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littlefreya · 4 years

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Prince Of Darkness

Summary: There'll be no escape tonight, the devil always gets what he desires.

Pairing: Devil!August Walker x Unnamed OFC (3rd person pov)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+, DARK! NonCon, kidnapping, stalking, breeding, exhibitionism, loss of virginity, supernatural stuff, sex in a cathedral, mention of heaven and hell. Please proceed with caution.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: I have put a lot of effort into this story, and I’m really anxious af. We all like to see August as a demon, but I decided to go all the way... And I’m nervous at your response and going to die after hitting submit. So bye.

Many thanks to the love of my life @agniavateira, for support, brainstorm and beta. And to @crimsonrae and @wondersofdreaming who held my hand.

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Title: Prince of Darkness

Blood painted the streets, courtesy of the blinding scarlet lights that danced upon gravel and tar before dwindling into darkness. The soft, beaming glow pulsed with the muffled beats of a monotonous song that played inside the luxurious nightclub. Like thundering war drums, it rumbled in the ears of the elegant man who stood along the shadows.

Leaning against the cement, he took a sip from a glass of spiced Bordeaux and brushed an index finger over his thick moustache to wipe away misguided droplets of wine.

‘How could anyone enjoy this abomination?’ He wondered with a guttural groan, never quite grasping this electronic noise thing; but then again August was older than this music, and his tastes far exceeded cheap and trivial antics. He was a man driven by the appetite for destruction and forbidden delights, and tonight, he was finally about to obtain both. After decades of anticipation, the succulent fruit was ready to be plucked.

Oh, what an intoxicating and delicious mist his unsuspecting beloved emanated, setting his heart aflame with her sheer ripeness.

‘It’s been so long, so painfully long.’

Time had lost its meaning as he waited, curving and swerving into a stream of an infinite river flowing with decay and death.

But as the old saying went: all haste comes from the devil.

So the man lingered against the wall, a sparkle enkindled and crackled in his eyes, morphing into black wells whilst the waves of her honey-liqueured ambrosia grew pungent, seeping through his airways and sinking in his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, revelling in the sound of harsh tapping heels that echoed louder with every step until she came summoned into the naked wilderness of the city street.

‘Beautiful and innocent as the garden of Eden. Of course, of course...’

The stranger scrutinised the young woman with another sip from his wine and a bite of great intrigue - but stoicism and silence, for now, were his most valuable allies.

Clad in a lithe black dress and a stylish leather jacket to keep herself warm from the chill autumn breeze, she fished for the mobile device in her purse while distress washed her wrinkling brow. Illuminated by the bright screen, her face sulked as for the seventh time in the last 30 minutes, her attempt to find an Uber bore no success whatsoever.

Was there something about tonight that all drivers were kept occupied, or had her luck simply run dry?

Showing her face to the moonlit sky, she sighed in great frustration. This must have been fate’s retribution to a mindless bad decision; she should have left with her friends, but staying alone to fruitlessly catch the eye of the uncaring bartender seemed more significant as the buzz of alcohol dimmed any ray of logic. Now deep into the night, walking home alone didn’t appear to be the most sympathetic solution, yet it occurred to her that there wasn’t much of choice.

“You seem distressed.”

Equal to a dark chant sputtering words of witchcraft, the low yet incredibly soft baritone of his voice slithered from the corner and crept down her spine with icy scales. A lurching hollow flared within her gut, her neck seized by the tight grip of a serpentine phantom.

His vibrato sounded like a voice that called her through a dream she never had before; despite the unsettling arctic spasm gyrating through her shaky limbs, it lured her to return a stare and meet the cryptic face behind the seducing chant.

Two sharp glaciers glimmered at her as the stranger sauntered into the penumbra, momentarily lit by another flash of neon red that broke onto his face and highlighted his ethereal features. Her lips drew open, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress as a shiver ran through her. To say that the stranger was handsome would be an understatement, as it almost seemed as if he was ‘designed’ by a sculptor - carved cheeks led a path to slightly pouted lips, and a stark, dimpled chin was shadowed by dark stubble. His chocolate-brown hair was elegantly combed to the side, with a couple of large lustrous locks gently nestling over his brow.

Though it wasn’t his good looks that left her riddled with prickly goosebumps, but the unprecedented magnetic haul that made her feel as if she was physically drawn toward this mysterious man.

Frightened by the unbidden reaction of her own body, she quickly retreated to gawk at the phone and provided no answer to his inquiry. A strange yearning to submit grew between her clenching thighs, a primal response to his striking looks and charms.

But she killed the seed before it set roots in her flesh.

‘They said Ted Bundy was charming as well…’ she mused. Frivolous as she wanted to be, getting murdered was undoubtedly not among her plans tonight.

Revelling in her silent reply with an arched brow, he tilted his head when a blinding flicker abruptly caught his keen eye. Kissed by the pale moonlight’s beam, a small silver cross rested upon her collarbone. His sharp fangs begged to peek with sardonic amusement, but he kept his lips clamped, not wishing to scare her too soon.

There was to be plenty of that later...

“May I offer you my help, sweetling?”

Threading his long fingers between the smooth stem and clasping them around the bowl, he lowered the glass to the side of his hip, dragging the girl’s unwilling eye to the healthy bulge in his groin.

Her lips drew open as a surge of staggering heat flushed at her apex.

It seemed enormous...

“Name’s August, like the emperor, but you can call me whatever your heart desires...”

Embers burnt at her cheeks; in her belly, the odd mystical calling continued weaving at her core in an urge to accept whatever it was he had to offer. Her eyes warred to tear her gaze away from his nether region as her lashes fluttered to meet the abysmal glance that bestowed both frost and fire through her tendons.

There was something archaically familiar about this man as if she knew him before the days had names. Yet she swore, it was the first time she ever saw his striking face.

“I can take you wherever you need to go.”

Breath laced with wine titillated her nostrils as the words spilt from his lips, whilst another crimson ray broke upon the marble of his face. Never had he urged, but instead suggested with a tongue soaked with honey. Still, a blazing aura of danger encircled him. And even though the very natural fear of walking home alone grappled her, it still seemed like a much better plan than entrusting her life to a stranger who was twice her size.

Deciding to keep her tongue knotted, she turned and began striding away. ‘Best not to engage him,’ she thought, but once she moved past his bulky figure, her heart suddenly picked up its pace and her legs refused to function as if they no longer belonged to her.

Seconds stretched into eternity. The thought that this civilised savage will assail her and drag her into the night scratched at the back of her head. But the worst of it was the simmering throb. Unforgiving, like gathering storm clouds, it thundered the closer she walked by him and then gradually died out as she finally managed to move away and free herself from this invisible bond.

Savouring the final drop of wine, August watched amused as the frightened little lamb quickly oscillated on her feet, scampering into the horrors offered by the dark. It was funny how fear made animals act so heedlessly and rush straight into the burning heart of peril.

A toothy grin peaked his chiselled cheeks. Always the gentleman, he shifted from the concrete, discarding the glass carelessly to shatter on the sidewalk. His sinew stretched in a relaxed ripple of an apex predator before he straightened both vest and jacket and stroked his thick moustache.

Though her heavenly fragrance still soaked the air, the girl was already gone from normal eyesight. It was a pity to see her leave, yet there was no need for him to rush.

There was never really a choice for her.

Strangely, the night kept growing unnaturally darker. A great ocean of blackness and crystalised stars spread from above, casting looming shadows across the tall buildings that resembled a maw filled with rotten teeth. The tepid wind that blew between the vast concrete monoliths was nothing but the breath of a mythical beast intoning her name through the shadows.

Clawing at her forearms, she meandered through the inert street with a wary eye. Desolate neon signs flickered hauntingly, bequeathing a vibrant beacon of dread over the shimmering, onyx road. Not a living soul was in sight as if the world descended into stillness, dominated by an eerie, dead silence save for the harsh echo of her hasty heels. And yet, the long path felt anything but lifeless. With every step landed on the ground, she could sense the movement beneath the surface: swarming vile things, slippery and scaled. Unseen by the human eye, they hissed dirty little secrets and slithered with sinister hunger, drizzling down their fangs.

‘You can already feel me inside you, can’t you sweetling…’ Remaining hidden, he had to admit that watching the little lamb leap shivering into the slaughter has been somewhat of foreplay.

A veil of fumes emitted from her parted lips. The air became colder, summoning a terrifying truth that made her lungs clench around the black void that abruptly filled them with the notion that maybe... maybe… that chill, liquid-like thing that threatened to touch her ankle wasn’t just in her crazy imagination.

There was something out there, something undeniably familiar. This unusual gust of wind brushing at her nape has accompanied her since she could remember herself, an unsettling breeze bidding that evil lurked between the creases, holding its sinewy fingers clasped together while waiting for her to answer his hushed calling.

‘And once you finally answer, there is no turning back…’

Fear gnawed its frosty fangs at her bones, puncturing tiny painful cavities that were needles in her flesh. Tonight, of all nights, the same hazy feeling became stronger than ever before. Deep inside, she knew she would meet her end. Pressing the oily pads of her fingers at the sharp corners of her pendant, she inhaled and chanted a prayer, refusing to succumb to the noxious malice when a frozen pin pierced her heart.

Like the lark calling on the dawn, an unbidden chant carried her name.

Drenched with frigid sweat, she exhumed a shuddering breath, praying to God that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her ears.

‘The greatest trick he ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.’

Indeed in the darkness, leered the beast. All teeth and malicious glee, August moved from one shadow to another, feasting on the aphrodisiac that was the mixture of her harrowing terror and unveiled desire. If only she knew the trail her scent left for him to follow - he could smell her from miles away.

The little flower between her legs began blooming the moment their entities finally encountered one another, and it was his ancient name her dew had dripped for.

‘My sweet little thing, tonight I will finally grant you a purpose...’

Like a hound awakened from a deep slumber, he flexed his bulging muscles and tailed her in utter silence. The same spell that burnt in her core seethed the blood gathering in his ardent loins. Since the dawn of humankind, he had more women than any other man on this earth, yet none has evoked such hunger in him.

He would have eaten her alive and torn her to shreds if only he didn't have bigger plans for her.

Still hidden by the unnatural night, August stalked from behind, the blaze of his enkindling burn licking her path as he crept further to ensnare his prey. He wished she could see herself through his own flaring glance, how beautiful she was with tears of despair rolling down the tender slope of her cheeks.

His beloved girl; his, by ancient law. Spirited as a rageful tempest, she insisted on escaping her prophesied fate. Muscles and bones strove against the panic that turned her boiling blood frigid. But no power, physical nor divine could revoke this otherworldly attraction that bound her to him. His bidding could never be undone and as much as his blood relished from the thrill of the chase, it was time to put an end to this dance and seal their union.

Appearing from a stygian haze of a spectral nightmare, the beast drew his claw to grasp the fleeting girl’s shoulder.

The world froze along with the scream that died in her throat. Cold, slippery wet, the phantom serpents slinked around her ankles and held on to the ground as the thing behind her bit his nails into her collarbone. His touch was no ghost, but as real as the quiet moon that voyeured her fate from above and did nothing. A wretched gasp of anguish shuddered through her airways as his fingers stalked forth to cinch at her neck.

His grip was tighter than the icy finger of death, yet its caress was the sensual lick of a gossamer tongue.

It was almost as if he worshipped her.

Shadows befell her as the assailant leaned close, wafting a mist of intoxicating fumes scented of poisonous elixirs and an ancient forest that laid deep between the veils of the underworld, hiding forbidden mysteries that none dared speak of. Seeping through her orifices, it stung her eyes and raked remorseful tears.

“Please…” she broke into sobs, shaking her head at the dawning of her fate.

The man inhaled deeply. Though she could not see him, the joyful malice that danced on his pleased breath roared in her ears.

“Do not fear me.” The sonorous rumble caressing her ear was hardly a surprise in its familiarity. It was him, the handsome bewhiskered gentleman from earlier. But of course, it was always him: the whisper in the dark, the slithering things moving beneath the tepid ground, and the smell of burning pyres.

But who the hell was he?!

As if he read her mind, his hand twisted around her nape and with a careful sway, turned her to face him. The voice inside her head warned her over and over again not to look at him; yet the temptation was too great, peeling her eyes open to stare at the thing that made her heart drop to her gut.

Vast, raven wings spread from each side of an Adonis figure, their intimidating length denying her widened eyes to look at anything but the dark god that soared tall in front her. No, not a god, a devil. A pair of small golden horns peeked from the mane of long curls, and the heavenly icy gaze she remembered from earlier had melted into an abysmal lake of fire.

He was beautiful.

He was monstrous.

And just like that, she descended from the earth, swept into a thick swamp of darkness that swallowed her whole. Never letting so much as her feet kiss the ground, August scooped her into his strong arms. Peering down upon her, he broke into a delightful grin, already enamoured with his delicate new bride. The pang of lust tingled in his groin, though despite the raging need to claim her now, it was her screams he desired more than all as he would consummate their eternal marriage.

Wicked tongues of fire licked up the shallow air, casting a faint amber glow into the abominable sombre of a vanishing nightmare. Shy as feral nymphs, the bursting sparks ascended melancholily, whispering tales of perishing days that fell to harmony with a strange mumbling chant. Still locked in a void of unconsciousness, the fallen girl shifted with disquiet, her hands restlessly clutching at a virginal silk gown that covered her body.

Vaguely remembering a horrifying dream of a demonic entity, she woke with a sudden electric jitter. A peal of breathless pants pushed through her heaving chest before she slumped into the intense relief one experiences from a brush with either death or a ghastly fantasy.

“Thank God…” she whispered with a fist pressed to her breast.

Yet, something was amiss. The low vocal melody continued despite her state of clarity, tangled with the eerie presence of a hundred cutting glares that stabbed her crawling spine. Slowly and carefully, she lifted her head and scanned her surroundings.

The blood drained from her face.

Swaying like shadowy wraiths stood men cloaked in black velvet hoods. Tears of milky boiling wax trickled from the candles held by their stringy fingers, yet they didn’t seem to flinch as the burning rivulets seared their flesh. Their hollow eyes were fixated upon her while words of a dark sacrament sputtered from their lips and reverberated through the endless archways and ribbed vaults that towered above them.

Her trembling muscles were briskly stifled under the unsettling realisation of her whereabouts - a cathedral, a thousand years old if not more. Burning torches lit crumbling pillars and statues of monstrous winged creatures that encircled them from every niche, their malicious shadows dancing upon dusty obsidian bricks. Unglazed windows were barred by black iron, the beautiful floral shapes preventing any means of escape.

Only the fractured ceiling held a cheap shred of hope, as a vast rupture of broken stone exposed her to the scarred carmine wolf-moon.

If only she had wings…

Bones rattling beneath her crawling flesh, she sat upon the hard surface with wells of despair. Her hands clutched around the edge of the bed, only to be kissed by the sharp corners that pierced the delicate flesh. Hissing with pain, she lifted her arms and stared below at what appeared to be a midnight-black marble creased with golden veins and saplings-like patterns.

It was beautiful, just like the creamy gown that covered her body.

“Do you like it, bride?”

Rising from the crowd like a flame among charred coals, appeared her handsome abductor. Suitable to a true evil prince, a long red cloak enrobed his broad, sturdy form, the velvet hem trailing behind him like a thick river of blood while he marched forward with no haste in his dauntless mien. Human once again, August offered the most endearing grin; two profound dimples embellished his scruffy cheeks, and his eyes shone brighter than a frozen sea.

Yet in her sullen gaze, he was nothing but a monster.

Abruptly enraged and driven by pure instinct, she jumped off the marble and paced backwards. Tears of anger and fright rimmed her swollen lids and her bare feet nearly collided as she shook her head at August who was neither impressed nor concerned by this foolish protest.

“You stay the fuck away from me!!!” She warned with a scream and hastily turned away.

Lost in some trance, the praying mob never stirred, granting the girl a fair chance to escape the bewhiskered man who was still several strides away. Her feeble legs made three to four steps when her muscles swiftly turned to stone, and her stomach lurched.

‘No! It couldn’t be! How?!’

Curls shining like precious coils of onyx, August emerged in front of her, continuing his relaxed gait as if this was a natural occurrence. His bright icicles melted into malicious dark pools of twisted desire, and his tongue briefly laved his plump lips at the sight of pure disbelief that cascaded over her face. He could feel right under her skin, hear the thrumming heart that both chilled and fumed for him. Further beyond her thoughts, his betrothed yearned to be defiled and torn open by him.

It was her destiny, whether she liked it or not.

Still she fought, so ferocious and defiant, flinching away from his attempts to seize her. It was almost comical to watch her deny him, knowing that her fate would be no different; she will spread her legs and submit to his conquest. And yet, her battle was immensely appealing; what better bride to the dark lord than a woman who breathed fire.

“Who are you?!” She cried, her trembling voice rising with panic and her cheeks soaking with tears, “What do you want from me?!”

August's face was devoid of mercy, her whimpering hisses did nothing to deter him and only further increased the appetite of the deprived wolf that circled in his gut. With a wring of his wrist, his fingers snapped at her elbow, hauling her against his rock-hard chest with such might her heels hovered above the ground.

Writhing in his grip she flung her hands at his face, clawing streams of crimson to trickle down his cheeks. The notion of hurting this vicious man brought somewhat of a sick joy; but her onslaught died at once, and her mouth fell agape as his skin healed with not even a trace of injury.

“Oh God, what are you?!” She shuddered.

Still holding her elbow hostage, his free hand travelled to the hem of the white gown, the long, perverted fingers twisting around the fabric before yanking it off at once. A resounding rip echoed through the tall arches, causing the chanting choir to halt their susurrations at once.

All eyes were afloat as the cold air kissed her skin. In vain, she attempted to cover herself only to be felled by the restraints of August’s grasp.

“God?...” The man finally spoke, his melodic voice ending with a sonorous hum that sprouted through her arteries like a deadly toxin. Not less poisonous, his gaze trailed down her form, worshipping the very sights of his delightful prize.

“Not God, but once I was an angel,” he suggested and leaned down to inhale her skin with a gratified growl before he flicked his wide tongue at her chest.

A groan of approval emitted from his lips, the sheer coat of sweat that layered her bosom was soaked of freshly brewed fear, his most favourite savour. His wet, velvety snake swept the sweet-briny wetness and licked further down her breasts, twirling around the erect nipple.

Unintended, she moaned. A river of delights rushed between her grinding thighs.

“No!”

Wrongful, unwanted bliss awoke in her. She felt desecrated and allured at once. Her fickle body deceived, mistaking this vile conquest as consensual. And the more August took, the more she desired; her dutiful womb demanded to consummate this bond, almost as if the beast had bewitched her a long while ago, embedding his essence in the marrow of her bones.

August grinned against her skin, the scent of her arousal fresh in his nose while his lips travelled to kiss down her sternum and the slope of her torso. His thick whiskers left a trail of fluttering butterflies.

“Have sympathy, my love. I had built my own realm and waited in the forlorn abyss. Empires fell and worlds disintegrated into ashes while I waited for thou,” he explained and clutched the cheek of her behind in his claw, squeezing it possessively. “I have longed for your touch since the day your ancestor promised you to me, little lamb. A hundred years’ worth of waiting for the bargain to reach its end, and for you to finally be ripe.”

The beast pressed one last languid kiss below her navel, a guttural hum exuded in between his lips, huffing hot against her belly. Slowly he rose to his full height, towering above his helpless victim who hugged her arms to cover her naked body and watched her nightmare unfold once more. Cold wind chilled her damp cheeks as August flung the blood-red cloak and exposed his naked figure before her.

He was massive, a masculine build fit for a warrior angel, covered with thick bulging muscles and dark hair. Lips parted, she forgot herself, gawking in awe and allowing her gaze to trail down to his unapologetically monstrous cock. Firm and throbbing, it dripped with hunger, urging to find release inside her clenching cavern.

She didn’t even know a man could be this vast, but alas, he was no man at all.

It was at that moment when blackest wings spread before her that realisation finally struck through like a blunt hammer to the back of her head. Covering her mouth she cowered away, her exposed back hitting the raised altar behind her.

August was no man nor god, but Lucifer himself.

Seeing the hope die in her eyes, the devil sneered.

“No, no, no! This can’t be real! This isn’t real!!!” She yelled, pathetic little hiccups sputtering from her lips.

August tilted his head, giving a scornful pout and scoffed with amusement. “Am I not?” He asked as he lifted an arm to flick his fingers, summoning two of the hooded servants to approach the dais. Their eyes were soulless gems embedded to a grey face that was cracked like a broken eggshell.

“I am real, beloved, as real as the child you will conceive me tonight.”

Shrills of terror flew through the great hole in the ceiling. Kicking and screaming, she fought as the men seized her arms and dragged her to the altar, forcing her flat down and holding her arms to prevent her from escaping. They never blinked at the ferocious war she waged against them, though an impish smile slowly possessed their faces as their master strode forward.

“Sweet little lamb,” August chanted, enamoured with his fiery bride while he sauntered by the edge of the altar. His Adonis body golden in the candlelight, his fingers squeezed and pumped the ravenous demon that hung heavy between his legs. The twinge in her womb rose in response, a low roar thrumming as it yearned to succumb to its unbridled purpose. Sheen, the arousal trickled between her kicking legs and onto the smooth stone, making her cheek flame.

Much to August’s pleasure.

“Our son will burn this world to cinders,” he promised and snaked his fingers at her ankles. Calmly deflecting her attempts to kick against him, he dragged her toward him until her knees folded over the edge and spread between his thighs. The platform was in the perfect height, positioning her delicious Eden at the height of his blessed demon.

“You will make an excellent mother.”

Her entire body shook, her cunt clenching along her sobs in both defence and beguiling need as August leaned in and grazed the silky pink crown between her wet petals. She begged he wouldn’t be able to invade her, but her prayers fell to deaf ears.

“Please don’t do this to me! I will do anything… please!” She wailed a bargain, still trying to escape the servants’ grip and looking at him pleadingly, “I… I...haven’t been with a man!”

“Oh I know…” August beamed and stroked himself back and forth between her engorged lips. Vamping flames tingled at her flesh, her core foolishly squeezing around nothing in demand for this wretched monster to defile her.

“You’ve kept yourself for me, didn't you? I have waited for you too, for centuries even, but now our waiting has ended, and I can finally love you.”

With one brutal thrust, he breached through the gates of her sacred haven, corrupting her purity and ripping her open with the elegance of a savage.

Exasperated bats fluttered their wings over the red moon at the sound of her pained howl. Eyes flared to the bleak sky above; the girl watched them in a daze, disbelieving the blazing demon that scorched her from inside as he nestled himself between her resisting gates with no intention to cease.

In his villainy, August pushed further. Stunned thunders of ecstasy erupted from his lips, all to humiliate her along with the dark minions who circled the altar to pervertedly witness this sacrilegious ritual in which their master ravaged the unwilling maiden. Ignoring her body’s vehement protest, he forced himself unfathomably deep, only stopping until the head of his cock kissed the gateway of her cervix.

Crystalised tears rolled down her temples and stained the cold marble beneath her body. Slit impossibly sore, she twitched and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling of being invaded by another entity. Her once protected realm was now under the domain of a ruthless prince, and he took no prisoners and granted no mercy nor care at her vain endeavours to push him out.

He would never stop. He would have her again and again until her sacred little womb would be plentiful with his seed.

“Tight,” he blurted out in a blissful huff and reached his talons to bite into her quaking thighs. Spreading her wider, he hooked his hands below her knees, moulding her into a vessel to be fulfilled. Arctic orbs glazed down her naked figure, his plump lips cooing at her aching whimpers. The taut and hairy muscles of his gut flexed as he carefully withdrew his vicious cock, coated in the crimson sorrow of her maidenhood.

Hollow pain throbbed in her empty cunt as he suddenly abandoned her. Distressed and overwhelmed, she hoped he would stay out, yet her traitorous body coveted his return in a false faith that it would ease the fervid twinge that soared to her belly and even burnt in her breasts.

It was far from true.

No less vigorous than before, August plunged back inside her, stretching her again, shaping her as his own as she yipped and struggled to escape. His head threw back with a roar of divine pleasure, feasting at the thrill of her dauntless veils wrapping around him like a succulent flower. For a moment there, he wondered who preyed on who. Her concupiscent little cove sucked him so wantonly it threatened to swallow his raging cock.

‘But of course, every virgin is destined to become my whore.’

Hot and heavy, his shaft seized the void that had always been inside her, their heaving organs collided in euphoric bliss like two broken shards that were lost for decades and finally pieced back together. And even though she seared with every jerk or shift he made, the impassioned flames licked at the seams of her twitching cunt in waves of ache and foreign desperation.

“No…” she whispered, shame singeing her throat as the little pesky sparks enkindled where the devil had violated her. Vision blurry, she gazed at him utterly mystified. Part of her warred to stoke the fire that screamed heresy, while the other begged to yield to her demise.

As August pulled away again and thrust harder, a breathless moan tore from her lips.

A cutting grin radiated onto his face. “It feels so good inside you,” he sang and slid one hand to stroke all the way down from her sweat-ridden thighs to her belly, feeling the movement of his cock with every push and shove.

He was taunting her, yet she couldn’t care less. Over the cinders of pain and virtue, a garden began to bloom. With every abysmal stroke of his swelling shaft, she could feel green saplings and coy vines growing within her uterus—soft, beautiful tendrils stalked through her arteries, sprouted through her cove, and engulfed his swelling demon as well.

She was no longer burning but becoming alive. Pained cries suddenly evolved into asphyxiation of bliss. Beyond her realisation, she undulated her hips in the desire to endure each of his wet claiming thrusts. Her spine coiled against the surface, further allowing him easier passage to nourish the wilderness that continued spreading through her blood.

Noticing the change in her, approving groans rumbled in his throat; his little bride was growing tighter around his demon, her quivering lips and fluttering lashes the image of true Elysium. It was not long before he would plant his seed in her fertile lush. Her cunt milked and suckled around him, demanding to be bred by the devil.

“Yes, my love! Give in to me! Give in to your primal sin!” August urged, enhancing the rhythm until he was thrusting into her like a battering ram, the sinful elixir of their union smearing on his groin and dripping down her rump. “Descend with me!”

In her delirium she witnessed magical nightshades and sinewy stalks growing amidst the gritty bricks, encompassing the ominous cathedral with bright colours.

It was paradise on earth, given to her by the unearthly rapturous joy of having this demon violate her, slamming harder with growing frustration until his thick girth ripped through the last threads of her self-preservation and that which she tried so hard to deny erupted through her clenching core.

Euphoria.

For a lingering moment, she had wings of her own, pale as precious pearls and lustrous stars. Tingling waves of ethereal white heat burst at her seams, purifying her as she flew above the cathedral, and watched their ungodly union from above. But her wings suddenly caught aflame and before she knew it, she crashed onto the earth with a secondary, more violent climax.

The beast’s roars erupted into a brutal thunder, causing the sturdy pillars of the cathedral to quake and crack like thin glass. With all his might, he clutched her thighs and hauled her against him, slamming his swollen cock deep into her belly and releasing his smouldering, milky essence until it seeped from her sleek. August’s wings flew open as he found his own rapture, blazes following through and consuming the ancient hall.

This was no longer a hallucination.

This was Inferno.

Still radiating with orgasmic glow, she screamed horrified as everything around them vehemently burnt to coals. Even the soulless servants crumbled into dust, accepting their fate without so much of a yip. The fire raged and died within seconds, leaving nothing but broken pillars and ashen smoke.

Shortly, the tepid air of night caressed her naked skin as they remained alone in the ruins of what was once an ominous cathedral. Still buried in her viscera, August broke into a low, stretching groan of relief which made her immediately return her eyes to him. Shame rose bitter in her throat and new fresh rivulets trickled on her cheeks.

After all that he had done to her, she could see nothing in him but a beautiful monster.

“My beloved queen,” August keened to comfort her and moved his hand to tenderly stroke her lower belly.

A toothy smile broke upon his face, his eyes gleaming with surprise as he felt the life that had already begun growing in her angelic fortress. A son, strong and glorious as his father. For the first time in his long existence, the devil was truly elated and he vowed in that moment that he would give her much, and much more. But first, she needed to be cared for.

Her assaulted hole convulsed with pain as he pulled himself out, leaving a trail of creamy fluids to dribble at his departure. Sniffling and shaking, she watched him bemused, as he climbed onto the altar and moved to lie beside her. Though she no longer flinched as he touched her, what was the point of it anyway? He had already destroyed her and stolen her innocent soul.

“You make me so happy, my beloved queen,” August had murmured as he gripped her jaw and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss claimed her breath, pillaging whatever left of her chastity and wit until she absentmindedly kissed back, forgetting herself as his tongue bested her will.

When he broke away, the taste of spiced ruby wine and blood lingered in her mouth.

“An eternity awaits us,” the devil explained as he pecked her nose and her forehead lovingly, to which she shivered - out of fright or out of want, she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“You had made me the happiest, now give me the chance to grant the same favour, ask for anything you want in the world and it shall be yours,” he begged and wrapped her in the shelter of his strong arms to lie down with him on the smooth stone surface.

Absentmindedly, she welcomed the protection offered from his embrace and stared silently as flakes of cement broke from the remnants of the wall floated in the air around her before she opened her mouth.

“I wish for…”

Her whisper faded into the dark.

*Disclaimer: I do not own Mission Impossible or August Walker

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker x ofc

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pleasantanathema · 3 years

Text

Zeke Yeager | Give and Take

Pairing: Zeke Yeager x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Spitting, Degradation, Established Relationship, Smoking Cigarettes, Zeke has leather gloves

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: This is part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read more fanfics I’m writing to celebrate. 💛

“I’m going to devour you,” the leather was cold, the black stitching methodically tracing over naked skin, “piece by little piece.”

Gloved fingers pressed into your cheeks, “Open your mouth.”

But you liked denying him, got the same sick pleasure brewing in your stomach that he did from the chase.

He had you on your knees—again. He always liked you in some subservient position, something that made it look like you were willing. You could still smell his cigarette smoke from your place on the floor, the cherry burning like hellfire in a dark room. Zeke leaned forward on his couch, thighs spreading wider, thumb sinking deeper into your soft cheek.

“Open your fucking mouth. And I swear to god if you say ‘make me’ I’ll unhinge your fucking jaw.”

You reluctantly did as you were told, even letting your tongue loll out of your mouth just how he liked. The taste of leather, of pine and tar and something chemical, hit your tongue, his gloved thumb and index finger pulling at the wet muscle, “and I want you to say thank you, this time.”

There was no time to protest, the muffled sound of swishing hitting your ears just before a string of spit pooled against your pulled, awaiting tongue. It tasted like smoke and ash, like the menthols he smoked. It always tasted the same, tasted like Zeke.

He released your tongue and you made a show of swallowing thickly, letting that gulp satisfy him.

You didn’t give him thanks. You didn’t want to, just like you told yourself you didn’t want him.

“One day you’ll do as you’re told,” his glove wrapped around your throat, thumb pressing below your jaw as he pulled you up, had you clambering into his lap.

He was fully clothed, pristine dress shirt untucked from designer pants, brands only a conceited business man wears in winter. And that’s just how he liked it; he felt the power in having you strip in front of him and kneel before him naked. Even if it meant your drooling pussy would leave a stain on his trousers before he was done.

“Why don’t you see how you taste?” You pulled at his blonde head, fingers tying in his hair like knots.

Glasses glinted in time with his glare, something snarky ready to spill from curling lips, only to be stifled when you plucked the cigarette from his mouth to puff on it yourself. Smoke filled your lungs and nicotine made your head feel high, fuzzy, just enough to cement your courage.

“Open your mouth,” you mimicked him, pads of your fingers pressing into bearded cheeks.

“Dangerous game you’re playing, kid.”

“What? Afraid you’ll like it?”

You didn’t wait for his smart answer. When full lips parted, you pushed your open mouth against his, letting spit drool onto his tongue and spill from the sides of his mouth. The leather of his gloves warmed against your hips as he gripped you tighter in response, hard cock straining against his belt.

The cigarette in your hand felt heavy as you kissed him, sloppy with spit and messy with mewls and groans. For a moment you thought about ashing the smoldering stick against his skin, to watch him burn and hiss. But you weren’t mean, not like him. Instead you let it drop carelessly into the wood of the floor, left to fade out as you two came alive.

“Think you’re clever,” Zeke purred into your mouth, coarse hairs of his beard scratching at your cheeks, his fingers skimming over your hips, thumbs circling over your lower stomach before venturing farther south, “stupid little whore.”

He didn’t even prep you, he knew he didn’t have to, already knew you were wet and willing as he pushed two gloved fingers inside of you. You gasped as he breached that first tight ring of muscle, your hand in his hair twisting as your back arched from the pleasure. He pumped the digits a few times, letting your slick coat and stain expensive leather. Those long fingers curled inside of you, felt both foreign and familiar as the thick textile petted your most sensitive, spongy spots.

“Fuck, that’s not fair,” you whined as his other hand wrapped around your breast, leather creaking as he toyed with your nipple.

“All’s fair in love and—”

Your nails scraped against his face in warning, “Don’t finish that. This isn’t—” you lost your words when his thumb swiped across your clit. Hot, piercing pleasure raced down your legs, making them shake. Your knees sunk deeper into the cushions and you held on to slim, broad shoulders for balance.

“Oh please, you love my fingers stuffed in your cunt,” your head fell as he spoke, panting against his neck as he continued his assault, “and let’s not forget how much you love my cock.”

You were ready to melt, little drips and pulls of ecstasy blooming over your body and following his cruel fingers. He spread his fingers apart inside of you, slick sloshing and squelching with every push of his hand, lewd sounds making you whimper as you tried to tighten your muscles and hold back an impending orgasm. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of making you cum on his fingers—again.

“I feel you squeezing. Fuck, want that tight pussy on me. Unbuckle my belt.”

Your hands acted on their own accord, sliding down his chest as he continued to play with you, your hands fumbling with the metal frame before pulling at his button and zipper. You masked the hitch in your breath by sucking at his neck when your hand snaked around his fat cock. It was unfair that he was given something so big to back up his attitude.

“Getting needy?”

You didn’t have to answer, he got his satisfaction from feeling your teeth bite into his throat when he replaced the thumb on your clit with the heel of his palm, letting you grind down against him for friction as his fingers speared up into you. You were so close, so, so close to falling off the edge, the steady build of orgasm ready to burst with just the right touch.

But Zeke had the power to take away that pleasure, and he did, removing his fingers from your hole and swatting your hand away from his cock so he could pump the shaft and smear your slick across the head. Just as he was able to take, he was able to give, not wasting time to pull your hips down to have you start sucking in his cock.

“Z-Zeke,” it was just a hot breath mumbled into his throat, your sanity fading as he slowly started to fill you. Your pussy burned from the spread, every thick vein pumping against your walls and making you crazy. He always felt so good, like liquid sin, like something that crawled out of Pandora's box that you weren’t supposed to have.

“Like how my name sounds in your mouth,” he grunted, head falling back against the sofa as his gloved thumb found your clit as your pussy fluttered around half the cock inside of you, “say it again and I’ll let you cum right now.”

You, however, hated how his name filled the spaces in your mouth, hated how it felt too heavy on your tongue, hated how it was so stupid that his name was just Zeke. Not Ezekiel. Not even fucking Zachary. Just Zeke and all his arrogance and pride and unbearable hubris. But you’d be damned if he didn’t have the best, most filling cock, one that was making your mouth go dry even as he continued to sink inside of you.

Your lips found his again, letting his eager tongue lick at your teeth and swallow your sounds.

“Please, Zeke, pl-ah,ah,” he drew fast circles on your clit, open and ready for him to abuse from where it was spread over his cock.

You broke within seconds, screaming, clenching, clawing at his shirt as you were punched in the gut with euphoria. You felt too tight, like you were wringing the life out of him as you went numb with pleasure and creamed around him.

Zeke was caught up in your waves, being drug down into your current, even though his cock was barely seated inside of you.

“Holy fucking shit, s-so good, fuck, fuck.”

Your body took from him just like he took from you, the pride draining from his face as you milked his cock from the strength of your orgasm alone. You were sure that your bliss extended just from the sweet burst of victory you felt in your chest, a smile breaking over your face as your high spiraled.

“God, you’re so fucking weak,” you chided, feeling his cum start to leak down his cock to pool in blonde curls. Your wet cunt finally took all of him in, making him groan from the sensitive feel of having you envelope him fully. His glasses were slipping down his nose as he stayed silent, chest full of deep breaths.

“I’m just getting started,” he rocked your hips in his lap, cockhead brushing your walls, “want you dripping with my cum for days.”

#Zeke Yeager smut #Zeke smut #Zeke x reader #Zeke Yeager x reader #Zeke yeager #Zeke jeager #zeke jeager x reader #snk zeke #aot zeke #aot #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #Zeke Yeager fanfic

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occasionalhumor · 3 years

Text

Anthropophagy

Enjoy dom!/Switch Hawks with some kitchen spiciness!

[cw: counter/kitchen sex, Biting, talons, ooze, switch/fighting for dominance/degradation/semi sub Hawks, explicit]

Quirk Description: Primordial Ooze: A black ooze that sits under the skin and can be expelled and controlled lis appendages. It can morph but not feel like nerves - only pressure.

@corvaous

2.8K Words/11 min read

It had been raining all day, soaking the patio and painting the sky a deep ominous blend of purple and navy. This was one of the worst thunderstorms with rumbling that shook the foundation of the complex and lightning that offered reprieve from the darkness of your movie nest.

Spending the day inside was honestly quite a treat, you cuddled into the large Number 2 hero branded blanket and watched Ghibli movies all day as there was an anniversary marathon. So you sat, snuggled in the scent and artificial warmth of Hawks, and munched on snacks all day.

Have you even eaten a meal today?

As you pondered the question, you melted into the animation of the forest spirit transformed into it’s blue, iridescent form. You pulled the blanket over your shoulders and squeezed it closed.

Is there even anything to eat here?

You stared at the assortment of snacks on the coffee table, a little disgusted and not finding them appetizing.

There may be some instant ramen in the cabinet.

A bright flash of lightning illuminated the inside of the apartment in a nearly blinding flash. Moments later, a chest tightening thunder crack followed. You sighed as your stomach rumbled, begging for sustenance.

Pulling the blanket off you, shuffling your bare feet across the wood flooring. After sitting in a plush blanket all day, the chill of the apartment air was shocking against your bare legs, but at least your torso was warm since it was covered by an oversized hoodie.

The kitchen was just behind the living room with a wall divider that blocked your view of the rest of the apartment. But what you couldn’t see you could hear . The balcony door slid open and the sound of harsh rain filled your ears until it was replaced by the sound of boots being shuffled off and shaking.

You peered around the corner of the wall, turning the electric kettle on. Hawks was peeling his coat off his body, dripping fresh rainwater all over your floors. He sent a collection of freshly shaken feathers to collect some towels.

Until his feathers return, you expel a dense oozy hand from your skin, snaking it parallel to the floor. The black tar lifted to Hawks’ cheek and rubbed it’s thumb over his plump, warm and wet cheek.

“Welcome back, handsome.” You said from the kitchen, preoccupied with preparing food.

Hawks turned his head and kissed the fat of the extended hand, “thanks, Dove.”

He continued to strip, unbuckling his pants and shucking them off. Your hand retracted back into the kitchen as his feathers returned with dry towels. Hawks stood in his damp spandex undersuit. He traded the towels on his feather with his soaking jacket and pants and they disappeared into the laundry room.

Hawks patted himself dry and meandered to the kitchen to see you, watching the kettle bring the water to a rolling boil. He brought one of his hands to the fat of your rear, squeezing it in his palm earning a small chuckle. Hawks snaked his other hand over your hip over your meaty thigh and toyed his fingers in the crease of your hip.

He hummed a low growl into the crook of your neck before kissing just behind your ear, “you smell good.” He planted a gentle kiss on your hairline, and continued with some gravel in his voice, “...and a bit like me.”

Your spine shivered at the warmth of his breath and the heat of his hands as the one on your hip trailed up your chest to your throat. He cupped your soft throat in the pads of his fingers and grumbled into your ear.

Your hips buck back, rubbing their short covered skin over his damp spandex. He chuckled, “eager?”

You smile and a scoff leaves your lips, “no, it’s cute you think you can dom me.”

Hawks runs his tongue over his molars and you feel him pull his hips back, “gonna be a brat, huh?” He brought his hand from your hip and clapped it to your ass with a loud smack . “...Princess Mononoke give you some ideas?”

The hand around your throat tightened and you huffed a muffled moan. He smirked and ran his teeth over the soft flesh of your shoulder and reached your hands behind you, looking for his hips. Hawks expelled some feathers and jerked your wrists forward, holding them above your head towards the cabinet.

“You’re mine tonight.” His voice shuddered your entire body, the gravel tone drug itself over your skin dampening your tight shorts.

Even with the coil of excitement winding itself in your stomach, you couldn’t help but retort to him in a series of strained huffs, “really? -- Those hickies I left on -- you -- the other day makes me thin-... think you’re -- my little bitch.”

Hawks nibbled the back of your throat before sinking his sharp canines into the soft flesh. He continued to apply pressure, until you opened your mouth, releasing a symphony of unmuffled moans.

He pulled his mouth from the darkening skin, “I guess I’ll have to give you twice as much then.”

Hawks ran the flat of his tongue up the lateral of your neck to your ear and nibbled the lobe, “gonna be good and listen to me, baby?”

You smirked and pressed your hips back, rubbing yourself on him again. You playfully look over your shoulder, to make eye contact with him, “I don’t know, Hawks . I think it’s more fun to play with you.”

The sound of his hero name caused his feathers to flare, “ Hawks ?” He grumbled into your cheek before playfully biting its plumpness.

You smirked, “yeah, Hawks . That’s your name innit?”

He released a low growl as he finessed his fingers through your hair and pulled it back. He placed his canine over your jaw, “only to the public.”

He took a step back, releasing all the grips he had over your body. His feathers returned to him as you turned to face him with your back to the counter. You gripped the edge as he quickly pressed himself back to you.

Hawks gripped his taloned hands into your thighs and forced a kiss onto your lips. You toyed with him, keeping your lips shut, so his tongue couldn’t explore your cheeks. He growled into the softness of your lips and squeezed tighter, earning a small moan which gave him enough to shove his long, broad tongue behind your teeth.

He kept his eyes open, gazing into your deep purple ones and pining with excitement. Hawks brought his hands lower on your dense thighs and cued a lift as he nudged you onto the counter; all while feathers aided in sliding your shorts down. He playfully sucked your bottom lip into his mouth and dragged his teeth over the soft flesh.

He brought two fingers to your bud, pinching it lightly between the fat of his knuckles. With this other hand he rubbed your nipple gingerly before pinching and pulling it out. You inhale sharply to which Hawks smirked.

“I’m gonna make you say my name…” He kissed your lips again, “...and submit. I let you dom.” He stared into your eyes with a fierce bout of aggression that wet your folds, “... know your place. ”

You matched his energy, glaring back at him and smirking as the skin around your ribcage oozed. Two black iridescent gelatinous arms slid from under your sweatshirt. You mischievously slide your oozy hands to his hips and pull him closer to the counter for you to rub your slick over his tight spandex.

His bulge was accentuated in the black synthetic fiber as you ground yourself onto him. He growled into your lips, obviously frustrated with the advance.

You smirk, placing a small kiss on his lips, “where exactly is that, Hawks? Dominating you, right?”

Hawks expelled a set of six feathers and stabbing them into the ooze and tacking them to the wall, “not today, Sweetheart .”

He gripped your fleshy waist and dug his talons into the fat of your hips. He leaned into you, growling and huffing into your bare neck as he rolled your hip over his, toying his head over your bud.

You mute your moans, as to not give him the satisfaction but on the occasional bite, you open your mouth and watch as his feathers ruffle at the non verbal praise. He gripped your hair and pulled your face to look at him. He planted a kiss on your lips, nibbling on the bottom one, then he trailed bites down your neck, your collarbone, to your breasts (where he placed a dark hickie), your stomach and the tops of your thighs.

Hawks kneeled down, caressing your leg to your ankle. He bent your knee and positioned one heel on the edge of the counter. He used his fingers to hold you open for him to lick a wet stripe over your hole and held your opposite thigh in his hand, squeezing the flesh.

You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his hair and gripping as you rutted your juices onto him. He pulled his head back, taking your grip in strides and shook his head.

“Tsk, still gonna try to fight me, huh?” He sat back on his heels, “maybe I should just stop, not let you have any reprieve.”

You glared at him, tightening your grip on his hair, “I don’t beg.”

He winced at the aggressive grip in his hair and smirked. You felt your bits heat up with the excitement of seeing him almost submit to you again. But he doesn’t, instead he brings a collection of feathers to collect your hands and tack them to the counter behind you, just enough to give you support.

The army of red swarmed your nipples and he gripped your thighs again as he descended back into your slit. Hawks fluttered his tongue over your bud before taking a long drawn out suck and you moan in response, attempting to slip free of the feathers holding you down.

He rolled your flower between his tongue and the flat of his bottom lip and growled into it. Muffled moans were few and far between as the pleasure built up in you, you couldn’t resist releasing them freely into the air. Hawks brought a finger to your hole and delicately rubbed it as he flicked his tongue on your button.

He slicked his tongue down to meet his finger at your hole and slipped them both in earning a strained moan from you. He smirked and met your gaze as you huffed with lustful eyes.

“Yeah? Feel good?” He growled into your hole as he curled his fingers up, rubbing your bundle of nerves.

You groan, tilting your head back at the pleasure and releasing a loud moan from the back of your throat. You expel another oozy arm from the ankle closest to his hip. You took advantage of his light distraction and slithered your slime mass under this spandex to his cock.

You wrapped yourself around his shaft and molded into a jelly-like sleeve, allowing his head to peek from the top. In doing so, his feathers ruffled and he lustfully glared at you. You smiled down, continuing to moan and began pumping him.

His golden eyes rolled back from his own pleasure as he fluttered over your hotspot, fingers deep rubbing the spongy spot. He felt you begin to quiver and your heels slip from the ledge of the counter from the uncontrollable pleasure.

Hawks adjusted his wing, placing the bend of your knee over it’s wrist and lifted your leg, keeping it stable. The shadow from his wing covered his face and his eyes glowed with passion as he felt your pent up pressure release with the clenching of your muscles and a bellowing moan. Your ooze jiggly in satisfaction before losing its shape and returning to your body.

“That’s my good Dove.” He smirked in your slit as your body pulsated pressure on his fingers.

He licked another wet stripe before readjusting you on the counter. He pulled your hips to the edge and rutted his shaft over you. You expel two oozy hands to shuffle his spandex off.

A loud crack of thunder rattled the apartment as he slid himself into you. The storm muted each of your pleasure momentarily as he rolled his hips up, filling your tight hole. He dug his face into your neck and your oozy hand clawed at his back, under his flared wings as he found his rhythm.

He bit into your neck, placing more dark hickies across your skin all while rubbing your flower with one of his hands. You grip his hair in pleasure, but also in a light attempt to regain dominance. You match his rutting aggression by planting your teeth on the soft of his neck, giving him his own small collection of hickies.

Your hips slip under you and your head gets scrunched but the cabinets as he pulls you closer to get deeper. Hawks growls into your collarbone in frustration and lifts you from the counter. He pumps you a few more times standing and you lean your head back. He takes the opportunity to lick over your throat, huffing warm air on your skin.

He uses some of his feathers to support your back and you oozed some concave shapes to reach behind you and lower onto the wooden kitchen floor. He pulled himself from your warmth and you groaned in detest. A feather disappeared to collect a pillow from the bedroom and Hawks gingerly placed it under your head.

He gripped his girth, running his hand over his hardened shaft and smirked, “I’m going to sit back and let my feathers work my magic on you…” he brushed some hair from your face, “...until you say my name.”

You ran your tongue over your molars before the shock of a feather wiggling around your bud. He leaned back onto his heels, jerking himself with his hand as your skin bubbled with chills. He chuckled through a moan as you attempted to expel your quirk but it shook flacid from excitement.

“You good there, Dove ?” He mocked, rubbing his thumb over his head.

You moaned and glared, watching Hawks examine his feather at work. He pressed his thumb at your entrance, earning another strained moan from you.

“Just say it, baby.” He sneered, knowing he earned his dominance.

You choked his name back and glared at him, huffing, “ Hawks .”

He smirked, shaking his head and pressed his thumb into you, “Really, baby, just say it.”

Hawks replaced his thumb with two fingers, itching your bundle of nerves bringing you back on another high but before you could release it he pulled everything away. You fidgeted in frustration from the stimulation being removed.

He leaned in, cock in hand on your stomach. He kissed your earlobe before growling his demand, “ say it. ”

Chills ran down your spine and you teasingly turned your head to face him and quietly spoke on his lips, “ Hawks .”

He ran his tongue over his lips, “you’re such a fucking bitch sometimes.”

Hawks rutted his hips into you, grinding his head against you entrance. He groaned into your ear which earned a symphony of moans at his teasing.

“ug-..ugh , Keigo, just fuck me !” Keigo smirked into your skin and slipped himself fully into you. A deep throated moan came from you and your eyes rolled back as he leaned back.

Keigo gripped the tops of your thighs and began pumping you full again, “that’s it, Dove. My good little Dove.”

He continued his thrusts as he shifted one foot up, under your rear. His speed increased and he squeezed you closer, searching to release deeper inside you. Keigo shifted his other foot up, until he was squatting over you.

He adjusted your legs over his shoulders as he pressed into you in a mating press. He continued to thrust his hips until you folded under him on your shoulders. He supported your back with his feathers as you orgasmed in the fold, legs shaking around his head.

He pulled your hips into his and with a few long thrusts he held you there expelling his seed deep into you. Keigo gently pulled from you with the sound of slick and cum. He gently set your hips down and sent a feather to collect a towel to wipe you clean.

He pulled your back up and snuggled your head into his collarbone, “you did so well for me, Dove.”

He caressed your hair, planting delicate kisses on your forehead. You rubbed your cheek into him and chuckled lightly.

Keigo smiled, lifting you two from the floor and walking to the bathroom with you wrapped around him, “what’s so funny?”

You give him a kiss on the cheek, “well, if I’m Dove and you’re Hawks… Is it considered cannibalism when you eat me out?”

Hawks scrunched his eyebrows, mouth agape and processing your comment, “I mean...I guess it is. He kissed your forehead as he set your feet to the tiled bathroom floor and turned the shower water on.

He turned his head to you and smirked, “...and I’d do it again.”

#bnha hawks #mha hawks #hawks mha #hawks #mha #my hero academia #myheroacademia #my hero fanfic #takami keigo #keigo takami #mha takami keigo #keigo headcanons #keigo x reader #keigo smut #keigo #hawks fanfic #dom hawks #smut

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ask-the-riders · 4 years

Text

Ret Torments Nootmare (feat. fluff with Ret and Fam)

Uhhhhh welp

Yeah. Like the title says, this is essentially Retribution showing up in Nightmare's castle and being a little shit, intentionally pissing him off

It shows a new side of Ret which,, I had a lot of fun exploring

And then an added bonus: some fluff with him and Famine

Nightmare couldn't believe what he was seeing right now.

He'd just come back from a mission and headed to his throne room, only to find one of his many duplicates in his seat.

One of Night's duplicates was currently sitting in his throne, holding himself with confidence and pride, as if he thought that seat actually belonged to him.

Drawing in a deep breath and attempting to remain calm, he folded his arms behind his back as he began to approach the throne, arching a brow bone, "Alright, explain something to me, boy. Last time you were here, I made it clear that I didn't want to see your face in this castle ever again. Did it not occur to you how idiotic this decision is?" Retribution hummed in acknowledgement, arching a brow bone back as if trying to be subtle about mimicking him, "Mmn... Perhaps. Perhaps not. I was actually wondering something, though." Nightmare tilted his head, "Such as?" A smile tugged at Retribution's teeth as he mimicked his original again, also tilting his head, "Aren't commoners supposed to bow when they're standing before a throne?"

Nightmare's socket twitched and one of his tentacles shot forward. Just before the appendage was able to touch him, the rider's body seemed to melt into a puddle of darkness, darting out of the throne and slipping behind it. As he reappeared, his original's tendril slammed into the backrest of the throne, causing a small crack to form. Sneaking a glance at Nightmare from around the side of the throne, Retribution chirped, almost sounding amused, "Missed me, Tar Pit." Nightmare growled in annoyance again and hissed, "Are you ALWAYS such an insolent brat?!"

The rider pretended to think over the question for a brief moment, "No, not always. Just to you. I suppose that makes you special." The goop covered guardian moved closer to the throne, another tendril slithering around the chair. Seeing it capture his cloak first as if planning to drag him backward, he scoffed, merely unclipping the item and shurtcutting away.

Reappearing near the center of the room, he spoke again, "Before it escapes me, how would you feel about indulging in some self-care?" Nightmare narrowed his socket, "That would be disgusting, and I can't believe you'd even suggest something like that." A look of confusion crossed Retribution's face, and soon after, a look of realization settled in its place. He made a face in response, "Oh, what's this?... It looks like my original counterpart has a nasty case of the gutter brain. It'd be a real shame if anybody found out about that."

Nightmare's cheekbones turned the faintest shade of cyan and he scowled, "You wouldn't DARE." His non-goopy duplicate tilted his head and arched a brow bone, offering the other a pleased smirk, "You're me. I think you already know the answer to that." He briefly paused, easily sidestepping as a sharpened tendril came sailing toward him again, "That's not why I'm here, though. I actually wanted to talk with you about some things." Nightmare kept his single cyan eye narrowed in suspicion, "Oh really? Like what?"

Retribution watched his original closely, taking a moment to gauge his body language, "Well, I was hoping you'd explain to me why it's so important to you that you murder Dream. Why do you wish to kill the only person who ever truly cared for you, and who still believes you can change?" Nightmare stared at the rider blankly, "Are you dense or something? I don't care about Dream. I need him dead so I can attain the last golden fruit."

Keeping his gaze fixed on his original, Ret spoke, genuinely interested, "If you were to get your hands on it, what would you do with the golden fruit?" The goop covered guardian sighed deeply, rolling his eye light, "Destroy it, obviously. If I get rid of it, all positivity in the main multiverse will fade away and I would become so much stronger than I already am." Retribution hummed, doing his best to maintain a straight face, "I see. If I had a golden fruit and offered to give it to you, what would you do?" Night's gaze hardened and he balled his hands into fists, "You wouldn't do such a thing. You couldn't. Not since all of the golden fruits from your timeline became corrupted too." Retribution slipped a hand into his satchel, withdrawing a golden fruit and holding it up for his original to see, "Are you sure about that? This looks like a golden fruit to me."

Nightmare was caught off guard, his socket briefly widening in surprise, "What the hell? Where did you get that?! They're supposed to be gone! And how the hell are you able to hold that without corrupting it?!" Completely casual, the rider shrugged his shoulders, fighting the urge to smile, "Oh, I just brought it with me from home, in case I needed a little snack at some point." Night continued to gawk at him, "That doesn't explain how your touch isn't corrupting it, though!"

Retribution sighed, rolling his eye lights, "The answer to that is simple, genius. I learned how to adjust my level of corruption at will, and I built up an immunity to positivity. The fruit is in no way hurting me, and if I saw fit, I could corrupt it at any given moment." The darker guardian began to approach him, "You're bluffing. That isn't possible." The rider kept his attention focused on Nightmare, calmly lifting the fruit and taking a bite from it, ignoring the faint stinging in his mouth as he quietly chewed. Seeing this, Night was once again caught off guard, "Alright, explain to me how in the actual HELL you're doing that. That REALLY shouldn't be possible!"

Swallowing the mouthful of fruit, the rider arched a brow bone, "I already told you, idiot. I built up an immunity to it." Lowering his gaze to the fruit, he gave a low, thoughtful hum, "I don't know that it'd be the same as Dream's golden fruit, but do you think this one would do the trick? In destroying all that remains of positivity in the main multiverse, and all that nonsense." Nightmare remained silent as a look of genuine uncertainty etched itself onto his face.

Retribution reached out to him, offering the darker guardian the fruit, "Here. Take it." Nightmare's uncertainty rapidly shifted into a glare, "Oh, please. Do you really think I'd believe this was anything other than a trick?!" Ret shook his head, "It's not a trick. I'm offering it to you because as a version of yourself, I understand the pain you've endured, and I understand how important this is to you." Nightmare stared at him for a moment, attempting to read him and pick out any of the telltale signs of deceit.

When he found none, he cautiously began to reach out, intent on accepting the fruit from his duplicate. Just mere seconds before the goop covered guardian could take the golden fruit, Retribution's magic released it's hold on his aura. Allowing his corrupting touch to work magic of it's own, the golden fruit became black, and just for good measure, Ret forced more of his corruption into it, completely unphased as it began to rot. Nightmare's eye widened in surprise and he drew his hand back, before his surprise transformed into rage and he roared, "You IDIOT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE JUST DONE?!"

Calmly dropping the rotten fruit on the castle floor and ignoring the disgusting splat sound it made, the rider arched a brow bone, "What have I done, hm? Kept the fruit away from a maniac like you? Saved the main multiverse from any unnecessary chaos? Please tell me what I did, Nightmare." The guardian growled, reaching out to grip a handful of Ret's shirt, "You little bastard! I should kill you for that!"

Acting more on impulse than logic, Retribution's hands quickly found his Morningstar, looping the chain around Nightmare's arm and beginning to squeeze, "Then do it. KILL ME, DAMNIT. I'M BEGGING YOU TO DO IT." Nightmare hissed, his eye dark with absolute hatred as a tendril surged forward, plunging itself through his duplicate's chest. For a moment, time seemed to slow; The tendril curled, crushing more of Ret's ribcage as it went, and Ret stared at his original in shock.

And then the rider smiled, mischief flickering in his eyes. Nightmare blinked in confusion, staring as the other's body began to shift. Rather than melting into shadows again, his body softened, and feathers began to slowly float to the ground. Withdrawing his tentacle and allowing his duplicate to fall, his confusion turning into disbelief as he watched the rider vanish, replaced by a feather pillow. The Morningstar's chain that had been wrapped around his arm became nothing more than someone's belt, and Night was at a loss.

What in the hell had just happened???

On the far side of the room that was behind the goop covered guardian, the rider phased into the shadows, his body easily blending in. His magic gathered up another shadow, quickly shaping it into something humanoid, and as he released it, it soared toward Nightmare, nearly toppling him over. The shadow being began its own barrage of attacks on the guardian and Retribution took the opportunity to sink further into his hiding place.

Once all that surrounded him was darkness, he let out a deep sigh, his body finally beginning to relax. A set of much larger arms wrapped around him from behind, and yet he wasn't alarmed, not even as he was tugged back against someone. Tipping his head back and looking up, he raised a hand, gently cupping the other's face.

Another pair of sockets opened, one sapphire eye light meeting Retribution's cyan ones, the light from it bright enough to illuminate the former prince's face a small bit. Turning to face his taller partner, Retribution wrapped his arms around him, his voice soft, "Thank you, Famine... I couldn't have pulled this off without you." In response, Famine offered him a slight smile, "No problem, Firefly. 'M just glad you're alright and it went the way we wanted."

Wearing a smile that seemed uncharacteristically warm and gentle, Retribution lightly tugged on Famine's shirt. Knowing what his partner wanted, Famine's cheekbones dusted the softest shade of faded denim blue and he sighed, his expression softening. He began to lean down, very gently pressing his teeth to Retribution's. As Ret melted into it and returned the kiss, his own cheeks became a light cyan.

The darkness around them opened up just as they began to pull away from the kiss, and Famine looked around, taking in the surroundings, "My room, huh?" Retribution hummed in confirmation, tilting his head, "Mhm. Is that alright?" Famine nodded, an arm still wrapped around his smaller boyfriend and holding him flush against himself, "Yeah, of course. I just figured that we'd end up goin' back ta your room, is all." The former prince laid his head on the other's chest, completely at ease, "If you'd prefer my room, we can always go there. I know using that particular ability really drains you, so I thought it'd be good to get you into bed so you can rest."

Famine's entire disposition seemed to soften again and he leaned down, affectionately nuzzling the top of the other skeleton's head and murmuring against his skull, "Nah, this is fine, Moonbeam... You're really too good ta me, y'know that?" Retribution's cheekbones dusted a soft shade of cyan as he looked up at his taller partner. Meeting the other's gaze and holding it, Famine delicately touched his face, his voice still low as he continued, "You're definitely too good for me, too... That's for sure."

Retribution heard his lover's words but he knew the truth; Famine was too good to him. He knew what Ret had set out to do, and after they'd discussed it, Retribution had agreed to bring him along. He'd been hidden within the safety of the former prince's shadows, and it was there that Ret had placed a barrier of sorts, making it next to impossible to detect Famine's presence.

Retribution had asked his partner to create a simple illusion that would provide him the chance to escape once things had escalated, but he'd gone far beyond what the shorter rider had been expecting. Rather than a simple illusion, Famine had managed to fuse his magic and his intent, and the instant Nightmare's temper flared, he'd sent his intent out in pulses. His intent clouded the guardian's mind as soon as his guard had momentarily gone down, and as a result, he'd genuinely believed he was attacking Retribution.

The instant Ret had stepped into the shadows and joined Famine, he'd felt traces of his magic, noting how it seemed heavier than normal. His ability to cast hallucinations always resulted in heavier feeling magic, but this time... Something was different. It was as if the taller rider had expended more magic. Factoring in the substitution of himself for physical objects, Retribution could only assume he was correct.

The former prince's attention was drawn back to the present moment as he felt Famine shiver, and he blinked in surprise, taking notice of the blue tinted sweat that had beaded on his face. A drop of black saliva... Or at least, what he assumed was saliva, rolled down Famine's chin from the corner of his mouth, and Ret let out a deep sigh, beginning to gently guide his lover toward his bed, his voice soft, "Famine... You used more magic than normal, didn't you?"

The taller rider almost looked guilty, offering him a sheepish grin, "Y-Yeah, I did. It wasn't a whole lot more than normal though, I swear." Helping Famine into bed, Retribution rolled his eye lights and did his best to seem annoyed, "You're utterly impenitent, you know that?" Famine laid down on his side and made a sound in acknowledgement, earning a scoff from the former prince. Ret allowed his gaze to wander away from his lover for a brief moment, his cheekbones dusting the faintest shade of cyan as he crossed his arms over his chest, "If you keep being so careless, there's a good chance that you could push yourself too hard and get hurt. We both know how I feel about even just the simple notion of you getting hurt, and I-"

As Famine reached out and tugged Retribution into bed with him, Ret let out a surprised yelp. He felt himself nearly be crushed against the other's chest, and his cyan blush grew brighter as he growled lowly in agitation. Famine nuzzled the top of his skull, beginning to purr faintly as the shorter of the two delicately touched his face. As much as he would've liked to be a little annoyed with Famine's carelessness, he found his agitation rapidly fading away as he silently listened to his purring.

Allowing his semi transparent tentacles to manifest, Retribution cuddled as close to his lover as possible. Each of the tendrils curled loosely around Famine, holding him close to the former prince. As Famine's purring grew slightly louder, Ret sighed softly, unable to help the tiny smile that tugged at his teeth. The purring momentarily paused as Famine yawned, and the shorter skeleton pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw, murmuring, "Rest now, Honey Badger... I'll still be here at your side when you wake." The taller rider made a sound in reluctant agreement, his sockets drifting shut. Ret began gently stroking his cheek with his thumb, his smile turning affectionate as Famine leaned into his touch, clearly enjoying it.

To most, he was a deranged menace at best, and a homicidal maniac at worst. To the former prince, however, he was nothing more than an oddly endearing gentle giant.

#writing #retribution.exe #nightmare sans #riders of the apocalypse #four horsemen of the apocalypse #undertale #undertale au #famine.exe

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originlist · 3 years

Text

@bonmotx asked:

It's a dream and a memory.

The world is a pulsing miasma, something dense and smelling like blood and pomegranate seeds. Something lays in the dead and rotting, the ever mourned. Sherwood green and pale purple, cloth and head of hair, soaked in blood and unrecognizable. Somewhere someone that cannot admit death is crushed under two small bodies buried into matted fur. A captain of the ship lays broken in his many bodies.

A shield is shattered.

('A Beast is an Evil of Humanity,' a distant voice echoes. 'But they all love humanity, just in a twisted way'.)

Something without a form pulses. This is your domain. You wanted this. Hatred manifest, is it not? It must be hatred. It must. You look over the last human of this bleached word dyed with red, red, red, and look for-

-a smile.

This tiny body smiles.

"It's alright." The face is nearly unrecognizable, starved and near death and bone. They glow with humanity, but you must be hatred, you must be, to be a Beast. Beast, to hate, to loathe, to bite and claw-

(Something thick lands in your hair. When did you have hair? Where do you still, in this all-encompassing form?)

The miasma leaves this tiny body untouched, but the sludge is inescapable, tar and blood, and you watch with rapt attention as their chest struggles to beat, a rabbit's heart ready to burst with a leg torn apart in a trap.

"It's alright," that tiny body and that over-extending smile say, "we can make this better. It's okay."

A cough wracks the body and you start, a shudder running down spines and limbs and formless parts that are everything but 'human'. Why do you feel that? Why? You are a Beast. You hate, you hate, you hate-

Another cough. They fall over and the miasma rises to catch them but they fall through it, humanity, ever moving forward, but you are stuck in this single moment.

"I don’t hold it against you. We can still fix it. Please, Ashiya, just trust me. Come back." No. You aren't Ashiya. You cannot be Ashiya Douman, you are a Beast, you are here! You are strewn about the digested and mutilated saint graphs and bodies of everyone ever brought here. You are soaked so thoroughly in their blood it has become part of you.

You devour and devour but still feel empty, and there is only one thing left.

Your maws try to speak, something hateful, but you make a sound you could never recognize. Your teeth cut into your tongues, and you move forward, but your claws are too large for this tiny thing.

A thing with a name, a name you never called them by.

Ritsuka Fujimaru looks up at you, blood bubbling up to their lips. They smile still. You look at those command seals, not one ever solely yours. "Trust me."

Once, in bed, you said you would paint your mark on them, and they laughed, pulled you over with mirth on their lips, and they dared you to, like you were not a thing of fangs and talons. Then you took them, and spread them apart, and scarcely left a mark, even as they cried and you lapped up their tears, and when they slept in your arms and when they woke in the morning you still were gentle-

But somebody else, somebody came first. He made demands, was made up of sharp angles and wrath. But his sparrow bones were beautiful. He, too, was made of hate. Passion in red eyes, red, and hair that you were ever gentle with, and you kissed him a thousand times, and you modeled yourself after him. He taught you how to craft definition in hate (and he taught you contrast, too, because he was the first one you-)

Yet this one is love, love, and no matter the hate you attempt to find, no matter what love you snuff, they still extend their hand-

You swore to make his dream come true-

This one's dream is the exact opposite-

How can one commit to two contradictory, parallel dreams-

(The miasma swells. The crown flourishes to a beautiful crescendo. You take form, the chrysalis melting away in velvet and gore and wet flaps of discarded skin.)

"It's okay, you can still come home." Claws too sharp finally abet to something that can be gentle, yet at that moment-

Life fades.

The last human dies.

Humanity dies.

You stare at the body as your gaze multiplies, as your body becomes a solid form that never had been granted to you before, a solid definition.

There is fantasy, too, there are humans in there but you will kill them because they are not your human-

Ah.

Your mind fractures. (Maybe the person in here can see where the cause of your fracture is.) There was no other human but this one. This is the most important human. (Memory fades.) This is the person you love the most. You have never loved anyone else as a person besides this one, dead body.

(This is why Alter Ego and Caster are disgusted by you, despite your lack of realization. You forgot. You forgot two important people. Alter Ego's most important person, Caster's most important person, their versions of your most important (only) person, forgotten for power. In seeing you they find their line they never would cross. You prove that only you could become you, because they see you and vow never, never.)

You are not hatred. How could you fool yourself? You love humanity. This human was humanity itself and you love, you love, you love.

There is a sound. It is a voice, yet not. Your body burns, because you have never hated anything but the inhuman, right? You destroyed humanity, the only thing you ever loved, the only commitment you ever had. Onmyouji love humanity, protect humanity, you failed at that, so you must have just loved them wrong. What a silly thing, to have thought you hated! How funny! You laugh through your wailing.

Ah. Right.

You are the one wailing. The world cracks beneath the sound. The miasma sinks, burrows, clawing and tearing its way down and down, into the world, beyond texture and bleach, beyond the reversal, it burrows into the very core and you mourn.

The one important thing to you, and you destroyed it.

But no matter the time, the body does not decay. You curl about it and isolate yourself as the other bodies fade to dust and you stay here, here, as things beyond the world pry about and are ignored. You stay here, as infinite time passes and none at all, because the Beast who mourns only ever mourns, always mourns-

(They finally realize they have forgotten, and their hands reach out for this version of themselves in their dream, where their errant master has ended up, but they freeze seeing that dead body. Their eyes go needle thin. Ritsu, Ritsu, Ritsu- and another wail, something empty and desperate-)

You sacrificed your love for this-

You stay there, lost in your mourning, as another you pulls at a body- isn't that your body, Ritsuka Fujimaru?

"Isn't that your body?" Alter Ego tuts, but their face is blanched white. They smell off. They tug the body that no longer is Beast but is the dreaming Ritsuka Fujimaru to the side, hide their eyes firmly under charms, and the sound of wet footsteps echoes even through the wailing and screaming and the desperation, the words of love, grief, love, love, grief, grief-

"Wake up." Alter Ego's voice is sharp. "You brought our lord here."

"Ahh... ahhh..." But the Beast's voice is wet, sharp and soft and empty empty empty, desperate-

"Wake up!" Alter Ego's own takes a hint of desperation. "I do not want to see this any longer!"

The sound of screaming and wailing is too much. This place is falling apart. Miasma and grudges clash and merge, ideals and faith and hate and love combating and tearing itself and the other-self apart. A faint sound comes from the corner.

"...oh." Another familiar voice. This one shouldn't be here. This one lurked in another's dreams, protected another dreamer despite knowing he did not need it. An uneasy air, but a familiar essence, and despite the lack of any bond... Hands that have been bitten raw rest over Ritsu's face.

"Go back to sleep."

The world fades to black, as in the living world, two bodies curl in devotion and desperation around another.

Ritsuka Fujimaru watches from eyes that aren’t theirs. It’s not the first time they’ve been someone else, seen someone else’s memories. It’s not even the first time they’ve been here.

They remember this place fractured. They remember this place from the eyes of the Ritsu they now loom above in a body formed and formless that burns and twists. In the dream they had, something kept them from knowing who this was. It was blurred, it was something unknown, they could feel their mouth forming a name but without knowledge of who or what they spoke to.

This was protection.

Ritsu lacks that same protection now, and they watch from a body that is everywhere the full extent of carnage they could not see before. They cannot help but notice Robin’s mantle and the embers of Yako’s foxfire, still fading. There is utmost certainty that everyone else, too, is dead. (And in the way of dreams, when it is thought of it surfaces, the vision in an instant of Chaldea dying. There is no humanity and there are no Servants. There is no staff, no humans, no heroes, no Mash, no da Vinci, because all of them have died in and that instant Ritsu could see each murder.)

Everything was taken from them and in this form, everything was taken by them. No-- not everything. Because Ritsu recognizes, even when they’re not themselves, what the Ritsu before them is thinking.

(The one before them is terrified. They live their worst nightmare. The only thing they could not handle is everyone disappearing, everyone dying. Not just ‘all humanity’, but everyone. In this world, only one person aside from Ritsu remains, and it is someone they did-do-will-have loved. There was never any other possibility than Ritsuka Fujimaru still desperately trying to offer something that could fix this and end anywhere other than isolation.)

Ritsu watches this from the point of empathy and the point of the entity they occupy. They parse things all at once and in an overload.

Within their empathy, they feel the hatred that the body (body?) they occupy tries to exude. Tries? Does? Ritsu can’t tell, but they know it’s overwhelming — Ritsu was never meant for formless, indiscriminate hatred. It’s almost alien to them and it hurts, it hurts, they can’t understand it and they can’t process this desire. Something, the thing that they are, wanted this. “They” wanted this? Ritsu is pulled along in this “want”, manhandled and pushed into this foreign hatred with the death of the world oozing blood down into their throat. You did this. Ritsu sees themselves standing in their own hands.

They feel— “they” feel — you/‘you’/you (pl.) feel —

The Ritsu that belongs to ‘them’ dies and the present Ritsu knows this one won’t come back. This form of humanity is lost. (Sorry. Sorry, I… “I”?) “Aaaah…” The part of this mind that is Ritsu watching, who is aware of themselves as apart and a part of this entity at the same time, cries something helplessly.

Humanity dies and Ritsu remembers things that aren’t theirs in this memory they already don’t belong to. There are people that are valued and occupy opposite spectra, but this place cannot hold both, so, so—

But this place you’re in, past the furthest reach of one, is lonely and there is nothing left to love. Is there value in only nothingness? (And Ritsu cries no, not like this, not in stretches of blood and formless aimless hate, no, it can’t.)

Ritsu feels something break and it reflects in the world and in their gaze. They’re not the same as the person whose memories they invade, they stand just separate enough to watch but not remember their name. They watch a decision and they mourn that loss, too. (Is this the price? Is this— ‘I’m sorry,’ Ritsu thinks, ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t enough to stop this, and you lost something that was valuable.’)

Is it selfish, cold, terrible of them that they focus on ‘you lost something’ you, the person they are-aren’t, the person they (not that they realize now) ‘made’, and not the ones whose blood colored the ground. They lost, too. And certainty: I was not enough to prevent this.

Whose thought is that? Who are you?

Ritsu wants to cover their face. They’re screaming. They don’t know how long they’ve been screaming. Maybe since the beginning, since they were forced to experience consuming hatred, maybe since now when the world falls apart and the hatred morphs into something more familiar but still so aching.

(What have you done? What have you allowed to happen? What have ‘you’/you/you(pl.) done?)

It’s too long. It’s too long. Ritsu has been here, sobbing broken meaningless apologies and laments that no one will answer and they cannot be freed from. Why— why can’t they be free? Why here, forever, with this dead, with a body that stays and reminds and won’t let you go (can’t be released)?

To mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn, to mourn (it aches), to mourn, to mourn, to mourn (help me), to mourn, to mourn (the taste of blood), to mourn, to mourn (why?), to mourn, to mourn (it hurts), to mourn, to mourn (help me), to mourn, to mourn, to mourn (help me), to mourn, to mourn, to mourn (help me), to mourn, to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me), to mourn (help me).

It hurts, please. They’re all alone and they’re so scared. It’s the end of everything, and their body is too small and too broken, familiar and unfamiliar. It’s scary. Please, help me. I don’t want to be alone. I can’t breathe. Help me. Help me. I didn’t want this. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did to cause this but I’m sorry.

Ritsu doesn’t know how this happened. They didn’t mean for it. There is more grief than could ever fit in their body. Even their body which has seen the death of all history twiceover, the death of timelines, of their friends -- the mourning is more than was meant for a human to carry.

They don’t feel being dragged, they don’t feel the charm over their eyes. They weren’t able to see anyways. They only feel as if they’re being crushed, death and guilt and isolation bearing down on them. Their throat hurts and they feel it too close to them. They’re crying, they have been, too much, because they can’t scream.

Please. I’m sorry. Help me.

Then, hands on their cheek. Cold, somehow, against Ritsu’s skin. They reach up almost on instinct to grab whoever touches them, hands latching desperately and too-tight around an unfamiliar wrist. “I don’t know where to go,” they say, voice torn. Their fingernails are probably digging blood from Bei’s skin. “Help me. Please, please, it’s too...” Ritsu trails off as Bei pulls their awareness somewhere as if beleaguered by weight and guilt (everywhere, in the air, it’s too much guilt).

In the world that is real, or as real as anything gets after the end of history, Ritsu curls small and crying against Beast around them, Ritsu’s desperate hands digging into Beast instead.

They will forgive, because Ritsu has never done anything else. But they cry first, split and flayed here and when they awake, even then, lost and with shaking hands. They did this, didn’t they.

#ic : ritsu #long post #asks #bonmotx

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swindlefingrs · 5 years

Text

Begging Forgiveness

Title: Begging Forgiveness Rating: PG Word Count: 1.3k

Characters: The Captain, Maximillian Desoto Pairings: Vicar Max x Captain, Vicar Max x f!Captain, Hollis x Max Summary: The captain has a different definition of begging forgiveness than Vicar Max. He’s surprised to find out just how into her definition he is.

The sulfur stench of Fallbrook lingers on the vicar’s vestments. It follows him through the Unreliable’s corridors. The smell is rotten and bitter, but not as bitter as the rebuke he suffered with while holding his fragile apology in his hands.

He straightens his collar, and brushes his hands down his front to smooth out any wrinkles, before buzzing the Captain’s door.

His behavior in Fallbrook was unbecoming and Maximillian Desoto knows this. He knows it every time it happens. Anger clouded his judgement. Again. He let it take control, let it come roaring out of him and let it crash on everyone around him. Again.

The disappointment on the captain’s face, along with her swift censure, was all it took to cow his boiling rage.

He has to do better but he needs forgiveness in order to do that.

The door to the captain’s quarters unlocks and slides open. He steps through the bulkhead and into a hazy layer of tobacco smoke floating a few feet off the ground.

The captain lounges in a chair at her desk. Salt and pepper curls listing to one side of her head, her thick frame relaxed in her chair. Her feet kicked up, a cigarette in one hand, and the book he’d offered her days ago pressed open in her lap.

Vicar Max clears his throat, folding his hands in front of him. She takes a drag of her cigarette and turns a page.

She doesn’t look up from her reading, “Hey Vic.”

“Captain. I’m here about earlier...” Max doesn’t want to suffer the embarrassment of his actions twice. A small part of him prays she’ll take pity on him and finish the story herself.

“Hm?” she looks up from her book. The captain’s face is long and lined around the corners. The corners of her eyes, her nose, her mouth. He’s seen kindness there before, but not enough to spare him the recitation of events, as it turns out. Perhaps he deserves this specific punishment. Perhaps this is part of his atonement.

“With Cheney near Fallbrook? I want to thank you for…” Max chokes on the words he needs to say so he skirts around them, “for pulling me back from the edge.”

“Well, you may be a sanctimonious prick who gets heated sometimes but you don’t seem like the murdering type,” she shrugs.

He looks down at his hands and picks at a speck of dirt under his trimmed nails.

“Well, yes.”

Silence hangs in the air. Still, her absolution withheld. He takes a breath, willing the knot wedged under his lungs to unwind.

“Again, Captain, I’m.. I’m begging your forgiveness.”

She nods slowly. She dog-ears the page she was on and it makes him cringe. She slaps the book down on her desk and lets her feet fall to the floor with a thump.

The captain sighs, “Yeah, you keep saying that.”

“It’s the-”

“Trouble is,” she interrupts and takes a long drag from her cigarette before stubbing the butt in the ashtray next to her. Smoke billows out from her nostrils, “Trouble is this don’t much look like begging.”

He bites back his rebuke. He catches it just as it crests the back of his tongue. It is bitter and it’s not the way forward.

The captain leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head. There’s a twinkle in her eye and a little tug at the corner of her mouth.

“If I’m not mistaken, and Law knows I can be, but begging’s usually done on one’s knees.”

The Unreliable’s HVAC system whistles through the open door behind him, cooling the beads of sweat on the back of his neck, before the chilly droplets roll down his spine.

This is ridiculous. Petulant, even.

He could turn heel and leave. The door is open. Open, but not unto the forgiveness he desires.

Max’s feet don’t move - his knees fold.

He drops to one knee and then the other, measured, restrained. There’s no shame in falling to one’s knees, he repeats to himself. How often had he done so in seminary school in reverence and study. His face feels warm, he prays that he looks stoic.

“Oh, don’t you get cross with me,” she mutters.

An unbidden sense of disappointment wells up inside of him as the captain breaks her gaze to rifle through a desk drawer, pulling out a new pack of cigarettes, tamping them down to the filter, and plucking out a single cigarette.

Her rough hands cup around her lighter and the end of her cigarette. Click, click, click, and a deep inhale. She pulls her lit cigarette into her fingers, and scratches at the grey scruff on the sides of her jaw.

The steel flooring is cold under his knees. And hard. He tries to shift his weight from one knee to the other but it’s no help. His feet tingle.

“Captain, if I may-” Max starts, trying to pick up the pieces of his ego he seems to have left under his aching knees.

She chuckles, smoke filters out from between her teeth, “You most definitely may not.”

He swallows his words. Hard.

The captain stands from her chair. It only takes a few casual steps for her to loom over him. He can feel the heat from her bulky body. He reminds himself to breathe.

The captain slowly circles around him, close enough for the air shimmer between them.

The vicar begins to sink back onto his heels to try to take the sting out of his knees, but a quick tap on the back of his shoulder prompts him to sit bolt upright.

She stands before him again, letting the electricity build in the stagnant air and taking another long drag from her cigarette, “You were saying?”

Smoke billows out from between her lips in a dense white cloud, she sucks it back into her mouth with a quick huff.

“Captain?” He asks in a hush, quieter than he anticipated.

“Forgiveness,” The captain cocks her wide hips to one side and folds her arms over her chest, looking down at him. She taps the ash off her smoke onto the floor behind her.

“Oh! Yes, um,” the vicar shakes his head from side to side, trying to rattle his thoughts into order.

“Take a breath.”

He does and his thoughts coalesce into a point of light, he looks up at her.

“Captain,” he folds his hands in front of himself, “I’m here to beg your forgiveness. Using the goodwill I had earned in our service together, to trick you into exacting revenge on Cheney was untoward of me. All of us here on the Unreliable are trusting each other with our lives and it was not right for me to deceive you.”

The vicar’s head drops as he waits for the absolution he’s craved since that day in Fallbrook. The new way she looks at him and the distance she keeps in the field eats away at him.

“Ah, ah” the captain’s hand grabs his chin and lifts his head back up to look at her. It’s warm. Smells of tobacco tar, Purpleberry Crunch, and cordite.

“Eyes up, Max.”

The smoldering coal he keeps lodged in his chest alights in flame at the sound of his own name.

She smiles down at him. His insides melt.

“We can’t have this happening again. I’m not gonna be wasting bunk space on deceivers and backbiters making me run around the colony for secret vendettas,” the captain’s grip tightens on his chin.

“I understand.”

“That sure as shit ain’t in my grand plan. All vendettas gotta be up front,” the captain drops her hand away, “just like the rest of us. I don’t want to be second-guessing anyone on my crew.”

“I understand.”

She takes a half step forward, invading more of the scant space between them, “My vicar, least of all.”

He wonders what the leather on her pants would feel like against his palms.

“Stand up,” the captain quietly orders.

She doesn’t back away to give him space. Max finds he’s thankful for it. If any more blood drains from his head, he half believes she’ll catch him before he falters. His knees pop and click as he pushes himself up to standing.

“Are we golden?” she murmurs. The captain washed her face recently, clean water cut streaks through the dirt on her neck.

He nods solemnly, “Yes, Captain.”

The captain’s smile beams and the vicar’s guts spin. She claps him hard on his shoulder, “Good!”

The captain leans in closer, her words brush along the vicar’s cheek, “You’re dismissed.”

#the outer worlds #outer worlds #vicar max #maximillian desoto #vicar max x captain #vicar max x f!captain #pearl x max #pearl hollis #a little power play #a lil light femdom-ish thing #nothing overtly saxual #just some corrections #and personal space #she's so mad she has a crush on him #Punchy McGee over here in his pretty vestments #and his pretty face #ugh #the outer worlds spoilers #smoking cw

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Feels Like the First Time

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam Winchester/ Rowena Macleod

Written for @spnkinkbingo

Square Filled: Amnesia

Word Count: ~3400

Summary: Rowena takes Sam seriously and indulges them both.

Lovely Banner made by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Warnings: 18yo+, memory wipe, smut, multiple orgasms, hinted public sex, size difference, magically enhanced sex, annoyed as hell Dean.

^*^*^

He sensed her presence before she said a word, a subtle tingle that started at the base of his neck and sank down his spine, pulling his shoulders back and head up. Sam stood tall; his eyes darting about until he was reassured what the instinctive alarm meant. In unnatural quiet, Rowena had draped herself against the doorframe, amused yet calculating as she watched them ready the ingredients. He couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of her, coiffed and elegant, something so out of place in his boots-on-the-ground, blood-under-the-fingernails kind of life.

“Hello, boys,” Rowena purred, decadent eyes sinking into his very being.

“Bout time you showed up,” Dean grumbled, dropping the spell book he had been using onto the table beside the muslin mat. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and gave her a knowing shrug.

“A bit surly aren’t ye? What’s a matter Dean, flask dry already?” Rowena bated, holding her hair to the side as she unwrapped the belt on her coat. Beneath it she was dressed in a rich maroon blazer, accented with gold, her tiny waist pinched by a matching pencil skirt. The cream-colored blouse was only a shade darker than her porcelain skin. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what was softer the satin or the parts of her it covered. Quickly, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and his eyes off their witch-to-the-rescue to help finish preparing the ingredients for the spell.

Sam couldn’t get his hands to work properly, they were thicker now, the joints moving sluggishly. But, eventually, he had the dry ingredients diced as Rowena mixed the mucus and moss. Dean seemed to teeter over them, unsure what to do as he waited, constantly blowing or patting at his hair.

“Alright, side-by-side you go,” she instructed with a curt nod. She paced in front of them as they settled in place, shallow bowl in her left hand as she began to recite the spell. She stopped in front of Sam first, eyes wide as she continued to chant, when he didn’t understand she beckoned him lower with a quick tug at his neck with her free hand. With a cackle from Dean, they both bent over, allowing her to cover their foreheads with the tar like concoction. At least, it didn’t smell like anything worse than a mud mask, Dean thought.

Once Sam and Dean wore matching bands of sludge over their brows Rowena finished the spell, voice rising in pristine Latin. The moment the final word was spoken, they both fell to the floor, unconscious. Rowena daintily stepped over their bulk of muscle and limbs, to return her ingredients to their containers. She left the hunters where they lay and made her way to the library.

An hour later, that is where Sam found her, sipping on Dean’s hidden stash of Scotch, reading. Being back in his own body again magnified every sensation, from the weight of his footsteps to the fit of his clothes. Though mostly it was the hunger, the raw aching need to touch and to take, to fill and be filled. Sam needed her and now that his hands were again his to control; he didn’t hesitate. Without a word he fell to his knees at her feet, hands resting beside her delicate shoulders on the wooden chair. If she was shocked by his antics, she didn’t let on. With a silent plea and panting breaths Sam huffed out his desperation with hazel intensity.

Carefully setting her glass down, Rowena reached up, and crumbled the remnants of the spell from his face. Her tiny fingers were cold yet soothing, and Sam leaned into her touch, eyes closing in submission.

She leaned forwards, rubied lips gliding passed his until she spoke hot and dark into his ear, “I don’t suppose you’d like to thank me in private?”

Sam’s whole body shuddered, and a strangled groan was the only audible sound before he cupped her face and kissed her senseless. She broke away and snaked her hands behind his neck, locking him to her as she rubbed her nose against his. With matching grins and general disregard for Dean who was also righted, but stumbling out of the dungeon, they tucked away in Sam’s room for the foreseeable future.

Hours later, they lay naked in each other's arms, Sam’s fingers threading through Rowena’s bright hair as she walked her nails over his chest. They sighed in the contented warmth, a mutual relief in ending up there at last. She was silently pleased that he was the one to instigate it after all his inane posturing, but he was a Winchester after all. Rowena nipped up his jaw as he faced the ceiling, lids heavy above a blissful smirk. His dimples were simply scandalous, of course she had to bite each one once they popped up again. Sam’s hand left her hair, sinking to drag her hip tight to his side. It simply fell back, teasing the cleft of her backside, one massive hand encasing her.

“I can’t believe that actually happened,” Sam said softly, devilishly down his nose to her.

“Don’t tell me you need a reminder already, Samuel, I’m too sore for that yet,” Rowena warned, eyes melodramatically aghast.

�� Sam chuckled, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “No, just, it’d been a long time comin’.”

“Really now?” Rowena deadpanned. “I wonder why, Mister High-and-Mighty…”

Sam swatted her ass, dragging her on top of him as he feigned innocence. “Well, you are completely out of my league.”

Rowena’s bottom lip popped out in consideration before she nodded. “True, poor boy. What will I do with one such as you?”

She began to rock along his reawakened cock, graceful glides of her supple skin against his, nails digging into his upper arms as she looked him over. Sam hummed appreciatively as she sank down onto him, hot and swollen. “Thought you were sore.”

She raised an eyebrow in return. “I thought you knew better than to question me. I take what I want,” her teeth were tight over the last word, before she leaned forward and kissed Sam again. His hands gripped her ribcage, thumbs tracing beneath her perfect tits as he thrust back into her. She arched backwards with cantered grace, letting the depths of her magic pull their bodies into a final crescendo. It was maddening how amazing it was. Sam crashed in a state of euphoria that seemed too much for his mind to process. Maybe it was Rowena’s lingering magic, maybe it was just her, but Sam no longer believed Heaven existed on the other side of a sandbox.

“Oh gods,” Rowena fell forward with a hearty moan, her chest firm and comforting, a slender smothering Sam welcomed. He nuzzled the edge of a nipple, pinning her narrow waist in a hearty hug.

“That was—” Sam sputtered.

“Aye,” Rowena agreed, smiling easily as she took her turn to play with his hair.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we can top that,” Sam sighed, delighted and dazed by their coupling. “Maybe it was because it was our first time—"

“Hardly,” she tatted.

“You know what I mean,” Sam stared at her suddenly serious, perhaps even a little self-conscious. Sam looked up at her with those puppy dog eyes that she couldn’t stand. “I’d do it all over again.”

Rowena gave a noncommittal reply before slinking her legs together and dropping to the floor. She dragged the comforter back onto the bed to cocoon inside as her body temperature evened. She let Sam hold her tight, finding his hand over her elbow oddly soothing as she drifted off with Sam’s natural furnace adding to her warmth. She awoke with the crack of dawn, and sinful inspiration.

^*^*^

“So, she’d just bail on you? Kinda harsh,” Dean patted Sam’s back as he sat alone in the kitchen.

Sam turned to his brother in confusion. “Who bailed? What are you talking about?”

Dean stared at Sam and then shifted his weight on his feet and leaned in to really focus on him. “Rowena? Witch? About yea-high?”

“Rowena? Why would Rowena be bailing on me? I haven’t seen her in weeks,” Sam laughed awkwardly. “You okay, man? Still drunk maybe?”

Dean swallowed a mouthful of scalding hot coffee and choked. Once he could get the words out, he came back at Sam, “Trying to play it sly, really?! After the fucking show you guys put on last night. I think I went deaf in this ear trying to drown you guys out.”

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam tried not to laugh, but Dean’s absurd aggression over the impossible implication of hooking up with Rowena made it difficult.

“Listen, you don’t want to admit to getting walked out on, fine. But I have just one question. Carpet match the drapes?” Dean’s eyebrows pitched over his mug. Sam stood up without an answer, shaking his head at his brother’s asinine inquiry.

^*^*^

Their next case, Rowena appeared out of the woodwork, sashaying into the crime scene with credentials from Scotland Yard and a mean streak a mile long. The locals were falling all over themselves with ma’ams and manners. Dean was not amused, especially when Sam’s voice dropped and got exponentially clumsier whenever she glanced his way.

“Why are you here?!” Dean snapped once he was left alone with her at the morgue.

“Hello, Rowena. Nice to see you again. Thanks for getting our heads back in our bodies after we blundered it up! Like always,” Rowena retorted, doing a horrible mockery of Dean’s voice.

Dean sighed, waiting for her rant to run its course. He read over the medical examiner’s report before pulling back the sheet on the latest victim, noticing intricate tattoos on the insides of each wrist.

“Seriously, what’s your angle? This case barely hit our radar, what’s it to you?” Dean pressed.

“I’m not the culprit, if that’s what you mean to say!” Rowena primped, tisking at Dean as he continued to look over the body.

“Got something to say, spit it out,” Dean snipped from across the room.

Rowena shrugged dramatically. “It’s nothing, dear. Just a wee bit of ectoplasm along the nasal passage and defensive wounds along one side of the body. But I’m sure a lifelong hunter, a professional of your caliber, noticed such things.”

Dean double flashed his phone’s flashlight up the guy’s nose to find Rowena correct, his head slumped in defeat. He called Sam at the victim’s house, in the process trying not to let Rowena out of his sight. “We got ecto on the vic.”

“Vengeful spirit, huh,” Sam thought aloud. “Okay, well, meet back at the motel? Figure out who we gotta burn?”

“Sounds good. Hide the china though, Glinda hasn’t gone back to Oz,” Dean lamented.

“Whatever you say,” Sam agreed.

^*^*^

Rowena appreciated a man that could handle physical labor, watching Sam dig the rocky grave was quite a sight. Especially since he was always more the studious type, though she knew firsthand what kind of power his body held. And she wasn’t done with him. The air seemed to hum around them as they watched Dean set the bones on fire, Sam glancing down at her as she reached up to his hair, pulling away dead grass from his efforts. Her dark eyes reflected the flames and Sam lost all sense of control, he crashed into her, mouth open and hands tugging. Dean didn’t even bother complaining, he just walked away as Sam pinned her against a tree. He let Sam walk back to the motel for that traumatizing visual.

^*^*^

Their third first time was after a long case when Rowena hadn’t been able to counteract the aftermath of another witch’s botched spell. Visibly shaken over her unexpected shortcomings, Sam held her tight as she tried not to cry. His large hand trailed over her back in languid motions, warm and soothing.

“You did what you could, no one blames you,” Sam murmured.

“I bloody should be able to clean up after an amateur, Samuel. I’ve been doing this for so long, maybe I am getting rusty,” she trailed off, not meaning to continue the trail of thought aloud.

“Hey, look at me?” Sam demanded, pulling her face up towards his with a whisk of his fingertips over her jaw. “You are as sharp as ever. Don’t let someone else’s mistakes take away from what you are.”

“And what’s that, hmm?” Rowena hummed, eyes sparkling against Sam’s intense affirmation.

“The most badass witch I have ever—” Sam huffed until his face broke open into a grin of a much younger man. “You’re amazing, you know that. I don’t have to tell you.”

She tightened her fists into his shirts. “But it sounds so much better when you say it, dear.”

Sam wiped away a stray tear that had escaped her controlled façade, thick thumb tracing her sharp cheekbone until they fell into a breath of a kiss. Tender and timid.

“I didn’t figure you’d be a gentle one,” Rowena teased, pressing against him in urgency. They moved in a trance of silent adoration and gentle longing towards Sam’s room. There, they went slowly, lips and hands exploring each other in layers. The hunger grew in his eyes as he saw each fresh strip of flesh, pale and ageless against her overstated lingerie. He kissed down her taut stomach, stubble burning as he tore away the delicate fabric keeping him from tasting her at last. He sank between her thighs as a pilgrim at a prayer rail, gracious and pleading. Swearing oaths and praising her name. She fell apart flushed with emotion; uncertain she could continue such games.

Sam tucked her into his side, holding her close as he sank into her. Filling her without his lips, eyes or hands ever leaving her skin. She writhed beneath him, keening every version of his name, shaking as he grunted into her hair, sweet nothings that meant more than anything had before. His hand splayed over her heart as he found his release, her name a promise on his lips.

She woke him with her twisted smile teasing him until he opened his eyes, her nimble fingers dwarfed by his length. He lay back and watched her work, yesterday’s makeup fading onto a somehow younger looking face. Her ancient eyes couldn’t fool him though, they poured out the things she hadn’t said, giving Sam much more than the sweet pulse of her tongue could offer. His throat bobbed as he clenched his jaw, straining as she took him deeper, cupping his balls as her wordless syllables pulled him over the edge in the still morning air.

Rowena climbed up his body, leaning back against the pillows in signature refinement as Sam groaned and stretched his waking limbs. He kissed her cheek before heading to relieve himself, lingering on the sight of her in his bed. She drank in his proud smirk before burying herself back into his sheets. He woke her late in the morning, with a strong cup of tea and a shy smile.

“So, Dean’s gone for a few hours, running errands. I don’t really know what you do for fun, but I was kind of hoping we could spend some time together?” Sam stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting for Rowena to blow him off completely.

Gracefully she set her cup on his desk. She stood, tugging at the neck of his tee shirt so it fell to the back of her knees. “Sam, my idea of fun is precisely what you’ve spent your life fighting against. I’m a witch. You’re a hunter.”

“What are you saying?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, straightening to his full height. “Are you telling me that you didn’t want this?”

“No!” She said firmly, turning away. “Perhaps--- it was just all just well and good. Truly, the best. But—I’ve not been honest with ye. And I don’t think you’d want me taking up your free time if you knew everything.”

“Rowena, what did you do?” Sam relaxed as she dropped back to his bed, looking almost childlike in his shirt, hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

“It was something you said, the first time. The real first time, a sheoid,” she leaned into each word, eyes pleading for his patience.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam sank beside her, anger and curiosity battling within him.

“Last night wasn’t the first time I’ve shared your bed. You said you wished we could do it all over again and I thought—” Rowena couldn’t help but smile at the memory, but her voice stumbled once she saw the pain in his eyes.

“You tricked me,” Sam sighed.

She turned to face him, pulling his hand into her lap, snugly in her own. “Just a wee memory patch, I can take it away if you’d like?”

“How many?” Sam said evenly, glaring slightly into her eyes.

“How many patches or how many bouts? You need to be more specific,” Rowena teased, tongue clipping each word out.

Sam’s eyes bulged, inhaling deeply through his nose. “Both.”

“Just two patches, but it was quite a few rounds. I dare say your stamina is—” Rowena started to gush, blowing out her appreciation as she watched Sam squirm.

“You’re gonna fix my memories, but I need to know one thing before you go digging in my head again.” Sam pointed at her with his free hand.

“Alright then, out with it,” Rowena rolled her eyes, leaning back to rest on her hands, crossing her bare legs at him.

“What made you stop? You could have kept leading me along, having your way with me and wiping the slate clean. But something was different today. Why?” Sam’s voice pulled her apart, his eyes intense and knowing. He challenged her in a way only he could and she hated him for it.

She chewed on her tongue before making a pathetic offer. “I could just leave them lie. You’d be none the wiser and I could be on my way.”

Sam shook his head at her, the air thick as she felt the remnants of her emotional walls drift away on the breeze.

“You! You, stupid moose. You come in here with tea, proper strength and sugars and then you stand there, like you do. Tall and offering up your day, like some doaty loun.” Rowena groans and presses her hands to his temples, frustrated she kept going.

“Because I’m done pretending, Sam. I don’t want you to forget. Satisfied?”

Sam held her wrists, and searched her eyes, before he could say anything, she kissed him. All of her inhibitions and pretense left on the floor beside her gown. She kissed him like it would be the last time, but he didn’t let her go. He pulled her onto his lap until neither one could breathe.

“Do it.” Sam leered out of the tops of his eyes. “Before you make me forget again.” He winked at her then. She began muttering under her breath, nails digging into his scalp as she peeled away the layers dulling his memories. It was over in less than a minute. Sam’s eyes slammed closed, too many sensations flooded his system as he remembered pulling splinters out of his knuckles, unspoken for sore muscles and jaw falling into place along their lost timeline.

“There. Good as new?” Rowena waited for Sam to reply.

“You fixed us. Why would you hide that?” Sam wondered aloud. Rowena tried to shrug it off, standing as she collected her clothing.

“Hey—I’m not mad,” Sam pulled her back to him, holding her waist as she stood between his feet. “Don’t do that ever again, but I’m good, if we're good?”

“We as in—” Rowena grumbled.

“Us,” Sam nodded infectiously, dimples pulling her from her shell. She rolled her eyes and huffed defiantly.

“Fine. You want a fecking hen, Samuel. You have one. Happy?” Rowena pushed him playfully.

“Yup,” Sam pulled her back with him, popping the p. She giggled against his lips as he tucked her hair out his way.

Later that day, Dean returned, startled to find Sam and Rowena reading on the couch together. She had her hair back and barely any makeup on, but the way Sam was looking at her, Dean didn’t point out the shift. A glib ‘finally’ his only celebration.

^*^*^

#spnkinkbingo #samwena #samwitch fanfiction #sam winchester x rowena macleod #Stu's 5 Fic Fridays #sam/rowena #amnesia #memory wipe #size difference #sam x rowena

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talesfromtheindigoghost · 5 years

Text

Good Intentions: Entry 4

The noise ringing through my mind was like trying to tell someone you were on the phone with about a movie, only to get tired of explaining and just held the phone up to the TV.

Screams of the thing in front of me’s regret rang through my skull, a hateful symphony of slammed doors and shattered lives pounding to the melody of a poorly tuned violin accompanying a macabre dance. Every demon I had imagined when I started shampooing my hair had made itself known to me with desperate hunger and empty hatred.

Before I could even begin to think of an appropriate way to react the thing closes the short distance from the door to the tub and sends me slamming against the freezing cold porcelain with an unintended shoulder tackle.

You ever get that moment of panic when you’re in the shower? That sudden sense of dread that convinces you that you’re about to slip and break your neck at any given moment? It’s usually inspired by dropping something or not feeling as completely sure footed as you expected to in that half a moment that feels exactly like leaning too far back in your chair and realizing you’re teetering over the edge.

My inspiration let out a horrifying and meaty screech as flecks of toxic bile and tar flew out of its dish water oatmeal mouth. An uncomfortably thick and hot mound of quivering mush violently ripped open, only to clamp down just as suddenly onto my shoulder. The dull pressure shocked me far more than any tooth or claw ever could, the thing’s obsessive jaw, or what’s passing for it, suddenly becoming a gross tourniquet as it kept me pinned against the wall.

I have no idea who I’m so furious with, whose very existence drags me to the depths of hell and its boiling lakes of rage. I can feel every bit of the thing that used to be someone’s grudge, every idle thought of dark violence or worse tightens its inhuman vice grip as I let out my own howling screaming. I hear the bone in my arm splinter before I start to feel it a solid moment later.

The radio static in my skull hisses louder, an ear piercing electronic squeal resonates through my mind until the picture comes into the view. I can hear the person this thing used to be sobbing into a glass of water after their final meal. I can taste all of the chemicals and poisons the water washes down. I can feel myself swallowing my own hatred, seething from the very depths of my soul that my death poisons someone else with regret.

The crushing creaking of my arm snaps me back to reality with a sickening pop. I hear something heavy and wet slap against the edge of the tub.

I’ve been through a lot of physical traumas in my life. Fifty times back and forth, after all, I would say it’s downright reasonable to assume I have. They were always relatively quick and painless. Slow and quiet. The kinds of things your mind doesn’t like to let itself dwell on for too long or else it’ll just ruin your day. My point is that I’ve experienced pain and shock before.

I’ve never experienced losing an arm.

I don’t care for that shit one bit, now that I think about it.

We scream together, the noises blurring together with the crashing red river pouring out of where my arm used to be. I found myself lost in that indescribable haze of death I had gotten so familiar with over the years. Blindly feeling my way through the darkness and confusion of being confronted by the monsters of our mistakes, like a starving beast that stumbled into the open back door of a butcher’s shop during payday.

Whoever the person this thing used to be had died alone. I know his life story the moment I sink my teeth into its neck in sheer desperation. His poisonous entitlement flood my mouth with tar and the deep, hateful taste of his woeful sexual frustration. I chew through waterlogged grey flesh covering my prize, the demon’s intruding desires to flay and gnash the skin of the women that denied him.

I feel everything within me become violent disgust. I live through every excruciating moment of the person this thing used to be’s life and turn around to see reality coming to splash ice water down my exposed spine. I experience the sensation of being a monster. I feel the warm blood pour over me as I end lives after I’ve violated them. I feast on their fear as they beg me for mercy. I grow drunk on the power of denying it. I crave more, I demand more. I deserve more. They should be grateful that I they had the opportunity to make me feel good.

I feel my pride and power melt away as I read the letter from someone who knows what I am.

I realize that even in death this monster can’t help but violate people.

My stomach growls and I remember my hunger.

I bite through the thin, pathetically weak vine of black licorice and feel its entire body go limp and slide away from me. The haze of death lifts like rain clouds after a storm and lets the shining sun and rainbows of euphoria fill me with an inner sense of peace and balance as I understand that this accursed demon will no longer torment the innocent.

It felt great, right up until I noticed that I was being pulled down by the dissolving blackened carcass that no longer pinned me up against the tiles. It took me half a moment to understand that I no longer had an arm to catch myself before I fall and break my neck on the side of the bath tub.

I close my eyes as the second half of the moment is spent accepting what was about to happen.

I never remember how I get here. Not at first, at least.

It’s always the same, yet it feels like it’s the first time this has ever happened.

At least, I thought so at first. I’m not alone this time. The person that thing used to be had taken its place on the ground beside me, both of us climbing to our feet in front of that gaudy gated community and its obnoxiously overstated security gate.

I look up from the jarring sight of my whole, intact arm and notice that Peter is already on his walkie talkie with a look that shows he’s just as surprised to see me as I am to be here. My gut tenses, the lead weight of anger yanks my guts into my knees and spills the contents of my heart from my mouth in a bloody and furious geyser of righteous ire.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?”

I roar at the pathetic monster whose sins had just torn my arm off and broke my neck. I don’t even feel myself hesitate from marching up to Peter’s desk and slamming my fist down on top of the golden “Ring For Service” bell situated right in front of the nervous man awaiting a response on his radio.

“What in the fuck is he doing here?”

Peter stammered and fumbled over his words, his eyes darting back and forth between the monster and I in apparent confusion, weakly shirking the responsibility of an answer through halfhearted shrugs and another plead into his walkie talkie for someone to come to the gate.

I’m so insulted at the notion that this monster, this vile and unforgivable creature, is even allowed to approach what appears to be heaven. I’m so angry that I don’t even care that we’re both still completely nude and, even further unnoticed, whole and human once more.

Not even the soothing hymns floating serenely through the golden breeze, lighting up the clouds softly with its love and profound purpose could distract me from the overwhelming indignation of knowing the monster responsible for every single one of its horrific life experiences that I had been made to relive was being entertained the opportunity to plead for entry into what I can only assume is a peaceful eternity.

Peter and I were so caught up in this sudden, unexpected confrontation that neither of us had noticed the sorry excuse for what may be considered human trying to jump the shimmering gold fence. It wasn’t until I saw it wobbling and threatening to bend forward under the murderer’s weight that I understood just how flimsy and decorative the fence itself was.

Whatever either of us were about to say or do was violently interrupted by the sound of three rapid gunshots as the monster’s chest exploded outward into a spray of meaty confetti across the clouds and its head simply ceased to be.

In the blink of an eye he, and any evidence of the scene that had just unfolded vanished. Out of sight, and just as suddenly, out of mind.

I turn just in time to see a cowboy proudly slipping a golden six-shooter back into an ornate fast draw holster around his waist. He shoots me a wink and tips his ten gallon hat with a knowing grin, the ringing in my ears easing and fading into an easily dismissed memory of annoyance. It’s easy to see that Peter is just as stunned as I am at how abruptly this situation has been forcefully diffused

I find myself holding my hands up in uncertainty, an unease I don’t think I’ve ever felt in the times I’ve been here. I take a bit of comfort in seeing that I’m not the only one here that’s uncomfortable as the tall, intimidating law man steps forward with both hands resting confidently around a huge, audacious belt buckle in the shape of a shining star emblazoned with a flaming sword.

“Well howdy there, fellas.”

Peter stands up straight and adjusts his suspenders and name tag, coughing lightly in an attempt to find his bearings with a stern, yet frazzled face.

“It took you long enough. I specifically asked you to try and be here before either of them got here.”

It wasn’t hard to see how little this towering cowboy cared about punctuality with the casual, yet shockingly firm way he clapped a hand onto my shoulder in near perfect time with the gate swinging open to welcome us both.

“You and I need to have a talk about the mess you’ve got yourself into, son.” His words hit me like a series of left hooks and dazzling footwork, sending me into a stumbling stupor and making it all the easier for the strange figure with all the charisma and commanding presence of the toughest sheriff in all of the wild wild west.

I manage to break the trance for a moment as we approach another office just beyond an unrecognizable wall of clouds that the obnoxiously golden gate were built into. I can’t seem to get the words out but thankfully stopping in your tracks with an expression of confusion is fairly universal, even here.

“Right, I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. Introductions.”

Before I know it, his strong and powerful hand is gripping me in a handshake that overwhelms me with its command for respect. The kind of strength that makes a man tremble in awe and question every single one of his life choices.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, I’m a fan of your work. You can call me Michael.”

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/indigoghost ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/indigoghost twitter: https://twitter.com/theindigoghost

#Good Intentions #Horror #Fiction #horror story #writing #cw: suicide mention #cw: abuse

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piratekane · 6 years

Text

missing scene: june 1 (vanessa/charity)

Picking up where Vanessa and Charity left off, with Vanessa heading into work (and Charity definitely babysitting Johnny)...

“Nothing else matters,” she says, looking across the table. The words feel sticky in her mouth, the lie lukewarm against the back of her teeth. Everything has tasted like tar since DI Simmons told her the truth. Her son - Ryan - is alive. She takes another sip of her brew and swallows, wincing. The tea has cooled and gone bitter.

Vanessa pauses, half in and half out of her jacket. “Are you sure you don’t mind-”

“‘Ness,” she says wearily. She rubs at her forehead. “I said I don’t mind, yeah? Anyway, Johnny’s down now and I was just going to catch up on some light reading.”

Vanessa snorts. She picks up the book Charity brought over with her, tucked under her arm as she nervously slipped through the door, hoping no one would be watching. She’d told Debs and Noah she was going to work and they’d take the mickey if they knew she was sneaking into Tug Ghyll instead.

Skiving work for a fumble, Debs would say, rolling her eyes.

“I wouldn’t call Pride & Prejudice ‘light reading’,” Vanessa says.

Charity blinks, frowning slightly. “Think it’s above my levels?”

“Above mine, more like,” Vanessa says. She frowns and reads the back cover. “Never liked Jane Austen much.”

Charity softens. She knows she’s looking for a fight; looking for something to spark through her and make her feel like herself again. But she also knows that Vanessa isn’t the person to pick on. Maybe if Vanessa meant less; maybe if they were just a ‘bit of fun’ instead of ‘girlfriends’; maybe if there wasn’t an undercurrent of something like love rippling through Charity every time Vanessa smiled at her.

But she doesn’t and they aren’t and there is.

So Charity takes a deep breath instead and stands up, crossing the space between them and sliding her hands under Vanessa’s jacket. “I don’t mind,” she says carefully, meeting Vanessa’s eyes so she understands. She glances away as she speaks again. “Don’t know why you trust me with ‘im, though. I’m not-”

“Stop it,” Vanessa says sharply.

Charity’s heart skips hard in her chest. There’s something about an assertive Vanessa that makes Charity’s knees weaken enough so they’re at the same height.

“You’re a good mum,” Vanessa says. Charity looks away and Vanessa clicks her tongue, her hand at Charity’s chin. “You are,” she says, softer. “And I trust ya. More importantly, Johnny does. It’s not often he doesn’t want me to read him a story before naptime, but you’ve outranked me, yeah? He thinks you’ve hung the moon just for him.”

Charity scoffs. “I’m new. Just because he wanted me to put him down this time doesn’t mean he likes me. He’ll get bored of me.”

Vanessa shakes her head. “You are anything but boring, Charity Dingle.”

Charity leans in, resting her forehead against Vanessa’s. “Are you sure you have to go in?”

She’d much rather stay here, with Vanessa, trapped inside Tug Ghyll where reality has to come to them, and they can decide if they open or the door or not. With Vanessa around, the weight on her shoulders gets a little easier to carry. And when she’s gone, the rooms are just a little dimmer.

That’s love, a voice in her head says.

She tampers the voice down for now.

“I have to now, I’m sorry,” Vanessa says, her shoulders sagging.

Charity sighs and pushes out her bottom lip. “Well, you better get on so you can get back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa echoes, leaning in for a kiss. Charity’s grip tightens on Vanessa’s hips, holding her close for a moment before she lets her go. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she promises.

“I won’t wither away,” Charity grumbles.

“Like your Elizabeth Bennet?”

Charity frowns. “Have you even read Pride & Prejudice?”

Vanessa shrugs a shoulder. “I saw the movie. Colin Firth is fit.”

Charity wrinkles her nose. “And you didn’t know you liked men, yeah?”

Vanessa makes a face her, rolling her eyes. “Oi, he’s a fox.”

Charity lifts an eyebrow slowly. “Sure he is, babe.”

Vanessa pinches her side gently. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“As blessed as the Queen, I am.” Charity kisses Vanessa one more time, and pulls away reluctantly.

The house is quiet as the door shuts behind Vanessa. She stands in the middle of the living room, soaking it in. At the Woolpack, there’s never a moment of peace. There’s punters in the pub and a hundred people in the living room. They leave her well enough alone; been giving her extra space, since the news about Bails broke. But it’s not like this: absolute stillness, absolute quiet.

Quiet is different than silence, Moira had said. Charity never had the words to put to that feeling before. Living in that apartment Bails paid for, the hospital room after she delivered her baby - Ryan - and he didn’t cry - that was silence. But Tug Ghyll is quiet. Charity likes it here; she did even when she lived with Cain and Debbie, too. But something about it being Vanessa’s now, about her being in Vanessa’s space, makes the quiet easier to manage; easier to sink into and wrap around herself and still feel safe.

Safe, she thinks. What all these children deserve to be.

She’s on the stairs before she knows she’s moving, down the small hallway to the door of Johnny’s room. She hesitates there, leaning against the doorframe.

Johnny is exactly where she left him, snuggled up under the Paw Patrol duvet Vanessa got him a few weeks ago, when he moved from a cot to a bed with rails. He sleeps like Vanessa sleeps, curled up one side with enough fluff under his head that she almost doesn’t see his face. He’s got an overstuffed pillow and his Johnny stuffed toy and he looks so content that Charity wishes he would never get older than this moment right here.

She used to think her son - Ryan - would never get older than the moment he was born.

She watches the rise and fall of his chest and wonders what it might have been like to do this in a different room, in a different town, with a different boy. He had a small tuft of hair, just like Johnny’s mohawk. He had been so little, too; so small that she was sure he would break if she had touched him.

She would gotten him a big duvet like Johnny’s, and all the stuffed toys he wanted. She would have scraped together the money and given up wine gums and she would have boughten him pillows so he felt like he was sleeping on clouds.

She watches Johnny breathe: up and down and up and down and she wonders what it would have been like to watch her son - Ryan - breathe, sleep, dream.

She would have been a good mum.

She would have tried.

Vanessa slips through the front door, an apology on her lips. She frowns as she takes in the empty living room, Charity’s mug still on the kitchen table. A ripple of fear runs through her, but Charity isn’t Adam; there’s no reason she would take Johnny and run. He must have fussed, Vanessa thinks. Or he’s awake and Charity is scooping him up. It’s been about an hour since she left for work after her lunch and his naps are getting shorter these days.

She’ll just grab the file she left on the table and be off.

But when she waits a minute, to maybe sneak in one quick kiss before she hurries back to the surgery, she doesn’t hear Charity moving around upstairs. She doesn’t hear Johnny babbling or the sound of footsteps coming. She frowns and moves to the stairs, peering up to the empty landing.

She climbs them slowly, listening closely for something - anything.

Vanessa gets to the top of the stairs and pauses again, eyes narrowing as she takes in the figure at the end of the hall, just inside Johnny’s room. Charity comes into focus as she gets closer and Vanessa’s frown deepens.

“Charity, what’re you-” She stops herself, clapping a hand down over her mouth.

Charity is asleep, sitting on the floor in Johnny’s room with her back against the frame. Her mascara is dried on her cheeks and she’s clutching the Marshall stuffed toy that Johnny demanded but never prefers.

She came up here, Vanessa thinks. She came up here to… She...

Vanessa sobs once, the noise echoing in the quiet room. She backs up out of door and into the hallway, her body heaving as she cries. She covers her mouth with her hand, biting down on her fingers to stifle the cry building in her chest and bubbling up through her mouth. Her cheeks are wet and hot as she slides down to her knees, one hand on the wall.

She came up here to watch him sleep, Vanessa thinks. She fell asleep watching over him.

Her lungs ache and her chest burns and her stomach is in knots, but she can’t stop looking at Charity’s profile; at the dip of her head and her chin against her chest; at the grip she has on Marshall. She can’t stop looking at the woman she loves watching over the only thing she’s done right in this world and she cries.

She cries for the years Charity lost to Bails. She cries for the years Charity lost with Ryan, and with Debs, and Noah, and Moses. She cries for the people who took and took and took from Charity, giving her nothing back in return. She cries for all the times Charity didn’t; all the times she couldn’t.

Vanessa hears Charity hum sleepily and she hurries to her feet, wiping at her face as she creeps down the stairs and back into the living room. She collapses onto the couch, her body folding in half as she tries to catch her breath. It comes back to her slowly and she sits up, swallowing down a fresh wave of tears.

Be strong, she scolds herself. Be strong for her.

Not that Charity needs strength; she has it in spades.

Vanessa takes a deep breath, wiping her hand across her face once more for any remaining tears, and grabs the door handle. She opens and closes the door, slamming it loud.

“Hiya!” she shouts.

She hears something thump upstairs and the sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs. She buises herself with shuffling through the file she’s come back for as Charity hurries into the living room.

“Is it tea time already?” Charity asks, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat quietly.

Vanessa turns, a bright smile on her face. “Not quite. I forgot something,” she says. She holds up the file. “Got it.”

Charity looks past her, distracted. “Okay,” she says absently. She runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head, clearing the sleep in her eyes. “Uh, Johnny’s fine.”

“I didn’t worry he wouldn’t be,” Vanessa says.

“Right,” Charity says.

Vanessa aches to go over to her, to wipe the mascara off her cheeks and hold her. Instead, she gives her a wider smile. “Alright?”

“Yeah, babe,” Charity breathes. She smiles back and Vanessa almost believes it to be real. She takes a deep breath and tries again, her smile a little more believable. “Come ‘ere.”

Vanessa meets Charity halfway, kissing her hard. Charity moans softly, tensing for a moment before kissing her back.

“What was that for?” Charity asks, her smile pressed against Vanessa’s.

For everything, Vanessa thinks.

“No reason. Missed you,” Vanessa says.

Charity husks a laugh that Vanessa feels warm the pit of her stomach, pushing away the knots. “You’ve been gone an hour, babe.”

“I can miss you,” Vanessa says defensively.

Charity leans forward, her head resting against Vanessa’s shoulder. Her hands slide to the small of Vanessa’s back, her fingers kneading into the tension there. “‘Course you can. Just… people don’t usually.”

“I’m not most people,” Vanessa whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Charity mouths against her neck.

Vanessa strokes her hands through Charity’s hair, letting her eyes close as she breathes in Charity’s shampoo. She winds the long strands of Charity’s hair around her fingers and tugs gently, humming Charity’s name.

“We might take that walk,” Charity murmurs back.

Vanessa smiles against Charity’s temple. “Johnny loves the ducks.”

“Wonder where he gets that from.” Charity lifts her head. “A little you, isn’t he?”

Vanessa smiles proudly. “Poor him,” she teases.

Charity thumbs Vanessa’s hip, one corner of her mouth turned up as she looks down where her hand rests over Vanessa’s trousers. “I reckon he’s lucky, yeah? You’re alright, you know.”

“Just alright?” Vanessa asks, fighting a smile.

Charity shrugs a shoulder. “I won’t be taking out an advert, mind you.”

Vanessa laughs. “What would it say? Vanessa Woodfield. She’s alright.”

Charity smiles properly now, wide and bright. “Get you a proper nametag and everything.”

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “What a romantic.”

“That’s something I’ve never been accused of before.” Charity leans in, nipping at Vanessa’s lower lip. “And I’ve been accused of quite a bit in my day.”

“Like amazing,” Vanessa breathes.

“That was a first,” Charity admits.

“Won’t be the last,” Vanessa promises.

Charity looks down at her hand again, curling it over the waistband of Vanessa’s pants. “What are you like?”

Vanessa shrugs a shoulder and kisses Charity again before she unwinds from Charity’s hold, smiling regretfully. “I’ve got to get back before Paddy thinks I’m skiving off to have a snog.”

Charity arches an eyebrow slowly, reaching out to wind a hand through Vanessa’s hair. “Well, if he already thinks it…”

Vanessa dances away from Charity’s hand, holding the file between them like a shield. “Don’t you dare.”

Charity follows after her, eyes dark and her smile wicked. “Just a quick one, yeah?”

“Charity,” Vanessa warns. She backs up towards the door, feeling behind her for the knob. She laughs loudly as Charity pins her to the wall, kissing her neck, nipping at the spot she knows drives Vanessa crazy. “Charity,” Vanessa says, the name stretching.

“To give you something to think about,” Charity rasps. Her teeth scrape over Vanessa’s neck and up behind her ear.

“I think about you all the time,” Vanessa admits, tipping her head back.

Charity’s mouth finds hers, two fingers pulling Vanessa’s chin down. “”Ditto, kid.” She kisses Vanessa again. “Ditto.”

#vanity #charity x vanessa #emmerdale #charity dingle #vanessa woodfield

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banshee-cheekbones · 6 years

Note

could you write standrew joining the mile high club (unless you don’t write smut)

I really did intend on making this smutty, but it ended up being somewhere between a hard T and a really soft M rating. set in season 3, on the flight over to Japan.

~2k, on ao3 here.

Wordsmith.

When Steven blinks his heavy eyes open, his mouth is dry, his head feels like a bruised fruit, and there’s nothing but pure and absolute darkness stretching out before him.

It takes him a few languid blinks to get his bearings and realize that he isn’t dreaming, that he hasn’t been sucked down into the La Brea Tar Pits through some kind of unfortunate accident. Rather, he’s on a flight to Tokyo, somewhere around thirty-five thousand feet in the air, and the darkness is just the vast expanse of the sky on the other side of the thick glass window, stretching off into what truly looks like infinity.

Blinking again, he groans and sits up a little straighter. The thin fleece blanket he bought just after takeoff slithers down his chest to pool in his lap as he idly glances around. The rest of the cabin is dimly lit, overhead lights lowered to accommodate the fact that most of the passengers seem to be sleeping, based on the quiet all around him.

He doesn’t blame them. He has no idea what day it is, let alone what time; his brain is already scrambled from the change in time zones, and they haven’t even landed in Japan yet.

He takes a moment to thank his past self for having the foresight to set aside the first day of their trip for the sole purpose of dealing with the jet lag.

“You drooled on me.”

Steven jumps and swivels his head to look at Andrew. It doesn’t look like he’s gotten a wink of sleep yet; there are bags under his eyes, and he’s read nearly two thirds of the paperback he purchased at the airport before they left.

“Did not,” Steven responds automatically. Andrew’s facial expression remains carefully neutral as he glances down at the shoulder of his sweater. Sure enough, there are a few dark spots dotting the fabric, and even though it’s not the first time it’s happened (and definitely won’t be the last), warm mortification floods Steven’s face as he mutters, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Andrew closes his book and stashes it in the small storage compartment on the back of the seat in front of them. “Did you get some actual sleep?”

“A little, I think.” Steven yawns and glances back out the window. If he squints, he thinks he can make out some clouds, smudges of darkest gray against the black sky, but he can’t be certain. “How much longer?”

“Three hours.” Steven groans and drops his head onto Andrew’s shoulder. Thankfully, the places where he drooled earlier are dry.

“I just want to be in our hotel. On an actual bed. With pillows.”

“Me too,” Andrew murmurs, pressing his mouth to the top of Steven’s head. The armrest between them is still pushed back into the upright position, and Steven slides over to the edge of his seat so that they’re touching from hip to knee. The air conditioning is a little too high, hum permeating the otherwise quiet cabin, but Andrew is unfairly warm, like always.

“How are the others doing?” he asks, closing his eyes again. Momentarily, Andrew shifts away, presumably so he can look over the seat at the row behind them, where Rie and Adam are sitting, but he returns quickly and presses his face right back into Steven’s hair.

“Fast asleep,” he replies. “Just like everyone else, I think.” One of his hands slides underneath Steven’s blanket and curls around his thigh, and Steven sighs happily. Andrew’s not big on public displays of affection, and while Steven absolutely respects that, knows that doing anything more than wrapping his arm around Andrew’s shoulders when they’re out and about is usually too much, it means that he lives for moments like this, when things are quiet, when it’s just the two of them in their own private sphere.

For a long time, they stay quiet and still, pressed against each other with nothing but the steady sound of Andrew’s breathing and the hum of the air circulation overhead to break the silence.

The next time Andrew speaks, Steven is on the verge of falling back asleep.

“Do you remember the last hotel we stayed at?” Andrew’s voice is a low rumble in his chest, barely above a whisper, and even before Steven fully comprehends what he said, a low flame of arousal starts flickering in his stomach.

Once the words fully sink in, that low flame kicks up a notch.

He remembers the hotel perfectly. It’d been in New York, a newer building on the edge of Chinatown with a shiny and gleaming exterior, an extremely finicky heating system, and spotty Wi-Fi. The water pressure had been less than optimal, and the room had been significantly smaller than he’d expected; once they’d loaded all their gear and suitcases in, there had barely been enough room for the two of them to move.

But what he remembers even more so than the actual physical features of the hotel is what happened there.

When they drew the blinds, the darkness in the room was so total that it felt like he was staring at the inside of his own eyelids. The too-soft mattress had dipped underneath his body when he’d fallen back against it, and the starchy sheets had dragged along his bare back once Andrew pulled his shirt off and threw it into the darkness, where it remained undiscovered until the morning. Andrew’s hands and mouth had dragged over every inch of Steven’s exposed skin, left behind burning trails that seemed to singe each of his nerves.

Even more so than all of that, he remembers the utterly overwhelming sensation of need and joy that had filled his very soul when Andrew took him into his warm, slick mouth for the first time.

“Yeah,” Steven answers belatedly, pressing his knee firmer against Andrew’s and swallowing heavily. “I remember.” Andrew sighs quietly, and his mouth slides down to rest at Steven’s temple.

“Do you want to do that again?” he asks, lips catching on Steven’s skin. “Once we’ve slept off some jet lag?”

For a moment, Steven forgets how to breathe. It’s not that he’s conflicted about how to answer (he definitely wants that, without a shadow of a doubt), but this is not a conversation he expected to have at thirty-five thousand feet in the air, at some totally incomprehensible time of night (or day). Even though there’s no one listening in (he can hear the people seated in front of them snoring softly, there’s no airline staff within sight, and the person across the aisle has an eye mask pulled down over the top half of their face), just having these kinds of thoughts around other people makes him feel like a kid caught with their arm wrist-deep in the cookie jar.

But, although he knows that all it would take to stop things in their tracks is a single word, he doesn’t want to stop. Not yet, at least.

He takes a deep breath to prepare himself before he says, turning his head so that their foreheads are nearly touching, “Maybe my memory isn’t as good as I thought. What exactly do you want to do again?”

For a brief moment, Andrew’s face stays still, but then the corner of his mouth ticks up in a slight smirk, and his hand tightens on Steven’s thigh. He remains quiet for a moment, and Steven bites his lip in anticipation, tries to hide his shudder when Andrew’s fingers gently skirt along the inseam of his jeans.

“Want to get you in bed,” he begins, a little raspy, unpracticed, which just makes more heat gather in Steven’s stomach, “and kiss your pretty neck from top to bottom.” He raises his free hand and traces one finger down the front of Steven’s throat, from just underneath his chin down to the slight hollow at the base, lingers there for a moment before he goes lower and outlines Steven’s collarbone through his shirt, taps it gently. “And I want to kiss these too. Maybe mark them up a bit, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah,” Steven whispers, nodding for emphasis. He knows exactly what Andrew’s blunt teeth feel like scraping against his skin, hitting the perfect spot between pain and pleasure, and he can’t help but lean into where Andrew’s fingertips are tracing along his collarbone. “What else?”

“Then I’m going to take my time with the rest of you,” Andrew continues. There’s a hint of pink high in his cheeks that Steven would press his mouth to, if he wasn’t too busy eagerly awaiting Andrew’s next words. “Gonna take my time with your ribs and your hips.” His fingers slowly trail down the center of Steven’s chest, and the touch burns through Steven’s shirt. Andrew’s fingers come to a stop at his waist, just above the line of the blanket, and Steven looks up from them and into Andrew’s eyes, just in time for Andrew to swallow and say, “I’m going to kiss you, over and over again, until you ask for more.”

“What if I don’t ask?” The words almost trip out of Steven’s mouth; he’s so utterly focused on the vivid mental picture Andrew is painting that the ability to speak is barely within his reach.

“Then I’ll just try harder,” Andrew answers solemnly, and Steven nearly dissolves.

“I believe you,” he says, licking his lips and not missing the way Andrew’s gaze drops down to his mouth. Doing his best not to stutter, he continues, “Are you gonna stop there?”

Andrew shakes his head and laughs once, the sound short and clipped.

“No, Steven.” His cheeks flush darker, and he leans in closer, until his mouth is resting on the shell of Steven’s ear. Goosebumps explode up the back of Steven’s neck, and anticipation flutters in his stomach, groans stronger and stronger with each silent second that passes between them. Finally, just when Steven thinks he can’t bear the silence any longer, Andrew clears his throat, scrapes his teeth along the tip of Steven’s ear and says, “I’m not going to stop until you come down my throat.”

Steven officially loses the ability to speak coherently.

“Andrew,” he groans softly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He’s hard and aching behind his zipper, and Andrew’s hand has, deliberately or not, slipped further up his thigh, into territory that’s definitely not appropriate for a public pace.

He’s never been interested in the concept of the mile high club (or, to be fair, sex in any kind of public or semi-public space); he has too many inhibitions, is too vividly aware of the potential consequences that could arise. Even thinking about it makes phantom humiliation rise in his throat.

But, all the same, there’s a part of him that wants to simply say screw it and drag Andrew off to the bathroom.

Before he can begin to weigh the pros and cons of doing just that, the plane suddenly rocks heavily, and his head painfully bumps against Andrew’s as the pilot comes over the intercom to warn them about an upcoming patch of turbulence.

“Damn it,” Steven sighs, backing away a few inches so that he can buckle his seat belt.

“Yeah.” Andrew laughs shakily and gives Steven’s thigh one last squeeze before he slides his hand out from underneath the blanket. “But it’s probably good that we stop.”

“Probably.” They hit another patch of turbulent air, thankfully less rough than the last, and once it smooths out, Steven continues, not sure how much time he’ll have before things get bumpy again. “But I want to do all of that. Everything you said. But there’s one stipulation.”

Andrew raises one eyebrow and smiles a little as he threads his fingers through Steven’s. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Cheeks flushed with heat again, Steven grins as he leans in, not close enough for their heads to bonk together again if the air gets rough, but close enough so that only Andrew will be able to hear him.

“I want to do all of that to you too. Especially that last part.”

A flush creeps over Andrew’s face and down to his jaw, and he swallows heavily before he squeezes Steven’s hand tightly.

“Okay. You can definitely do that.”

#standrew #mine #mine: fic #anyways here's this!#this was a lot of fun to write #and now to either go work on the allydia prompt Dev sent awhile back or my fic for this week's bfu writers discord challenge #which is also standrew

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writingfromkitchenator · 7 years

Text

This Old Man

A Horror Short

There was a sensation of falling.

It took Ryan a long time to focus, to open his eyes, only to realise that air was indeed rushing past his face, his eyes watering as his mouth opened in a silent scream, his voice seemingly locked in his throat.

Voice filled the air as he rushed towards a yellow light, alternating between almost angelic and very demonic.

Heat flushed his skin as he burst through the light, tumbling around before he bring himself back into focus, the words starting to make sense.

This old man, he rules one, He plays knick-knack in the sun;

Ryan could make out a dark figure standing tall in a wide expanse of desert. As he falls, the figures arm raises towards him and heat presses firmer against him, sparks and flames starting to lick at his skin

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

He struggles against the fire, squirms and fights what he can, unable to make a noise even as he plunges back into darkness.

The fire gone, a blue light surrounds him. This old man, he rules two, He plays knick-knack in the blue;

There is another figure, looking like it’s floating, Ryan clutching at his throat, feeling his lungs filled with water, strange looking fish swimming past him. No matter how much he kicks and struggles, Ryan cannot stop it, even as the figure reaches for him.

A sharp tug pulls him downwards.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

He draws in deep lung full’s of air, as he tumbles again, a softer, metallic light spinning around him, the sounds of gears and metal crunching.

This old man, he rules three, He plays knick-knack with machines;

Ryan can see another figure standing there, this one pointing a largish object at him, something similar to a gun, which fires into Ryan’s body.

Pain sears through Ryan’s chest and he clutches at himself, blood pooling through his clothes and making his world spin. With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

The figure reaches for him but he’s suddenly sucked down, the wounds healing over.

His plunged into almost darkness and Ryan tries to right himself, even as soft laughter joins the song. This old man, he rules four, He plays knick-knack for our lord;

Something hard wraps around his throat and he tugged forward, grasping at nothing as large, white, pointed teeth fill his vision, the laughter louder, crueller, Ryan kicking his feet uselessly, eyes wide with terror.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

There is a shriek and Ryan slips from its’ grasp, pulled down fiercely, grasped at by many hands, that clung hard to, too hard, fingers drawing blood, screeches in his ear. This old man, he rules five, He plays knick-knack and rules the hive;

Ryan slips free from the holds and somehow managed to right himself, staring at the wide expanse around him, looking like he was in the centre of a giant sphere.

His eyes go wide, the walls are amassed with what looks like people, all in various states of decay. There is what resembles a man in the middle, long, vine like arms splaying out and Ryan can’t react as one shoots for him and throws him down.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

He lands in something thick, almost tar, and he struggles, trying to pull away, the voices becoming muffled. This old man, he rules six, He plays knick-knack on the Styx;

There is movement around him and Ryan realises he isn’t the only one in the river, that there are others struggling around him. Something splashes down next to him and Ryan can just look up, making out a figure on a boat. Whatever it is holding, tugs him free from the tar like substance, letting him cough the substance free before plunging him back in, fully under.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

A small light filled Ryan’s vision, even he continued to struggle against the black, before he could suddenly breathe easier, the tar melting away as he suddenly felt himself being pulled upward, towards the light. This old man, he rules seven, He plays knick-knack to spare you from heaven;

The voices go higher as they sing this, slowing down before bursting into laughter that echoes around in the dark.

Ryan frowns, even as he starts to reach for the light, his hands bleary before his eyes, the words sinking in slowly.

A low chuckle rumbles in his ear before two large hands clamp heavily around him, crushing him.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

Ryan struggles, only for the hands to suddenly feel like tight cords around him, making him scream. This old man, he rules eight, He plays knick-knack with you as bait;

He was thrown out above a large black abyss, an obsidian glow beneath him, his legs kicking uselessly.

Something large moves beneath him, a giant eye glancing up before slipping back into the dark.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

Teeth fills Ryan’s vision and a set of jaws clamps down around him, the binds disappearing. This old man, he rules nine, He plays knick-knack for all of time;

He can feel his skin shrinking, becoming slack and he stares at his hands, watches them grow older, feels his body explode in pain from within, his teeth starting to fall out, his vision fading.

Just as suddenly, it all starts to come back, except his body begins to shrink, shrill cries leaving him as his teeth pull back into his mouth, and he can catch brief glimpses of other around him, trapped in the same limbo, growing older and younger in a matter of seconds, all expressions one of agony.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, You’ve done worse so down you fall.

Ryan can’t focus, his head whirling, he can feel himself falling again, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, his body and mind exhausted.

The voices fall quieter. This old man, he rules ten, He plays knick-knack and curses amen;

He lands hard on a soft surface bouncing a little before gasping for air as he bolts upright, the room around him dark as he clenches at the sheets, his knuckles turning white.

There is someone sitting at the end of his bed, hands resting a top a cane even as Ryan stares with wide eyes, the voices fading out to a whisper.

With a knick-knack and click clack, You think you’ve seen it all, He's the worst so there you'll stall.

The man smiles, staring at Ryan with a dark eyes that show no hint of amusement. “Do you understand yet?”

Ryan swallows, sweat beading across his forehead, an involuntary shudder going through him and he swear that he can hear soft laughter around the room.

There is a sharp tap of the cane, making Ryan jump and nod furiously.

“Good,” The man said, his grin widening. “So you get a choice. My hell or yours.”

Ryan looks around his room, looks at his clothes thrown about, looks at the scorch marks burned into his desk, filled with broken bottles and substances that he didn’t want to think about. He can see the blood, even in the dark, and he looks down at the deep cuts up his arm.

The chuckle that leaves the man is cold as he reclines back in the chair, a hand resting under his chin as he stares at Ryan. “Such choices. Live eternally like this, or fall through those worlds again and again and again for all eternally.”

Ryan bites his tongue hard, but he know he isn’t dreaming. “That’s…that’s really it then? No just dragging me straight down?”

For the first time, the amusement settles in his expression. “Oh no. See, I learned a long time ago that there was something much more interesting about you humans that you gave yourselves credit for.”

Ryan felt a bit braver. “And what was that?”

He swears that fire leaps behind those black eyes. “You have a complete and utter hatred for being as you are, for being human. You all tell yourselves otherwise, but it’s just not true. You loath it, want nothing more than to free yourselves from those little mortal bodies and see what’s on the other side.” There is a pause. “Now you’ve seen the other side, so the question is, what do you choose?”

Fear fights with Ryan and the words are out of his mouth before he can say anything. “I don’t want to die!”

There is satisfaction in the man’s grin now and he leans back forward on his cane. “Oh good, I do love it when they say that. Now you get to see the eons pass, just as we all do.”

With a low hum, Ryan can recognise the tune again, even as there is a flash, leaving him with long enough to catch the glimpse of giant wings spreading along his wall, before the chair sits empty, the man gone.

As the air settles and he can feel his breathing returning to normal, a cold chill takes him as realisation dawns on him and scrambles from his bed.

“Wait.”

He trips in his sheets, landing hard on the floor, before managing to free himself and burst out of his bedroom door, his house dark and empty, the noises from the street outside filtering through.

“Wait!”

But he comes to the centre of the lounge, in equal disarray to his room, and stops, the emptiness making him shudder as he realises that the man was not coming back.

“Wait…”

A broken sob leaves him as he collapses to the floor, tears pouring down his cheeks as he break, starting to scream into the night as it all hit him, as he realised what he had done.

He had agreed to live forever.

#horror #short #original #hinted suicide

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smuttyfairy · 7 years

Text

Pillowtalk (M)

Genre: Smut

Summary: Namjoon was the one, once upon a time. He can't come back into your life and expect things to go back to normal. You're happy with Hoseok, and no random visit in the middle of the night is gonna stop that..right? (Previously posted on Suganeedsanap) Warnings: Cheating Word Count: 2,860

Written by: Admin Jaefairy

It was too early. The sky was as black as tar, the stars taking absence. To your discomfort, you had work in the morning. When the sound of your intercom buzzed, you groaned deeply. Swinging your legs out of bed, you let your feet rub against the soft carpet flooring. You scratched your eyes and walked down the dark hallway, hearing the blaring buzzer over and over. Whoever decided to disturb you right now was in for a rude awakening. You pressed the intercom button. “Who the fuck is it?” “Hey. Can you open up?” You sighed deeply, and pressed the intercom again. “ What do you want? It’s the middle of the night and I have work. ” The voice on the other side groaned. “Please…I need to talk to you.” You pressed the door button and turned on a desk lamp, flooding the living room with warm light. Your ex Namjoon had been calling you recently. You’d talk to him about his girlfriend, about his life but you kept your personal life to a minimum in conversation. He was the one you thought you’d end up being with for the rest of your life, but life dealt you a bad hand and things didn’t work out. He moved on, and so did you. You opened your door to see if he was down the hall. You heard footsteps and once he appeared at the end of the hall you stepped out of the house. You locked the door and walked towards him. “Hey.” He said softly. His eyes were red and puffy. Dried streams of salty tears adorned his soft cheeks. You brushed your fingertips against his cheek and he winced, looking away. “You’ve been crying, what’s wrong?” He looked at you, his hands gripping your arms softly. “She’s been cheating on me. She told me an hour ago.” You felt your spine prickle and you stepped back. You had a boyfriend, and Namjoon had his chance years ago. “I was wrong Y/n, I’m sorry for letting you go..” his voice hit your ears and sounded like honey. You started feeling nostalgic and felt some force inside you wanting to comfort him and kiss him. If you gave in, you wouldn’t be any good as his former girlfriend. Your boyfriend didn’t need this. You froze there, your emotions and reason fighting for control.

He looked up at you and blinked a few times, as if he was brought back to reality. “Sorry..I don’t know why I came here.” He ran his hand through his blond hair. “Have a good night.” he whispered, turning his back to you and walking away. You watched for a moment, seeing him walk out of your life again. In that moment, the worst possible thing happened and your emotions won over. As he was walking towards the stairs, you followed him. Your hand grabbed his jacket as he reached the steps, his face turning back to yours. He looked dazed, slightly shocked. Your name rolled off his lips and before you could give your decision a second thought, your lips pressed into his deeply. Your hands grabbed his face and kissed him over and over. You forgot how soft his full, round, lips felt against yours. His hands held onto your waist, pushing you into the wall gently. He lips pressed into yours more, his tongue dancing around yours. His hands rode up and grabbed your breast from under your shirt. A loud moan escaped your mouth and you paused for a moment. “ Mmm..maybe we should go somewhere else. ” You didn’t need your neighbors knowing how loud you could get, but you were already in infidelity territory. You moved from under him and pulled him by his hand. After running up two flights, you lead him to the roof.

After closing the door, it didn’t take him long to pin you down and continue. Your voice escaped your lips as Namjoon found your neck and bit down. You took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. His teeth released your flesh and he started sucking down on his mark, slipping off his shirt. He reached down for your shorts and tugged them down with his strong hands. You moved your feet out of them and pulled his head away from your neck, assaulting his mouth with rough kisses. Your lips left his mouth and kissed down his neck, your hands unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. As your hand grabbed his hard cock, Namjoon let out a harsh gasp. You played with it gently, leaving kisses and nips down his chest. “Y/n..please..” “Nah, you’re gonna beg for it.” You slipped down onto your knees, your fingers tugging on his briefs. You looked up at Namjoon. His eyes were full of lust, and you had him in the palm of your hand. You kissed his erection, still fully clothed. “What do you want, Joonie~?” you asked playfully. “Ahn..Y/n..I need it.” “What do you need..?” Your stare turned into a challenge. You knew it embarrassed him begging for things during sex, and it was always fun to make him concede. He grabbed the back of your hair and tangled his long fingers into your hair. “I need your mouth on my cock..I need to fuck your mouth and your tight pussy..” He tugged your hair slightly, making you moan deeply. “Is that what you want to hear?” You fully pulled his underwear and pants down, his cock brushing against your lips. You kiss the tip gently, licking his precum clean. He groaned as you started sucking his tip, your other hand rubbing between your legs. Your pussy was wet and your throbbing clit was begging for attention. “Good boy..” you moaned taking more of his cock in your mouth. Namjoon’s grip got tighter on your hair and his head leaned back. “Fuck, Y/n!” “Hmm?” you asked, your mouth bobbing up and down on his fully hard cock. Namjoon panted softly and bucked his hips, thrusting his cock deeper into your mouth. You moaned louder and before you knew it, you were losing control. His hands held onto your head and thrusted more. First it was gentle and soft, your mouth sucking harder with every thrust. He groaned your name every so often, beginning to go faster. You rubbed your clit harder. You forgot how good this felt with Namjoon. His cock began to twitch in your mouth and you whined softly. Namjoon pulled back and helped you up. “Take your shirt off.” he said. You stepped back some and lifted it up, your breast bouncing slightly. “Mmm..You’re still as gorgeous as I remembered.” He said with a soft smile. Before things got into an awkward talk you didn’t want to have you kissed him and pushed him back more, until the two of you were in the center of the roof. You laid on the ground, naked in the light of the moon, and spread your legs open. Your fingers opened your lips and rubbed your clit for Namjoon’s viewing. “Namjoon…fuck me…” You moaned softly and gripped your breast gently, Namjoon watching you. He stroked his erection and kneeled down, kissing you. “Stop touching yourself that way.. you’re making me jealous.” “What, that you can’t make me feel this good?” He smirked at your question, gently biting your bottom lip. “ Oh, I know I can..” “You sure, Namjoon? You seem a bit rusty.” With that last remark, he slapped your hands away from your body and slipped his cock inside your wet pussy. You screamed softly, his hands gripping your hips. Namjoon’s lips kissed and sucked his mark from earlier. He started pumping harder and harder inside of you, his fingers sinking into your skin. Your sounds were a mixture of harsh pants and high pitched moans. Your legs wrapped around his waist and he went deeper inside. He started hitting your g-spot, sending your body jolts of pleasure. “ Ah!! Namjoon…” “You wanted this, didn’t you..?” You felt your pussy grow hot and he noticed. “Mmm..I could tell..” He started to bite and suck down on your breasts. Your moans got louder and your felt your body tingling up. “Namjoon..I"m gonna cum..” Namjoon gave you a wicked smirk and slammed into you constantly until your body shivered and you screamed his name, Your core leaving juices all over his cock. “Heh..I almost forgot you were a squirter..” he groaned, your face growing red. He pumped a few more times and came inside you, shutting his eyes . He slipped out of you and went down, using his tounge to lap up your juices and his cum. When you thought he was finished he gripped your thighs and sucked on your clit, pinning you down again. Your body grew hot once again and you felt yourself begging for more. “Don’t stop..please, don’t!!” your moans got louder, his tongue swerving around and giving your clit utmost attention. After a while, you came and he began cleaning you up again with his mouth.

After he got off of you, You sat up and looked at him. There was silence for a while, then he open his mouth. “I didn’t expect this to happen.” You shrugged. “It’s fine.. You do know though this doesn’t make you any better than her right?” He nodded and looked at the sky, thinking. “Neither are you, then.” You bit your lip and sighed. “When are you gonna tell Hoseok?” Your eyes widen and your mouth opened slightly. You didn’t tell him about your life partially because Hoseok was a friend of his. “How did you know about-” “ There is such a thing as social media. Just because we don’t talk much doesn’t mean I don’t know.” You frowned and nodded. You looked at your body and cursed. There were hickeys all over your chest and you felt a throbbing pain on your neck. “Shit, Namjoon..” He rubbed your knee and looked away. “I’ll tell him I forced you..” “You’re not that kind of guy, and no you won’t. ” You sighed and ran your hands through your hair. “Why did you come here ?” Namjoon looked at you and frowned. “Because as soon as she said that, you were where my feet took me. ” You kept playing with your hair, your thoughts going crazy again. You didn’t know what to think about first. He moved closer to you and took your chin in his hand. “I don’t know why I left, Y/n.” “But you left, period.” “I did.” “And here you are again. Am I supposed to tell you I missed you and I want you back?” He stayed quiet, while your brain raced. You sighed and felt yourself lean into him, your lips pressing against his. As much as you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you were still in love with him. Here you were, kissing him after two years in the nude on the top of a roof. You couldn’t see yourself doing that with Hoseok. Once your lips parted, you looked at him. “I’m not going back to you. You have to work for it.” “What about Hoseok?” “I’m going to do what any responsible person does, I’m gonna tell him the truth. If we end up working things out, you have to respect that. If not, then like I said. I have to know I can trust you again. That you won’t leave once things get really serious.” He nodded, moving hair out of your face and kissing you once last time. You got up and started looking for your clothes, getting dressed.

After the two of you got dressed, he looked at you and you looked at him. You both had the same unsure look on your face. You knew you both still were in love with each other, but you didn’t know where you two were going from here. He left first without a word, and after ten minutes you followed. When you got back to your apartment, you locked the door, turned off the light and went to the bathroom. You washed the grime and sex from your body, but the marks were still there. At one point you banged your head against the wall and cried softly. You were a mixed up mess at this point.

Hoseok was awake. He had been for a few hours. He sat up in the bed you both shared, his hands in his face. The window was open and he heard two people being noisy outside, but that wasn’t new. There were a few young couples in the complex. You weren’t here, though. He remembered you answering the door alarm and hearing a man with a low voice answer. He knew that Namjoon had called you a few times recently, you weren’t going to keep anything from him. He also knew how hurt you were when he left and how much you loved him. You were in the bathroom taking a shower, and that just further his suspicions. He inhaled and exhaled, fighting back tears. He was hoping he was wrong, but his gut was telling him otherwise. A vibration went off and he jumped, looking at his phone. Namjoon’s face popped up and he promptly answered. That was enough confirmation. He pressed the phone to his ear, hearing Namjoon say his name. He couldn’t hold it in anymore and the tears fell from his eyes. “What do you want?” “..Did she tell you already?” “ You both were loud enough.” Namjoon’s silence made Hoseok cry harder. “You’re an asshole, Namjoon. Why did you even call her? You knew we were togeth-” “I’m sorry. I just.. I miss her a lot more than I thought and I hate that I lost her. I was being selfish, okay?” “You damn were.” He heard the shower turn off and he sighed. “Hoseok, I was an asshole and I did you wrong. I was only thinking about myself, I didn’t think about your feelings.” “I know this. Can I hang up now? You’re just making me more upset. ” “Right..I just wanted to say sorry, this is all my fault.” You came in a hoodie and some sweatpants, your eyes widening at Hoseok’s face. You felt your heart crush, you own eyes watering up. He held a finger up, and continued his phone call. “Don’t let me see you for a long, long time.” when he hung up, he looked at you and frowned. “Hey..” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “We need to talk..” “We do, jagi..” You sat next to him on the bed and looked down, pinching your knee where Namjoon rubbed it earlier. You bit your lip and sighed. “Me and Namjoon had sex tonight.” “I know.” You kept your eyes on your knee, tears dropping onto your thigh. Hoseok took your hand and pulled you into his arms, his face in your chest. His sniffles made your chest hurt. He knew you loved Namjoon more. You started to cry, hiding your face in his hair. After the breakup, Hoseok was one of the first people to reach out to you. You guys had always been close friends and when he asked you out, you were afraid something like this would happen. You loved him so much, but you were always unsure if it was romantic or platonic. In this consoling and hurtful embrace, you knew it was probably platonic. “I don’t want you out of my life, Y/n.. but I know you’ll be happier with him.” You lifted your head up and rubbed his back. “I can’t love you as much as I wish I could, Hobi..” you whispered. His cries got louder and you held him.

After a few hours of sniffling, fighting, harsh words, and apologies, he got up and grabbed a bag with a few clothes. He was gonna stay with his friend Jimin until he could get the rest of his stuff. Before he left, he smoothed your hair and kissed your forehead for the last time. You knew it would take a long time for your friendship to heal, but you promised him you would work for his trust again. If Namjoon had things to work on, so did you. After Hoseok left, you laid in your empty bed and heard your phone ring. You were wondering if Hoseok needed something, but it was Namjoon. “Hey, are you alright..?” You sighed and sniffled. “Yeah, things are rocky but it won’t be like this forever, hopefully.” “Do you need me to come over..?” You knew it wouldn’t be the best idea, but you couldn’t stand being alone in that bed. “Yeah, but this doesn’t mean you’re my boyfriend or that we’re gonna fuck.” “I know, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” You conceded this time and he said he was on his way. You found the sheet, Hoseok’s scent still clinging to it. You sighed and held it to your chest. You had a lot to work on, but it could wait for tomorrow.

#namjoon scenarios #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts #bts fluff #kim namjoon #rap monster smut #rap monster scenarios

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weaselbeaselpants · 8 years

Text

Music Video/Storyboard Script: A Gorey Demise

This isn’t even the final draft and, like In the Backseat, you’ll see a much cleaner version down the road. For now bare witness to the bones of what became the highlight of my mini drama portfolio, ft. characters from The Nightmare Before Christmas and a song by Creature Feature.

Read Below

“A Gorey Demise” Music Video Screenplay

Song by Creature Feature. Characters owned by Touchstone and Walt Disney Entertainment. Creation credited to Tim Burton and Deane Taylor.

---

-CUT TO: Title on a black background (echoing the opening credits of “The Cabinet of Dr. Cagliari”). The title fades-

(INT.) HALLOWEEN TOWN HALL

There is a feast going on and many of the Halloween Town citizens are there in attendance.

The exact citizens include: Two Witch Sisters, one tall and grey and the other small with green skin; A Wolfman in a flannel shirt; A unicycling Clown with sharp teeth and pink polka dots; A skinny Cyclops cat-creature with an overbite; four Vampire Brothers; a Demon with fury arms, scaly skin, detachable jaw and tentacles on it’s head; a Melting Man; a red Devil; and an Undersea woman -

MISC. VOICES

“Aha! Hello Everyone. I thought this was a party! Who made the Jellybean spiders?” CONT~

-CUT TO: They are eating a collection of grotesque things such as dead animals, garbage, candy, and what looks like slime, and they are drinking red wine (or possibly blood). The Chandelier on the ceiling matches the same motif as the candles on the table: that of spiders whose legs are the candleholders. The hall the dinner party is being held in is decorated with portraits on one side while the other shows a view to a stormy night outside. The wall behind the foot of the table has a long portrait of a skeleton man in the drabs of a plague doctor (it’s Jack Skellington) with a ghost dog at his feet.

The citizens of Halloween Town continue their ramble with each other before the Mayor of Halloween town, a man shaped like a spinning top with a long hat and two-toned eyes, walks into center frame and sits at the empty seat at the end of the table (a seat made to perfectly encompass his huge hat) -

MAYOR

All right, everybody sit down, quiet down, and listen up. I brought you all here to recite the annual obituaries.

CUT TO: Right side of the table, where Clown, the Witches, Wolfman, Cyclops, and the Melting Man are sitting

CUT TO: The Left side of the table where sits the Vampire Brothers, the Undersea Gal, the Devil, and the Demon. Like every year we'll start with A and end with Z.

CUT BACK TO FOOT OF TABLE: The Mayor pulls out a large book and opens it up. He looks to the side-

MAYOR

Alright, is the band ready?

(pan out) - A band of monsters holding up their instruments. There is a Sax Player with a shrunken head, a Cello player with bulging eyes and a Human Head inside his cello, and a tall Accordion Player with broad shoulders and tiny eyes-

ACCORDIAN PLAYER

Ready!

MAYOR

Alright, hit it Boyles! (cut)

HEAD INSIDE THE CELLO (Boyles)

One, and a two-

-The band begins to play-

-The monster guests move too and throw with the music. (Overhead cut) The Mayor opens a scroll where the obituaries are illustrated-

(The pictures are in a different, less detailed, “sweeter” style than the rest of the film, akin to Edward Gorey or The Peanuts. For Verses 1 and 2, each character singing holds up the animated illustration in their hands for the other guests to see, though in Verse 2 the other citizens the pictures are not animated, rather the monsters hold them up and mimic the child’s death)

Verse 1-

MAYOR

A is for Amber who drowned in a pool.

Pic: A smiling girl jumps in a pool, but doesn’t resurface.

CLOWN

B is for Billy who was eaten by ghouls.

Pic: A boy is chased offscreen by a hoard of zombies.

TALL WITCH

C is for Curt with disease in the brain.

Pic: A smiling boy’s head starts to swell and then blows up.

SHORT WITCH

D is for Daniel derailed on a train.

Pic: A smiling child walks across some train tracks and is flattened by a cute little engine with a face.

WOLFMAN

E is for Eric who's buried alive.

Pic: A gravestone with ‘Eric’ sticks out of the ground. The pic turns into a wide shot where we see Eric is screaming underground.

CYCLOPS

F is for Frank who was stabbed through the eye.

Pic: A boy runs with scissors before tripping and impaling himself in the eye.

MELTING MAN

G is for Greg who’s sealed in a tomb.

Pic: A mummy chases a boy into a tomb.

MAYOR

H is for Heather whose face was exhumed.

Pic: A little girl looks into a bottle of embalming fluid. It desintegrates her face.

(cut) The monsters are banging their folks and spoons on the table and swishing back cups of whine as they sing.

ALL

One by one we bite the dust, Kick the bucket and begin to rust, Give up the ghost when your number's up, We all fall down! ALL

(cut) Right side

Ashes to ashes, bones to paste, You whither away in your resting place.

(cut) Left side

Eternity in a wooden case We all fall down!

The Accordion Player swings to the Cello player and they play in unison, before the Accordion player swings the other way to the Sax Player and does the same as before for the small musical interlude.

Verse 2-

TALL VAMP

I is for Isaac who lost his front brakes.

Pic: A little boy’s bike swerves out of control and throws him offscreen.

SMALL VAMP

J is for John who was bitten by snakes.

Pic: A boy is handling a snake, which jumps up and bites his head.

LARGE VAMP

K is for Kimmy was shot in the head.

Pic: A little girl and her brother are playing with a rifle. The brother accidently fires and shoots the girls head off.

SHORT VAMP

L is for Larry who bled and bled.

Pic: A boy cries with all his limbs torn off and bleeding, ala Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

SHORT VAMP

M's for Marie who was burned to a crisp.

Pic: A little girl starts a match before catching ablaze.

LARGE BRO

N is for Nick who was pummeled by fists.

Pic: A little boy in boxing clothes gear up to fight before being crushed underneath a giant hand.

SMALL BRO

O is for Olive who lived life too fast.

Pic: A little girl holds onto a rocket, which goes so fast that her skin, hair, and eyes fall out.

TALL BRO

P is for Pat who swallowed some glass!

Pic: A boy eats a glass swan and swallows, before making a disgruntled face.

-CUT TO: A rat crawls from the portrait behind the Mayor and leaps onto the chandelier over the table- ALL (SIDE ONE)

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

The citizens bang their drinks on the table. The chandelier shakes and the rat falls from the chandelier and into the soup dish of the Cyclops.

ALL (SIDE TWO)

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

The laughing continues and the Cyclops takes a sip of his soup (with the rat inside his spoon). A moment after putting the rat in his mouth, the Cyclops realizes that he has eaten something and spits out the rat, which scrambles for breath on the floor.

MAYOR

Alrighty lads, altogether now! ALL

One by one we bite the dust, Kick the bucket and begin to rust, Give up the ghost when your number's up, We all fall down! ALL

Ashes to ashes, bones to paste, You whither away in your resting place, Eternity in a wooden case, We all fall down!

Verse 3-

DEMON Q is for Quentin who took the wrong trail

Pic: A boy goes down a pathway in the woods. His bones come spitting out the other trail.

TALL WITCH R is for Riana who rotted in jail

Pic: A little girl looks frightened as the bars close before her.

DEVIL S is for Steve who was shot by a bow

Pic: A boy is eating an apple when he is suddenly shot through the head by an arrow.

UNDERSEA GAL T is for Tory who froze in the snow

Pic: A little girl shivering in a barren, snowy landscape

CLOWN U is for Uric who was trampled by hooves

Pic: A boy dressed as a jockey lets open a stable and is crushed by enormous horses.

WOLFMAN V is for Vanessa who fell off a roof

Pic: A girl with a cape on jumps off a roof as if she was Superman only to realize her mistake as she’s falling.

CYCLOPS W is for Will who was hit by a car

Pic: A boy doesn’t look both ways before crossing the street and is flattened.

VAMPIRES X is for Xavier who sunk in the tar

Pic: A little boy screams for help as he sinks amongst a bunch of dinosaur bones.

SHORT WITCH Y is Yessy who fell from a plane.

Pic: A little girl screams as she falls hundreds of feet through the air.

MAYOR

And Z is for Zack who simply went…

The Mayor points to the accordion player, who finishes the final two notes.

ALL

Insane!

(they all cackle uncontrollably)

- CUT TO BLACK

#script #screenplay #writing #the nightmare before christmas #nightmare before christmas #music video script #storyboard script #fanvideo #assignment

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cupcakemolotov · 8 years

Text

Standing Outside of Heaven

written for @garglyswoof. A pinch hit for the Christmas exchange.

When Caroline Forbes is sixteen, she’s cursed by a demon. Forced to flee from her coven, she learns that not all curses are what they appear, and that demons can take many forms. Including the shape of her soul mate.

Caroline paced along the small confines of her hotel room, the blast of the AC doing little to cool the air. Phoenix had sounded like a good idea a few days ago, the warmth a stark contrast to the snow and plummeting temperatures she’d escaped in Minneapolis. But now she’d have willingly thrown herself into a snow drift, anything to block the twisting knot in her stomach.

A set of hurried footsteps outside her door left her frozen, foot hovering mid-step. A few moments later a door banged shut, the loud sounds of a Christmas Celebration cutting off abruptly and she caught her lip nervously, foot dropping slowly to the floor.

She needed to run.

She should’ve run yesterday.

By now, the airports and Mexican border would be watched. She could make for Canada, but she doubted she’d have time for the drive; now with what was hunting her through shadow and air. Dallas or Las Vegas would’ve been her best bet to get out of the country entirely, but driving alone for hours was asking to be caught.

She didn’t trust trains. Didn’t want that kind of collateral damage on her conscience. That didn’t take away from the fact that she needed distance, as quickly as possible, if she wanted to buy herself any kind of time.

Curling her arms around her waist, Caroline stared at the closed window, lips pressed tightly together to hold in her wobbling exhale. Her skin itched, the thrumming in her blood a warning she knew to heed. It’d served her well for nearly twenty years, but she was afraid she’d trapped herself. Squeezing her eyes shut, she set her teeth and forced herself to think.

She was out of options.

Except for one.

Cursing, Caroline ground her teeth and pressed her fingers tightly to her lips. For twenty years, she’d ducked and weaved through every shadow she could find, hiding every bit of herself. She’d left behind Caroline and become a ghost. Some secrets should be kept, some nightmares hidden. She’d understood that as she watched Elena Gilbert scream as she was sacrificed, understood that when she’d seen the darkness that lived in Esther Mikaelson’s eyes.

“It is done,” the monster that wore Esther’s face declared, lips curling into a smile that terrified Caroline. Laughing, eyes bright, she smiled at the fire that burned in the middle of the clearing. “Not even you, my son, can escape this curse.”

Caroline kept her face and eyes impassive, sweat beading along her spine as terror knotting her stomach. The spell was supposed to be a binding, an affirmation of the protections that kept the coven safe. But Esther had murdered their doppelgänger, had slit her throat with a rib she’d ripped from Elena’s side, and bile still lingered on Caroline’s tongue.

Esther’s children were dead. Liz had told Caroline that years before, when she’d asked her mother why Esther didn’t like her. She’d been told they were all killed by a demon, and that revenge changed people.

“You might remind her of what she has lost,” Liz said carefully. “That’s all.”

Staring at the smile on the witch’s face, Caroline had the sinking sensation in her stomach that it wasn’t all that had happened.

If only she hadn’t woken the next morning, branded by a mark that meant her death. She was a perfectly baited trap, and she’d done her damnedest for years to keep it from being sprung. Blowing out a breath, she raked her fingers through her hair, frustration a blade in her chest. Pacing back and forth, she clenched her fists as the itching in her blood grew worse.

She was running out of time.

The world had changed, in the last twenty years. Witches were disappearing, and shadows had become dangerous. Werewolf packs were scattering across the world, and demon sightings were on the rise as the human death toll rose. Something terrible was sitting on the horizon, and Caroline had no intention of helping Esther gain more power that she already had as the world changed. She he had no interest in facing what lived in Esther’s skin.

Not on her own.

But with the a hunt screaming in her ears, it was clear that any neutrality she’d hoped to keep was an impossibility now. It took only two steps to reach her bag and pull out a knife she’d kept hidden for years. She’d stolen it the morning she’d woken marked by magic. The hilt was simple and clever, the blade carved from bone. It had taken Caroline years to adjust to the feel of it, the endless buzzing of magic.

Demon magic.

“Only a dagger made of its bone can kill a demon,” Liz had told her once, her lips compressed into a tight line. They’d spent the day grinding salt and powdering sage for the upcoming ceremony.

Caroline glanced at her mother, startled out of her work. “What?”

Liz had studied her for a long moment, her eyes dark before she came to some internal decision. “You must never speak of this to anyone, Caroline. Do you understand?”

Caroline had swallowed, tongue swiping across chapped lips and tasting salt. The ingredients for the ritual disrupted the magic around them and Caroline realized for the first time that no one was listening, that for the first time in years, she was talking to her mother.

“Magic doesn’t belong to humanity. It’s a gift and curse, depending on where you stand. To get our magic, our ancestors made terrible bargains. Each one of us, we can track our magical lineage to a demon. And when we grew powerful enough, we killed the demons who gave us our power, ensuring that the magic would remain ours, or so we thought.”

Caroline’s skin prickled, mouth running dry. “What do you mean, we thought? What kind of bargains?”

Liz glanced away from her, eyes lingering on their front door with tense shoulders. “We don’t have that kind of time, Caroline. Demons are clever, far more clever than our ancestors gave them credit for. They are not easily killed, and they do not easily give up their power. What Esther did… I need you to promise me, Caroline, that if you get the opportunity, to run, that you’ll do it. And you’ll keep running. Never stop.”

She hadn’t had a chance to answer, her heart pounding in her ears, because they were joined by others and any chance for conversation was over. Caroline had never had the opportunity to dig any further, to discover why it was important for her to know how to kill a demon. What bargains had been broken as witches stole their power.

But that night she’d understood exactly what her mother had meant. And she’d learned why she could never stop running. Esther wasn’t right. What crawled beneath her skin wasn’t magic, not the way Caroline knew magic. It wasn’t joy and the rush of adrenaline, the biting need to protect, to defend.

What sat in Esther looked like tar, and it coated everything she touched. Caroline had heard someone murmur that she was too close to the source, that the bargain she’d made had corrupted her. Looking at the black eyes from inside a face she’d known all her life, Caroline was sick with the realization of what this was. Esther hadn’t merely taken magic from a demon, that demon now lived inside her. Esther had given it everything, and what was left were nightmares and shadows.

It was the first time she’d realized the true cost of her magic.

Over the years, she’d seen it in other places.

“Its rare to find a witch on her own, anymore,” a man had told her once in a bar over whiskey. She’d been pouring drinks and flirting with humans for tips, needing enough cash to get her out of Oregon. She’d have brushed him off, regardless of how handsome his face, uninterested in philosophical mutterings, but he’d reached for his glass and she’d caught sight of his tattoo. It matched the one that she kept covered with magic and jewelry, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

“Strange, to find one in such cold country.” He continued with a clipped accent, and her eyes returned to his face, took in the beard and tangled curls, the narrow eyed intensity as he looked her over.

Brows arched, Caroline shrugged, kept the hurt and rage of her truth from coloring her eyes or voice. “My coven is dead.”

It had left her ragged and broken for months, the newspaper photographs that had shown the remains of what had once been her family. The body of her mother. A tragic fire at the Mystic Falls Community Center, so that dental records had been used to identify the remains. Esther’s work, her revenge for a plan failed.

He grinned, a flash of even teeth. “Good riddance.”

Caroline stared hard at him, jaw a tight line. “They were my family.”

“Some family,” he said easily, as if he wasn’t shoving shards of glass into her chest. “Aren’t worth claiming. Where you from, sweetheart?”

“None of your business.” She have him her sharpest smile, let her voice turn cool. He laughed then, finished off his drink when Caroline would’ve stepped away to help someone else, tapping the rim of his glass. Mouth set in a grim line, she poured him another.

“If you’re the last of your line, witch, you’ll need to run faster. Demons chase what belongs to them, and you’re never safe once they have your scent.”

Caroline thought of Esther, the way doppelgänger blood had dropped from her skin as she invoked spells that should never have been spoken. Thought of Elena’s screams as the spell was released, the way her friend had died. She held the stranger’s eyes without blinking.

“That’s also none of your business.”

A quirk of a smile and a shrug. “Perhaps not, but it’s sound advice, regardless. I’d take it, if I were you.” His gaze flickered to her name tag. “Brandy.”

There was something behind his eyes, something that sent a sharp spike of worry down her spine. “You seem to be strangely well versed in magic for someone who hates witches.”

He dug out a few bills, dropped them onto the counter. “Any other night, and we might be having a different conversation, witchling. But it appears I don’t have the stomach it. And perhaps I admire the guts it takes, to be a witch on her who doesn’t stink of expression magic.”

Caroline watched him leave, stomach in knots before she picked up the payment. He’d tipped her a hundred bucks, and she debated ignoring the gesture before deciding practicality was more important than pride. She hadn’t gone back after her break, had been in St. Louis inside of a week.

Caroline turned the knife she rarely touched over in her hands, careful to avoid the edge. Demon bone, she’d been told the only time she’d shown it to someone else. The knife was short, barely the length of her hand, and she’d never been able to get rid of it.

“Bone can be brittle,” the blacksmith said, eyes calculating. “This must have been torn from the demon when it was young. Can you smell the salt and blood it was forged from?”

“Why does that matter?” She’d asked carefully.

He’d shrugged, but there had been something in his eyes that sickened her. A sort of greed. “Baby demons are rare. You can do a lot with their body parts.”

She’d killed the blacksmith, had burned his body to ash and mixed it with salt. She had given him what rites she could, had thrown up when it was done. She couldn’t risk Esther knowing she had the knife, that the horrible spell had somehow found roots in her soul.

Caroline couldn’t risk being found.

She just hadn’t expected magic to have other ideas. In Dallas, she met her first Witch Hunter, a dark eyed man with a girl on each arm who watched her with coal in his eyes. Weeks later, she’d meet him again in Detroit, and this time he wasn’t so amused by her.

“Running?” A voice called after her, darkness and mockery chasing each footstep. Caroline didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate as she headed for the stairs. Behind her was the sound of things being rendered into pieces, and instinct drove her forward. Her hands scrambled for the door handle, metal overly warm.

She should never have come here. She’d known it was a risk, but the magic here threatened to swallow her. The screams and laughter from the other end of the hall would chase her dreams for weeks.

It was the snick of the lock thudding into place that had her turning to bare her teeth. Enzo was smeared with the same blood that stained her palms and knees, streaked across her face. She’d learned his name all those weeks ago in muggy Dallas, wanting to avoid him. The smiling man with hunting eyes was gone now, buried beneath a ruthlessness that stirred her magic and her wariness.

“You killed them,” the accusation in her tone turned her voice harsh. The witches, the coven she’d hope could offer her information. Not all witches had betrayed their bargains and there was still so much she didn’t understand about the spell she carried like a siren song beneath her skin.

“They shouldn’t have kept what belonged to someone else,” Enzo said reasonably, hands held away from his body as if to calm her. She wasn’t a child to be taken in by false pretenses, knew that some magic only required intent. “Demons chase what is theirs to keep. Witches have played with power that doesn’t belong to them long enough.”

He was a hunter, then. She set her jaw, to keep from trembling. “Demon?”

All she’d seen was a tangle of dark blond curls, black eyes and dimples stained by blood, and a niggling familiarity that sent her running. The power locked in that room had sent her scrambling, Enzo chasing her. Something about the magic had been unnervingly familiar, and she needed air and to get as far away from him as possible.

Enzo laughed. “Of course. He hardly hides what he is, Gorgeous. What are you doing here?”

Licking her lips, she tried to decide what not answering would cost her. She had no way of judging his strength, the demon was to close for her comfort, and she could feel the way it tugged at her magic. Terror made it hard to think, her breath short and quick, but she tried to ground herself.

“I needed supplies,” she said finally, tucking her lies within truth. “Some things are easier to bargain for with other witches.”

She’d needed answers about Esther. Caroline had started to feel eyes watching her, and started sleeping in a circle of purified salt to stop the nightmares. Esther knew she was alive, and whether she knew Caroline carried the remnants of her spell was something Caroline needed to know.

Enzo did show a reaction one way or another, eyes unwavering. She’d no idea if he believed her, but it might not have mattered. He crossed his arms and watched her with an expression she couldn’t read.

“A pity. You’ll find your kind are becoming short in supply.” His smile was satisfied. “Being a witch is now a liability, Gorgeous.”

She knew that. This was the third State she’d tried, the last two leads on a coven a bust. It seemed the world Esther had warned them about, one rife with demons and revenge, was approaching. But thinking of Esther right then would only distract her. She needed to survive this first.

“If you hate witches so much, why haven’t you killed me?” She lifted her chin, refusing to flinch away from what she could feel gathering in the hallway. “Why not force my magic to return to its original host?”

Enzo arched a brow, scanned her, and he shrugged. “Thought about it, when I saw you in Dallas. A dead witch is a good witch, I’ve always said. But I’d had a few priorities rearranged before we met, and let’s just say you’re the beneficiary of that.”

“Do you expect a thank you?” she snapped, fingers curling into fists, words harsh.

He laughed. “What coven did you belong to, witch?”

“You’re hunting my kind,” Caroline said finally, eyes burning hot. “Hunting me, like I am prey, and now you expect me to willing give you information?”

“All witches are prey,” Enzo said dismissively. “Some more than others. Don’t look so put out, Gorgeous. You haven’t given me any reason to kill you, just yet. And it appears that Klaus is feeling magnanimous after having gorged on what was stolen from him. Tell me, what’s your name?”

She froze, inching back and he watched her with unblinking eyes. Klaus. She knew that name. Had grown up under the shadow of it, had spent over a decade avoiding it. She needed to escape, she couldn’t let Klaus touch her. Her mouth was dry, voice a rasp when she spoke. “You’re his Hunter.”

“Witches killed my wife. Then they tortured me for years, changing me until I’m not quite human anymore.” His smile was predatory this time, and she straightened, alarm slamming in her chest. “They wanted a demon killer, and instead, I’m going to be the instrument of their destruction. But as I’ve been repeatedly told, not all witches are the same. And your magic is a curious thing, witchling.”

Caroline shook her head, eyes hard. “I won’t help you kill my people.”

“No? You’ve been running for at least a decade, maybe more. You’re a difficult girl to track, even when knowing what to look for. You use your magic sparingly, and your smart. We could use someone like you.”

His knowledge jolted through Caroline, and she set her teeth. She’d have snarled, acid hovering on the tip of her tongue, but Klaus stepped into the hallway. Those curls were streaked in rust now, and the lean lines of him liberally painted in gore and blood, all of which he seemed unbothered by.

“What do we have here?” The low, accented voice was a rasp against her nerves and her stomach clenched in fear as those black eyes locked onto her. For a moment, she was terrified he’d peel away her protections and skin until he found bone and all her secrets. His lips curled into something predatory, dimples cutting into his cheeks.

“A witch from a different coven,” Enzo said, voice smoothing into something like amusement. “I thought she might make a decent recruit, since you seem determined to collect them.”

An arch of brow, and her breath turned to ice in her lungs as the demon’s eyes narrowed. The black faded to blue, and something heated his gaze, an awareness she did not like sparking in his eyes like lightning.

She was terrified he could see the lingering influence of Esther’s magic against her skin. His gaze locked with hers, and Caroline could feel the edges of the spell trapped beneath her skin beginning to unravel. Her chest lurched, wrist burning, as everything inside her recognized his power.

“Well now,” Klaus murmured, something sharpening the edges of his smile. Panic turned her blood cold. He couldn’t know who she was or she’d have never escaped Portland. The air crackled with power and it took every ounce of self control to keep her magic buried, when it wanted to rise to the surface, to touch what was all around her. “Hello again, sweetheart. You’re a long way from Portland.”

Her heart seized in her throat as she realized where she’d seen his face before. “I don’t tend to stay in place when someone threatens me.”

Bloody hands clasped behind his back, he watched her with a calculating smile, the tired humanity she’d once seen on his face gone. Behind his eyes glittering an old, vicious sort of hate. An explosion rocked the room, and the Klaus’ attention shifted, eyes lingering on the stairwell behind her.

“Make her my offer,” he said with another hot, flashing look that threatened to scorch her. “I’d consider it, sweetheart. As you can see, Coven’s are targeted these days, and witches on their own are easy pickings. I’d hate something as sweet as you to die so soon.”

With that drawling statement, Klaus turned and left. Enzo watched him disappear before turning back to face her, something thoughtful on his face. She was shivering now, the rage and fury of Klaus that had threatened to burn, her leaving her cold once it was gone. Her body throbbed, as if she’d been stroked, and she wanted to crawl out of her skin. Her magic wanted out, to call him back, pushing against her skin with an intensity that left her bones brittle.

“A war is coming, Gorgeous.” Her eyes slipped back to Enzo, and he watched her with hard eyes. “Witches are dying, which is leaving too much power unclaimed. Demons are crawling through the void to reclaim their lands.”

“I don’t want a part of it.”

Enzo watched her with unreadable eyes. “You’ll find it harder to avoid than you think. He has your scent now.”

The handle turned beneath her fingers. This time, she didn’t waited for someone to tell her to run. She didn’t want know what the offer was. She bolted.

For years, she’d run from Esther. She’d ignored the crumbling of the world around her, because of the secret she wore under her skin. But nothing she’d survived had prepared her for how dangerous, how utterly charming, Klaus Mikaelson could be.

Atlanta. Tulsa. Trinidad. He’d tracked her to a number of cities, and once she even found him sprawled across her couch in her cheap apartment. And every interaction, each barbed exchange of words, broke open Esther’s spell a little more in her veins, until she felt a almost drunk around him.

There was no denying he was unfairly beautiful. The long, lean lines of Klaus tempted everything around him to just lean forward, to stroke. Caroline was positive he’d remove limbs for such a transgression, but she was also certain he could seduce a lamppost. Power clung to him, a drug against her senses, but it was the twisting, lethal patterns of his thoughts that tempted her the most.

He thought she was a curiosity, a pretty amusement that had the potential to be a weapon. Caroline didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust herself around him.

Particularly once the dreams had started. At first it had just been snatches of sensation, lingering impressions that lingered for a day or two. But with interaction, with every clash, her dreams grew achingly vivid. Until she could almost imagine the taste of his tongue, the softness of his curls knotted between her fingers. The fullness of his cock inside her, the rasp of his voice against her skin as he tortured them both.

Then she’d gone to Chicago.

And Chicago had gone to hell.

Breath shaky, she pressed a hand to her side, the sudden remembrance of burned skin, the char of it in her nose, and she shuddered. Klaus’ face, as he licked her blood from his fingertips, the crawling knowledge that turned his eyes black. Caroline had known then that he knew. She’d panicked.

Her magic had twisted up for the first time in years, the strength of her terror and frantic need to escape wrenching her world sideways. When she’d regained control, the endless thundering of escape, escape, escape in her veins easing into something like shock, she’d been in Minneapolis.

And now, Esther was closing in and Caroline was out of time, and out of all choices but two. Thumb brushing along a mark painted in shimmering gold on her wrist, she swallowed. She could break this seal, unleash the curse that Esther had let rot in her veins, and she might live. Or she could let herself be caught, turned into a weapon against Klaus. Her body rebelled at the thought, stomach twisting into knots and she exhaled shakily.

No choice, really then.

She didn’t trust this false need that crawled in her veins, but she trusted Esther less. Esther, who had slaughtered Caroline’s childhood and left behind the bones of her family. She took a deep breath and skimmed the blade just hard enough enough to break skin. The air crackled the moment her blood hit bone, and she shuddered as electricity arched over her skin.

The magic momentarily felt like her mother, her sisters, and a tangled reminder of her past, before fire burned away the terrible comfort of it. She gasped, staggering to grip the table, every part of her on her fire. A strangled scream worked out of her throat, and her nails cut into the wood.

Then it was over, and all she had left was the sweat on her skin and singing nerves. Chest heaving, she tried to let go of the knife. She jumped as a knock sounded on her door, and Caroline was surprised her skin hadn’t split open with the sudden force of her movement. Shuddering, she swallowed harshly at a second, more impatient knock and carefully padded her way to her door.

The handle was warm to the touch, and she didn’t need to look to know who stood on the other side. Mouth dry, nerves trembling with a need for fight or flight, Caroline opened the door. “Klaus. Knocking now? How surprising.”

Tangled curls, scruff along a jaw she’d fantasized about biting more than once, the wild intensity of his eyes were still shaded blue instead of black. In that moment, he looked nothing like his human mother. She’d never seen pictures of the acolyte who’d tricked Esther into believing he was human, and in turn had impregnated Esther with the demon she’d originally bargained with for power, but she thought Klaus carried bits of Ansel on his face.

“Hello, Caroline,” his drawled, words low and dangerous. His eyes dragged down her body until he reached the dagger she clenched tightly between her finger, and his smile was mocking. “Going to try to kill me, sweetheart? And after you so charmingly called for help.”

His eyes lingered on the smear blood on her skin, tongue running along his lower lip, and she straightened her spine. His gaze finally lowered, lingering on the side that had been bleeding the last time she’d seen him. His eyes returned to hers, and her stomach jumped at the tangle of emotions she couldn’t entirely read. Rage, at the magic that threaded between them like spiders silk, the unashamed desire he’d worn on his skin for her since Atlanta, but the rest?

“It’d serve you right if I did stab you,” she rasped, voiced still edged in pain. “But what would be the point?”

Not now, when her magic was bleeding between them. Klaus smile was full of terrifying promises, and mocking amusement as he shifted his shoulder to brace against the door frame. “You’re being hunted. Shall I come in? Or would you prefer that I slaughter your enemies, leave them at your feet like pagan offerings?”

She opened the door and walked away, knowing he’d follow. “If I had another choice, I’d have taken it.”

Klaus’ laughter followed her inside and she shivered. He shut the door behind him, Caroline knew for now, she was the focus of attention. Dangerous, so dangerous. She’d known just how dangerous the first time he cornered her, eyes burning and skin too close for comfort, lips curved in a hunting smile.

"It’s been a long time since I was curious about someone, sweetheart. Keep your silence, I like a challenge. It’ll make your capitulation far sweeter on my tongue.“

He’d warned her that demons never stopped chasing what they thought belonged to them.

"Should I be flattered?” The drawl of his voice prickled goosebumps along her skin, a threat and a promise roughening his words. “Tell me, Caroline, how long did you expect to keep your secrets?”

She set the knife down and turned to face him. He’d sprawled across the uncomfortable couch, dominating her space easily. There was nothing easy on his face, but it did nothing to still the itch in her palms, her magic’s greedy caresses of his power. “As long as possible.”

Another laugh, and he tossed an ankle over his knee, body at ease. But his eyes, they burned through her as if she was made paper instead of flesh and bone. “And now?”

Caroline flexed her fingers wide, stared at Klaus with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean now?”

He rose and was suddenly so close, the heat of him was a brand against her skin. He made no move to touch her, just lingered close enough that his breath mingled with hers. “Come now, sweetheart, you’ve given me quite a chase, but I believe it’s gone on long enough, don’t you?”

“Well,” she said, voice taunt. “I suppose that depends on you and if you’re going to try kill me or not.”

“Kill you,” Klaus repeated, brow arching slowly, and then, only then, did he stroke was a single fingertip down the smooth line of her cheek. “Oh no, my pretty little soulmate, death is the last creature that I will allow to so much as glance in your direction.”

Her eyes narrowed at the satisfaction in his voice, the rough rasp of possession. “Everything dies.”

Klaus traced her jaw for a moment, almost as if he couldn’t help the gesture as his smile was sin. “Demon’s do not.”

“I’m human.”

“You’re a witch, twice bound to me. Once through your ancestor’s oaths and now through the magic you just accepted.” His eyes lowered to her lips. “You’re utterly mine.”

“I didn’t chose this,” Caroline argued, jerking her chin away from his caress. “I might have accepted it, but it wasn’t my choice, and I belong to me.”

“Do you?” Klaus mused, stepping away from her to return to the couch. She struggling to hide her shiver, the air cooler now that he wasn’t pressed so close. “And what do you know of soulmate magic that tells you this?”

She slowly followed him, uncertain at the indulgence she could hear in his voice. She hated having to admit what little she knew, wanted to dig her teeth into his smirking mouth. A knot formed low in her stomach, heat a rush beneath her skin.

“You can’t own someone,” she said instead.

A low, thoughtful sound as he watched her. When he spoke he made his voice a caress, and she dug her nails into her palms to steady herself against that lure. “Soulmate magic is demonic in nature. An unfortunate side effect of crossing over into your world. A built in weakness, if you will. Fairly distasteful, isn’t it? The idea of being bound to someone so closely, you cannot live without them. A bond that grows stronger as it ages. I expected you to make an appearance on my first attempt to claim territory in this land, I had all sorts of generous offers of death planned out.”

“Generous,” she bit out.

“Quick deaths are rare, when making bargains with my kind. Did you imagine your precious little covens were granted power from the goodness of our hearts?”

Caroline snorted, crossing her arms. “You have one of those?”

A quirk of his mouth, but he ignored her barb. “On occasion.”

When he said nothing else, clearly delighting over her frustration, Caroline set her teeth. “Why did you bargain with witches?”

Dimples, deep and delighted, teased her. “It was a loophole, if you will. Magic does not care if power of shared between a soulmate or a coven. At the time, it seemed a bit more prudent, to place my mark on this world through witches. Minions are in such short supply on this side of the void. A pity they decided to betray me, but that judgement is almost complete, as your presence shows.”

“My presence?” Caroline said slowly. “You were reborn as a human. Enzo said you were reclaiming your power. If you’re made of human flesh, why would…"her

Klaus smile disappeared, and a pit crawled into his eyes. "I am taking back what is mine, but you cannot believe that I would be satisfied in human flesh and bone? Your appearance is a sign that my restoration is nearly complete. Magic’s promise fulfilled. You must have sat like a bone in Esther’s throat, all these years.”

“Esther cursed me with this,” she snapped. “How can I be a sign of anything?”

This time, when he stood, he pulled her flush against his body, so that the heat of his skin teased her nipples, burned a line down her abdomen to pool low in her belly. His hands cradled her jaw, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, magic heady against her senses. It’d have been easy, to allow herself to get drunk on the feel of him, to soften until his weight held hers. Her fingers dug into his hip, his ribs, as she fought the feel of him.

“Esther cannot create soul bonds, for all that what lives inside her is insidious. All she managed was to call out an existing possibility. I have known who you were, pretty little Caroline, since you stood before me in that hallway in Detroit. And I have tempted and taunted you, eased my way past your defenses with each interaction and still you have defied me. Until Chicago. Until now. Do not look so surprised, love. You cannot believe the power to escape me then came only from you, and not the bond between us?”

She stared at him, tried to think through the endless subtext. Esther had not cursed her, she’d been born with this axe poised above her head. Klaus was claiming that she’d always been intended to be his soulmate. That was impossible. That would mean…

“That’s impossible,” she said, voice a little desperate. “Because that would mean you would belong to me.”

He glanced at her from beneath his lashes, smile tucked into the edges of his mouth. “Be careful, Caroline. I’m not certain that is something you want, now is it?”

Caroline’s mouth opened, closed. He traced her lip with his thumb, all traces of humanity stripped from the harsh lines of his face. “Or is it?”

She froze, nails biting into his clothing. Her breathing went ragged in her throat, at the way he watched her. His eyes dark, lips curving into something viciously triumphant. Her magic coiled under her skin, warm and biting, everywhere they touched. It wasn’t quite want that sang in her veins, it was a need she couldn’t explain. Whatever he read on her confused and wildly uncertain face, the slow caress against her mouth felt like a promise. “As I said, Caroline. You are mine.”

#my fic #klaroline fanfiction #for those who missed this on A03

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