside you, your hand resting on his arm. “You’re still here,” you noted, somehow more surprised by him remaining next to you than by you still being tucked away in his little corner of hell.

He tactfully ignored your second observation. “You’re stuck here until I get summoned again. I can’t go back to your little cabin otherwise, your witch’s warding made sure of that.”

You pulled your hand away from him but that didn’t stop his unblinking gaze. It almost felt like he was dissecting you.

You stared back. He looked more lively here, his face brighter than it was in your world. He wasn’t on edge like he was when you usually saw him. This was his turf, it was your turn to be anxious and defensive.

And yet you just weren’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to be, it felt too safe here for that.

“You’re harmless,” he muttered. “I can’t believe you’re really harmless.”

“I’m not harmless,” you responded playfully, wanting desperately to break the tension. “I’m so scary, the opposite of harmless.” You scrunched up your nose and barred your teeth in the closest approximation to scariness you were capable of.

All he could do was laugh and watch as your thoughts drifted from your newfound scariness back to your supposed harmlessness.

“What would the opposite of harmless even be?” You asked. “I’m… what, harmful? No, that's not right.”

Despite the lengthy nap, your brain still felt a little slow, trying to quietly convince you to drift right back off to sleep on the soft, plush pillows. It would be so easy, it was so warm in here, and it smelled nice too. Just a few more minutes and then you’d be well rested. That was all you needed.

“Hell’s nice,” you noted as the room tried to lull you back to sleep. “It isn’t supposed to be nice, is it?”

“It’s not supposed to be anything, it just is. You shouldn’t be here anyways, it wasn’t made for you.”

“Then why did you take me here?”

“I told you, I didn’t have anywhere else to take you.”

“You could’ve left me,” you noted astutely.

“It’s be a shame to lose a perfectly good ally”

That didn’t sound right. “So I'm your ally now?”

”It’s starting to seem like it”

“Well thank you. For saving me. You really didn’t have to. I could be dead right now. Or worse than dead, and now I’m safe and warm and remarkably comfortable.”

“It was my turn to be a good host anyways.”

You nodded solemnly. “Mmhmm, turntables and all that.”

“You’re really just sleepy, aren’t you?”

“Don’t say that like it’s weird. It’s not my fault you’ve built a house that’s basically just a big bed, I can’t help it.”

“Go back to sleep then.”

“No!” you insisted. “You’re actually answering my questions, I can’t stop now.”

“What more questions could you possibly have?”

“Plenty. For starters, why didn’t you let me say her name?” There were decidedly more poignant questions you could have asked but right now, that was the thing that made the least sense to you.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He turned to leave, it apparently being a bridge too far for him.

“No, please don’t go, you were giving me so many answers! Please tell me,” you pleaded with him

“Just think of it as a thank you for opening up my summoning circle.”

“Was you saving me not my thank you?”

The question was genuine but he seemed stricken by it anyways. He looked down, avoiding your gaze.

“Listen, I need to head out for a bit. I meant what I said, you need to stay put, okay? Just take another nap or something.”

“Eventually, I will stop being tired,” you countered, knowing you couldn’t just keep taking naps forever.

“One would think, and yet here you are.”

Your yawn did anything but help your argument. He seemed to take that as his cue to depart, leaving you behind with no one left to protest to and instead opting to just take one more nap.

Apparently you’d been correct, eventually your body did stop prioritizing sleep in favor of other wants.

Thoughts you’d been pushing down started to tug at the corners of your mind, demanding your attention. Your thoughts drifted where they shouldn’t. To Eden, her soft hands and sharp words. To Lucien’s teeth and his broad frame and shockingly sweet demeanor for a demon that she’s freed from the prison she’d put him in.

It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up with thoughts like this but they were harder to push away here. You longed for your body to just beg for sleep again, that was a desire it was much easier to deliver on.

No matter how hard you tried your mind continued to wander. Tossing and turning on the pillows did nothing to stop the desire that was bubbling up to the surface.

Eventually it became too much to bear. Lucien was gone, it wasn’t like you’d be bothering anyone.

Your hand snaked down under the waistband of your pants. Your amplified desire meant you were already soaking wet before you’d laid a finger on yourself.

You knew it was the lust doing it, that normally you’d just force the thoughts away and pretend you’d never had an untoward thought about either of the only two people you cared about.

The lust of this place didn’t come accompanied with the guilt that you were used to.

Letting go felt good. It had been building up for too long, it needed a release and your body was determined to find one.

Your fingers slipped inside easily. The two fingers curled up but they did nothing other than frustrate you. Your walls clenched and you wanted more, you wanted them.

It smelled like him in here. It had been so hard to place earlier, just filling you with comfort, but now you couldn’t notice anything else.

“Someone’s been busy.”

You practically jumped out of your skin as the sound of Lucien’s voice filled the room. You pulled your hand away from yourself, wedging your legs together in a desperate attempt to cling to some of your dignity.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.”

He shook his head dismissively. “Don’t let me stop you.”

You hesitantly let your legs fall open once more, not wanting to let go of the feelings that had overtaken you.

He broke eye contact with you as you did. “I’ll leave you to tire yourself out.”

You whined out, “No, stay. Please”

He halted his retreat, remaining propped up in the doorway, his eyes refusing to wander from yours. Part of you couldn’t help but wish he’d look away, that there was something else he might want to see from you right now.

You’d expected more smugness from him. Normally it radiated from him anytime you showed any signs of vulnerability and right now, you were more vulnerable than you’d even been.

But there were no traces left of it on him, replaced by curiosity and interest and something that you just couldn’t place.

“Who are you thinking about?” he pressed, breaking the silence. “It’s not like you have many options.”

Any sense that would normally make you keep your mouth shut had long since abandoned you. “Both of you.”

“Both of us? Greedy. Your eyes might be bigger than your stomach, little one.”

Your fingers weren’t enough. You wanted more, wanted to be filled, wanted him.

You whined out again.

“Why are you complaining?” he asked, some of that incessant smugness returning. “I’m doing what you asked, I’m staying.”

You both knew what you wanted but he was going to make you say it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be annoyed with him for it.

“Ask nicely,” he goaded.

“Please touch me.”

He didn’t make you ask twice, sinking down to your side and gently moving your hand away.

The anticipation was burning through you as his hand rested on your stomach, slowly drifting down as if he wanted to let you get accustomed to his touch first.

His hand drifted even further down, his thumb caressing the inside of your clothed thigh as he stared down at you. Your breath caught in your throat as he finally touched you, his hand slipping into your pants and meeting the wetness that was seeping out of you.

He slowly thrust one finger inside of you and you already felt filled, more than your fingers could ever fill you. The rough palm of his hand rubbed against your clit as his finger dove deeper inside of you and you bucked up in search of more friction.

You went to move your hand back down instinctually and he pulled it back up immeidately, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head with his unoccupied hand.

“You asked for my help, let me take care of you,” he insisted.

His eyes raked up and down your form as you lay writhing beneath him.

“You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you. You should have freed me sooner, I would’ve been more convincing if I knew this was what you wanted. Just a little nap and for me to fuck you into the ground, is that right?”

A strained, “please” escaped you and he just chuckled.

“Maybe some other time. For right now let’s just focus on you. Come for me, I know you want to.”

His thumb rubbed up and down your pinned wrists, as if trying to soothe you while you pushed your hips up into his hand. It was comforting, giving you something to focus on as he worked you over, his finger curling up while his thumb rubbed over your clit.

Your walls clamped down around his finger as a pressure began to build up in your core. His movements on your clit stayed steady as he thrusted his finger in and out of you.

You could feel your heart pounding in your ears, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you reached your peak. More whines escaped you as your hips pushed up, entirely overwhelmed and yet still pleading for more.

White hot pleasure raced through you, all that tension unwinding with a snap. He remained steady, working you patiently through your orgasm.

It felt like it lasted an eternity, wave after wave of repressed need being released all at once.

You were panting as you came down, your limbs feeling as if they were made of lead. You didn’t think you could stand up even if you needed to.

Lucien pulled out of you as you lay there, recovering. He pulled his middle finger up to his mouth and you watched it, slick with your juices, pass right by his lips. His focus had finally shifted from your form, eyes shut as he tasted you.

He wasn’t putting on a show for you like he normally did, like it was more for his sake than for yours.

This place refused to let you stop wanting and before you knew it you were asking more of him.

“Can you stay?” you asked once more, desperate in an entirely different way and trying not to let it seep into your words quite as much this time.

He complied, lying next to you on top of the soft pillows that you were certain had seen far worse things than this.

You were more aware of how this place affected you now but you still could barely stop yourself from just speaking. That’s all hell really was, it seemed. Not torture and misery but confessions and honestly, real honesty.

“Thank you for staying.”

“You didn’t need to ask, I wouldn’t have left you.”

A little voice in the back of your head swore that couldn’t be true, that he was just saying it for your sake, and you were too tired to counter it. “Oh. Well, thank you anyways.”

“You know what? I didn’t think it was possible to hate your witch any more but after getting to know you I think I’ve managed it. You’re too used to being alone, it isn’t right.”

“You’re too hard on her.”

“You’re not hard enough on her. She’s isolated you completely, you can’t honestly tell me it doesn’t make you angry.”

You weren’t sure why he could seem to understand it, incapable of wrapping his head around your feelings for her when he was so good at reading you in practically every other way. “No. It makes me feel very very alone but it doesn’t make me angry. She does what she has to, I’m lucky I even have her. I don’t think I’d mind it so much if someone actually wanted me.”

“I’m sure you’re wanted.”

“I’m not. I don’t even think E- my witch wants me but at least she lets me stick around and takes care of me.”

He graciously let the near slip of Eden’s name pass by once more, instead opting to focus on what you’d said. “That’s why you keep summoning me.”

“Mmhmm. I told you that, not my fault if you didn’t believe me.”

“The lonely little apprentice. I should give your witch a piece of my mind, it’s inhumane to keep you in these conditions.”

You snorted. “I’m not her pet.”

“I think someone should tell her that.”

Despite the tone of his questions, you couldn’t help but miss her the more you talked about her. “How long do you think I’ll be here?”

He shrugged. “I suppose that just depends on when your witch gets back. Broken summoning circle on the floor, her little apprentice gone, it doesn’t take much to figure out what happened.”

It was a horrifying scene to imagine. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be worried about how upset she would be at you, the image of Eden walking into an empty house with a broken summoning circle on the floor and whatever else had been done to your home was all you could think about.

“What if the people who were trying to break in are still there?” You hadn’t even considered the fact that they might hurt her when she got back. Guilt flooded through you as you thought about how carefree and happy you’d been while she could be in real danger.

You felt his chest raise in a sigh beside you. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

His frustration at your concern for her was understandable but discouraging nonetheless.

He’d started to connect with you but there was nothing you could do about the two of them. Your two favorite people, your two only people, forever at odds.

He gently nudged you out of your thoughts, pulling your chin up to make you look at him. “You can overthink later. Sleep now while you’re here, while it’s easy. Who knows, maybe you won’t sleep for a full day this time.”

“Did I really sleep for that long?” you asked, barely fighting off a yawn.

“You did. It’s alright though, don’t worry, I’ll wake you up if you need to be up.”

You began to drift off, sleep coming quickly to you once more.

You weren’t worried about anything. You believed him.

#terato #demon x reader #demon x human #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #demon #the witch's apprentice #this was such a fun chapter to write #the calm will not last but I love their little sweet moments

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lilliancdoodles · 20 days

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"You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know" - AA Milne, Winnie the Pooh.

Happy (belated) Birthday to the original eggs!!

Click for better quality. Design notes/details below the cut.

I started this on April 3rd but im really bad at staying focused so here it is 3 days later :). I got the idea for this from an old Aphmau fanart I had saved in pintrest ages ago. It got deleted at some point and i didn't notice, but oh well.

The base idea is the one year old kid talking to their day 1 / first week self. I wasn't in the fandom at that point, but I have rough ideas on what each egg did early on and based it off of that.

Chayanne: - My first idea for this had Chayanne in the 'Smarter' position. I tried to match up the kids to what I thought was least likely. I eventually switched this. I thought Chay would fit better in the 'Braver' spot as I imagine that older Chay would encourage his younger self knowing what was coming. He was really excitable at the beginning, but over the last year, he has realized that he is braver than he thought. - I gave baby Chay an iron sword because early on diamonds weren't allowed. Older Chayanne has a diamond sword to show the growth and changes in Quesadilla island and himself.

Dapper: - Dapper was originally in the 'Braver' position. I changed them to the 'Stronger' position, but they could work for either. I imagine after having like 7(?) kidnappings Dapper wants to tell his younger self that he's strong. - Baby dapper his holding his first pet slime. I don't know what its name is, but I know that Dappers first pet was a caged Slime.

Leonard@: - Leo was originally in the 'Loved' position, this was changed cause I thought that Ramon would be better there. - baby leo is holding the camera they used a lot at the beginning of the server - I personally just really like how I drew older Leo. They give off cool older sibling energy. - Personal HC for Leo: Leos eyes change color depending on which parent they were around most recently. Foolish: Green Vegetta: Purple Both: sectoral heterochromia with both Green and Purple This is why baby Leo's eyes are both green and purple, cause they were around both of their parents at that time. While older Leos eyes are green because they've only been with Foolish for so long.

Ramon: - Ramon was originally in the 'Stronger' position. I changed this cause of how much love has to do with Ramon and his story (I am biased I apologize) - Baby Ramon is holding a Nautilus Shell. This was the first gift Fit ever gave to Ramon. - Older Ramon showing Baby Ramon a firefly because fireflies remind them of Fit. - a TINY detail that you can barely see, but older Ramon has pac-man shaped irises.

#qsmp #qsmp fanart #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp dapper #qsmp leonarda #qsmp ramon #LCDoodles #I tried to be more extreme with my shading for this piece #Also tried to do some weighted line but I don't know if it worked or not #I like how it turned out but I need to experiment more

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ebullientheart · 9 months

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bulletproof vest. aaron hotchner x reader

content — hurt/comfort. fluff. fem!bau!reader. brief references to typical bau violence. marriage. requested by anon.

you have a nightmare that, for once, is unrelated to your line of work.

your jobs are quite literally nightmare material. arson, murder, and a volley of heinous crimes you spend days and nights peering into. it is entirely unsurprising these villains chase you into the realms of subconsciousness, living in your minds as payment for delving through theirs. almost poetic.

so later, when your adrenal gland gets itself under control, you’ll likely find it funny that your scare came from something objectively less terrifying than your daily life. but in the moment, it feels just as horrible as being hunted by an unsub, or being forced to shoot, or finding yourself utterly defenceless.

all the typical signs of an activated fight or flight invade your body as your eyes peel open. you force yourself to sit and push your pillow upright against the headboard, swiping your damp palms over the sheets and trying to calm your heart. you think its intense pounding is probably what wakes aaron, whose head is right by your chest.

he rasps your name, momentarily confused at your shift in position. he reaches for your bare arm and you resist the urge to shrug him off in your paranoid state. it doesn’t take long for him to work out what’s got you trembling, too familiar with them himself.

“nightmare?” at any other time, you’d be entranced by his rough cut morning voice.

you shrug, whispering back as you’re conscious of jack asleep just down the hall, “i’m alright, babe, go back to sleep.”

with a quiet groan as he stretches his limbs out to sit also, he brings a warm hand to your shoulder blades. it’s firm and consistent, a presence you crave.

“you can’t lie to your husband.” he smiles, trying his best to remind you that he’s not just a fleeting comfort.

you scoff, trying your best to sound braver than you feel, “yeah, cos he’s a profiler.”

“a profiler in love with you,” he affirms, “talk to me, honey. was it foyet? the silencer? piano man?”

your laugh is watery as he lists off evils from your real world. you shake your head, covering his free hand with your own to politely cut him off.

“s’none of them. just a nightmare.”

aaron smiles fondly, “yeah?”

“yeah.”

he’s almost incredulous as he muses, “i didn’t know we could get those anymore.”

again, you laugh, and pride blooms in his chest. he’s not exactly known for his humour, and it stokes something nice in him that he can elicit that chuckle from you, even through your tears. still, he notes the self-deprecating undertone to the sound, and moves to pull you further into him.

“don’t be embarrassed.”

you nudge him, “stop that, we’re not supposed to profile each other.”

“i can’t help it, i know you too well.”

shuddering lightly at the memory of your cold fear, you concede, “there are worse things.”

he agrees and locks you to his front as he eases both of you back down to the mattress, not bothering to fix your pillow as you lay across him like a bulletproof vest. that’s how aaron makes you feel in moments like these; bulletproof.

#🤍ebullientheart #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #bau!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hurt/comfort #fluff #aaron hotchner x reader #fem!reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort

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romancingdaffodils · 7 months

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Drunken Monologues

Certified Mind Blower

remus lupin x gender neutral!magical!reader

fluff fluff pure fluff with a tiny sprinkle of Remus being silly about his furry little problem.

Remus Lupin is the cutest cutie that ever did cute!

You fell asleep at his house, in his bed, beside him. Despite what your ‘drunken’ self may have wanted Remus just put you to sleep. Then, you wake up to the sound of his voice and to the scent of something sweet. Oh, and a splitting headache.

haii did you miss me i bet you did (lots of love lilac)

ps i think this picture is super cute because my best friend taught me how to play backgammon and i’m shit at it but it makes me happy :333 matt hitt is so cute

Remus Lupin has been and always will be unbearably pretty. So, when you woke up in his bed, it was a bit of a shock. However, that shock was soon overcome by the consequences of your previous actions. ‘Ow, my head.’ you thought, groaning once again. You were certain you hadn’t been that drunk, but maybe you were in denial. Not being that drunk should not warrant this awful headache. Suddenly, it dawned on you. You were alone in the bed. Surely Remus wasn’t the type to fuck off from his own house just because he wasn’t interested in you, right? Right? Sitting up, another sensation other than the splitting headache hit you. The smell of pancakes and the sound of Remus’s voice. Yum (for both). He’s talking, was he on the phone? You wanted to groan again, feeling like it was too much energy to move to the lounge. However, for more of Remus, you’d do anything.

“I’d say sorry Pads,” Sirius from last night, you remind yourself “But, I’m not sorry at all. They’re lovely, absolutely perfect.” he said, his voice muffled slightly by the walls. You can’t hear Sirius’s voice but you imagine he said something along the lines of ‘Honestly Moony, never expected that from you,’. As you had this thought, it set in he was talking about you. Fuck. Your face flushed and every single thing you’d said last night popped into your head. Late night slideshows of embarrassment now had enough fuel to last a life time. Padding out of the bedroom, you stood in the doorway to the lounge.

“Dunno why you’re so bothered, heard you went home with someone else anyway, Mckinnon was it? Or perhaps the bartender guy, who couldn’t leave you alone?” Remus said, chuckling down the phone. You were glad Sirius wasn’t bothered by your infatuation with his friend, seeing as he’d gone home with someone else. In front of him, two plates of pancakes were being coated in strawberries and chocolate spread. Sirius shouted so loud down the phone that you actually heard it this time.

“‘Cause it was a fucking betrayal Remus!” he whined and you couldn’t help but giggle at his remark. Immediately, the tall boys head whipped round and he flashed you a smile.

“Good bye Sirius.” he replied, hanging up instantly. “Made breakfast, how long have you been awake?” he asked, still grinning at you; you smiled back.

“Not long, thanks for breakfast. Looks good.” you said, trying desperately hard not to fumble over your words. Your cheeks were still flushed and your brain was still mush.

“You alright, love? Y’look- quite red. How’s your head?” he questioned, as though he could read your mind. The statement ‘you look quite red’ was obviously a teasing one. So, when you frowned up at him, his grin only grew. Stomach twisting, you tried desperately hard not to give him a reaction to his pet name.

“I’m fine, thanks. Plus, you’re completely and utterly awful.” you complained, still frowning up at him.

“I made you breakfast and I’m awful. You were a lot braver last night.” he teased, picking up the two plates and placing them down on the breakfast bar.

“I remember you being a lot less mean last night.” you complained, still scowling at him. Your false anger didn’t last long as you sat down and gave a big smile. “Thank you.” you added, tilting your head.

“ ‘m incredible, dunno what you’re talking about. And, you’re welcome. How’d you sleep?” he replied, sitting down next to you and stretching out his legs. He was so unbelievably pretty, even with messy hair and too big pyjamas - which consisted of a band shirt and joggers.

“Really, really well actually. You? Oh, by the way. Sorry about, you know, everything I said last night. I’m not normally like that.” you mumbled in between bites of freakishly good pancakes. Chocolate spread and strawberries were an unmatched combo (only lemon juice and sugar could beat it).

“Slept well too. Plus, quite enjoyed you telling me how, ahh what was it? Fucking gorgeous you think I am. But, seriously, no worries.” Remus teased, but his tone deepened at his last sentence.

“I feel like I forced my way into your home.” you giggled, smiling over at him sheepishly.

“I’m not complaining. Y’lovely. I know you heard me say that to Sirius, by the way. You don’t really have the whole poker face nailed, do you?”.

“No, no not really.” you mumbled, becoming flustered once again. Watching Remus, you admired his every move as he finished off the pancakes. Similarly, he couldn’t take his eyes away from you. “Let me help, like do the washing up or something.” you said, standing up as soon as you finished the food “I feel bad, you’ve been so nice.”.

“You really don’t have to, but, if you want to you can.” he stated, smiling over at you as you took the plate away. Quickly, you got to work on washing the plates. He laughed lightly as he watched you, shaking his head.

“Are you laughing at me?” you asked, feigning offence. Approaching you, Remus placed his arms on either side of you. You turned around, having finished with the washing up. His face was only a few inches away from your own.

“Would never.” he defended, looking down at you. Remus Lupin was ridiculously tall, pretty and charismatic. He dressed like a loser, but was in fact - in your eyes - quite the opposite. Right now, he was all you had ever wanted.

“Hi.” your mind was at a complete blank and the fact you had even formed a word was impressive. Your body felt like it was on fire.

“Hello, dove.” he purred, trying hard not to laugh at the look on your face. As calm as Remus presented himself, he had a dead giveaway. A tell. White knuckles. He was gripping the sink so tightly his knuckles had altered into a pale, almost translucent white.

“You didn’t kiss me yesterday.” you stated, feeling it rather appropriate for the situation. He smiled. You swallowed, hard.

“No, I didn’t. You were quite drunk. However, it would be awful of me to not kiss you today.” he murmured in response, leaning closer in. Your mind was filled with a repetitive sequence of two words. Kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. His teasing was criminal. He was driving you insane within the first day of knowing him and you couldn’t imagine the solace his kiss would bring.

“So awful,”. You had to bite your tongue to avoid begging him to kiss you.

Moving even closer towards you, Remus’s tight grip on the sink never once faltered. And, finally, sweet relief. He kissed you like you’d never been kissed before. Soft, sweet and somehow it held a passion that sent your brain into a wicked frenzy. When he pulls away, you pant.

It was good. Too good. Far too good.

“You’re so pretty, ‘s unfair.” he cooed, releasing the sink and running his hand through your hair. Tenderly, he tucked the majority of your unbrushed hair behind your ears. Remus didn’t really seem to mind the mess.

“Ha-ha. Haha.” you said. Yes, you spoke the sounds “Ha-ha.” Sounding somewhat like a maniac, all you could do was look up at him with pure adoration.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head. Once again, he was trying desperately hard not to laugh.

“Perfectly- Um, perfectly fine.” you confirmed, nodding your head as you spoke. Once again, the broken record spinning that was in your mind began its maniacal chant. ‘Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.’ you begged, silently.

“Still not got a poker face, dove.” he observed, leaning back in. Connection. Morning breath and all. Connection. You were praying you wouldn’t collapse of the sensation of it all. Your hands shakily found their way into Remus’s hair. Carelessly, his hands moved to your waist and pulled you closer.

In books it’s common for the writer to describe the characters emotions whilst kissing; it emphasises how good the sensation truly is. However, right now, you were going against all laws of literature. All you could think, feel or live was Remus. One day was all it took for you to be whipped. Truly, taken. One day.

With your head tilted upwards and your body pressed flush against the brown haired man’s, you could’ve died. Unfortunately, he pulled away. Taking in slow deep breaths, he peered down at you. The look in his eyes was different. He had attraction and affection, sure. But, there was something else there. His expression changed, now matching the look in his eyes. It looked like he was fighting some sort of battle with himself.

And, honestly? Remus was fighting a battle. He liked you, from what he could tell anyway. He liked you a lot. However, Remus Lupin was burdened with a curse he wouldn’t dare admit to anyone bar his closest friends. His so called furry little problem actually turned out to be a rather large problem. Especially when it came to people like you.

Famously, he was promiscuous. God knows the number of people he’d been with. But, those hookups could be reduced to a number. Someone like you couldn’t be inconsequential. In fact, he was of the firm belief you were going to be quite consequential in deed. Reducing you to another quick affection fix would be doing you a great disservice, so Remus thought anyway. So here he was, in his own kitchen, desperately pleading with his own brain to let him take you out. You kissed like some sort of God and you begged like a desperate follower; his body couldn’t decide which part of you he liked the most. In turn, that was what led to the ultimate decision to ask you out. Reminding himself of James, Sirius and Pete’s never ending pep talks, the lanky man understood his lycanthropy did not make him any less worthy of what he wanted. However, trying to act on that was an unbelievably difficult task for Remus. The typical excuse of chronic pain won’t cut it in a serious relationship, when he disappears for days. And, he felt a pang of guilt already fiddling with his intestines for any pain it would bring you. Making his mind up was proving to be far more difficult than he would’ve liked.

His heart won the fight, for once. Foolishly, he had put his logic driven brain aside and let his heart do the talking. (He’d soon come to realise it wasn’t foolish at all).

“Do you wanna go out, this week sometime?” he asked, continuously taking the lead. Grateful, you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, actually. I’d really, really like that.” you affirmed, once again nodding your head like a babbling idiot.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #remus x you #sirius black #james potter #marauders era #let me out #i’m dying #i hate writing

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onceuponapuffin · 10 days

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Part 2!

Beginning || Previous || Next

I'm so glad you all are as hyped about this idea as I am!! ^_^ So you know, I've been reading every Other Idea, every reblog, and I am going to use your input to inform my choices going forward. This is OUR fic, after all :)

***************

That FREAKING coffee. Your eyes narrow. Everyone is still in shock, no one has spoken yet. You use the hesitation to grab the coffee out of the Metatron's hands and chug it back all in one go. It's the perfect temperature for drinking. Because of course it is. You're vaguely aware of some sounds of protest from Metatron and Aziraphale, but they're monosyllabic, and don't need a response. That can wait till after you finish.

You pull the cup from your lips and exhale in an overly-dramatic fashion, and look at the Metatron. It tasted exactly like almond-flavoured coffee, and you still hate him. YUP. Good.

"I beg your pardon!" The Metatron gasps, his face glaring at you with fury behind his eyes. But, oh, you couldn't care less if you tried.

"Get. Out. Now," You say to him. Your eyes have figurative fire behind them, the rush of caffeine and adrenaline making you braver than you otherwise would be.

"Young person, have you any idea who you are ordering about? I think you'll find that you're of no authority to be making demands and that you would do best to see yourself out. Before you make any foolish mistakes," the Metatron's voice is cool like a spring creek, but you can hear the malice just below the surface; barely contained.

But here is the thing, my dear Reader, this is a self-insert fanfiction. And in this work of fiction you are brave and clever, and you have been grieving for everything this monster put our beloved Ineffable Husbands through for too long not to be very, very angry now that you have come face to face. And you are not about to let this go. Crowley and Aziraphale have spent so much time trying to defend the world, defend humans, defend those they don't even like! You'll be damned before you let them go undefended when you, yes you, with all your love for them and all your knowledge are standing right there. So defend them you shall. Someone has to. And right now no one else will.

"Do you," you begin after a moment, "have any idea who you are speaking to?"

For a moment, the Metatron looks taken aback. But only a moment, before his eyes grow cold again.

"I mean," you continue, "I just fell through the ceiling, and landed in front of you just as you were about to hand over that coffee. I don't know about you, but I can only think of one reason why that would have happened, and it has three letters."

In your peripheral vision you notice Muriel, counting on their fingers. Aziraphale chokes back a gasp. You can't see it right now, but you can FEEL Crowley's eyebrow from here. Metatron holds your gaze, not ready to give up just yet.

"If I were you, Metatron, I would pop on back to Heaven, and double-check a few things. Because, I mean, there must be a reason why I've been dropped here to interrupt you. Seems like your plan hasn't been...approved. Otherwise it would go forward as planned, yes?" Matching his arrogance is key here, and if you mess up, the consequences could be dire. You glance at your cuticles with an air of nonchalance. "Unless, of course, you presume to know better?" And to seal the deal, you raise your eyes in a sideways look that screams smug.

You've spent months reading meta analysis, character analysis, everything you can get your hands on about the final fifteen. You're pretty sure you have a solid enough grasp of the Metatron's character to pull this off. The main thing is to pretend you know what's actually going on, convince him that he doesn't, and buy some time.

Suddenly, your phone in your pocket buzzes four times, and your mouth tastes like salt. But, actually really pleasant salt. Like you just ate McDonald's french fries, or theatre popcorn. Something clicks into place in your mind.

"....Did you...just try to turn me into salt?"

Having spent months learning to read Michael Sheen's facial expressions, you see the Metatron's eyes shift through Surprise, then Curiosity, before landing on what you can only call Calculating.

So YUP for the salt. But apparently he can't touch you. Later, you tell yourself, we'll figure this out later. Get him out, and get him out now.

You take a step forward, herding him towards the door.

"It seems," you say to him, "That you have some things to clarify."

The Metatron huffs, and straightens his tie. "Indeed it does," he says, knives beneath the calm once again. "I shall return, Aziraphale, and when I do, I do hope we will have a chance to chat."

And so the Metatron leaves, as though it was his own idea. You follow him to the door. Oh, you shouldn't, but you just can't help yourself. And honestly, I don't think you should. You call to him as he walks away.

"And be careful with those questions, Metatron! We all know how THAT ONE goes, don't we?" And with that you slam the door.

While you're apologizing (very quietly and lovingly) to the bookshop door, you hear Crowley behind you.

"Nnnyeah, I have no idea what's going on, but I like this one."

You pull out your phone. There are five heart icons. Four that are full, and one that is just an outline. Oh. OH.

"FUCK," you say to yourself.

Now you look up. You're shaking like a leaf, but lucky for you, there's still a metric ton of adrenaline running through your system, allowing you to realize that you need to figure out what comes next.

Vote on This One too please (I'm only able to do one poll per post, so bear with me).

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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her-satanic-wiles · 3 months

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Soul Stalker

Dewdrop/Sodo x Transmasc!Reader

In the eerie moonlit forest, you are ensnared in a nightmarish game of hide and seek with the malevolent entity Dewdrop, whose demonic force has targeted you. The chilling objective is to survive until sunrise, seeking refuge in the Ministry’s cabin deep within the sinister woods. With the dawn as your only salvation, you must navigate the haunted forest, outwit the relentless demon, and reach safety before Dewdrop claims you as his prize. The race against time intensifies, making the night unforgiving as you strive to survive until sunrise in this twisted pursuit.

Masterlist ⛧ Realm of Souls Masterlist

Commissioned by @dantesunbreaker

Words: 10.9k.

Reading Time: 40 min.

Warnings: biting, choking, comparing loss of breath to drowning, degradation, dubcon elements, face slapping, fear kink, fellatio, fingering, “forced” cum drinking, “forced” fellatio, fucked dumb, hide and seek, horror, knotting, masturbation, mean dom!Dew, mild praise, mind break, monster fucking, I’m in my element, objectification, pain kink, physical violence/fighting, PIV sex, predator/prey, rough fellatio, self choking, skull-fucking, transmasc!Reader, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), vaginal sex, violence

This is low key giving Shia LeBeouf Live by Rob Cantor and I’m not mad about it. Also, kind of exaggerated like hentai, sorry not sorry.

Taglist: @dantesunbreaker @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @namelesshumanperson @gorie-talks-a-lot

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

You wanted to see. You’d asked him to show you because you didn’t think it would be this bad. As literal demons walking around the Ministry, the Ghouls were tame. Good. Calm. You’d never feel afraid of one, especially Dewdrop. But there you were, squashed into a narrow broom cupboard - more akin to a coffin than a cupboard - with your hand over your mouth and trying desperately to calm your breathing. As you’d asked, Dew had let the full demon out - and this twisted game of hide and seek became more high-stakes than you’d anticipated. At any point you could stop, just by screaming one word Dew would resume control again and return to his human-adjacent personality. But there was something about the fear, the predator hunting you down with eyes darker than night, sharp claws and teeth that could rip you to shreds if Dew didn’t have the control he promised you, that kept you from tapping out too soon. The game was on, the stakes were high, and your heart rate was out of control.

Your mind raced with thoughts - Dew was right behind you a moment ago: your screams echoing as you ran through the Ministry like your life depended on it, because it quite possibly did. Where was he now? Why did he let you escape? He should have been there, chasing you to the dead end and claiming his prize… so why was it quiet? Was he waiting you out? Was he outside? You pressed your ear to the thin door and listened for something, anything, to tell you that he was waiting. His breathing, his chuckling, something.

Nothing.

You rested your hand on the door handle and pushed it down gently… slowly… silently. You opened it briefly, your body tense and prepared to run if you needed to. The door cracked open a small bit and you expected to see Dew’s unmasked face in the slither.

Nothing.

You got braver, opening the door just enough to stick your head out. You peeked left. Right.

Nothing.

Dread pooled in your stomach. You looked up.

Nothing.

“___.” He called, your name ringing on his lips like a twisted song. It was quiet. Distant. But too close for your liking. Quickly and quietly, you retreated back into the cupboard, closing the door with a hushed click. You held your breath. Listening. Waiting. “Where is he?” He asked, his voice more sinister than the tune he sang your name in. But still, it was soft, as though he were trying to draw you out in comfort. Lull you into his stomach. “Where’s my lovely… little… boy?”

You could hear his heavy boots clunk against the carpeted floors. Slow, deliberate steps amplified by the late time and all the Siblings tucked away in their beds, warm and safe from Dew’s wrath.

“I can smell you.” He told you. “I can smell your fear, ___.” You heard his claws scrape along the walls. “It smells divine.” He began trying each door along the corridor, tugging at the handles and swinging open the unlocked ones, grunting in frustration when you didn’t appear. That was when you realised, you didn’t lock the door. You put your hand on the lock and turned it, grateful that this room had the ability to lock it from the inside and you waited - listening to Dew getting closer and closer.

As Dew’s claws scraped against the walls, the scent of terror became an irresistible aroma for him, bringing him ever closer. The sound of the door handle being tried made you freeze in fear, the lock your only pitiful defence against the impending nightmare that awaited you in the Ministry’s shadowed halls.

With a gut-wrenching creak, the cupboard door shifted slightly as Dew applied force from the outside. Panic surged within you, and you held your breath, praying that the lock would hold. The eerie silence outside shattered as Dew’s low growl permeated the air. You gasped, but kept your hand over your mouth, praying that he didn’t hear you.

“I know you’re in there, my pet,” he hissed, the sinister undertone of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “There’s no hiding from me.”

The tension in the narrow space escalated as the door handle continued to rattle, Dew’s frustration evident in every metallic clang. Your mind raced, searching for an escape route or a hiding place within the cupboard that might shield you from his malevolent gaze.

Just as you felt the lock strain under the relentless assault, a sudden diversion disrupted Dew’s pursuit. A distant sound, a creak or a moan, drew his attention away momentarily. The cupboard’s door ceased its ominous rattling, and you could almost sense Dew’s predatory focus shifting elsewhere. You willed him away, silently praying and pleading for him to disappear.

In the stifling darkness, you hesitated, caught between the desperate urge to escape and the paralyzing fear of making a noise. Dew’s voice echoed in the corridor, distant but filled with malicious intent.

“I’ll find you, ___,” he murmured, his words sending a shiver down your spine. “No corner in this Ministry can keep you from me.”

Taking advantage of the momentary respite, you carefully cracked the cupboard door open, your eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. Dew’s footsteps echoed in the distance, drawing him away for now. With cautious steps, you emerged from the confinement of the cupboard, acutely aware of every creaking floorboard beneath your feet.

The ominous atmosphere enveloped you as you navigated the dimly lit corridor, each step a gamble between the safety of the shadows and the exposure to Dew’s relentless pursuit. The scent of fear lingered, a haunting reminder of the stakes in this demonic game of hide and seek.

You had to navigate the Ministry quickly but silently, keeping your toes light and your eyes and ears peeled for movement or sounds. You’d chosen midnight to play the game, knowing that the corridors would be quiet and you’d be able to avoid the traffic of the rest of the Ministry. And as Dew was only focussed on your scent, he’d gun for only you - hunt only you.

Turning a corner, your eyes flared as you caught a glimpse of activity in the distance. A fleeting shadow flickered along the edge of your vision, making your heart skip a beat. Fear rushed through your veins as you pressed against the cold stone wall, disappearing into the darkness like a spectre. The footsteps, rhythmic and deliberate, approached from around the corner. The shape of Dew’s thin figure appeared, his demonic aura producing an unsettling glow that twisted the air around him. His eyes, dark as the abyss, swept the passageway for any sign of your presence.

In the oppressive silence, you held your breath, praying that the darkness concealed you effectively. Every muscle tensed as Dew’s gaze lingered, seemingly aware of your proximity. The fear that had gripped you in the broom cupboard returned with a vengeance, clawing at your insides. Dew approached, mixed with the aroma of malevolence. The corridor seemed to narrow as his predatory senses zeroed in on the location where you had hidden yourself. Panic threatened to overtake you, compelling you to run, but deciding whether to reveal yourself became a tactical decision, a high-risk bet in the fatal pursuit. Despite your brain screaming at you, you held your ground, disappearing into an alcove without a door and remained still.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Suddenly, his form was right in front of you, illuminated by the glow of the candles. His long, silky blonde hair fell around his horns, and you couldn’t help but notice his otherworldly beauty despite the dire situation you were in. He could smell you - you know he could, any moment now he’d turn and he’d look at you.

He stepped closer towards the alcove, his nose sniffing like a dog as it searched, picking up your fear. You’d rested your hand on the stone, leaving your scent there, giving him a place to anchor onto. He sniffed, his nose getting closer and closer to your scentprint, and, with a growl, his long, demonic tongue emerged and licked the stone, tasting the sweat that had contaminated the brick. It was unsettling to watch, the way he allowed his tongue to feel over every nook and cranny, every bump of the brick. But he’d got a taste for you now.

Suddenly, his eyes flicked towards you, scanning the darkness before a smile appeared on his lips. “Hello, Brother.” He said, ominously, his mouth curving up into a wicked smile. He hovered over you, pinning you into the corner. Despite the petiteness of his stature, in that moment he was very oppressive, seeming to tower over you as you shrank back in fear. His sharp claws gripped at your body, and began to gather your black, monastic habit up at your hip, slowly exposing your body to the elements. He delighted in your fear - almost fed off of it. Enjoying every second you gave yourself to him, willingly or fearfully. It didn’t matter. He’d won. “I’ll claim my prize now.” He told you, those same claws running alongside the seam of your underwear and ripping them in half, allowing them to fall on the floor.

You could feel yourself growing wet at being caught by him, the pools of blackness where his eyes should have been mesmerising you into submission. Hypnotising you into letting him do what he wanted now that he had you. Your knees buckled as you felt him swipe over your bundle of nerves, uncaring where his claws landed. He chuckled when he felt your slick, using his other hand to hold up your robes while he sucked your essence off his hand. “Aren’t you a filthy little boy, hm?” He taunted, relishing the taste of you on his demonic tongue. “Getting wet from being caught. Just give yourself to me,” he moved back to your slit and began stroking, this time adding pressure and making you cry out, “lose the game, little one. I can show you pleasures my human form couldn’t possibly.”

“I w-won’t lose.” You stuttered, your hips moving of their own free will. Your mind didn’t want to lose, but now that Dew had you in his grasp, you couldn’t bring body to tear itself away from him. Giving in would mean he won. Cumming on his fingers like you so, desperately wanted to do would mean he won. But the mewls and whimpers that were escaping your lips were telling the truth, and Dew knew it. He had you, and there was nothing for it.

“Maybe, I’ll stick my cock into this tight, wet, heat, hm? Have you begging for it like the whore I know you are.”

The way his finger ran over your folds was enough to drive you crazy. Your hands gripped onto his skin as your eyes shut tight, hips bucking wildly against his hand and moans tumbling from your lips. You wanted to cum so badly, he’d got you so close already because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You wanted his fingers to dip inside you and fuck you, tapping against that spot only he had been able to reach.

Dew in demonic form was much scarier up close; obsidian eyes from corner to corner, pointed ears and long, goat-like horns that helped his face look like an inverted pentagram. His teeth were sharp, all of them jagged at the end as though he were some kind of shark. He smelled entirely of sulfur, of the Hells themselves, and such a smell shouldn’t be appealing, and yet, on him, it was glorious.

“Dew!” You whimpered, your voice growing louder with each passing second. You didn’t care if anyone heard anymore, at this point you were too far gone.

“That’s it, my precious boy. Give yourself to me. Give everything you have to me.”

No, you couldn’t let him win. In a moment of bravery (or stupidity), your knee collided with his balls and in his distraction, you pushed him aside and ran for it, your habit falling as you escaped him.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you darted away from the alcove, propelled by a surge of adrenaline. The echo of Dew’s pained groan mixed with the sinister laughter that followed you, echoing through the dim corridors of the Ministry. Panic gripped you, urging you to push through the terror and escape the clutches of the demonic entity. As you sprinted through the labyrinthine halls, you could hear Dew’s enraged footsteps behind you. His voice, now a guttural growl, reverberated through the air. “You can’t escape, Brother. I always get what I want.” His words were laced with a perverse satisfaction, and the threat hung heavy in the air.

The staircase loomed before you, a darkly illuminated plummet into the depths of the Ministry. Each stride you took carried the echo of your racing heart. The flickering lighting produced strange shadows on the walls, producing a bewildering dance of light and darkness that reflected the insanity in your head. As you descended, the air became colder, and the harsh atmosphere of the demonic hunt persisted around every turn. The walls appeared to close in, and the darkness got more ominous. Dew’s haunting, predatory laughter rang from above, tempting you to walk faster.

When you reached the lowest level, you found yourself in a dim corridor leading to the kitchen. The scent of stone walls combined with the distant aroma of past dinners, creating a bizarre sensory overload that only added to your worry. The corridor seemed to continue indefinitely, a terrifying road pushing you deeper into the unknown. Your footsteps resonated like sinister drumbeats, echoing along the stone corridors. The flickering candles created uneven shadows on the symbols, making them appear to dance illicitly.

As you approached the kitchen, the dark atmosphere intensified. The massive door stood before you, a portal to potential safety, and you pushed it open with frantic might. The kitchen, which was normally a source of warmth and sustenance, suddenly felt like a haven from the demonic creature that chased you, despite the cold and lifeless energy that exuded from it.

The room was dimly lit, with old wooden tables and abandoned cooking utensils casting eerie silhouettes. The scent of stale air mixed with the remnants of forgotten meals hung in the stillness. You ran towards the door, hoping you could escape through the back. But your stomach dropped at the realisation that the door had been locked, and this time there was no key to use to escape. You scanned the room for a hiding spot, your eyes darting between the dark corners and the silent gloom that clung to the walls.

Dew’s growls resounded along the hallway, as his footsteps became harder to ignore. Your movements were driven by panic as you looked for cover, eventually taking shelter behind a huge table that was flipped over. Your terror was suppressed by the adrenaline pumping through your system, but even still, it lay wide awake as Dew swung the doors open. Breathing heavily, you crouched behind the table, desperately trying to control the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows, playing tricks on your eyes and heightening the sense of imminent danger. The kitchen held an oppressive stillness, broken only by the distant echoes of Dew’s footsteps drawing nearer.

As you hid, you noticed a partially opened door leading to a pantry. The darkness within seemed like a tempting refuge, and you made a split-second decision to abandon your current position. Darting across the room, you slipped into the pantry and closed the door silently, enveloping yourself in pitch-black darkness. And this time, you made sure not to touch anything, and crouched behind multiple sacks of potatoes.

The air inside was thick with the musty scent of preserved goods. Boxes and cans lined the shelves, and your fingers fumbled in the dark as you sought a place to hide. Huddled among the supplies, you strained to listen for any signs of Dew’s approach. Time seemed to stretch agonizingly as you waited, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint sounds of Dew searching the kitchen. The demon’s guttural growls and muttered curses added to the suspense, amplifying the horror of the situation.

Suddenly, the pantry door creaked open, and you held your breath. Dew’s silhouette loomed in the doorway, his demonic presence sending shivers down your spine. His predatory gaze scanned the darkness, and you dared not move, praying that the pitch-blackness would conceal your presence. For a moment, it felt as if time had frozen. Dew’s eyes flickered over the pantry, his sharp senses on high alert. The air in the confined space became heavy with tension, and you could almost feel his gaze piercing through the darkness.

Then, with an unsettling chuckle, Dew withdrew, leaving the pantry door ajar. The relief was palpable, but you knew the respite would be short-lived. The demon was relentless in his pursuit, and the game of hide and seek persisted with an intensity that surpassed any nightmare.

You carefully pushed open the pantry door and glanced into the kitchen as Dew’s footsteps receded into the distance. For a while, it looked like the coast was clear, so you took advantage of the chance to continue your escape, making your way through the maze-like passageways of the Ministry while the sound of Dew’s chuckle lingered in your ears. The night was filled with more horrors than you could have ever imagined, and the demonic being was far from defeated. As you left, you picked up some napkins from the open bag and stuffed them in your pocket. If your transferred scent could make it easier for him to find you, then you’d just have to deal with using tools to help.

The journey to the Ministry’s main entrance felt like a descent into lunacy. The dimly lit corridors twisted and swirled, each step evoking the frightening recollection of Dew’s chase. The air was overly silent, punctuated only by the groaning of ancient floors beneath your weight. The flickering candlelight created bizarre eerie shapes on the walls, twisting the familiar surroundings into hideous shapes that appeared to mock your desperate escape. The diabolical patterns engraved into the stone walls seemed to writhe with terrible energy, and their unnerving glow added to the eerie atmosphere. This was the first time you’d ever felt unsafe here, and you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to feel it again.

The path to the front entrance took you through spooky passageways hung with images of long-forgotten characters, their gaze seemingly tracking your every step. The silence was hostile, interrupted only by the distant echoes of Dew’s walking as he continued his unrelenting pursuit somewhere off into the distance, but far too close for comfort. The foreboding atmosphere added to the sense of impending doom, and your breath stuck in your throat with each step.

As you approached the entryway, the blackness appeared to deepen, engulfing the flickering flame and throwing the passage into near darkness. The suffocating air clung to your skin, and a chilly perspiration covered your palms as you grappled for the front door handle. To your disappointment, the door resisted your attempts. It was locked, a barrier between you and the potentially safe outside world. Panic poured through you, and the realisation that you might not be able to escape from this wicked game settled like an anchor in your chest.

A horrible sound echoed across the hallway, a strange combination of Dew’s low growls and the frightening laughter that had grown synonymous with your tormentor. The demon was closing in, and the front entry, which had once been a source of hope, now appeared to be the portal to a hellish doom. Desperation drove your actions as you searched for a key, a method to unlock the door and escape the Ministry’s evil grip. The distant echoes of Dew’s approach became louder, his ravenous presence drawing ever closer. Dark figures appeared to creep over the floor, reaching for you like the tendrils of an unknown nightmare.

With shaky hands, you continued your desperate hunt for an escape route, the darkness of the corridor pushing in on you like a creature unto itself. As no key was available, you took a leaf out of Dew’s book and began trying doors, using the napkin you’d picked up from the kitchen earlier. This lead you farther and farther from the front entrance, but even so, there had to be some way out.

Finally, a door opened and you found your way inside, celebrating silently and shutting the door behind you. It wasn’t until you’d turned to lock it, you’d realised where you were. “Papa.” You said, looking at the photos of the late Papa Emeritus III’s past that sat framed on the drawers and shelves. Layers of dust hung in the air like ethereal strands, catching the meager light that filtered through the closed curtains. The atmosphere in the office was stifling, as if the very walls revealed the Ministry’s secrets. The air was dense with strange silence, interrupted only by the slight creaking of the floorboards beneath your cautious steps. A sense of intrusion washed over you, as if the room contained a memory that should be kept private. The place appeared stuck in time, unaffected by the passage of days or years. Forgotten papers were thrown around the desk, their contents concealed by collecting dust. An exquisite chair stood behind the desk, covered in a faded velvet covering reminiscent of a former period.

Your eyes were drawn to the window, a feeble source of outside illumination in the darkness of the room. The curtains, heavy with neglect, clung to the window frame like cobwebs. As you approached, the outside world came into focus, revealing a distorted view of the moonlit landscape beyond. And, much to your relief, the window was unlocked.

You lifted the sash, and climbed out, body shivering in the cold night and the snow that was falling onto your body. As you turned to close the window, you heard Papa Terzo’s clock strike the hour. You were only two hours into the onslaught, but you were outside, now fearing the horrors that awaited you between the trees.

The landscape beyond the Ministry grounds was eerily still. The moon threw an ethereal tint on the freshly fallen snow, transforming the environment into a strange dreamscape. The trees, their branches heavy with winter frost, stood like quiet guardians in the moonlight. You felt fear as you took your first steps into the unknown. The crunch of snow beneath your boots reverberated through the silence, each step a reminder of the desolation that surrounded you. The woods, once a haven of peace, now harboured the threat of unseen horrors.

Two hours into the night, and the ordeal had only just begun. The moon hung like a spectral lantern in the sky, casting long shadows that played tricks on your senses. The snowfall intensified, creating a hushed symphony that accompanied your every step.

Fear gnawed at the edges of your consciousness as you ventured deeper into the forest, the path ahead obscured by the interplay of moonlight and shadow. Every rustle of the leaves, every distant howl of the wind, sent shivers down your spine. The horrors that awaited between the trees became an unknown; a nightmare that unfolded with each passing moment.

With the Ministry now a distant silhouette against the night sky, you pressed on, driven by the urgency of survival and the haunting awareness that Dew was still looking for you within the walls of the Ministry, and he hadn’t realised you’d escaped.

As you descended deeper into the haunted woods, the covering of snow beneath your boots muffled your footsteps, producing an eerie silence that heightened your sensation of loneliness. The starry path ahead twisted and curved, and the skeletal limbs of the trees appeared to stretch out like spectral fingers, throwing lengthy reflections on the snow-covered ground. The chilly air bit at your skin, and your breath created crystalline clouds in the icy night. The haunting beauty of the surroundings contrasted dramatically with the dread that clung to your every move. You couldn’t shake the impression that unseen eyes were watching, and the forest’s silence served as a canvas for the echoes of your pounding heartbeat.

You trekked through the snow, the smothering stillness broken by the distant howl of the wind, which carried an unsettling melody that appeared to mirror the malevolence hiding in the night. Every crunch of snow beneath your boots felt like a drumbeat, a reminder that you were an invader in a land where invisible evils thrived. The moon, now your only source of light in the ink-black sky, projected a pale glow on the snowflakes, resulting in a bizarre landscape that blurred the line between reality and horror. The woods seemed to shut in on you, their twisted shapes taking on a bizarre look that stoked your growing unease. However, with each step, a weird determination replaced the fear. The fact that Dew was still unaware of your escape provided a ray of optimism. The dense forest, however menacing, provided an opportunity for evasion; a brief respite from the evil entity’s persistent pursuit.

You paused, uncertain which way to go when the route ahead split into two. You felt as though the starry branches above were whispering secrets, telling you to make your decision wisely. You were surrounded by silence, only broken by the gentle patter of falling snow and the distant rustle of unseen creatures. Your desire for survival drove you to make a choice despite the uncertainty surrounding it. However, in the unlikely event that this went wrong, all you knew was that Dew would most likely track you down. The trek continued under the moonlight, each step filled with suspense as the mysteries of the winter night’s embrace revealed the horrors that lay beyond the trees.

You were heading to the cabin on the grounds of the Ministry - a much smaller place where you felt like you could defend yourself easier, despite it being so far out. It didn’t matter, really - you were a human going up against a demon. There wasn’t much you could do until the sunlight when the game had finished.

Suddenly, the crack of a tree branch sent shivers down your spine - this crack was closer than the others, much closer and it came from behind you. You fought the instinctive urge to look round, the need to know for sure what that was becoming almost too great to handle. But you also couldn’t bear the idea that Dew had found you so soon. You froze in your tracks, keeping as still as possible despite the fact that you were so, clearly visible at that moment.

The snow crunched behind you, as if a foot had stepped on it. A solitary step in the quiet of the forest. You held your ground and fought against any movement that would reveal where you were, the frigid air seeping into your lungs. The snow around you appeared to sparkle with a sinister radiance under the moon, creating long shadows that deceived your senses.

Another step, and the tension in the air became palpable.

You could now hear the sound of breathing as the crunches got louder and louder, until, eventually, the breaths began to fall on the back of your neck. In your blind panic, you covered your neck with your hand and spun around, eyes frantically searching the treeline for anything that might have made that noise.

Nothing.

Look up, something told you from inside.

The shadow was of a man crouching on one of the branches, impossibly balanced on such a thin branch. You could see his silhouette perfectly as he maniacally gazed down at you. You couldn’t see his eyes, given that they, too, were black. But you could feel them on you. The realisation only lasted a moment before he jumped down at you from his high branch. You barely had the time to turn before he had you buried in the snow, face down into the cold and his body pinning you down. You were writhing beneath him, your nose barely above the snow and your face damn near frozen solid. You did everything you could to fight against him, but he was too strong - mostly because he was in his demonic form. But, from above you, all you could hear was his cackling and chuckling at your struggling.

“Keep fighting me,” he told you, his voice deeper than usual and darker; much, much darker, “I like it when you fight me.”

“L-let go of me!” You shouted, your teeth chattering from the cold.

“And lose my prey? Where would the fun be in that?”

He got off you momentarily so he could flip your body onto your back. Even if you could breathe now, the shock of the cold made you weaker. Weaker, but not unable to fight back. In that moment, you took the opportunity to kick him again, this time your foot collided with his face hard enough to shock him, but not hard enough to do some damage. You flipped, and tried to stand up, even giving yourself enough lower body strength to run a little. But, you felt Dew’s sharp claws dig into your leg and pull you back across the snow.

“You know, you make me so much harder when you’re scared.”

“‘m not scared!” You lied.

He leaned down on top of you, pinning you into the snow. His long tongue came out and licked your cheek all the way to your ear. In a low voice, he told you, “I can taste it on your skin. The smell of your fear helped me find you.” He moved one of his hands down to your core and squeezed. “You wanted me to find you, didn’t you?”

You did. Fuck, you did. As scared as this whole chase made you, it didn’t matter. Even with fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins you wanted him completely. You wanted to spread your legs for him right there in the snow and let him have his way with you - let him win the game, if only to feel him balls deep inside you, rearranging your guts in a way his human form always held back.

Dew always let the darkness take over when he was in his demonic form, always suppressed any of that stereotypical humanity that made him so sweet and lovable - the reason you fell for him. Unlike the other Ghouls, he rarely shifted, which would hurt his mental state in the long run. For the other Ghouls, regularly shifting allowed them to retain their “humanity” in demonic form - in essence, they could control themselves and wouldn’t become bloodthirsty beasts, sacrificing others for Satan’s pleasure. But Dew was different. He could never control himself in the same way the others could, and the longer he stayed out of his demonic form, the worse it got.

You’d told him that you could handle it, that it was important for him to shift and learn to control himself. You’d told him you could trust him. Was a lot of this spurred on by the fact that you wanted him to fuck you in his demonic form? Absolutely. But once you learned how important it was, you began to worry that you were holding him back, and damaging him in the process. This whole conversation sparked an argument, that was only settled when the game was suggested… by you. And he’d agreed.

And now, here you were, pinned beneath him with his fingers stroking over your soaked core, feeling your own sanity slipping away at the callouses that rubbed you so deliciously.

Do whatever it took to get away from him.

You fought him some more when you’d come to your senses, pulling his arm and removing his hand from you. Another slap, another kick, and you’d gone before he had the chance to recover, running through the snow to get to that cabin.

Your breath came in sharp gasps, the cold air making your terror obvious. The thicket seemed to be attempting to entangle you in its nightmare as you pushed through, its branches seemingly reaching out to grab hold of your habit and snaking around you. The landscape was warped into a confusing maze as the shadows moved in frightening patterns. A chilly wind blew across the woods, bringing the eerie sounds of Dew laughing with it. His presence appeared to warp the entire fabric of reality, like an ominous shadow that was always there. Panic gripped you, urging you to run faster, to escape the clutches of the demonic entity that hungered for you.

You felt as though the forest was closing in on you, the trees acting like dead spectators to your desperate escape. The horrors that hid within were hidden by the abyss-like darkness that spread between the trunks. The fear that pursued you was heightened by each snap of a twig and each rustle of leaves, intensifying the adrenaline-driven pulse in your chest. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder and saw Dew’s shape in the moonlight, his eyes shining with an otherworldly evil. With an uncanny speed, the monster closed the distance, unaffected by the barriers that stood in your way.

A scream, half-strangled by fear, clawed at the back of your throat. The thought that there might not be a way out of Dew’s unrelenting pursuit was like a crushing weight on your chest. With every step you made, the forest felt more like a trap closing in on you, drawing you more into the diabolical nightmare.

Through the dense foliage, the dim glimmer from the cabin’s windows flickered like a far-off light of hope. Your legs began to pump more forcefully as a result of the sight, propelling you through the snow-covered forest and towards the prospect of a makeshift haven. The cold air burned in your lungs, but you were driven forward by terror of Dew’s unrelenting pursuit. The cabin appeared to emerge gradually from the darkness, with each stride defining its outline more clearly. The snow-covered walkway leading to its entrance had a ghostly glimmer from the moon. The unsteady ground could have easily caused you to stumble, but the need to get away drove you along, breathing heavily and irregularly now.

The haunting echoes of Dew’s pursuit grew louder behind you. His evil laughter cut through the chilly night, resonating between the trees in a chorus of evil. The fear that seized every step was heightened by the feeling that you were being chased by a demon who’d been summoned from the pits of Hell - to play guitar of all things. The snow seemed to be working against you as you got closer to the cottage. Through the thick forest came the distant thud of Dew’s footfall, getting closer and closer. Severe panic struck, and you threw a quick check over your shoulder, only to see his shadow moving closer.

The cabin’s door stood before you, a portal to potential safety. You sprinted towards the entry, your power amplified by adrenaline, and fumbled with the lock, flinging the door open. The inside warmth provided a momentary relief from the stinging cold, but the anxiety persisted because Dew was quite literally a few feet away.

You heard him thud against the door as you stumbled inside and slammed it shut behind you, locking it just in time. The wooden wall seemed weak in the face of the otherworldly energy chasing you. The cabin seemed to be a flimsy fortification, protecting you from the dangers that waited in the wintry darkness. A strange wind shook the windows, and the air within seemed to move in time with Dew’s evil chuckles, making the place feel stifling and heavy on your breath.

It dawned on you, as you gasped for air in the dark inside, that you were not alone. With his laughter a terrifying preface to the unrelenting pursuit that had turned into an unavoidable nightmare deep within the snow-covered woodland, Dew’s presence loomed just outside.

From the other side of the cabin door, Dew’s voice slithered through the wood like a serpent, a sinister melody that sent shivers down your spine. “Come out, little one,” he hissed, the words dripping with a malevolent blend of amusement and hunger. “So, you thought this feeble cabin could save you from me?” Dew’s voice dripped with amusement, the words weaving through the air like a dark incantation. “Did you really believe you could outsmart me, little one?”

The mocking tone cut through the silence within the cabin, reminding you that this all seemed useless. The demonic entity reveled in the revelation that you had unwittingly confined yourself within the very trap you thought would offer protection. “You’ve locked yourself in, and now there’s nowhere left to run,” he continued, the malevolence in his voice intensifying. “Just wait until I get my hands on you.

“Do you want me to tell you what I’m going to do to you?” You heard a slam on the roof, and jumped at the noise. “Do you know all the ways I’m going to make you scream?”

You glanced at the clock, its hands ticking away the agonizing moments. Dawn was fast approaching and the realization hit you—three more hours of enduring the demonic onslaught. The cabin, once a potential sanctuary, now felt like a prison where time stretched into an eternity, each passing second carrying the weight of impending horror.

Dew’s voice, laced with a perverse excitement, slithered through the confined space of the cabin, each word a grotesque brushstroke painting a vivid picture of the torment he envisioned.

“I want to hear you scream,” he rasped, the words carrying a disturbing hunger. You saw him run past one of the windows from the corner of your eye. “To feel your fear, your desperation. I want to revel in the music of your screaming.”

A sinister chuckle punctuated his words, echoing the sadistic pleasure he derived from the impending cruelty. “Do you know the exquisite pain of anticipation? The way your heart pounds, the cold sweat that coats your skin? I relish every moment leading up to the finale of your suffering.”

Dew hovered outside the cabin like an evil spirit from hell, his raptor’s eye fixed on the building that was now both your haven and your prison. The demonic figure turned around the cottage, a silent hunter enjoying the macabre game, and the snow-covered landscape witnessed his threatening silhouette.

With his claws, he scraped the walls of the cabin, creating a frightening rhythm that echoed through the silent night. Through the darkness, you could see the predatory delight in his eyes, which told volumes about the sadistic pleasure he took in torturing you. And you realised under that gaze, that your thighs were clenching together so tightly, they were beginning to ache.

“I can almost taste your fear,” he hissed, the words carrying on the frigid breeze. “Do you feel the inevitability of your demise, little one? There’s no escape. Nowhere to hide from the darkness that I bring.”

Dew kept stalking around the cabin, frightening and teasing. With an inhuman power, he pounded on the glass, the reverberation echoing through the wood like a sinister drumming. His ominous laughter seemed to be carried by the howling wind, adding a haunting element to the terrifying scene.

A deep silence fell, in stark contrast to the prior chorus of torment. The eerie quiet seemed to last indefinitely, producing an unpleasant tension that lingered in the air like a physical weight. Dew’s predatory dance around the cabin came to an abrupt end. The night held its breath, as if even the elements were hesitant to disturb the strange silence that had descended upon the snow-covered landscape.

The absence of his taunting and the eerie echoes of his presence created an unsettling stillness. It seemed as if the night’s spirit had been suppressed, replaced with an apprehensive stillness.

The sudden end of Dew’s movements left you in suspense, wondering why he’d stopped. The cabin felt like a refuge enveloped in stifling silence; the only sound left was the distant howl of the wind, whispering whispers through the skeletal trees.

You took tentative steps towards the window, compelled by an instinctive urge to check Dew’s presence or absence in the eerie silence that covered the cabin. The floor creaked under your weight, each sound reverberating in the silence like a muffled drumbeat.

As you looked through the frost-kissed glass, all you could see was the bleak endlessness of the snow-covered forest. However, there was no trace of Dew.

Uncertainty gnawed at you, and the silent unease inside the cabin reflected the peaceful stillness of the frigid night. Was this a respite, a brief pause, or the calm before another storm of horror? The questions continued, and your heart couldn’t calm down.

An unexpected, explosive crash broke the fragile peace within the cabin. The door, ripped from its hinges, flew through the air, leaving Dew standing in the gaping doorway. His intimidating presence radiated malevolence, a dark silhouette framed by the smashed entrance.

The evil entity’s eyes sparkled with an unfathomable intensity as he studied the limited area. The morbid game of hide and seek had reached an unsettling end. Dew’s lips curved into a nasty smile, a grotesque victory imprinted on his face.

“Will you run from me now, Brother? Or will you get on your knees for me like the good whore I know you to be?”

You tried to make a break for the door, knowing that you wouldn’t make it, but even so, the intention was there. Dew, of course, gripped hold of your body and wrestled you to the ground. He admired your helpless body lounging there on the hard, wood floor, reveling in the fear he could smell and how wide-eyed you were. He stood above you, mighty and powerful.

His hand reached his trousers and undid the zipper and button, pulling them halfway down his thighs. His underwear too, allowing his erection to spring free.

Demonic Dew was huge. So big you weren’t entirely sure you could take him. His cock looked vaguely similar to a human’s except for the size and the blunt ribbage down both sides of the shaft. The colour too, a dark grey at his pubic mound, tapering off into a light grey that spread in a gradient of a blush pink at the tip. A thick, grey knot sat at the base just above the pubic mound that had a pit forming in your stomach. He was going to make you take that - you just knew it.

“Knees.” He commanded. Both your fear and arousal worked in tandem to propel you to your knees, sitting patiently for him like a dog waiting for his master. “Suck it all down that throat of yours.”

You placed your hands on your thighs and leaned forward. Your tongue appeared from behind your cracked lips and made contact with the head of his cock, purely to help guide it into your mouth. Once it had lined up, you moved your head forward and sucked the head in. Dew hissed at the feeling of your warm mouth encapsulating him, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

His hand tangled in your hair and he pushed you down as far as you could go, making your lips touch the base of his cock. He was forceful enough that you couldn’t fight back easily, but slow enough not to hurt you. Dew could feel everything you gave him, the wetness of your mouth, the way you swallowed around his head.

His grip in your hair got tighter and he started maneuvering your head for you, watching you as you bobbed up and down his length. His hips couldn’t keep still and so eventually he just held your head in place and used your throat like his own personal toy. All the while, your eyes were watering and your face was getting redder and redder with exertion. He let you pull off for a second, and watched as you gasped desperately for air. Tears were running down your cheeks now, and your lips were beginning to swell so tantalisingly, he could feel himself losing what little control he had over himself. He couldn’t take it anymore; he wanted to see you struggle again and so he forced his cock back into your mouth.

He fucked your throat as roughly as he wanted because he knew you could take it - but he honestly didn’t care if you couldn’t. You were his prize, his to treat however he wanted to. And you’d accept everything with grace, and poise, and thank him for obliterating your throat afterwards.

He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of your throat, watching you take it all and struggle with it. The way your lips stretched around his tip was obscene enough, but with each rib that was fed to you and removed with a pop, he could barely contain himself. His toes curled in his boots, and a smile formed on his face. He chuckled as he fucked your throat, loving how you gave yourself so willingly to him in the end.

He looked down at the mess of you, at the sweat forming on your brow and your robes shaking from how hard he was ramming into you. It was then he saw your hand moving, dipping beneath the hem of your monastic habit and stroking yourself through it. Slow circles at first but once you saw he caught you, your fingers began to move over your wetness faster.

“Shit, look at yourself.” He began, his voice hoarse from his pleasure. “Working yourself while I fuck your tight little fucking throat.” He was speaking through gritted teeth at that point. “Do you like this? Do you like being treated like a common fucking whore? Hm?” He slapped your cheek and let go of you, pulling you off of him with a pop. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” Your voice was husky and weak from the amount of times he’d hit the back of your throat.

Dew began to grumble and growl, frustration evident in his noises. “Not tight enough.” He looked down at your other hand and realised it wasn’t doing anything. He wanted it elsewhere. “Take that fucking hand and choke yourself. Squeeze that fucking throat.” He instructed you as he fed his cock back into your mouth.

And you did. Using your thumb and three of your fingers, you placed your hand on your throat and squeezed from the sides adding more pressure and a tighter hole for him. He groaned and laughed in response, loving the extra tightness and shoving himself so far down your throat, you could feel his pubic mound bashing against your nose with each thrust. You knew Dew’s human form well enough to know when he was about to cum, and apparently his demonic form was just as similar. His thrusts were becoming more erratic and more violent, a clear sign that this side of him was about to cum down your throat without giving you a second thought. So, you began to touch yourself harder, rubbing at your bud faster and faster until you burst.

Your body stiffened as your orgasm washed over you, the world stilling around you with the exception of your fingers and Dew’s hips. You continued to touch yourself through the orgasm, trying your hardest not to bite down with Dew being so far down your throat, and the restraint of that action alone was enough to make your jaw ache even more. When you’d finished, you concentrated back on Dew’s cock, but it wasn’t long before he came too, pushing your head further into his body and giving a few, final, short, sharp thrusts before his cum was spilling down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow it.

“Yeah, that’s it. Swallow it… down for me… Such a slutty boy, t-taking every fucking drop. Shit!”

He pulled out of you with a groan and you gasped desperately for the air he’d restricted from you, swallowing the leftovers and wiping your chin clean of any droplets of cum that had spilled out.

Once you’d regained control of your lungs, and you didn’t feel like you were drowning anymore, you chanced a look up at Dew. He still stood, towering above you with you on your knees, black eyes focused on your exhausted body and white fangs appearing over his dark red lips in a menacing smile. Your eyes roamed down his body to his cock, which was still as hard as ever - as if you’d never gone through all that. He was ready to take you again.

With little fight left in you, you let his hand push you back onto the floor, making you lie flat against the wood. He got on his knees and lifted your habit, exposing your dripping heat to him. He got on his knees in between your legs, and continued to smirk at you - he’d won and you both knew it.

He started to position himself above you, aligning with your sopping heat and using his cock to stroke your folds. Your fingers bit into the floor as oversensitivity set in, and your heart raced with expectation. He drew your hips closer to him, partially resting on his thighs, and laughed a little at the sound your body made as it was dragged against the floor. You didn’t feel particularly ready for his length inside you after feeling it down your throat, but you also didn’t want to stop him, anticipating the delicious pain that would come from his monstrous cock penetrating your walls and fucking you so deeply you could pass out. Dew could feel your core clenching around nothing, practically screaming for him to fill it. “You believed, little one, that you could outrun me?” He taunted as he rutted against you. “As naive and stupid as ever, it’s your own fault for running. If you had only submitted to me, I would have been nice to you. This will just hurt for a little while, so don’t worry.”

He loved the way your eyes lit up with a host of feelings before allowing your face to contort with the pleasure of him sliding his massive cock within you, inch by monstrous inch. You shook every time one of the ribs drove into you, pushing you even further and anchoring you completely to him. There was lust in your eyes, of course, savouring how each pop had you gasping for breath and tried to commit it to memory. But the pain was just as delicious as you expected, causing you to cry out so loudly, if anyone outside heard you, they’d think something awful was happening to you. Instead, you were being stuffed so full of an impossibly large demon cock, your body was almost shutting itself down to cope. You could already feel your mind clearing out of anything other than the current sensations.

Dew continued to make fun of you with each inch your horny centre swallowed. “Did that hurt? Good. I told you it would. Keep screaming for me like that, and I’ll pop my knot into you.”

Dew’s pace was just as rough as it was the first time, with him practically riding your body for his own pleasure. Every time he pulled out, you could feel the ribs of his cock popping out of you then forcing their way back in with each thrust, making you tighten around him so much, your body was trying to keep him where he was. Your back arched off the floor, so only your shoulders and arms were holding you upright, aside from Dew’s hands on your hips as he pounded into you, over and over again; but this allowed for your habit to ride up slightly and let him catch sight of your stomach, and how his cock was visible even underneath all the muscle, fat and flesh. How he was so big, he left an indent where he fucked you. No wonder you couldn’t focus on anything except for him. You allowed loud moans to fall from your lips, as the angle Dew fucked you at had his cock and it’s ridges hitting that spot each time, carving out a space for himself within your hole.

“I knew you fucking wanted this,” he told you, no longer using his hips to fuck you but moving your body quickly with his strong arms. “Wasted so much time. C-could’ve fucked you back there.”

Drool was pooling in the corner of your mouth, spilling outwards and down your cheek with each impeccable thrust. The further down his cock he worked you, the more you could feel his knot catching at your entrance. Silently, you wondered how that was going to fit inside you too. But your body was begging for it, pleading for that knot to force its way inside you.

Besides your screaming, your core was the loudest thing in the room. So wet, his cock splashed when it fucked into you as roughly as it did. You could feel it running down your ass cheeks and landing on the thighs of his jeans. And you didn’t need to look to know that you’d left a ring of white around the top of his knot, your pussy creaming as it took his cock over and over and over, loving each second.

You bit your lip and clutched onto his strong arms, those arms and hands holding onto your hips for support as he brutally ploughed into you, getting deeper and deeper till his tip reached your cervix and his shaft rubbed against that sweet place.

“You want it? You want this fucking knot inside you?” When you didn’t answer, he slapped your face again. “Fucking answer me!”

“Yes!”

“Beg for it, slut.”

You whimpered, you whined and you screamed for him, but a coherent sentence wasn’t something that you could put together verbally. In your mind, you had begged for it already, begged for his cum to fill you up. But your mouth wasn’t responding. Your body wasn’t responding. Nothing you did worked, except for your fingers running over yourself in sheer desperation for a second orgasm.

Dew just laughed at you, mocking you for your neediness, but he said nothing as he continued to bounce you on his cock, fingertips digging into your body as he maneuvered you exactly how he wanted, and eventually, his knot slipped inside.

You didn’t warn him when you came - you couldn’t. Your brain was too clouded to register anything and announce any more than a squeak before your body convulsed and spasmed around his cock, your eyes blacking out and your mouth open in a silent scream. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think, all you could do was feel everything, everywhere, all at the same time.

This, being his final straw, tipped him over the edge a second time, his fangs digging into your stomach as he bent over, expelling the remainder of his energy through the chomp. It didn’t hurt - but it wasn’t as if you could feel it anyway.

You slowly opened your eyes to the soft glow of dawn seeping through the windows of the cabin. The air inside was cool, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of pine. As you lay on your back, you felt the worn wooden floor beneath you, and your body ached. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtains, you felt the warmth of the sun’s first rays gently caressing your tired limbs. The golden hues painted the room, casting a tranquil glow that danced across the wooden walls.

Turning your head, you caught a glimpse of Dew, curled up beside you in his human form, still lost in the world of dreams. But his senses were on high alert still and even the smallest movement of your body caused him to jolt awake. You winced as you tried to sit up, the soreness in your muscles protesting the movement. Dew stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open as he sensed your shift.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep and the recent body change. His eyes, now back to the normal, beautiful green colour they usually were, locked onto yours with concern. “How are you feeling?”

A faint smile played on your lips as you reached out to gently stroke his tousled hair. “I’ve had worse days,” you replied, though the pain in your body betrayed your attempt at nonchalance.

Dew sighed, his expression reflecting the guilt he felt. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess,” he whispered, his eyes casting down. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”

You reassured him with a soft smile, “Dew, it’s not your fault. I told you I could handle it.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed.”

“Dew…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. I pushed you when you were uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. Not that I minded…” you cleared your throat awkwardly, “earlier.”

Dewdrop raised his eyebrows. “Well,” he exhaled, “I hope you remember it well because it won’t happen again.”

You sighed, disappointed, but nodded in understanding. His eyes met yours again, and you could see the conflict within him. “I just… I can’t stand seeing you in pain because of me.”

You shifted closer to him, embracing him gently. “We’re in this together, Dew. I chose to be by your side, no matter what comes our way. Pain is just a small part of the journey.”

He nodded, a mixture of gratitude and sorrow in his gaze. “I appreciate that, but I still wish I could protect you better.”

You chuckled softly, “You’re doing your best, and that’s all I can ask for. We’ll face whatever comes next, together. D-do you remember what happened?”

He sat up and slapped you playfully. “I remember you didn’t do as I fucking asked! What happened to, ‘get away from me at all costs and don’t let me fuck you?’”

“I saw your dick and couldn’t help myself.”

He hit you again.

“Alright, okay! I’m sorry.” You sighed. “I will miss it, though. Are you sure you can’t just do some exercises and shift like the other Ghouls?”

Dew couldn’t help but chuckle at your attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s not that simple,” he explained. “They’ve not spent as long in Hell as I have. It’s not just about exercises; it’s a mental and physical process that takes time to master. A lot of therapy will be needed that I’d have to return to Hell to get.”

You nodded, understanding the complexities involved. “I guess we’ll have to figure out a new plan then. Maybe find some other way to deal with those situations.”

Dew sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I can’t always control it, and I don’t want to risk it.”

You gave him a reassuring smile. “We’ll find a way, Dew. Together. We always do.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m lucky to have you by my side. Even if I can’t protect you the way I want to, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you both sat there in the warm glow of the morning sun, you knew that challenges lay ahead, but the bond between you and Dew was strong. Together, you were determined to face whatever came your way, finding solutions and supporting each other through the ups and downs of your journey.

Next Part ⛧ Realm of Souls Masterlist

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r-f-m-writes · 17 days

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Pretty, Dead Animals Chapter One

The shimmering shift of tattoos over refined tendons of muscle made Linette feel like she was being hypnotized as she swept the man's card through the slot on the side of the machine, not even glancing at the amount due.

“Your boss ’s sick, so he leaves a little girl alone to deal with grown men all day? More of a shmuck than I thought.”

The genuine ebb of concern in his tone made Linette’s knees feel wobbly as she handed the card back.

The tip of his index finger brushed against the soft underside of her wrist as he took it from her.

“I can take care of myself.”

When he scoffed at her it wasn’t unkind so much as disbelieving.

"Yeah, kid. I’m sure you think you can.”

Linette’s stomach was swooping itself into hot, excited knots as she stood fixing her hair in the spotty restroom mirror, yanking brown waves out of the claw clip and fluffing out her roots before arranging the tangled mess over her shoulders in a way the looked half presentable.

It had been scorching hot the night before, she’d barely slept. Her under eyes were sunken and blue tinged, she felt groggy and deflated - the clothes she wore had been grabbed thoughtlessly off the top of the clean washing hamper.

Linette didn’t look good, at all, and he had just pulled his black Semi into the truck stop.

He, who had an American accent, a full sleeve of brooding black ink tattoos, and a defined five o'clock shadow that made something primal inside her purr.

He, who had blue eyes, brown hair, and a permanent scowl that etched itself into the center of all her silly, girlish fantasies for the last four months.

He, whose name Linette didn’t know, was mysterious and new and scary in a way that thrilled her from the inside out.

Who could blame a girl for craving something fresh in the monotonous nothingness that came with life in a desert town hours away from anything important?

The shrill ting ting ting of the little ringer at the counter being hit impatiently three times snapped Linette out of her fussing, the girl giving her hair one last pass over in the mirror as she called out.

“Coming!”

The door to the bathroom bumped heavily as Linette hurried out, pretending to dry her hands on the front of her singlet. Blush stung inside her cheeks as she walked toward the counter.

A grunt and the sound of heavy boots shifting on the floor came before his voice.

“Sorry, kid. Thought it was the old fella on today.”

The nickname heated her up. She almost fell over her own feet when the rubber soles of her sneakers caught on the slippery tiles. When she cleared her throat to speak, her voice came out in mumbles.

“ ‘s all good. Ben’s off sick, I’ve been holding down the Servo for him. Pump five?”

Linette lifted her head to look him right in the eye, acting braver than she felt.

He was wearing a cap, gray, with the name of some sports team she didn’t recognize embroidered on the front. His buzz cut had grown out since last time he was at the stop, five o'clock shadow turning into a real beard, all filled out, thick and dark with no irregular patches.

That was how Linette knew he must be older, much older, than her. Boys her age who were trying to grow out their first beards always looked scraggly and gross, like they’d cut off their pubes and glued them to their face in uneven clumps. His beard was nothing like that. He was nothing like that.

Everything about him was mature and distinguished, polished in a finish of radiant masculinity that made Linette want to sink into a dependent puddle at his feet.

Even his mesh of black tattoos looked classic, and tattoos were something that, right up until seeing him for the first time, Linette had absolutely hated; taking them as a red flag of insecurity and a person’s incomplete sense of self.

On him, they looked downright lickable.

Him being the most beautiful man she’d ever seen outside of a TV screen certainly helped compel her intense attraction - but, for Linette, his voice was the nail in the coffin. Low, slow, smooth and rumbling, tinged with an accent she didn’t know how to place. She wanted to listen to him talk for hours.

The spot between his eyebrows pinched as he stooped to lean his elbow on the counter. The cut off black teeshirt he wore looked like it was fighting to stay together around the bulge of his bicep as it flexed while he held out his card for her to take.

The shimmering shift of his tattoos over refined tendons of muscle made Linette feel like she was being hypnotized as she swept his card through the slot on the side of the machine without so much as glancing at the amount due.

The payment was approved immediately.

“He’s sick, so he leaves a little girl alone to deal with grown men all day? More of a shmuck than I thought.”

The genuine ebb of disapproval and concern in his tone made Linette’s knees feel soft as she handed him back his card over the counter.

The tip of his index finger caught off the underside of her wrist as he took it from her.

Linette had to lock her shoulders back to keep herself from shuddering.

Her voice was embarrassed and quiet in her throat when she replied. “I’m twenty one. I can take care of myself.”

When he scoffed at her it wasn’t unkind so much as disbelieving.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think you can. You got anything behind the counter? Pepper spray? A gun?”

He slotted his card back into a neat, folding leather wallet as he questioned her. Linette watched the deft flick of his thick fingers and suddenly her mouth felt dry.

“Nope. Have a panic button, though.”

Pushing the wallet back into the front pocket of his dark wash jeans, he let out a short, humorless huff.

“Panic button. Shit. What‘re you supposed to do between pressing that an’ waitin’ for the cops to pull up? Just gonna stand there, smile all pretty, hope some guy my size doesn't try to rob the place or do what he likes with you?”

Linette was struck silent by the question. She had wondered the same herself countless times, but never came to any sound, practical solution other than doing exactly what he had said; standing still and hoping nothing bad happened to her in specific.

She shrugged hopelessly.

He looked at her. It was a long, strange stare that Linette didn’t know how to understand.

Eventually, he shook his head and sighed.

“What am I gonna do with you, kid?”

#original male character #original character #original female character #original novel #ao3 original work #ao3 writer #ao3feed #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #prettydeadanimals #pda #PDA

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bi-bard · 1 year

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Changes - Joel Miller Imagine [The Last of Us]

Title: Changes

Pairing: Joel Miller X Reader

Word Count: 2,158 words

Warning(s): gunfire, murder, awkwardness, abandonment

Summary: [Episode 6] (Y/n) thought that Joel and them were finally making some steps forward in their relationship... in a few ways. If only progress didn't run the constant risk of going backward.

Author's Note: I have a friend that asked if I had written The Last of Us fanfiction... I am adding to the collection for their sake... totally not my own.

PART TWO HERE

PART THREE HERE

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

Working with Joel was strange.

There were these times when he was completely closed off. Gruff and abrasive. Acted like he had never smiled a day in his life. I would affectionately call him Oscar to Grouch at those times. In my head. The last time I said that one out loud, I'm pretty sure he had to use all of his self-restraint to keep himself from shooting me.

But there were other times when the shell cracked. He would smile at me. He would actually participate in my admittedly stupid banter. He was sweeter. Not a lot, but enough for both of us to relax.

I sometimes thought that I clung to those "other times" a little too tightly.

That was why I stuck around him for so long. Those looks behind the curtain were enough to get my attention. I held onto them as much as possible. It was like holding a burning candle and watching the flame dim until you could find another match.

I tried to believe that I wasn't seeing things that weren't there.

But that would have been too easy.

I had to face the possibility that there was nothing there between us.

That realization came like a slap in the face.

We had gotten a truck and supplies from Bill and Frank's compound. The three of us were hidden away in the woods, far away from the road.

Ellie was asleep.

I was sitting next to Joel. I had always had trouble sleeping, even before the apocalypse. The constant threat to my life didn't help.

"You should rest."

"Don't tell the chronic insomniac to sleep," I replied. "It's like telling a psychopath that they're a psychopath."

I looked over just in time to watch his eyebrows furrow. "What?"

"It's very upsetting," I explained.

"Right," he mumbled. "I will never get how your mind works."

"Keeps me interesting," I shrugged.

I leaned my elbows on my knees as I watched Ellie a bit longer. I took a deep breath.

"It feels weird how protective I feel over her," I said quietly. "It hasn't been all that long, yet I feel like I'd burn the world down to keep her safe."

Joel hummed in response.

"You are so talkative," I mumbled. "It's one of your best qualities."

"I've been saying that for years," he replied sarcastically. I scoffed.

"I think you're obsessed with the gruff, mysterious reputation you have going on."

"I would've changed it if I could," he explained. "Damn thing made it so you're stuck to my side, why would I choose to hold onto it?"

"Oh, hush, I've grown on you."

"Like a tumor."

I chuckled at the sarcastic response. "Asshole."

"Keeping up the reputation."

I rolled my eyes as I turned my head to look at him. He looked at me.

Maybe it was the silence. Or the loneliness of the whole thing. Or some stress spilling over into the current moment. Maybe it was just something about the woods. Something around us made me braver for just a few moments.

And those few moments were all I needed to push myself over and pressed my lips to his.

It was nothing more than a peck before he pulled away from me. Abrupt and sudden. Like a scared animal.

I felt a sliver of pain slide through my heart as I turned my attention away from him, looking straight forward.

"(Y/n)," Joel said.

I didn't respond. I felt dizzy from my own stupidity.

"Me and you... we're two people that happen to do jobs together," he muttered after a while.

I nodded, trying to ignore the embarrassment that wanted to come out as projectile vomit right about now.

"That's it-"

"I got it," I cut him off. "I... I'm sorry."

He cleared his throat. "You should-"

"Get some rest. Yeah."

There it was. That shell.

I should have just grown accustomed to it.

We continued on like nothing had happened. It was all work. Nothing more than that. We just needed to get all of the work done.

I held onto that as we drove off the next morning.

It was easier to focus on Ellie than it was to think about Joel.

She was a smart kid. Smart and resourceful and brave. She was ready to kick ass at the drop of a hat. I admired her. Maybe that was part of why I was so protective of her.

It was especially easy to ignore my embarrassment when the chaos broke out around us in Kansas City.

The truck crashed through some old store. The gunfire followed soon after. We had gotten Ellie some hole in the wall. Safety.

The silence after the gunfire was almost scarier than the sound of the shots. It was the adrenaline. The fear meeting caution. It was like a closed soda bottle getting shaken up.

I heard the door slam open before I saw anything move. A guy tried to pin Joel to the ground.

Shooting him was the easy part.

Getting my hands to stop shaking after was the worst. I let out a loud sigh.

I heard Ellie climbing out of the wall to check on us.

"You alright," I asked her. She nodded. I took another deep breath.

Joel had pulled himself off the ground by then. He was just staring at me with this shocked look on his face.

"What about you," I asked.

"I'm good," he nodded. "Thanks."

"We'd be kinda screwed if I let you die," I replied. "Just doing the right thing."

There was a long pause as the tense air seemed to dissipate. I barely managed to drag my eyes from Joel.

"Head back in there," I told Ellie. "Look for a door for us to get through."

She nodded.

It wasn't until she was gone that I turned to Joel again. "You sure you're okay? You got a... look."

There was no response from him.

"Joel?"

"Ellie, turn around," Joel said, still looking at me. I glanced back at the wall, chuckling a bit at her little face poking out.

"Why," she asked.

"Just do it," he muttered.

I heard the dirt and gravel shift under her feet as she grumbled and spun around on her heels.

I raised an eyebrow at Joel. "What is it?"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. I stumbled a bit as he awkwardly kissed me. I grinned against his lips as I balanced myself and kissed him back.

I pulled back first. I smiled before stepping away a bit. I saw a grin pulling at his lips as I did.

"You can turn around, Ellie," I chuckled.

"Did you guys kiss," she asked as she did, popping her head out again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I shrugged as I walked over to her. "No idea at all."

"You're full of shit!"

"Am I? Joel, am I?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

Ellie looked between Joel and me. She finally scoffed and rolled her eyes.

It felt like something had changed. Shifted.

And I liked it. I really, really liked it.

After the heartbreak in Kansas City, I expected that shell to build itself up again.

Joel wasn't romantic. I knew that much. But I found enough comfort in how his hand touched my back. It was barely there, but it was enough. I offered him a sad grin.

Three months.

Three months after that change initially happened.

We developed some patterns.

We found ourselves in a camp. A commune of survivors that made a life for themselves. A new beginning. It gave me a moment of pause. A small shimmer of hope that I felt silly entertaining.

Ellie and I ended up following Maria around while Joel caught up with his brother. It was nice. Knowing that he found him again.

We were put up in some house to shower and change. It was in amazing condition. Unfair, honestly.

I stuck next to Ellie as much as I could.

We snuck out of the movie they were playing that night. She was reading from some old diary. I was looking at the old photos and posters. It was a museum. A perfectly preserved image of the past.

Joel walked in a while later.

He stood in the middle of the room. Tense. I stepped over to him. I didn't want to cross any lines, but my brain was yelling at me to grab his hand or touch his face or something. Do something to bring him back down to earth.

I stood halfway between him and Ellie.

"Why are you here," Ellie asked from her seat.

"I came here to talk to you."

"No, why are you still here," she corrected. "If you're gonna ditch me, ditch me."

"No one's ditching you," I shook my head, looking at her for a moment before turning my attention toward Joel. The guilt was etched into his face. "Isn't that right, Joel?"

"I heard him," she spoke up. "Talking to his brother while you were focused on the lights and shit. 'I have to leave her. You have to take her.'"

I clenched my jaw. "Goddammit, Joel."

"I stood up for you today because I thought..."

Ellie trailing off broke my heart.

"I made this decision for your own good," Joel spoke up. "You'll be way better off with Tommy."

"You didn't think to talk to me about this," I asked.

He ignored me, "He knows the area better than I do-"

"Do you give a shit about me or not," Ellie slammed the diary down as she snapped at him.

"Of course, I do."

I looked down and let them argue.

I knew where I would be at the end of all of this. The only question was whether or not Joel was going to join me.

"Then, what are you so afraid of?" she stepped closer as she spoke. "I'm not her, y'know?"

I tensed.

"Maria told us about Sarah and-"

"Don't," Joel stopped her. "Don't say another word."

"I'm sorry about your daughter, Joel," Ellie walked closer to him. "But I've lost people too."

"You have no idea what loss is."

"Everybody I have cared for has either died or left me. Everybody, fucking except for you!"

I barely moved forward as she went to shove Joel backward. He didn't flinch.

"So don't tell me that I'd be safer with somebody else because the truth is I would just be more scared."

I touched her arm.

"You're right," Joel said. "You're not my daughter. And I sure as hell ain't your dad. Now, come dawn, we're going our separate ways."

"Joel," I muttered, following him out. He slammed the door shut. "Let's talk about this. Because that should have happened long before you made this choice."

"There's nothing to talk about," he replied.

I scoffed.

"Be ready to go in the morning."

"Joel, no."

"Our job's done."

"She's terrified," I said. "We're probably the most stable things that she's had in years. I'm not gonna abandon her. She's a kid-"

"She's not a kid, she's cargo. This was a job and now the job is done. Let's go."

"You're gonna look me in the eye and tell me that you actually still think that?"

"What did you expect to change?"

I froze.

The last thing I wanted to do in that moment was cry in front of him. But I couldn't help the burning behind my eyes. After all that had happened... all we had been through... the kisses... I thought that it was safe to assume that things were different now. That something had shifted in his mind.

"Have a safe trip, Joel," I muttered, blinking away any tears that tried to fight their way out.

"(Y/n), come on-"

"Job's done, right," I asked. "And nothing's changed?"

He paused.

"You said it before... we are just two people that sometimes do jobs together. Well, the job's done so you don't have to worry about me being 'stuck to your side all the time' anymore. You can finally get rid of me. Go do whatever the hell you want. I am going to make sure that kid isn't completely abandoned."

"(Y/n)-"

"Have a safe fucking trip, Joel!"

I walked back inside and slammed the door shut behind me.

I looked over at Ellie, who was standing in the middle of the room with tears in her eyes. It broke my heart. Damn near shattered the thing.

I stepped forward and yanked her into a hug. "I'm not going anywhere, got it?"

She hugged me back.

"I am not leaving you," I repeated, finally feeling the tears fall as my voice became shaky. "I'm going to stay right here and keep you safe. For as damn long as I can. Got it?"

She nodded against my shoulder.

"We're gonna figure this out, kid."

I just hoped that time would prove that I wasn't lying to her.

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Author's Note: I know it takes him all of like a minute to turn his ass around, but I needed the dramatic cut off. Let me have this one.

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