#Devil's Staircase

[dopescissorscashwagon]

Glen Coe from the 'Devil's Staircase' Scotland

📸 by @damianshieldsdotcom

damianshields.com

[upstairsdownstairsandinbetween]

"Devil's Corkscrews," Niobrara River, Nebraska, USA,

In the late 1800s, a remarkable fossil discovery in what is now northwestern Nebraska captured the imagination of scientists and sparked decades of research.

At the Agate Springs quarries, paleontologists unearthed something entirely unexpected—giant, spiral-shaped fossil structures buried deep underground. These mysterious formations, often several feet tall and coiled like ancient tree trunks, were unlike anything seen before. Their peculiar shape and massive size puzzled researchers for years. What could they be?

Initially dubbed “devil’s corkscrews,” these structures were thought to be the fossilized roots of ancient trees or even the remains of giant freshwater sponges. But as investigations continued, a more grounded explanation emerged.

Scientists eventually determined that these spirals were actually burrows—complex underground dens created by an extinct genus of land-dwelling beavers known as Palaeocastor.

The construction of spiral burrows required more effort from paleocastorines than digging straight inclined passages of the same length. Among the reasons that led burrowing beavers to this form is their territorial crowding: in conditions of large colonies, straight burrows should have often intersected.

According to another assumption, the unusual shape of the burrows was a response to the hot and dry climate of that era. From this point of view, its spiral design could have been a kind of air conditioning system for maintaining an optimal temperature and humidity regime inside the nesting chamber, which was especially important for the successful breeding of offspring.

Today, the “devil’s corkscrews” remain one of North America’s most fascinating and bizarre fossil discoveries—a testament to the strange and adaptive behavior of prehistoric life, preserved in stone beneath the Nebraska prairie.

Photo by B. Nicholls

[thomaswaynewolf]

[daily-ynfg-worlds]

Gray Staircase

[gearsofmetal]

HOW PREEETTYYYY THE TERMINAL RAAAAGHGHGHGHH

[askthebrokenones-fm]

It was during the rainy season and it pouring really hard in the rain during the 1988s: Hannhson on the other hand who was out the manor getting fresh air while it was pouring rain was out and about out of New Orleans out to look for some cryptid creatures to bring back to the Gracy Manor to prove to her haunts that they exist!Like example: She was out to find Nessie.A cryptid creature that lived in Ireland in the Ireland waters that she wanted to bring back to prove Nessie exist! Or if that didn't work Hannhson would catch Mothman or any cryptid creature to get her damn skeleton hands on!Her first cryptid she wanted to start with with the Jersey Devil: That was located in Pine Woods in New Jersey and made a trap for it wearing her Plauge Doctor witch outfit she hid behind some bushes waiting until she hoofs not knowing it was Egore and Sinclair looking for her wondering why she was out in the rain!When the trap got Egore... Hannhson ran out with a smile and shouted: "I CAN FINALLY PROVE THE JERSEY DEVIL EX--" Then Hannhson was cut off seeing Egore and Sinclair which she frowned!

"Come on!" Hannhson cried,"Egore I thought you we're the Jersey Devil!" She said,"I wanna prove one cryptid EXIST!" Hannhson cried crossing her bony arms as she removed her Plauge Doctor mask!

Sinclair was sawing at the rope holding Egore aloft in the branches when Hannhson came around and saw them.

Egore snapped, "Fuckin' hell! I'll fuckin' kill ya like th' Jersey Devil if ya want him!"

Sinclair hummed, "Hannhson, I don't think you necessarily need to prove cryptids exist if we exist."

[gctchella]

@xluciifer asked:

It's be funny if Carmilla fell down Lucifer's stairs because Zestial and Rick already have. HSKDHDKDN

It was.. a surprising invitation, to say the least. A chance to join Zestial's side as he paid a visit to the royal monarch who rules supreme all over Hell. The chance is one that many in the Pride Ring, and the others, would kill and sell their most valuable possessions to have. Carmilla never vied for it before personally, she stuck to her corners of the city and to her own business, but she would not turn down the invitation and olive branch to make a connection with someone who her long-term companion has come to care for. It was an honor, and she was touched by the offer.

During the visit, Carmilla offered her services; she would run her own surveillance around the manor and check its security points, find what might be weak and exposed, and potentially threatening. Her own extended offering of goodwill. He granted it, and off she went.

So far, all of the points she had found have been minimal. There was one that concerned her and she would bring it to the King's attention, but it was quite minimal when you look at the entire canvas of the house itself - it's enormous, and in the time she has now spent combing over it for any vulnerabilities, she only found the one thus far. Impressive, but honestly not surprising, given that this is the home of the Devil. He is bound to have measures in place, and perhaps what she found is a meaningful deception.

The gentle, sharp tick of signature step sings across the floor as she makes her way around a corner, arriving at a flight of stairs. The moment she reaches out to touch the railing, her hand slips on the surface and her ankle gives out. What was a calm and studious gait suddenly broke all equilibrium and sent it flying to the wind with heel over head.

"DAMMIT - !!!"

Distantly, Lucifer and Zestial can hear what sounds like a music box taking a very heavy fall down the stairs, though the thumps are too heavy. Lucifer knows this sound, he's heard it twice before already. Zestial knows it intimately, he's been in its shoes before.

If the stairs had a marker for its body count, it just gained a new number. Two Overlords and the most brilliant man in the universe has fallen to it.

When will it be your turn, Lucifer?

[henchmaxxing]

My secret creative dream is to learn how to create gifs not for like cool artistic reasons but so I can create loops of all the staircases in devil may cry 1

[venusstorm]

𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐒𝐢𝐫

Declan O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Declan's assistant is hurt and confused by his sudden departure from Corinium. Upon a visit to his home, feelings unfold and truths become known.

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, pet names, daddy kink, spit kink, bathtub sex, breeding, mentions of reader having hair, claw marks, and bruises, finger fucking, choking, gagging, kissing, spanking, adultery

w/c: 3393

‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵‥‥∵‥୨୧ ‥∵

"Where the hell is Declan!" You burst through the doors of the O'Hara household, loud and furious. You didn't buy the "He’s sick" claim for a moment, no matter how often Baddingham kept spewing the lie out of his mouth. And when you questioned his truthfulness, he sent you down the hall to Vereker's office, alerting you that you would no longer be Declan’s assistant. 

But you'd pull every last strand of hair from your head if you had to spend another second working for that asshole. And when that's gone, you'd start on your legs and then your arms, and perhaps a few eyelashes too. You ignored Tony's shouts as you left the office building searching for your true boss.

Which led you speeding through town, barreling through the countryside until you arrived at Declan’s grand estate. You banged on the door and when you were met with silence, your hands wrapped around the handle, pleasantly surprised when the door opened wide. 

Without hesitation, you stride through the foyer and march up the staircase. The long corridor witnessed you shout his name, scanning every room until you find his office. The doors cracked open which obviously means he’s welcoming you right in. 

"Declan! I swear to–" but his chair sits empty. A slew of papers and empty liquor bottles covered the surface. You squint your eyes in pure annoyance. If he's the reason you spend the rest of your week drowning out Verekers moans by fiddling your ears and banging your head against the desk, then he's in for it.

You sigh heavily as you turn around, heading for your next best guess. You envisioned him sneaking out drunkenly to a pub. Probably annoying the hell out of the bartenders because after his third drink, the man can’t shut the hell up. Or perhaps he's thrown himself into the woods to get eaten by wolves. You knew Declan, and when he hit rock bottom he crashed hard.

"That little shite doesn't know a goddamn thing."

The slurred words of Declan O'Hara ring through your ears. Like a siren call, you follow. He curses a fit of words, not once taking a breather. You follow the crude sounds until you reach another door. You don't bother knocking, he's far past the courtesy. 

"Found me," he slurs.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Declan!" You shield your eyes from the obscene view. He sits in a bathtub, legs sprawled open with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. A bottle of beer is held tightly in his grasp and he doesn't seem to have any plans to let go of it.

"I didn't tell you to come in here" he grumbles. "Heard yer stomps from a mile away."

"Well, I was worried. And also pissed you left me with that blonde-haired devil. He fucks like a rabbit and not in a good way. Wouldn't be surprised if he catches a damn itch."

Declan scoffs. "He’s already infested."

Your hands remain shielding your vision, leaving you blind to the way he stares off into space, taking the final swig of his drink and muttering beneath his breath. 

"Just come back please." You sigh.

The sound of glass clanking and rolling to the ground echoed around the bathroom. You jump from the sudden noise, tightening your hand around your vision. He rolls his eyes while delivering a mocking laugh.

"Hand me another bottle o'er there and I'll consider."

You stand firmly, scowling at his impossible behavior. 

“Standin’ there won’t help, darlin’. Don’t know why you’re tryin’.” He exhales a cloud of smoke, the scent wafting towards your nose and meshing with the woodland scent of his bath soap. 

“Just tell me where to walk” you quip. 

Declan’s eyes dart towards you, his lips curling into an amused grin. “Y'might need to be able to see for that.”

You shake your head in defiance, “Just tell me where to walk.”

He’s no longer interested in the shitty beer he kept hidden in the bathroom. Instead, he focuses on how easily you fall into line for him. 

"Go to the right."

You follow his command, stepping to the right without hesitation. 

"Now go straight about five steps."  You don’t question his directions, placing your full trust in his judgment. 

"Yes, Sir." You do as you’re told, taking five small steps and pausing. "Now what?"

He groans softly at your admission, his length stirring as you patiently wait for his next directions. Your tone unleashed fantasies he kept hidden within the depths of his mind and if you stayed for another moment, he’d happily release every last one. 

There's a moment of silence before he continues. "To the right once more and you've got it."

You blindly reach your hands outward but defeatedly grasp open air. "Declan? I don't feel it."

"Bend down a little, it's on the second shelf."

His eyes widen as the hilt of your skirt rises against your ass, revealing the lace garters decorating your legs. He takes a long drag, watching shamelessly as you shimmy to adjust the length, struggling to do so single-handedly.

Finally, you touch the slim neck of a glass bottle. "Oh! I found it!" You giggle excitedly.

Declan smirks. "Atta girl."

If you weren't too busy shielding your eyes from the outside world, you'd notice the way Declan scans your body. His gaze dropped from your face to the white blouse you wore. Half the buttons were undone but it wasn't like you could check. You stood in front of him like a temptress, all precaution flying out the window the moment he heard your soft laughter.

"Now how do I get back?"

He laughs breathlessly. "Same way you came."

"Uh okay." You attempt to retrace your steps. Mouthing his previous directions aloud until you're semi-close to the door.

"Now walk forward a few steps" he ushers.

You nod, walking carefully toward the sound of his voice. His eyebrows furrow with mischief as you approach, your steps growing wider and far too close to the edge.

The next sequence of events occurs in a blur. You tumble forward and the water splashes over the edge, coating the tiled floors as you fall into the bathtub. You squeal as the hot water warms your body, soaking your attire and revealing everything underneath to Declan's eyes.

"Asshole!" You shout. You attempt to stand only to wind up slipping and falling right back into place.

He presses his cigarette butt against an ashtray before grabbing your arms. He steadies you, dragging your body up against his with ease.

"And that's why we don't walk with our eyes closed."

"You didn't tell me to stop!" You're so enthralled in fury and he can't help but to revel in it. He can only smile as you curse, attempting once again to stand before accepting defeat.

"How much goddamn soap did you put in here!" You shake your head with bitter laughter. You lay back against him, your heart racing out of your chest as his arms find themselves on your waist.

An evident shift in mood affects the room. "Why won't you look at me?" He questions.

"Simple. You piss me off."

You shut your eyes even tighter, ignoring the way his length ghosted across your stomach. His chest hair was surprisingly soft, pillowing your head and causing your heart to beat a skip faster. You stay quiet as his hands drift away from your waist and towards your thighs, forcefully gripping them and dragging you closer to him.

"Then why'd you come here?" He retorts rather quickly.

"Tony. I'm sick of being ordered around by him."

Declan hums. "You didn't seem to have a problem taking orders a few seconds ago."

You whimper as he palms your ass, kneading it roughly. You place your hands against his chest, fighting the desire to give in.

“That’s different. I was helping a friend.”

His lips broaden into a smile at your select choice of word. “Friend?”

“Yes, Delcan. You’re my friend but clearly you could care less.”

He doesn't miss the bitterness in your tone. There was a hint of resentment that clouded your features. He saw it in the way you turned your head further away, limbs tensing against his touch.

"I care," he reassures.

"But you left me.” The vulnerable words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. “You caused complete chaos and rightfully so but you left without a word. I know I’m your assistant but I care about you, Declan. You always said we’d get out of that shitshow together and you left me.”

Truthfully, you grew attached to him, infatuated with a man whose brain met the greatness of his kindness. An unrequited love. You knew it was impossible for him to feel the same way but witnessing him leave without a word solidified your fears. You were merely his subordinate and nothing more. 

Your disappointment reaches your tear ducts and unshed tears of despair begin to descend your cheeks. Declan doesn't hesitate to wipe them away, his thumbs swiping across your skin in comforting movements. 

"There ya' go, darlin'. It's okay to be upset. I deserve it."

“Did you forget about me that quickly? You hadn’t even called.” You burrow your head into the crevice of his arm, still unwilling to face him. 

Forget? 

How could he forget when thoughts of you ran rampant in his head? He wasn’t one to take orders but anything you said rendered him defenseless. Despite being your superior it often felt as if he was learning from you. He’d do whatever you wanted without question. 

He spent nights thinking of you, his hand wrapped around his aching size as he dared not to wake his sleeping wife. Muffling his moans, he thought of how you’d look in her place. How he’d tilt your head backward, kissing you languidly while pushing past your folds. He envisioned your sensual tone calling out his name, begging him to push harder, deeper, to which he’d obey. Following your every command because that’s all he craved to do. Gritting his teeth, clenching the satin sheets until he dreamt of filling you with his seed, no longer caring if his wife heard him murmur your name. 

“I could never forget you.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that shutters your core. 

Slowly you break free from your darkened corner, at last meeting his heated gaze. He stares at you with pure desire, eyes dark and glimmering with something farther than lust.

You take in his naked form, staring at the dark hair that danced down his stomach and covered his shaft. Water dripped from his hair, his typically sleek curls jostled and free. You couldn’t see what lay beneath his waist but you felt his heaviness against your stomach, throbbing with unmet need.

“You’re drunk” you rebuttal weakly. 

He shakes his head, “M’perfectly fine.” He sobered the moment reality hit that your body was laid against his. 

He waits for your next argument but it never arrives. The two of you stare in silence, subdued desires coming to light. Slowly you begin unbuttoning your blouse, stripping the wet cloth from your shoulders and tossing it onto the mat. Declan assists you wordlessly, his hands pulling down your skirt before reaching to unclasp your bra. He takes in this moment. Kissing your skin every time another item is removed until you sit exposed before him.

His hand caresses the back of your head, drawing you close enough for your lips to graze. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

You nod, stopping the furthest thing from your mind. 

“I need words, darlin’. Are you okay with this?”

“I’m okay, Declan. Just…” Your brain turns into a foggy haze as you search for what you’d like to say. He grips your jaw, tilting it upwards to better meet your gaze. 

“Just, what? It’s okay. I won’t be mad.” 

You can’t seem to formulate the words to describe how you felt. His touch overwhelmed you in the best way possible. The fresh scent of his skin drowned your senses and feeling your most intimate parts glide against him took the entirety of your focus. 

“I just need you.” Your soft tone stirs something animalistic inside of him. Without another wasted second his lips meet yours. It starts impulsively rabid, his tongue wrapping around yours while he pushes your head further into him. He groans into your mouth, eyelids fluttering closed as he gets lost in your taste. But then he goes slower, savoring the way your hips begin to grind into him as your kiss grows messy. Saliva drips from the corners of your mouth until he drags his lips back over them.

Calling him desperate would be an understatement.

He pulls away regretfully, brushing the pads of his thumbs over your lips to clean his mess. You whine from the loss of connection, lips still parted and demanding him for more. 

Declan chuckles, granting your wish and delving into your mouth once more. Your hips rock against him, willing his length to rise. The water sloshes back and forth as you grind against his stomach, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest eagerly. Your hand rests against his unshorn chest hair, envisioning gliding your wet cunt over it until he’s drenched. 

“That’s it, darlin’. Use me.” He moans into your mouth, uncaring of how loud he was being.

“Hurts” you whimper. He pulls away once again, his hands finding yours beneath the water and directing them towards your heat. You jolt as his fingers graze your aching clit, “This what hurts, baby?” he hums. You nod, directing his fingers toward your puffy folds. 

He tsks, “I think that’s your job, darlin’.” You hadn’t quite understood what he meant until you felt him direct your fingers inside yourself. Your face contorts with pleasure as you shove them inside without question, using his chest as leverage while you ride. Declan watches you carefully before sliding his fingers back against your clit, pressing it roughly.

“Your pretty button’s so swollen. Just wanna make it feel better.” He rubs small circles around your clit, slapping it roughly when he notices your eyes rolling backward.

“Look at me when you play with your pretty cunt.” Declan ignores the way his cock jolts against his skin, desperate to be buried inside of you. All he cared about at this moment was your pleasure, physically reassuring your place in his world. 

“M’gonna cum” you whine.  

You say his name continuously as he continues to toy with your clit, tugging and slapping it until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Declan wraps you in a confining hug as you shake against him, his hands rubbing the back of your neck as he talks you through your orgasm. You nuzzle into his chest, allowing his huge frame to provide you comfort. “D-” Your tongue teeters on the line of murmuring a word you knew you mustn’t say.

“Did so good for me, baby. That’s it, I’ve got you. Just ride it out, I’m right here for you.”

But your mind slips and the word comes flowing from your lips. “Daddy.” It was hardly above a whisper but Declan caught it nonetheless. He watches you curl into him, a level of trust in your actions that he knew he had to maintain forever. 

You’re shaken from your haze as Declan taps his length against your cunt, a newfound look of pure hunger darkening his gaze. 

Pre-cum drips down his length, the water washing away any evidence of his sin. He rubs his reddened tip against your folds, groaning loudly as you spread your thighs wider for him. 

He drags you onto his cock, holding you upwards as you take his size. Your moans blend into one continuous sound as he fills you, stretching your walls as you claw at his back. 

“C’mon baby, know you can take more, can you do that for me?”

You shiver as you allow yourself to bottom out against him, muffling a scream as he breaches you entirely. His eyes roll as he embraces your warmth, his arousal growing heavier. He stares down at where the two of you connect, your walls choking his cock and leaking downwards.

A wave of adoration washes over him before it becomes tainted with angry realizations. You sat beneath him, his perfect match. Someone who balanced him, calmed him, put up with him. And yet, he’s had to push his feelings away in the name of not causing a stir. 

He’s angry that he’s trapped in a loveless marriage riddled with infidelity and fueled by his income. Trapped in this goddamn house that he could care less about. Angry that Tony dangled his career in front of him like a chew toy. And most of all he was livid that you weren’t the one sleeping next to him every night. 

Declan shoves his hips forward, bouncing you on his length. “So fucking tight” he grits through his teeth. You clench around him, your wetness welcoming him even further. The noises were obscene, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as your pussy squelched. He revels in it, fingers finding your sweet lips to shove them in between.

You witness the furrow in his eyebrows and undoubtable frustration. You meet his gaze, lips wrapping around his fingers and sucking. You take them deeper until they’re practically shoved down your throat. 

“Should’ve known you’d be a fucking slut. You like this, don’t you? Bet you wish you were choking down my cock instead.”

“Uh huh,” you whine. You’d thought about it all the time. When he’d arrive to work angry, sitting at his desk with a pout. How you’d wanted to sink to your knees beneath him, hiding beneath his desk while you slid him down your throat. Muffling your gags as he answered the phone while stroking your hair.

He hooks into your cheek, widening your mouth so he can spit into it. He taps you, commanding you to swallow to which you happily oblige. You shake against him, tits bouncing freely. He grips onto them, slapping your sensitive nipples until they pebble in his fingertips. 

“How does it feel, baby? You like being stretched out? Can barely keep your eyes open, can you?”

Pressing against your womb, Declan feels his length shatter your walls. He watches you fall into his broad chest, clutching onto his back while he holds you closely. 

“Feels so good, daddy.” You whimper. 

“That’s right, baby. Daddy’s got you. Gonna be my little cock whore amn’t ya? Surprised your little cunt could even fit. Just shows you're perfect for me, hm?”

“M’hm, perfect” you repeat.

He knows you're close, he feels it when your nails dig into his skin. Surely leaving marks that he wouldn’t feel the need to hide. 

“You need to cum, don’t you, baby? It’s okay, nobody’s here. Just us. Let go for me, let Daddy feel you.” His pace becomes slower, pounding into you with deep thrusts.

Your vision blurs as you reach your high, shouting Declan’s name as you gush around him. He follows suit, your pulsating walls unleashing his heavy orgasm. He doesn’t relent as he shoots his load into you, locking you down as he fills you with his seed. He could care less about the consequences, nothing else mattered at the moment.

He captures your lips in his, taking short breaths to whisper how good you were for him. He suckles on your collarbone, leaving definite bruises to match the claw marks you undoubtedly left on his back. 

“Let’s get you dry” he murmurs. 

You nod, too tired to reply or move. Declan slides out of you, saddened by the loss of connection. He carries you out of the bathtub, his spend dripping from your pussy and leaking onto his leg. He clenches his jaw, fighting the desire to fuck it right back into you.

He wraps you in a towel, drying your skin before taking you into his bedroom. He sits you on the bed while he scourers his closet for something you could wear. Landing on an old college shirt that he refused to throw out. 

As he slides it onto your body, he presses his lips against your forehead. A million words silently transcribe between the two of you. He’s unsure of what the future holds but he’s certain that you belong in his.

[namelessgakusei]

EP. 1.1 IGNITION

Devil May Cry x Reader insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread.

EP. 0 (masterlist)

EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION (cont.)

Synopsis: After a botched demon hunting, you and Dante hoped for some reprieve in Fredy's diner, only to come face to face with Dante's long dead twin brother.

It was the usual busy night. Streets are filled with people going on about their lives, narrowly avoiding each other as the sidewalk remains packed despite the time. A baby coos from her stroller as her mum navigates the crowd, innocently unaware to the stress her mother has on her face after bumping to strangers too many times. One of them even spat that she should excuse herself instead after colliding to her too hard that her bag fell to the ground.

"Asshole." She calls while gathering her things, oblivious to what happened to her daughter in the small moment she let her eyes off of her. Now changed to a husk of a mimic, the "baby" cries for her dropped rattle that rolled off to an alley. "Goddamn it Ellie, what now?" Despite the suspicious and unnatural way the toy moved away, the woman only sighed to herself as she went to pick it up.

Shadows cut her train of thought as they moved past, right behind her. Frozen in place, she could only slowly looked back as gurgling noises started to be heard. Something lunged at her and the woman screamed.

The woman struggled in the chokehold that the demons manifesting from the shadows have on her. With animal skulls for faces, they laughed at her pleas to spare her daughter, but before they can get a bite, the one holding her got shot at the face.

"Hey look! The Three Stooges came out to play!" A white haired young man clad in a red long coat came out of the darkness and shot at the demons who lunged at him, easily dodging their claws with the twist and kept raining his bullets on them. A demon tried to sneak up an attack from behind, only to get a barrel shoved to its throat, exploding from the number of bullets it released; while the other got bombarded with lead on the stomach. The remaining demon tried shooting sharp, skeletal limbs to his direction to impale, but he maneuvered just as easily as he jumped from a wall, getting a clear shot of the demon's head.

Despite the demon using the woman as a shield, the young man grinned, "Jackpot!" and shot, with the bullet breaking through her earring and straight to the center of the demon's skull, killing it.

The woman coughed and heaved for breath, crawling away in fear when she saw the demon disintegrating, and coming face to face with her savior. The man stood smugly as he looked down on her terrified state. But silence ensued.

"Eh, the way this usually goes is, I do that then drop a killer one-liner." He breaks the pause with an awkward groan, scratching his head as he looks away. "But I'm drawing a complete blank, right now."

"This never happened to me, I swear." The woman looked dumbfounded at his actions, and soon her fear turned into mild annoyance, only flinching when he suddenly turned to her direction with a grin, saying that he got one. "Pretend I just shot that guy."

"Man, Skeletor did not hold up since the '80s." The woman sighs wearily, making him backtrack with a nervous assurance.

"Dante. Dante. Stop, that's embarrassing." A voice called out from the fire exit staircase. Clad in a white coat similar to Dante, this individual looked more level headed that their companion, although they're visibly cringing at his expense.

Sighing softly, you jumped down the emergency exit, holding quite a large briefcase, and slowly made your way towards the woman, kneeling to her eye level as to not scare her any further. "Are you alright?" You smiled and offered her a hand.

Reciprocating your smile, she took your help and stood up. "I don't know how to thank you. You saved our lives." But then her eyes trailed towards Dante and her expression fell into confusion. "That is why you're here, right? To save us?"

"More or les— Augh!" Your partner glared and pouted when you jabbed his side and cut him off. "Yes, ma'am."

"There have been other attacks in the area. Our client hired us to look into it." You flashed your signature smile, a sure way to placate any stressed civilians that had unfortunately got tangled in your line of work. Though the implication of your work seem to interest her, making her inquire what really is the two of you are up to. Dante smirks and answers instead.

"Demon hunting."

This information seemed to scare her more, as she visibly backed away, trying to make sense of what's happening. "You're telling me that they were actually—"

The presence of something nonhuman made you spin behind, certain that a demon is close, only to see a baby tucked in a stroller. Dante seemed to notice your apprehension, cutting his conversation short with the mother to examine the source of your frown. "Cute kid." He grins.

Your brows furrowed. "We really should be getting home now." The mother says while picking up her scattered things. That baby doesn't feel human. "Shouldn't we, Ellie? Say goodbye to the nice people." Before you can say something, the said "baby" transformed into a demon and lunged at Dante.

"Dante!" You pushed him out of the way, only to get your arm caught. His instincts kicked in upon the sight as he draws his gun, alerting the mother as she pleads for her daughter's safety. The demon reverted from being a child but before you could explain, the mother threw her bag at your faces, temporarily stunning you as she runs away.

Dante chased after her, but she already disappeared into the crowd. "Damn it."

The opening of Fredy Diner was the reprieve that the two of you have after that botched demon hunting. At the hour it opens, Dante opened the door, with you trailing behind. There weren't many patrons around, just four, including the both of you. At least the waitress seemed particularly happy after hearing your arrival, already serving Dante's usual dessert and your morning coffee.

You grimaced at his sugary confection, commenting on how he can stomach it in the early hours of the day, only for him to jab at your coffee tasting so bad you can't help but wake up. An extra napkin was served alongside his ice cream, making you two look at each other in confusion. But upon seeing that the waitress' number and kiss mark was on it, Dante shrugged and used it to wipe his mouth, much to your dismay. "Poor lass..."

The worn down television buzzed in a faint volume as you two basked in the peaceful ambience. The show suddenly stopped in favor of a breaking news, showcasing the events of last night within Vatican City. "This is the first image released from last night's Vatican City bombings that have shocked and horrified the entire world." You narrowed your eyes as you sip your coffee, immediately recognizing the suspect to be a demon before the newscaster can give any more information. They usually lay low around the dark areas of the world, this is the first you've seen of them actively make an appearance. "—The suspect appears to have two strange protrusions on his back that are shaped almost like wings." Just as you were about to comment on it to Dante, you froze.

You noticed it before him. No, he noticed the way your eyes slightly faltered when you turned your chair around. Without a word, the two of you moved fast, with him grabbing the civilians, and you jumping behind the counter as a truck of gasoline was thrown at your direction, blowing up the diner.

Everything was a mess, but at least you got into shelter before everything blew off. Dante pushed the debris that landed on top of you all with a grunt while you barked at the civilians to flee, opening your suitcase to provide your partner the weapons he need.

"Dante."

Your voice overlapped with another when you handed him a gun, eyes darting to his figure. You never saw Dante tense up, much less look horrified.

"Leaving so soon?" A silhouette emerged from the flames, slowly making their way towards the two of you.

"We have much to catch up on, brother."

Brother? Dante's brother?

"No. You're..." Dante turned around with wide eyes as memories of that night flashed in his mind.

"...dead."

A man who looks exactly like your partner stood in the middle of the carnage.

[enwoso]

the grumpiest day | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request

grumpy masterlist

it all started with a sock.

not even a missing one, not even a particularly dirty one. just a tiny, pink, glittery sock with a unicorn on it, abandoned halfway down the staircase.

and unfortunately for leah, it was the first thing she encountered at 7:36 a.m, barefoot and uncaffeinated.

she stepped on it. slid slightly. nearly died, in her humble opinion. "seriously?" she muttered, flicking it off her foot with the grace of a disgruntled cat. "y/n!"

from the living room, a small but unbothered voice replied, "it's mine! i was gonna pick it up, i swear!"

"really? cause it's lying in wait like a sock-shaped trap!"

there was a pause. then: "you're grumpy."

leah exhaled. "and you're messy." it having been a long two week break for the three of you. you being off school full of energy each day and the footballing season seeing alessia and leah with a few more days off. it had meant there had been a lot of bumping of heads, not even bad — more dramatic and unnecessary really.

upstairs, alessia spat toothpaste into the sink and froze mid-rinse. tilting her head like a dog who heard its favourite squeaky toy. trouble. it had begun. the grump-off and she hadn't even been able to have her morning coffee in peace before it began.

—

by 9:00 a.m, tensions had escalated to cold war levels.

you had refused leah's toast she'd made, 'it's crispy, not toast, it tastes like burnt air!' and then leah had outright banned cartoons 'i am not watchin' bluey again, i'd rather eat the glitter sock that nearly killed me this morning'

alessia, caught between the toddler hurricane and her grumbling girlfriend, tried her best to keep the peace with snacks, deep breathing, and that tight, diplomatic smile she wore during post-match interviews when she wanted to scream.

you sulked in your room with your crayons, scribbling something angrily while muttering, 'mama is not my best friend today.'

leah sulked in the living room, muttering back to waffles, "she's five. why am i arguing with a five-year-old? she's a tiny little dictator."

the only thing louder than the silence was the mutual stubbornness.

—

you both through your own stubbornness forgot about the visitor that was coming over, as ella showed up just after three. man united being down in london for an away game her suitcase in tow, wide smile plastered on her face.

"ello, elloooo!" she sang, letting herself in like she owned the place. "oi, i brought biscuits and northern charm, who wants to be blessed?"

she walked straight into the thickest atmosphere since the 2022 final. "why does it feel like i walked into a funeral?" she asked, pausing mid-kitchen stride as she saw alessia sat at the kitchen table nursing a coffee in her own peace

alessia rubbed her temple standing up to give the manchester girl a hug. "they've fell out."

ella blinked. "who? leah and tiny?" alessia hummed, nodding her head, "over a sock."

ella's mouth dropped open. then she laughed, full and unapologetic. "oh my god, no way. let me guess—leah took it personally and tiny declared war.”

"pretty much, yeah.”

"well least neither of them have over reacted! where are they both now?"

alessia gestured vaguely. "leah's sulking in the living room watching a rom-com. and lovie is drawing pictures of leah with devil horns in her room, i think."

"right well it's intervention time."

—

fifteen minutes later, they were all in the living room. alessia curled up with a mug of tea, while ella had flopped across the armchair with a handful of biscuits and in the middle of the couch sat the two grumps. both of you with shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed and both of you refusing to go first.

ella took charge, like a seasoned camp counselor. "right, you two. this mood is not what being a family is about!"

you sniffled, folding your arms across your chest, well tried to. "mama shouted at me." leah huffed as she let out a sigh of defeat, "ok, i raised my voice a little bit."

"she said my socks were a trap."

"they were! i nearly fell to my death!"

"so dramatic," you muttered, letting you back fall against the back of the couch as ella nearly choked on her biscuit from holding in laughter. alessia shot her a look and mouthed help me.

ella cleared her throat. "okay. leah you need to say sorry."

leah sighed and rubbed her face. "fine. little one, i'm sorry for snapping. i didn't mean to be scary and upset you."

you narrowed your eyes. "and?"

"...and your socks are cute. even if they are a little bit dangerous." you smiled triumphantly.

"and you?" ella asked, turning to the little face as your smile dropped a little bit.

"i'm sorry mama for leaving my sock on the stairs. and for saying you were a monster."

leah raised a brow. "you said that?"

"only to the waffles."

"wow."

alessia stepped in before another spiral happened. "you've both said sorry. now, can we maybe watch a film and just relax like a proper family?"

"I WANNA WATCH FROZEN!" you shouted, bouncing upright with the energy of someone who hadn't spent the entire day pouting.

leah groaned like someone had just asked her to run ten laps  of the football pitch with a hangover. "again? you've seen it like eighty times."

"it's the best movie ever. you'll like it if you just stop being boring."

"why is that always the solution?" leah asked no one in particular as she flopped onto the sofa, close to alessia as she sipped at her mug of tea.

you climbed up beside her, victorious, clutching the remote like a scepter. "cause' you need to let it go, mama."

ella burst out laughing. "okay, no, she wins. that's it. game over."

alessia settled beside leah, tucking her legs underneath her. "you could just sing along, just this once. for the memories."

leah's head fell into her hands as the opening credits started. "i think i would rather watch paint dry."

next to her, you were already swaying to the music, eyes sparkling, mouthing the words like you were in the west end.

ella leaned over to alessia, whispering through laughter, "i'm not saying i told you so, but i am watching the grumpiest defender in england get emotionally bullied into watching frozen by a five-year-old."

leah peeked through her fingers. "i heard that."

you gasped. "auntie ella, you have to be quiet! it's starting!" ella immediately put her hands in the air in defense not wanting to argue her point as alessia chuckled to herself.

"that's you told."

and just like that, as elsa belted her first note, peace (mostly) returned. ella passed alessia a biscuit. "well done, mum. crisis averted."

alessia just smiled, eyes on her little girl and her very reluctant girlfriend, who, by the second chorus, was... maybe humming. just a little as her head rested on alessia's chest.

ella smirked. "told you."

[daily-ynfg-worlds]

Scarlet Staircase

[houseofaegon]

Blood and Ashes ✩ Ben Mears

Pairings: Ben Mears x Vampire!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n, ben mears x fem!reader, gothic and dark themes, heavy sensual tension, blood drinking (consensual), vampire seduction, praise kink, biting, obsession, possessive behavior, domination, rough sex, wall sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, mutual surrender, dirty talk, fangs!!!!, feral!ben, blood play/kink.

Summary: Jesuralem's Lot is dead. But something still breathes in the bones of the Marsten House. Ben returns not to save, but to submit—to her. She is the last vampire left—and she’s starving. What she wants isn’t a meal. It’s him. Mind, body, soul. Forever.

Author's Note: this fic???? absolutely ruined me. i love you lewis pullman you're everything to me!!!! i would let him destroy me!!!!

Jerusalem's Lot had never been kind. Not to you. Not to anyone. And now? It was a graveyard masquerading as a small town—its silence oppressive, its shadows swollen with secrets. Wind slithered through the streets like whispered curse, carrying with it the scent of rotting burnt corpses, rain-soaked wood, and something dangerous. The houses, once quaint and beautiful sagged like broken things. Empty. Haunted. Trees clawed at the night sky. The Marsten House, standing like a vulture on its hill, watched it all.

Ben Mears returned not as a savior, but as a man still haunted by the events of the night before. Hunted. A helpless sheep walking right into the wolf's den. He climbed the hill not because he wanted to—but because some part of him needed to. Drawn. Pulled.

Like a pirate enchanted by a siren's call.

The door groaned as Ben Mears pushed it open, and the darkness inside breathed out to greet him—warm, perfumed, heavy with the scent of something not quite dead.

He stepped inside.

The air was thick. Candles flickered, some burned low, others tall and fresh. Who the hell had lit them? Who kept them alive?

He moved through the hall. The walls dressed in peeling wallpaper the color of dried blood. A crystal chandelier hung above the foyer, crusted in dust, but beneath the dust the crystals still caught the candlelight, glinting like a thousand frozen tears. Cobwebs clung to it like veils.

A golden goblet sat on a marble pedestal, so clean and pristine—it looked like it didn't belong there. He lifted it slowly, heart thudding in his chest. The liquid inside shimmered dark red. He brought it to his nose.

Not wine.

Blood.

His stomach lurched.

"Ben Mears."

The voice curled around his spine. Low. Feminine. Dark velvet soaked in sin.

He turned.

She stood at the edge of the staircase. Bare foot on old wood, gown clinging to her like a second skin. The fabric shimmered red and black, like blood and shadows. Her skin was pale, untouched by time, framed by ink-black hair cascading down her back in waves. Her eyes—a deep, gleaming crimson, unholy.

She looked like something that had been once worshipped and now feared.

Ben couldn't speak. Couldn't move.

"You found your way back I see," she said, stepping into the candlelight. It kissed her face, casting shadows that made her look carved from sin. "Curiosity? Guilt? Or maybe something darker?"

He managed a whisper. “Who are you?”

Her smile was slow. Cruel. Beautiful. Big white fangs shimmered under the light.

“They used to call me whore,” she said. “Before I even knew what it meant. Before I’d even been kissed. Just a girl with too much beauty and not enough shame for their liking.”

She circled him slowly, voice a dark song.

“They said I seduced the minister's son. That I danced naked in the woods. That I’d made a pact with the Devil.”

She laughed. A dark, low, raspy rumble on her chest that made his skin prickle.

Her eyes burned red. "I hadn't. Not then, at least."

He swallowed. "What happened?"

"I wanted this town to burn. When Barlow came, I went to him. Walked through the dark with bare feet and said, take me. I wanted to watch them all suffer. I wanted to watch them scream."

"You let him bite you."

"I begged him to." She was behind him now, breath ghosting his neck. "He thought he'd make his perfect bride. But he made something else."

Her cold fingers slid along his arm, nails scratching his skin. He flinched.

“I was too dark inside. Too much rage. Not enough soul left to lose.” She circled to face him again, eyes wide, shining blood-red. “I didn’t die. I became.”

She lifted the goblet and drank.

"Your blood smells so good," she whispered, licking her blood-stained lips slowly with a satisfying moan. "Like guilt and want and loneliness."

Ben backed away. "You're not human."

“No,” she agreed. “But not a monster either.”

She stepped closer. “You’ve been dreaming of me. Every night. You see a woman in the dark, in silk, with fangs, and you wake up hard and aching and ashamed.”

He froze.

She touched his chest. "You hate this place. Just like I did. I can feel it. I can hear your thoughts. That's why you came back. You want to be ruined."

Her lips brushed his cheek, then his ear.

"I can ruin you, Ben. I can help you. Sweetly. Slowly."

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Why?” she asked, fangs flashing. “You’re dying to be tasted.”

Her tongue flicked across his throat and he gasped. She moaned softly, intoxicated.

“Say it,” she whispered. “Say you want it.”

He did.

God help him, he did.

Ben stepped back, boots creaking against the wood. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Wild. Desperate. But his eyes wouldn't leave her.

She stood with the goblet in hand, blood on her lips. The candlelight adored her, casting her in gold and flickering shadow. Every inch of her was hauntingly beautiful. Sacred. Profane. Unholy. Her beauty seduced him.

She stepped forward, slowly, hips swaing, her gown clinging to the curve of her thighs, the dip of her waist. She moved like sin incarnate—like something not meant for daylight. He backed up until his shoulders hit the crumbling wall. She didn't touch him. Not yet. Just stood close enough that her scent filled his lungs—blood, roses, sin.

"I can hear your thoughts, you know," she purred. "They're loud."

He shook his head. "Get out of my head."

"I'm not in it." Her voice dipped, teasing. "You invited me."

Her hand hovered near his chest.

"Your heart is begging. I can feel it," she whispered.

Ben’s mouth was dry. “You’re playing with me.”

“Yes.” Her grin curled. “Do you want me to stop?”

He didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Her scent was madenning. Her beauty enchanting. A curse. A drug. A poison. And God he would be lying if he said he wasn't addicted. His muscles coiled. His body betrayed him, leaning into her shadow.

She leaned in, lips grazing his temple. "I know what you want, Ben. I can feel it. Taste it. It's delicious," she purred. "You dream of hands like mine. Mouths like mine. You want to fall."

She reached for his hand, and he let her take it. Did nothing to push her away. Her fingers were cold and strong, pale. She brought his hand to her face and pressesed it to her cheek slowly.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said, lying.

She turned her head, pressed her lips to his palm. "Then you're a fool."

He gasped as she kissed his wrist, her fangs brushing against his skin. Against his pulse. Not biting. Not yet.

"Tell me to stop," she whispered.

He stared at her, lips parted.

"Tell me," she repeated, lower now, hungrier.

But he didn't. He couldn't. She was too close, too warm, too real. His body shook, overwhelmed by her scent, her voice, her beauty. She was everything forbidden, everything he'd never dared to admit he wanted. And she knew it.

She stepped back just enough to let him breathe—but not enough to break the spell.

“You came looking for monsters,” she said, slowly circling him again. “But what if the thing you find... is yourself?”

She stopped behind him and pressed her body against his back, mouth at his ear again.

“You ache, Ben. Let me take it.”

His eyes fluttered shut. Her hands slid under his shirt, nails trailing over his ribs, slow, almost reverent.

“Don’t—” he breathed.

“But you want me to.”

Silence.

“Yes,” he said finally. Voice hoarse, broken. “God help me, yes.”

“He won’t.” She smiled against his throat. "God's not here, Ben. Only me."

She breathed out, a moan half pleasure, half hunger let her lips. Her arms snaked around his waist, holding him like a lover—possessive, starving. Her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

"You don't know what you've given," she purred. "But I will take it. Every inch of you."

Ben turned to face her, trembling, his hands cupping her face like he might wake up from a dream and lose her. She looked up at him through dark lashes, her smile low and feral, baring just the tips of her fangs. Her pupils dilated as she watched him, drinking in the flush of his skin, the raw pulse in his throat, the smell of his blood.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice breaking. “God, you’re—”

She kissed him.

Not gently. Not sweetly.

Her mouth devoured his—needy, commanding, insatiable. Her tongue swept into him like fire, like blood, like everything he’d ever feared and secretly craved. He groaned into her mouth, hands diving into her hair, tangling, pulling. Her body crushed to his, soft curves pressed against muscle and desperation.

The kiss deepened—filthy, raw, and desperate. She tore his shirt open with a sound that wasn’t entirely human—a low growl of satisfaction rumbling from her throat. Buttons flew, skittering across the floor. Her hands dragged across his chest, nails leaving thin, red trails that stung and made him groan. She moaned at the sight of him.

“God, look at you,” she whispered. “So fucking beautiful. All mine to have. All mine to taste.”

Ben's breath hitched, his chest heaving under her touch. Her words made his blood burn. Her mouth followed her hands, hot kisses pressed into his pecs, his ribs, the scar above his heart. He shivered. Moaned.

“You’re not afraid,” she said again, unbuckling his belt with one hand, eyes locked to his.

“I should be,” he said, voice hoarse.

“But you’re not,” she smiled, dark and victorious. “You’re hungry.”

She shoved his pants down, and he kicked off his boots, stepping free with a raw, desperate grace. He stood before her now—bare, vulnerable, and utterly wrecked by desire and want.

Then it was his turn.

He reached for her, slowly, and took one thin strap of her gown between his fingers. Slid it down her shoulder. Then the other. His hands were trembling. Not with fear. With deisre.

The gown slipped from her, pooling at her feet. She stood bare in the candlelight, and Ben stared, stunned, unable to speak.

"God, you're..." he couldn't even finish the thought.

"Say it," she purred, licking the shell of his ear.

"I want you," he breathed. "I want all of you."

"Then take me."

He lifted her like she weighed nothing. She gasped, arms and legs wrapping around him like vines. He pushed her against the wall, candles flickering wild, shadows dancing around them.

Her back hit the wall with a loud thud, and she laughed. Dark. Breathless. Delighted.

"That's it," she moaned. "Just like that. Use me. I'm yours."

Ben's mouth was on her throat, kissing, bitting. She arched into him. Her nails dragged down his back, claiming him.

"You're mine now," she whispered, head falling back, her red eyes blazing. "Mine to take. Mine to break. Mine to rebuild. Mine to love."

His hands gripped her hips, lifting, pressing, thrusting. She gasped, her voice breaking into a cry that echoed through the ruined halls of the Marsten House.

Ben buried his face in her neck, breath ragged, teeth grazing her skin. Every inch of her burned into him—her scent, her voice, the way her body welcomed his like it had been waiting centuries.

“Please,” he gasped against her throat. “Do it. Bite me.”

She pulled back just enough to see his face—flushed, eyes blown wide with desire, lips trembling. Her grin was wicked, dripping hunger.

“You want it?” she purred. “You want me to sink my fangs into you, mark you, ruin you?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Ruin me. I want it. I want you.”

She moaned at his desperation, rolling her hips into him as his body pressed harder against hers. “You’re such a good boy for me, Ben. So fucking perfect. Look at you. So beautiful. So wrecked. Just for me."

He groaned, her hands gripped her ass, lifting her higher, pressing harder against hers. "God, you feel like heaven and hell."

She kissed him again—biting his lower lip, drawing blood. He gasped, and she licked it away.

“You don’t belong to yourself anymore,” she whispered against his mouth. “You’re mine. My pretty little thing. My blood. My boy. Mine.”

“Yes,” he groaned. “Yours. I’m yours.”

She kissed down his throat, her voice a growl now, primal and dark. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Beg for it.”

“Bite me. Please. Mark me. Fucking take me.”

Her fangs slid into his neck. Ben cried out, but he wasn't in pain. He let out a growl so exquisite it made her moan, deep, guttural, blood slipping into her mouth like the first taste of sin. She moaned around his blood, drunk on him, her fingers digging into his back as he thrust into her in one fluid, desperate motion.

She gasped, her head snapping back against the wall, red eyes rolling half-shut. Blood dripped from her lips, down her chin, slick and warm between their bodies.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Ben—God—yes.”

His tongue darted out, licking the trail of blood from her chin. He groaned at the taste of his own blood—copper, sweetness, sin. His mouth moved up to hers, messy and hungry, their kiss smeared with blood and breathless devotion.

He rocked into her, harder now, his hips slamming against hers. She cried out, fingers clawing down his back, marking him.

“Yours,” he whispered against her lips. “I’m fucking yours.”

“Say it louder,” she demanded, panting.

“YOURS.”

Her laugh was ragged, breathless, head falling back again as he slammed into her again, again, and again. “That’s it. Good fucking boy. Ruin me.”

“You’re perfect,” he gasped. “You’re so perfect, fuck—so tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

“Ben,” she moaned, clinging to him. “You’re filling me so good. You feel so good.”

He didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Every thrust was a prayer, a promise, a confession, a goddamn surrender. Harder, deeper, more desperate. Her body met his with the same hunger, the same rhythm, the same unholy need.

Her head snapped back, eyes rolling, mouth open in a helpless cry. Her moans came faster, louder, broken into pieces by his unrelenting rhythm.

“You like that?” he growled, gripping her hips, pounding into her like he could fuck her into the wall. “You like how I ruin you?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes, Ben—”

“I want you to come for me,” he snarled, voice low and vicious in her ear. “Come on me, come with me—let them hear it.”

Her nails raked his back, leaving streaks. “Fuck, Ben, don’t stop, I’m—”

He slammed into her, over and over, watching her unravel. "You're mine now. Mine."

She moaned. "You taste so fucking good. I can’t—I need—”

“Then take more,” he growled.

Her fangs sank into his neck again. He cried out, a sound of agony and release. Her body clenched, spasmed around him, her climax hitting her like a storm. She shook in his arms, drowning in him, groaning into his neck as she tasted his sweet blood.

“I want to taste you,” he gasped. “All of you. I want your blood.”

She grinned as she bit into her wrist with no hesitation, blood slowly dripping. She held it out, offering it to him.

Ben latched onto her wrist with a groan. The taste of her hitting him like lightning, smoke, sex, darkness, so fucking sweet. Her blood was thick, intoxicating, divine.

His eyes rolled back. His moan shattered in his throat. His climax tore through him like wildfire.

They came together, loud and broken.

Her back arched violently against him, a scream ripping from her throat. His grip tightened, his growls muffled against her wrist. His entire world narrowed to this—blood, sweat, sex, her.

Ben slumped against her, trembling, breathless, blood on his lips.

She held him, her own chest heaving, eyes burning with something deeper than lust.

Possesion.

He was hers now. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Entirely hers.

And she was his.

She never thought she'd crave someone like this—never thought she’d need anyone. But his blood? His scent? His voice?

She was addicted. Obsessed.

He was hers, and she wasn't letting go.

“Mine,” she whispered, voice low, dangerous. “Forever.”

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

[ddejavvu]

Could you do something for cat animangus reader x Sirius where they're older like order of the phenix older during winter time and Molly makes a comment to Sirius about him having a sweet cat and when he turns to corner he finds reader cuddled up to Remus again do to his body heat and Sirius just reacts to a "really this again?"

Things between Molly and Sirius are still frosty, but the same stuff that chills between them glazes over the windows, and the winter air serves as a healing balm while everyone huddles around the fire for warmth.

The heating systems in Grimmauld Place are functional, but ancient, and it's much easier to stay by a roaring fire than to huddle by the floor vent on one of the upper levels. Sirius has insisted, as the owner of the house and as the man unwillingly cooped up inside of it for years, that he will make the cocoa, because if he goes any longer without making himself useful he will begin yearning to touch the fatally cursed objects his mother hoarded before her demise.

Molly relents, if only to keep his callused hands away from a music box that will kill him if the tune reaches his ears.

"Oh, that's lovely," The woman coos, peering at your feline form curled up on Remus's lap in front of the fire, "Remus, I didn't know you had a cat. I thought the only one we had was Hermione's, but he's orange."

"She's not mine," Remus hums, though he drags a palm flat over your head, letting you butt into it to your own liking, "She's Sirius's."

Molly's brows scrunch; surely Remus doesn't mean the dog man that stands eerily alert at the back door whenever he hears the pitter patter of little paws on the back fence-? But when the aforementioned animagus comes into the room with a tray of cocoa, she confirms Remus's words straight from the source.

"Sirius, your cat is lovely." She muses experimentally, watching the way the man's eye twitches slightly.

"Oh? And where is the little devil-?" Sirius peers around the room, and when his gaze lands on you lounging on Remus's legs, he shoves the tea tray haphazardly onto a side table with a scoff. It makes a cacophony of sounds; most of them unpleasant as glass-on-glass tends to be, "Oh, you're joking."

"Sirius, it's warm here," Remus attempts to calm the man, but it's no use as he steals a mug of cocoa and makes a break for the staircase. You're glad to see that prison never took his flair for dramatics, but he's being a tad ridiculous. Remus keeps explaining, "You're welcome to take her if you want to sit by the fire! She's just getting warm!"

"Keep her! Keep her," Sirius calls from the ledge of the second floor, "And Moony, why don't you just take the deed to the house, too! And my things, you can steal the clothes right off of my back next time."

With a huff and a flourish that are aided by his chin-length curls, Sirius turns to beeline for his room, and the slam of a door that rattles the paintings on the wall is your confirmation that your husband will be sulking until you pad upstairs and settle on his chest.

"Well, that was fun while it lasted." Remus drawls, scooping a hand beneath your belly and hoisting you out of his lap. He sets you on your feet, and you mourn the loss of the fire's warmth.

"Go humor him, love," Remus nudges you towards the stairs, and Molly watches bewildered as you begin your ascent.

"We've been having this fight for over a decade," Remus muses, sipping at his cocoa and skillfully avoiding a whipped cream mustache, "When your children aren't eavesdropping with that extendable ear, I'll tell you about the time he found her curled up in my bed instead of his."

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Loose In Hogwarts

Characters: Reader, Newt, Niffler, Dumbledore (all platonic)

Warnings: Absolutely none!

Summary: Newt gave you one task - keep an eye on the magical briefcase. And so you did… until the Niffler staged an escape!

A/n: Posting this one early. We could all use a comfort fic today.

~~~

Did you mess up? Yes.

Was it your fault? Well, not entirely.

Nifflers are known to be quite tricky creatures and you had a plan to keep the blue-coated animal in your sights. Newt had expressly advised as much when he left his case of fantastic beasts in your hands.

What you hadn’t expected was a secret deal between the niffler and Newt’s favourite bowtruckle, Pickett.

One distraction was enough for the situation to spiral and now, there was a little thief scurrying about Hogwarts with his companion. You enlisted the help of Newt’s demiguise but when Dougall blended into the air and wandered away, you were on your own to fix the problem.

You passed dozens of students as you crossed the Entrance Courtyard. Thankfully, a few kind smiles and waves were enough to swerve by them without suspicion. You walked through the large doors and past the Great Hall, then up some short steps to the Grand Staircase.

Pausing at its base, a flicker of blue caught your eye atop a moving set of stairs but when you focused, you realised that it was only a blue ring that was being showcased by a Ravenclaw to his friends. A family heirloom, no doubt.

Then another brief blur of blue sparked your attention. It came from the corner of a portrait door as it closed. There was no fuss from the students who had been walking through the passageway but they hadn’t been looking at the ground. And the niffler knew how to sneak around in large crowds.

Following a hunch, you head in the direction of the portrait. A brief glance at the watch on your wrist told you that Newt was still busy in the outer school grounds for another half hour. Usually you wished him luck on his ventures but if the fwoopers chose to give him some grief while he collected their feathers, it wouldn’t be too upsetting right now.

Entering the portrait passageway, you followed the corridor with a keen interest in any trace of a nifflers mark. That’s when you saw a gold galleon on the stone floor that veered off into another corridor - one that you were quite familiar with. A single coin could have been a coincidence but when you came by a second piece of gold, you knew that you were on the right track.

At the end was another portrait who had grown to be friend during your years as a student.

Walking up to the silver frame, you expected to see a wise old wizard reading to his goat while watering his Flitterbloom. But the old man wasn’t there. In his place stood Sir Cadogan, sword brandished and pointing at the plant with suspicion.

“What kind of madman keeps such a deadly thing?” He grumbled.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his misinformation and coughed to announce your presence. The painted knight glanced and then held a hand out in your direction so that you would stop from nearing.

“Halt, brave one. I dare not let you endanger yourself while this beast is here.”

Stepping forward slowly, you tried to help the well-meaning portrait.

“Fear not, brave knight.” Sir Cadogan responded better with flattery. “That’s Flitterbloom, a twin in looks to Devil’s Snare but completely harmless. In fact, it’s docile enough to just be an indoor plant so there is no danger.” You said.

Sir Cadogan took in the information and then lowered his sword with a haughty laugh. “Good thing that I was here then.”

You passed off the silliness and then addressed him properly. “I’m in need to use this passageway, there is a niffler on the loose and-“

“What where?!” Sir Cadogan looked around frantically, sword in session again.

“In the castle,” you corrected and the knight calmed once more. “And I think he may have come this way while you were…” Fighting with an overgrown pot plant, you thought. “…busy.”

The portrait knight sheathed his sword and gave you a deep bow. “As you have helped me, it would be my honour to repay this favour.”

The frame swung forward gently and granted you entry. Stepping through, you found yourself in the corridor to one of your favourite school lessons. But before you could properly reminisce, sitting before a closed classroom door was your culprit calmly stuffing his pouch with a glittering necklace.

Got you.

But it seemed the niffler had heard your feet against the maroon carpet. He stood up in alarm and then made a frantic dash underneath the classroom door, his little body squeezing through until his feet vanished on the other side.

“Absolutely not.” You declared and burst through the doors after him.

Professor Dumbledore was standing at the front of the empty room and setting out various parchments for a lesson.

If he was startled, he didn’t show it. He simply continued his work while he spoke.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t teaching.”

It was true. You hadn’t thought about what would have happened if students saw you barge in like mad-witch escaped from Azkaban.

Humming back, you searched around the room for your thief while Dumbledore was still busy.

“I was thinking of inviting Aberforth for dinner tomorrow night.” He said, opening a drawer and retrieving a few ink pots.

You heard him but with an occupied mind all you managed back was a blunt, “He hates you.”

Dumbledore merely sighed. He closed the drawer and nodded. “He does. But he adores you which is why he’ll agree. Maybe we could bake him some pumpkin pie to sweeten the deal?”

“Filled with lovely gold.” You said softly in your sweetest voice.

Dumbledore was puzzled at the suggestion and finally turned. “Gold? Why-“

Crash!

It was all so fast but he saw you launch into a stack of books, sending bound covers all over the floor. He would have reprimanded you had the sight not been so comedic.

Dumbledore crossed his arms, a small laugh tugging at his mouth as he watched you recover and then leap over and under desks after something that was much faster.

“Is something wrong?” He wondered curiously.

“Wrong?” You huffed and stood up abruptly. Hair slightly dishevelled, you combed your fingers through it to set it in place while your eyes darted around for any glimmer of gold or a blur of blue. “Nothing’s wrong. Does it seem like it’s wrong? Why would you ask that?”

Dumbledore cleared his throat to stop himself from laughing outright at your attempt to lie. “No reason. You just seem a little distracted is all.” He said.

You sulked a little and grumbled. “Distractions got me into this mess.”

“And what mess is this?” Dumbledore asked innocently.

Catching yourself, you changed topic quickly. “Nothing of import. Do you really think that pumpkin pie will lure your brother into having a family dinner? Shouldn’t you talk to him like a normal person?”

Dumbledore leaned against the desk with a smirk. “Have you considered not diving headfirst into ancient texts that I carefully organised?”

You winced and looked at the mess in the corner. Oops.

You had no excuse for that incident but you could have sworn there was blue tail peeking out. Although the mess was preferable to the one Dumbledore was trying to start with his brother.

Who uses pie to ensnare themselves an invitation to dinner? He may as well - wait.

Ensnare… to trap.

Quite suddenly, an idea popped and you snapped your fingers at the wizard, eyes-wide with a plan sewing itself together.

“That’s it!” You exclaimed. Rushing over, you gave him a tight hug that almost toppled him over had he not hugged back. “You’re the best.”

This time Dumbledore laughed in kind, simply happy to be of assistance. Releasing him, you made a heading for the door. Reaching out an arm over a vacant desk, you gestured with your head. “Let’s go. I have an idea.”

In a small shimmer, a demiguise made itself visible for a few moments. It reached for the arm and climbed until it was comfortably perched atop your shoulder. With a small glance around the room, it looked at the professor before returning to full invisibility as you walked out.

Dumbledore watched the door close and pulled out a small candy from his pocket. He unwrapped it and placed the treat in his mouth. He then passed the golden wrapper into the waiting hands of the runaway niffler who had climbed atop the desk and taken to hiding behind the man.

~ Masterlist here ~

[nullicaput]

skinner and the rat. II

Pairing: Han Su-gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1976

previous chapter.

"Miss, do you like teaching me?"

The breeze blew, rain following it and misting the two youngsters sitting by the roofed balcony. The older one, you, stared at your tutee and tilted your head—a habit. 

"Hm? Of course."

"Do you have any plans to teach actual students." 

Now that you thought about it, being four years older than him means that you will be a first-year this enrollment. 

"No." You peeled the tangerine for him, never daring to eat a piece. "I don't have the patience."

He watched you work on his food, his eyes darting from your eyes, to your hands, to your eyes, and to your hands again. 

"You have something on your hand."

You followed his gaze, and you saw a speck of color on your knuckle. 

"It's acrylic paint." You scratched the paint gently. "See? Gone."

"Are you sure?"

You chuckled and fed him a carpel of the citrus. 

"Even if a lot of people say that I have a gift in teaching, I don't want to be a teacher."

"But you're here with me." 

"Because I like you." You hugged him tightly and squeezed his cheeks, which were still chubby. "When you listen to me, that is."

He glared at you for a moment, wiping the zest juice left on his cheeks with his sleeves. 

"I like you, too," he replied, his cavernous eyes never leaving yours. 

What the boy probably meant was that he liked you enough not to toy with you the way he does with the other employees. He liked you enough that he would not make you bleed for breathing the wrong way—just like he did to your Mama.

You want to keep it that way. 

"That's a relief."

"Promise you won't..." 

"Won't?" 

"Won't teach other kids."

He kissed you on the cheek, uncharacteristically bashful.

"Can't promise that." 

He kicked your leg—but not harsh enough to hurt.

Before an hour could pass, the dean and all the other teachers have arrived. You officially and formally introduced yourself before leaving for class earlier than your colleagues.

You took your things, such as your Ethics book, handbag, and clipboard containing all the attendance sheets, with you and donned a face mask to avoid inhaling any kind of substance in the air. Good thing that you did, as you just saw thick, translucent smoke emerging form the fitting stalls along the staircases.

"Smokers," you said under your breath.

You knew that this school was a devil's den covered with hypocritical advocacy tarpaulins, but seeing it with your own two eyes was more than enough to amuse you. Like a glistening fig dangling from its tree, the school appears so delectable to those who are unassuming, and even when one were to consume it, they would not see that there was a corpse rotting inside.

The bell rang the moment you reached the door of the classroom, and you found yourself being the only one inside yet.

You scrutinized the entirety of the classroom and prepared the things you would need. You inserted one of the stick of chalk inside a metal holder you bought last last week and dusted your hands. You then sprayed your hands with alcohol before proceeding. You opened your book and skimmed through it, refamiliarizing yourself with the lesson you would need to teach the students later on. From your handbag, you pulled out a pack of candies and tore the plastic open. 

The students gradually filled the seats until the only ones empty were the ones at the back. When you glanced at the wall clock located at the center of the front wall just half a meter above the television, you saw that it was already five minutes over the starting time.

"I will be assuming that this is," you said and made a circular motion, signifying that you were talking about their class. "I'll be calling your names for attendance." 

You called the students one by one, and they seemed on guard of your presence. Or perhaps afraid for your sake.

"Good morning, class." With that chalk, you wrote your name on the board. "I will be your teacher in Ethics."

You closed the front door and trudged through the center space of the classroom, giving the room another scan. 

"I will be discussing the lesson briefly, but before that, I will be informing you about my ground rules," you began. "First: Writing lectures in my class is not required. I don't need to subject you to writing ten pages of notes to make sure that you will learn under my care."

In all honesty, you simply did not want to read students' illegible handwriting about topics you already knew and could read using the actual textbook. 

"Second: Using your devices, sleeping, and chatting loudly with your seatmates are all forbidden."

You stopped in front of the back door. You slid it shut and locked it, and then, you returned to the teacher's desk in a pace that could only be compared to a stroll at the park.

"I need your focus on me and on what I say, because everything that I will be discussing inside this classroom will appear in quizzes and major exams, as well as graded recitation."

Su-gang Han was late.

Su-gang was never late. 

Su-gang never liked being late. 

Not because he was a disciplined student, but because he could not pick on those beggars before class.

It was a staple ritual of his, to make the other students' lives as miserable as humanly possible while they were inside his territory. 

Now, he could not do that. 

"Shit," he seethed, kicking his idiot of a chauffeur on the stomach. "If you filled that damned fuel tank last night, then I wouldn't have been late."

The poor driver grunted in pain, but he did not have anything to say. Even if he did, he was not allowed to open his mouth. 

The rain poured harder, and the umbrella being held over Su-gang's head was doing a horrible job on keeping him dry.

"Hold that umbrella properly before I put that inside of your fucking throat."

He picked the older man by the collar and kneed him several times. 

"But Su-gang," one of his dogs said meekly. "The bell has already rang." 

"I know. I'm not deaf."

As he left them with the borderline-dead old man out in the rain, they followed, shielding Su-gang's bag with their bodies. Their leader, who was already pissed of, muttered a series of curses before making his way to their supposed classroom.

"Fifth: You can ask questions, but make sure that they are appropriate for the current or prior lessons." Your eyes smiled, but your lips remained straight. "Should you ever inquire a nonsensical question, you will also receive nonsensical answers from me. Understood?"

"Yes, Teach," the class said in chorus.

You rested your rear onto the edge of the teacher's desk and crossed your arms. 

"Sixth: I will rarely give you take-home activities. What will determine your grade, aside from the typical written exams, are your performance and your attendance in my cla—"

"Why is this doors fucking closed?!" a male student, likely around seventeen, exclaimed.

You did not flinch upon hearing the words, nor did you react when the student tried to open the sliding door, rattling its gear in the process. If anything, that welcoming demeanor you had vanished and was replaced by something else. It was not anger—no. Students like them do not deserve any bit of your frustration, let alone anger. 

"Teach, we should open..." a student whispered, tone full of fear.

You looked at that student and smiled; this time, it was genuine. 

"You—try the other one," the same voice ordered.

"Locked!"

You plucked the attendance sheet from the table and strutted from your comfortable position to approach the disrespectful youngins outside. You twisted the lock open, deliberate and careful—almost out of provocation. Before the student could reattept to open the front door again, you did it in their stead.

"Finally," an older voice—much older than what a male teenager should have—stated.

You waited for them to gather in front of you and step inside—

Then you blocked the first one's face with the clipboard. 

"Where do you think you're going?" you asked. 

The air around you has stilled, and all the students stiffened.

You tucked your left hand in between the right side of your torso and its corresponding upper arm.

"Inside, obviously."

"Mhm," you hummed. "Raise your hand and say present when your name is called."

"What?"

"Raise your hand and say present when your name is called," you said with a tone of finality.

One of them, the other of the two girls, clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. While everyone else were looking everywhere but your form, you could feel a heavy gaze imposing itself on you, demanding to be felt, demanding to be returned. 

"Moon-Ki Lee."

No one answered.

"Moon-Ki Lee."

Again, you were left with silence.

"That's strange," you voiced out, setting your eyes back to the paper. "Just a second ago, you were speaking so loudly as if you couldn't hear one another if you were to talk just a tad bit lower."

From your periphery, you saw an elbow harshly nudging the young man who you assumed was the one you were trying to call. 

"She was saying your name." 

Even from a fool's perspective, it was apparent that those students around that older-sounding one were not his friends. They were his underlings, or individuals who are afraid that they would face his wrath, so they play safe by joining him in terrorizing those who do not belong in their little band of cowards.

"Present."

Pleased, you nodded.

"Moon-Ki, take your seat."

For some time, you repeated that process of calling them one-by-one and letting them enter one at a time. After what you think was ten minutes, there remained one, single student. 

"Su-gang Han?" you said, enunciating each syllable. "Su-gang Han. Are you present?"

He stepped too closely to you, and if it were not for your mask, you were sure that your nose could even pick his perfume wafting in the air.

You stared at him, your face devoid of any expression and you eyes never betraying you by showing any miniscule emotion.

"Present," he replied, imitating the speed of your speech. "Miss." 

You tilted your head, cluelessness evident in your appearance.

"It's 'Teacher' to you." You stepped back, not out of defeat but out of quiet authority. "Come on. Double time."

Now that everyone was seated, your welcoming disposition came back. 

"As I was saying, your presence will be my basis for your grade." You put the attendance back to its place and clapped once to regain their attention. "Each one of you have one-hundred points, and every cut class, absences without an excuse letter, instances of tardiness, inability to answer in recitation, and late submission, those points will be deducted until you'll have zero."

With your right hand, you made a zero hand sign.

"Don't worry, even if you do, you'll still get a passing grade."

You inhaled once, deciding not to take your mask off any sooner. 

"Now that all of my rules had been laid down—" You grabbed a handful of candies from your stash. "—can anyone tell me about the 'Golden Rule'?"

A student raised her hand, and you called her by her name, which to her surprise. When she answered correctly, you walked to her and gave her three pieces of sweets. 

"What's this, Teach?" 

"Candies. Don't want?" 

"Why does he get three?" someone complained, sulking. 

"Because he answered my question."

With that, the teenagers who were trying to act cool earlier were reduced to young children eager to get candies rewards.

next chapter.