#Ebony Sky

[projekt-melancholia]

Sama część do projektu "Ebony Sky". Całość jest jeszcze niedostępna.

[torpublishinggroup]

GET BOOKT

A guide of books to gift the people in your life and yourself!

For the person who made a 200+ slide powerpoint about Neon Genesis Evangelion for a presentation party… Also for those who attend presentation parties…

The Archive Undying by @emcandon

For all former and current theater kids (affectionate)...

Will Do Magic for Small Change by Andrea Hairston

For the reader who prefers their off-the-wall science fiction tempered with social commentary, or enjoys social commentary in a space opera font…

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport by Samit Basu

━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━

For the friend with the SHUDDER account…

Piñata: A Novel by Leopoldo Gout

For the burned-out chosen one who’s so, so tired…

The Saint of Bright Doors by @adamantine

For the tumblr mutual that fell down the wuxia cdrama hole…

The Water Outlaws by S. L. Huang

━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━

For the gamer who fondly remembers their confrontation with Rayquaza atop the Sky Pillar…

Untethered Sky by Fonda Lee

For the “smash first, questions later” friend in your life…

Ebony Gate by Julia Vee & Ken Bebelle

For a tragic superwholockian in dire need of restorative sapphic fiction…

The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Older

━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━

For the reader who wished Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell was actually Jonathan Strange/Mr Norrell…

The Last Binding trilogy by @fahye, including: 

● A Marvellous Light

● A Restless Truth

● A Power Unbound

━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━

Not enough books? We agree. Check out our other GET BOOKT guide.

[beautiful-boogieman]

[stokesy55]

Alastair is the greatest ring to happen to TMS and I only wish they didn’t have to do stints and he could be on comms all game 😭

Yesterday, discussing ambidextrous batsmen:

AC: it just wasn’t something you really did back in my day. Batting right handed was so unnatural to me. Take James Anderson for example, he’s a left handed batter but a right handed golfer because when he was a kid there were no left handed clubs available to him. I couldn’t play golf right handed. Even that just felt so unnatural.

Did we ask for a tidbit about Jimmy? No. Did we get one anyway? Yes, yes we did 🥰

[pyromaniac-cyndaquil]

I didn't end up having any time to do anything for hero partner week... Still might try to do some stuff soon, though. I've had so many teams I've loved over the years and I wanna pay homage to them 😭

[cinefilesreviews]

Review: Ebony and Ivory -- Fantastic Fest 2024

Ebony and Ivory is screening as part of Fantastic Fest 2024, which runs from September 19 to September 26. Ebony and Ivory is absolute nonsense, and that isn’t entirely a bad thing. Imagine a biopic about the creative experience behind one of the best-selling duets in pop history (the Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder song of the title), then pay a back-alley surgeon to lobotomize that idea out…

[literaryvein-reblogs]

what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

[fightforthestars-stories]

For charactervember Day 7 I did Silverheart!

"Little Silver hearted warrior, you have marked your own fate."

[chrollogy]

MORE, MORE, MORE

— mammon x f!reader

syn: One orgasm is never enough for Mammon, he’s greedy for it. Well, he’s the Avatar of Greed after all. He lives up to the name, of course, proudly so.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, unprotected sex, implied multiple orgasms, overstimulation, cervix fucking, demon fucking, implied cum eating, pet names (my sweetheart, my treasure, my darling) divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 1.2k

notes: this is a repost from my deactivated acc + now cross-posted on my ao3 !

“Ma—ah fuck. . ! M-Mammon, can’t—ngh!” “Aah shit. . ! Just one more f’me, my sweetheart.” Mammon let out a heated gasp, his rosy lips parted before burying his face in the junction of your neck—soft breaths ghosting over the sensitive skin of your sweaty neck. Your vision was met with his snowy strands that your fingers dug into, occasionally tugging at the roots, and earning groans from Mammon as he ploughs into your cunt.

‘Just one more’ you knew that was nothing but a blatant lie, especially coming from the greediest demon himself—it was never just one more when it came to sex, sometimes Mammon would go to the extent where both of you were as overstimulated as you could get; silent screams as pleasure took over your bodies, the coil deep in your stomach snapping oh so deliciously that it was almost painful, his balls emptying the last bit of load he has after all the rounds.

Your head spun, the corners of your teary vision slowly filled with dark spots that disappeared as quickly as they formed. You’ve already came twice around his cock, and you’ve lost count of how many times Mammon brought you to your orgasm with his tongue and fingers, so your body was already sensitive to any kind of touch.

You could feel your legs trembling as Mammon pushed and pulled his hard cock over and over again, the way your walls clamped around his shaft, allowing you to feel every ridge of it. It was sticky, damp, and stuffy.

The mixture of your’s and his cum dripped out of your sopping cunt and down to the mattress, creating loud, wet noises that bounced around the walls of his room. Mammon’s heavy balls slapped against your sweaty skin, making a sticky mess down where the two of you connected.

His king-sized bed squeaked with each desperate thrust of his hips, the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall as if it was locked in a rhythmic curse.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Mammon was sure his brothers could hear the deafening thuds of his headboard but he couldn’t care less. Another strained groaned left his throat as you scratched your nails down his bare muscled back, hands running through an evident bump on it—his wings were starting to come out. His horns were also becoming visible, the ebony spirals emerging from his snowy hair.

Mammon growled as he felt himself shift into his demon form due to the immense pleasure that washed over his whole body. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, causing pleasurable pain to shoot up to your neck as his canines grew in size.

“Aah. . Mammon . . !” “Haah! T-that’s it, my treasure. . Moan for me.”

Mammon lifted his head from your neck, an evident deep crimson blush spread on his cheeks as he met your gaze—his pupils were blown with lust, eyes also teary from the never-ending pleasure. Fuck, you could stare at his eyes all day; the way his blue irises faded into a golden yellow at the bottom, like the ocean meeting the citrine sky as the sun dips below the horizon.

Before you could close your eyes shut from the way Mammon’s blunt tip repeatedly hit your cervix, you noticed a faint flapping sound over the ringing of your ears—something slicing through the damp atmosphere of the room and blowing hot air. It didn’t take you long to notice the full-grown pair of wings on his back, flapping with every eager thrust of his hips—it’s bat-like structure proudly stretching out to reveal it’s entire length.

The white markings across his tanned torso were now evident too, Mammon was in his full demon form. It was always like this with him whenever he reached overstimulation, the immense pleasure his body held was too much that it often resorted to him unintentionally transforming.

His wings moved in synched with his hard thrusts, allowing him to pound harder and reach deeper into you. Mammon threw his head back, a heated gasp leaving his lips as he felt your walls tighten around him. A small, desperate cry of your name hung in the thick air before he buried his face near your ear once again.

Mammon let out shallow pants, incoherent sentences going straight to your left ear; he managed to stutter out a praise, his voice shaky, and breathless from all the fucking he’s doing. The sweet praise went straight to your cunt, and that was all it took for you reach yet another orgasm.

This time, it was significantly more intense than the previous ones mammon had given you. Your whole body trembled as the coil in the pit of your stomach snapped for the nth time that night, face contorting in raw bliss as your lips parted in a silent scream.

Mammon didn’t even have to look at your face to know what you looked like as you came, he’s got in engrained in his mind—the way your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head, swollen lips parted, brows tightly knitted together and tears rolling down your warm cheeks.

The thought of your erotic expression brought mammon to another climax shortly after you. His muscles turned taut, wings stilling in a stretch as he sheathed his cock deep inside you before cumming. He moaned into your sweaty skin, a string of curses leaving his throat as waves of pleasure fully consumed him.

The two of you fell into a unison, filling the room with nothing but lewd sounds as your bodies jolted from the after shocks of a mind blowing orgasm. Mammon held you tight—his bare chest flush against your own—to keep himself grounded from the immense pleasure.

You didn’t know how he was still able to cum inside you with such volume, given how many times he’s orgasmed already—Mammon filled your cunt to the brim, swearing under his breath as a squelching noise came from your cunt, his seed seeping out and dripping down to his balls and the mattress.

He gave a few shallow thrusts to ride out both your orgasms before pulling out, a whine coming from you and Mammon at the loss of contact—he watched as your hole dripped with his and your cum, biting down at his bottom lip.

How filthy.

“I’m far from being done with you. .” Mammon breathlessly laughed as he saw your eyes fluttering shut. You opened your lids to see that he’s made his way down to the apex of your legs, where all the mess was.

“Mhm, I’m going to suck this out of you.”

He gave an experimental lick at your sensitive cunt, causing you to instinctively attempt to close your legs. Mammon held your legs apart and gave you a smirk before diving in—your hands flew to his spiralled horns, gripping them for your dear life as he shoved his tongue inside you.

“Just can’t get enough of you, my darlin’..” Mammon whispered against your skin. “Mhm—aah! Y’so greedy, M-Mammon.” you moaned. He couldn’t help but snicker at your response, a sense of pride swelling in his chest at the choice of your words.

“Now, I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

[beneathashadytree]

DOWNTOWN - XAVIER SHEN X READER

Warnings : explicit descriptions of messy oral sex, biting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, hair pulling, implied masochism from Xavier, thigh worshipping, underwear is pushed to the side, male masturbation, cumming untouched, powerful orgasm, cum eating, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : smut (but they’re lovesick I promise🫶🏽)

Word count : 1.2K words

Additional notes : I’ve yet to spoil myself Xavier’s full date because I still intend to pull for him, but from what I’ve already watched this is basically what happened, trust 🙏🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

How long had they been lying there, limbs feeling like jelly and their mouth filled with cotton wool, unable to discern the fantasy from reality, and unable to tell the time of day it was? How long had Xavier lied there, nestled comfortably between their thighs like it was his favorite place in the world? How many times had they already been brought to the edge by the work of his tongue?

They didn’t know. All they knew they could focus on was the sheer intensity of the blazing lust in his eyes, trained on theirs and rendering them unable to look away, not even for one second. They could feel his firm grip on them, fingers digging into their plush thighs as he pinned them down to the mattress with more than just his gaze.

As they trembled after yet another impossible high he’d brought them to, he soothed the gentle ache inside them with his lips. Soft, feather-light kisses, trailing up the insides of their thighs…. suckling against them and tenderly licking the beads of perspiration that dotted their skin.

And if he happened to lap at the slick that trickled down their legs from their countless orgasms, groaning at the back of his throat at their taste, then who were they to refuse the unholy sight of him enraptured by them?

“You… mmm, how…?” they tried to gasp out, only to have him shake his head, the soft strands of his hair tickling them and causing them to jump a little at their hypersensitivity.

“No need to talk, honey,” he cooed at them, his voice like a soothing balm to their frayed nerves. One of his hands reached up to guide their own, unclenching them from the mattress to the back of his head. Almost on autopilot, their fingers dug into his blonde locks, tangling them and tugging in the way he absolutely adored. “That’s it. Show me where you want me, my love.”

As they faltered for a few moments, his teeth sank a little into their thighs, earning a sharp hiss that he couldn’t help but smile into their skin at. Almost rhythmically, Xavier’s mouth worshipped every exposed inch, adorning their perfect skin with gorgeous blooming marks in the prettiest shades of red.

Like clockwork, their hands tugged tighter at the soft curling hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer to their core. Xavier wasted no time in pushing aside their ruined panties with deft fingers, letting them snap wetly against their skin. He latched onto their most sensitive spot, tongue lapping up the drops of arousal that escaped them the instant his mouth was on them.

It was devilishly heavenly and yet purely sinful; the sight of him servicing them in all the ways he knew with slicked fingers and a practiced tongue was one that they could never tear their gaze from. A turbulent night sky of unspoken desires burned in his eyes, blue nearly fading to ebony as his longing for their taste overpowered all other senses.

“Too much, ‘m sensitive,” they cried out, head whipping back on the pillow. “Can’t think… Xavier!” He hummed in understanding and half-pity, but didn’t let up. How could he, when their fingers dug deeper into his hair, forcing him in place right where he wanted to be?

And Gods above, did he know how to drag the unholiest moans from them; the most pitiful whines of his name as he kissed his way down to their dripping hole, sore in the best way possible. “I’ve got you, sweet thing,” he murmured, all the gentleness in the world laced in his words, though his grip almost became bruising on their thighs, and his tongue slipped inside of them with ease.

Every experimental lick, every harsh thrust, and every sloppy kiss against their warmth was a new kind of torture that Xavier reveled in. It burned in only the warmest of ways, like an inferno only he could kindle inside them, and only he could douse with dizzying pleasure. It was too much and yet not enough.

He devoured them whole, ate them out with an unparalleled fervor; like they were his last meal on earth and he’d die if he wasn’t buried between their legs for every night he stayed alive. His muffled, wet moans and his hips canting against the mattress as he sought out some friction made it clear that he found this just as arousing—if not more—as they did. “Love you, love you so much,” Xavier breathed out, drunk on all of them.

Spread out underneath him like that, it was an assault on all the senses: the smell of his vanilla shampoo and the distinct scent of sex, the feeling of his fingers caressing their marked up thighs, the sounds of him filthily lapping at them and sloppily making out with their cum-slicked entrance, and the unadulterated desire coursing through their veins at him so quickly chasing yet another high of theirs.

“Shit, mmm… love you more, inside, need more,” they whispered, trying to string together a sentence that wasn’t half-babbled nonsense in this haze.

They hadn’t even noticed the way their nails had dug into his scalp, pulling a dragged out moan from the back of his throat as he enjoyed that familiar twinge of pain, mixing with the taste of them on his tongue. It was instinctual to keep him close, to pin him in place; every strangled groan of his vibrating onto them and sending them crashing.

With a desperate cry of his name, a white-hot flash of mind-numbing pleasure burned them alive, their hips bucking up into his awaiting mouth, taking in every flutter of their walls around his tongue and every quiver of their thighs against his head. Dots swam in their vision in their post-orgasmic bliss, their whole body feeling like it was floating on a cloud miles away, unable to notice how he’d sighed their name out before shamelessly spilling into his own underwear.

Only when the weight of him was removed as he got up did they blink back to awareness. Mortification washed over them as they saw his face emerging, their release having made a mess of him. Xavier, however, seemed to feel no embarrassment whatsoever as his thumb swiped at the corner of his mouth, then licked it clean with an appreciative hum.

“Always so sweet for me,” he huffed out a half-laugh, adoration tinged in his every word and the tilt of his head as he climbed back up the length of their body.

Between pants of heavy breathing, they managed to say, “You’re insatiable.” There was no admonition in their voice, though, and he knew that it wasn’t a complaint.

With a shake of his head, he slowly pulled them into his side, their pliant body perfectly slotting against his. It felt too good. Maybe cleaning themselves up from the stickiness and drenched underwear could be postponed for a bit, as long as they could lie together like this. “And you like it.”

Taglist: @verynormalsstuff @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @riinari-sa @reika-desu @tikitsune @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @fromdeepspace-withlove @granddearduck @skriblobz @nadinefromwhere @imhere2dosomething @saerotonins @cantescapethevoid @teewritessmth @lovra974 @straykidz143 @reishuus @xinnn6 @vyntagei @bakahimesama @rafayels-procrastinator @scentisterror (more in replies!)

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[trashmouth-richie]

dulcis ut rosa { sweet as a rose 🥀}

part 1 1/2– dulex (the gnat🥀) pt ii: vitiosus + deliciosus

pt iii: frangere me

emperor Geta x female servant reader || word count: 4.4k || smidge of caracalla x reader

summary: brought to Palatine Hill as a gift from your village to the new Emperors— Caracalla claims you as his own, but Geta has his own plans for you when the moon crests into the sky.

tw: anal, p in v, rough inexperienced sex, oral m receiving, use of the word whore, caracalla is a whiny bitch, geta is fuckboy of the era. i googled a majority of the historical events, timelines, roman names for things, and latin translation— if it’s wrong, oh well. bad at feelings! geta, insane! crybaby! caracalla. idk geta is an unhinged mother fucker but what if he wasn’t so bad?

It had been months and many cycles of the moon ago when you were sent as a token of goodwill, a gift to the new Emperors in exchange for peace for the small village you resided in. 

Other Virgines and yourself were taken in the dark ebony of twilight, shackled side by side into the wobbly wagon driven by the village's strongest oxen. You didn’t dare object, instead you held your chin high, awaiting fate as the cart swayed this way and that, heart racing and blood pulsing as your journey to the Palatine Hill began. 

Some nights were still spent awake, remembering the crippling fear in your chest as you watched women from your village being gifted to generals as their personal servants. 

Some were given to soldiers as a sense of “release.” No better than a common whore being passed from soldier to soldier, fitting their needs.  The others were pillaged and picked like grapes from a cluster— and finally you had stood alone, defiance pooling in your eyes, pushing back traitorous tears.

Emperors Geta and Caracalla sat on ruby and gold twin thrones, identical in size and power. The tension between them was palpable— so thick you could reach out and stroke its ugly head. Where Caracalla’s grin was full of mischief, Geta had a snarl curled on his upper lip. 

You should have known then. The difference between them.

From where you stood, Geta’s dark eyes looked empty. Every so often they twitched as he spun the rings adorned on his left hand. His eyes rolled when his older brother giggled as the gifts from whatever poor village gave away their ripe, untouched women. 

Bare toes standing on the marble floor— unable to even grab shoes before you were heaved into the cart— you felt a heat from dark eyes that you were certain would drive someone mad if they dared look back. Like the boiling flames from hell itself were simmering in the coal of his irises. 

Caracalla jumped up, stepping forward from his throne, a wicked sense of evilness piercing from the iciness of his stare. His golden tooth caught the sun’s rays and you nearly vomited as he strode forward, eyeing you like a meal. 

A feminine laugh bubbled from his throat,  he clasped his hands together, bangles clanking in a sick harmony, a childlike grin spread on his pale face, “she’ll do.” 

You remember the first night in his chambers. Caracalla himself was bathed in ivory, same as the stone walls that were covered with flowing draperies. Although it was meant to be beautiful, the air felt choked, tight in your chest as you tried like hell to calm your frazzled nerves. 

The same giggle you heard in the throne room all morning now reverberated off the walls. He sat on a chaise lounge in only his dressing robes, sweat dampening his temples, that same damning stare as he slid his tongue over that disgusting gold tooth. Was he nervous? Drunk?

You had thought an emperor of his caliber would be used to this sort of thing. Maybe not. 

You had been cleaned by the palace servants, hair untangled and dirt scrubbed from under your nails. Hints of jasmine and honey perfumed from your gown as you tiptoed toward him. You watched as beads of sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped at them hastily. 

“Sit.” 

The singular word seemed to give him trouble, as if he had never been in the presence of a woman before. 

He was clumsy, unthreading your gown with clammy hands, dragging across your skin like a damp sponge. Your skin crawled under his touch. 

His lips were stained with wine, thin and shriveled as he pecked at your skin. When you reached for him, hurrying this task along, he recoiled from your hand, shaking his head, a pained expression on his face as he held your wrist in a death grip. 

His eyes squinted shut and he screamed for you to leave. “Out!” “Get out!” Chalices and gold cutlery were tossed in your direction as you sprang for the door. 

Throwing open the heavy wood and running smack into the bare chest of the other Emperor. Emperor Geta. 

Although younger, he was taller than Caracalla. His chest was more broad, shoulders stretched tight with muscles. The same death-like stare on his face as he shoved you from him, having you stumble onto the stones into a wall. The cords of his neck strained as he took in your appearance.

He didn’t soften his features as you peered up at him with a fear stricken expression. He snarled, flaring his nostrils at the pathetic look of you, practically in rags. 

“Ah, and what do we have here? My brother’s whore in tears outside his chamber door. Can’t say I'm the least bit surprised.” He leaned into you, his eyes burning into your skin as he ripped the last of your gown to the floor, leaving you naked before him. 

“Tasteful thing, aren't you?” he gloated, pinching your bare nipple between his thumb and forefinger, laughing when you yelped in surprise and tried to cover your decency. 

He crowded into you, pushing your further down the hall way until you reached a dead end, his groin pressed into your middle. 

“Pathetic.” he sneered, enunciating every syllable the word held.  “Every single one of you.” His voice slithered like a snake against your ear, his breathing was forced, almost erratic and strained like he was holding himself back from bashing your skull into the wall. 

“Brought in here like some glorious stuffed hog on a spicket, trying to impress the Emperors so your village would be overlooked..” he clicked his tongue and grabbed the nape of your neck, his mouth only an inch from your own, “I don’t miss anything. Even though my sniffling brother may, I do not.” 

“Emperor, please.” 

“Do not speak!” he shouted loud enough to wake the entire palace, the veins in his neck stood at attention, throbbing,  “a whore will never open her mouth to me unless asked, or you are given something to fill it— understood?” 

You nodded feebly, a single tear trickling down your cheek. Geta placed the tip of his tongue to your skin catching the salty wetness, “if you can not please my brother, you will please me… otherwise what good are you here?” 

He shoved you to your knees, bits of sand biting into your skin as you hit the ground with a thud. His eyes were ablaze as he pulled out his cock. Veiny and impossibly thick, you’d never imagined one to be so large.  

Geta stroked himself, already hard and velvet beneath his palm, “open for your Emperor,” he demanded, the same snarl on his lip you noticed earlier today. 

You did as you were told, tongue out mouth agape waiting for him to slide against your mouth. Forcing himself inside, he filled it full until the pink head slithered into your throat, his groans vibrating through your bones. 

He rocked his hips into your face, panting and groaning some more as you gagged on his length— spit dripping down your bare chest and down his sack. 

He spoke nonsense to himself as you tried to breathe, squinting out tears from your eyes as you peered up at him. “The virgin mouth is fuck, yes, too good… impossibly sweet, untouched by another man, fuck, never get enough.” 

His large fist gripped your hair, pulling at the root as he bludgeoned himself further into you, fucking your head into the wall surely to leave a bruise or knock you unconscious, he wouldn’t care either way. 

“Stupid sniffling Caracalla,” he choked out between thrusts, “incompetent bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a whore if one fell on his cock,” he laughed and scrubbed at his face, reaching with his free hand to press the column of your throat, feeling himself deep beneath his thumb, “lucky for you, I do.” 

He came then, loud and shaky, holding you to him until your nose was tickled by his patch of dark pubic hair. He pulled out, leaving a pearl against his slit to rub against your mouth. 

“You might belong to Caracalla, but you will bow to me, and you… my sweet rosa, I have plans for you.” 

And that was how it started, how every night you would meet with Caracalla only to be summoned by Geta in the corridor upon your dismissal. Spilling secrets of his brother before pleasuring him with your mouth. 

In the light of day, you were ignored by him as you catered to Caracalla’s beck and call, and you often wondered if Geta had another servant he preferred during the sunlight hours. 

You were a midnight affair, a servant to one Emperor, a secret to the other. Caracalla was a strange man. Your time with him mostly was spent with him whining about the day's woes. 

How hard it was to be an emperor, the many expectations he had, the palace wasn’t large enough, his brother was too mean. Night by night his paranoia spread like wildfire, and he became gaunt, refusing to eat thinking Geta poisoned his food, his cheeks began to hallow. 

During all those nights he never once gave in to his own sexual temptations, he laid his head in your lap like an infant, whimpering and sniveling. One particular warm night you were sitting on his bed as you did every night before, listening to him sob about his mother and how he felt her attention was elsewhere. 

It took a single second of you being unresponsive for his switch to flip. Caracalla raged, flipping over furniture, ripping his draperies from the walls and pulling at his own hair. You were terrified, scared of him for the first time since the night you came to the palace. 

Caracalla bound your wrists above your head, and took force between your legs as you silently let him, disassociating from the entire situation, as he kissed a bruise to your collarbone, and scratched your thighs with his bitten fingernails. His inexperience was evident in his approach, in the way his hips held no rhythm, in the way he screeched like a midnight owl when he was close to release. 

He repeated the same thing over and over until he spilled against your stomach, a plea to either himself or to the Gods above, I am worthy. 

You shook violently, not with pleasure but with fear. You had thought of spitting in his face, but realized death would be your only future if you were to humiliate him during this catastrophic performance of what he would assume to be lust. 

Caracalla finished with a sweaty brow, laying down to fall asleep like a babe, an arm wrapped around your middle. A gaudy rouge colored his pale cheeks as drool slipped from his lips. 

You felt sick, defiled and disgusting. 

You’d rather be fucked by thirty men at once than have to endure that pathetic, cry baby fit from Caracalla. Gently placing his arm on the pillow, you fled. 

Missing your village, your family, the man who you were supposed to marry someday, your tears clouded your vision down the winding corridors of the palace. You would have fought to stay behind, should have pleaded to the men that you could be useful to them. This whore’s life isn’t what you had bargained for, death would be swifter— easier than this. 

The sweet scent of the balneum made you take a detour to the right, and you sobbed upon seeing the moonlight glint across the soft bathing water. 

Desperate to scrub his filth from your skin, the water was barely warm but you couldn’t care less as you sunk deep into the marble stone basin. Scrubbing your skin with anything your fingers could get ahold of. The jasmine soaps the servants washed you with the first time was tucked into its cradle and you slathered until your skin shined like an apparition. 

Tears dropped from the apples of your cheeks hitting the massive pool like a rainstorm over the ocean. Caracalla was a coward, a nuisance to Rome, to the Gods themselves. You damned his name as you scrubbed and lathered, repeating feverishly. 

For how long Geta stood in the doorway, you weren’t sure. You weren’t where you should have been, and he was irate upon your absolute disrespect of his time. He wanted to shout, plunge his way into the water and drag you out by your hair, bring you to the coliseum and make everyone watch your death against whatever animal he saw fit. 

You broke his rules, his laws, his heart raced with anger at the sight of you casually washing yourself. Nobody in the palace bathed in the moonlight, and when he heard commotion from the tepidarium room, he stomped towards it to find whoever the culprit was idiotic enough to disobey. He was alarmed to find you in there. Frantic, shooken up, no doubt from the hands of his flaccid brother.

“The lamb strayed away from the flock, I see.” his voice was like a snake, cool and calm but dripping with acidity that could kill at any given time. Jumping at his voice you nearly shrieked at his sudden appearance. 

“The moon has passed the mountains, yet you do not seek me out? Instead I find you here, helping yourself to the royal bathing quarters, as if you deserve such luxuries.”

Your voice trembled, as you climbed from the water, “I wanted… I needed to be clean.” 

His eyebrows twisted inward, confusion riddling his features until he stepped further into the room and noticed the marks across your skin. Caracalla’s mark. The marks of an hungry, untrained runt, trying to prove himself to the litter. 

Geta’s face boiled with sadistic rage as his eyes scanned down your body, the scratches of an novice beast unable to pleasure a whore. Bruises from a limp man who deserved a knife to his throat.

“Come.” he demanded, not waiting for you to follow as his stalked from the room, tossing a long cloth behind him to your awaiting hands. 

—

Water trickled behind you and down the length of your body as you padded on bare feet to catch up with Geta. 

This part of the palace was foreign to you, a set of stairs leading to a dark tower that you didn’t know existed, and then you realized why. He was leading you up to his chambers.

Geta and Caracalla lived on opposite ends of the palace, their hatred splitting them apart as far as it could allow. 

He thrust open a concealed door and stomped down a few stone stairs leading into his chamber. 

It was decorated in hues of deep ruby and scarlets, black linens flanked his walls. His bed was massive, alluring in the dark majesty of its presence. A single candle flickered beside his bed, casting shadows in the deep night. 

His hooded eyes seemed to strike with a ripple of psychotic light when he came back to the doorway to pull you inside by your wrist. 

Sitting on a lavish wooden chair he leans back, spreading his legs wide, reaching for a wine filled chalice downing it in one gulp, his eyes never leaving you. 

“Let me make myself clear,” he stated, “I do not care what Caracalla does in his chambers I never have nor will I now.” 

Geta wiped at his chin and set down the glass, his finger rounding the rim, “You came here knowing what your life would hold as an Emperor’s servant or a soldier’s fuck sack. The little amount of freedom you were once born with has vanished, and what a pity that must be…but quite honestly,” he gleamed leaning forward his face warmed by the light, casting shadows of evil on his brows, “I am not a savior to the fucked raw whores of this palace who weep after fulfilling their master’s needs.”

Your eyes casted downward at the patterned marble floor. “I told you the night we met that if you aren’t pleasing my brother or myself, you have no purpose here, did I not?” 

Your head shook up and down, knowing every word he said was true. 

“I will grant you gratitude where it is due by saying that you have done everything I have asked of you, sharing my brother’s secrets, using your mouth to fill my needs— it is all very pleasing…”

For the first time you look into Geta’s eyes, the shadows inside flicker with the candle light, and you are drawn to them like a moth. 

“… however, I find myself enraged thinking of that shriveled weasel dick not taking you to bed in a proper manner. It is not my style to fuck like a lover would—I use women to my needs and that’s it.” 

He rubs his jaw, as if the stubble was itching him, suddenly stopping to look at you dead in the eyes as his narrowed to slits, “but you, are a gnat. An annoyance I can not seem to get rid of, and I can’t decide if you are a woman version of the plague or something else…” His eyes glimmer for a second before he shakes his head to clear his mind, “Get on the bed.” 

“Emperor?” 

His voice boomed as he slammed down his cup, “do not make me say it twice, I find myself to be quite angry when I have to repeat my words.” His throat pulsed in wrath, and his knuckles turned white from his fists being clenched. 

You do as you're told, gingerly making your way to the enormous frame and mattress, sitting rigidly. Geta undresses himself, standing bare before you, that glorious length springing freely. 

“The difference between Caracalla and myself, is I know how to use my God bless-ed cock to pleasure a woman, and I’m damn good at it.” 

He’s on you in a flash, his breath sweet from the wine he had consumed. His body was solid on top of yours, pale skin never exposed to the sun. Enormous shoulders dressed in muscles that were hidden with robes daily. He sniffs loud, taking in your scent you feel his body shiver above you. 

His teeth nip at your earlobe, piercing through the flesh releasing a trail of hot blood onto your neck. It’s swiftly lapped away by his tongue, a low groan following as he tastes you. 

“If your blood is this sweet I would hate to know how you taste between your legs.” 

You squirm beneath him as he bites your lip the same way, his canines piercing your plushy flesh and he moves his mouth over the bites, enjoying the iron-like taste. A flood of wetness rushes to your core and you suddenly feel hot everywhere… something Geta doesn’t miss. 

“My brother’s whore is quick to becoming wet.” he says with a chuckle, sweeping his fingers between your folds, his rings collecting your arousal on his knuckles before he pulls them into his mouth,  “mmmm leave it to Caracalla to fuck a bitch when she’s drier than a well.” 

His mouth assaults your neck. Sweeping circling as he groans into you, his cock rutting against your sex as you pull him further into you, a hand coiled in his golden hair, yanking slightly, a traitorous moan escaping his lips. 

Your hips widen to try to sneak the tip of him into your cunt but he only laughs at your attempt.

“Look how desperate you are, pathetic thing… so eager to be filled by a man who knows how to fuck.” He groans when your nails scratch down his back, and he licks his lip to not get too carried away. 

That pitiful excuse for a human couldn’t satisfy his own hand, let alone a whore who begs to be brutalized.” You moan his name when he skims blunt nails around the peaks of your nipples, running his palms along your rib cage. 

“You're teasing me, Emperor, te necessito.” 

The snarl that seems to be a permanent fixture on his face curls on his lip, “begging is a good start, we both know how good you are on your knees, but I like the pity showing in your eyes, as if I’m your God.”

With that final word and title, Geta thrust himself into you, shredding your walls with each delicious inch of his cock buried inside of you. All breath is expunged from your lungs as you stare into the devil’s eyes, a chokehold to your own.

“Ora pro me, Deus meus, pray for me God,” he grunted as he pistoned back into your heat. Your screams filled his chambers, the tower shaking with seduction as he matched your shouts with grunts and moans of his own. 

He pawed at your tits, squeezing and claiming every inch of skin he could get his hands on. Your thighs were wrapped around his waist, your hips circling to meet his rhythms. A large hand wrapped tight around your throat, and you licked your lips letting a grin spread against them. 

Geta was leaned forward just enough for you to put a hand against his own throat, squeezing as tightly as you could. He wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t expecting someone to match his own sadistic fantasies.. let alone a commoner from a village he didn’t care to know the name of. 

His eyes embellished like a dark jewel in a burning hell before he snarled and backhanded your cheek. He had never been more turned on, practically fucking you stupid as the welts from his rings raised on your skin. 

“Puella pulchra, pretty girl,” Geta whispered into your ear after flipping you over, his cock wedged between your ass cheeks. “Mea es, mea es, you’re mine;  no one else’s.” 

His rings bit at your sides as he positioned your ass upwards, leaving his dental records in each cheek before slapping them hard in unison, mocking your yelp as he dribbled spit where he needed it to be. 

With no warning he entered your other hole at a bruising pace. You saw black when Geta bottomed out and you swore you were near passing out from the stretch of his giant cock stuffed tight inside of you. 

Your pussy throbbed to his commands as he pulled you by your neck with one hand, so your back was leaned against his chest. Thick fingers slotted themselves in the heat of your core until his rings were nestled against your clit. “How dare you let Caracalla have at you first, this cunt is too sweet, too sinful to not be mine.” 

Babbling along to everything he said you simply screamed yes over and over, as your head lolled back on his shoulder. You came so hot and bound tight that it flooded his fingers and spread down your legs as he kept pounding inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” Geta grunted, shoving your forward to gain leverage on your hips as he pistoned into you a final time. A great yell breached his throat as his seed flooded your ass, filling it full and spilling over both himself and you, down to the laundered sheets. 

You collapsed onto his bed, legs shaking and quaking struggling to catch your breath. Geta fell onto his back beside you, his skin glistening with sweat, his release coated thickly on his softening cock and pasted into the curly hair. 

“Dulcis ut rosa,” he murmured with his eyes closed, licking his lips to savor your taste once more. 

Tumbling on shaky knees, you lift yourself up just enough to eye his length, wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking off his spend and yourself from him. Moaning as you devoured him.  

He hissed at the contact, reaching out to stroke your cheek with his thumb “you’ve made a fool of me, you wicked thing, I’m nothing but a fool.” 

When you were finished, Geta laid in silence beside you. His thumb strumming along his torso his eyes wide staring into the ceiling, deep in thought. 

Noticing a decanter of wine you asked if he’d like another glass. “No,” he said, still staring upward, unable to look at you. “I’m tired, leave me now.” 

Removing yourself from the bed you find the dressing robe he was wearing when he found you in the bath and slipped it over your shoulders. 

Leaving his chambers left you feeling rotten. 

It was strange how he looked at you during and after, he was talented just as he said he was, and you knew you’d never forget the night the other Emperor bed you in his sheets. For tomorrow was another day, back to Caracalla and his blubbering whines of the hardships of royalty.

Geta lie awake for hours. Eventually seeking refuge on his balcony staring into the pale ivory moon, silently asking the Gods for answers he himself didn’t know. He had bedded hundreds of women. Every shape, size and color. But you. The little gnat. You had been buzzing in his ears every night since you had gotten to Palatine Hill. 

Since the day he laid his eyes on you and scoffed to try to denounce his admiration, Geta silently wished death on Caracalla when he claimed you as his own. His original plan was to spoil the apple from the inside out, use you as a spy to gain information about his deranged brother— but it became more to him, you became more. But why? 

The God’s didn’t have the answers tonight, just like they hadn’t the night before, or every dawn since the night you showed up here. Guilt struck him like a bolt from Jupiter’s mighty hand and he pushed it down with the remaining wine he had stashed beside his bed. 

The facaded mask he wore these days almost slipped off tonight when you lay beside him. How he wanted to reach out and touch your skin while you laid in euphoric bliss. And he shut you out to avoid something he couldn’t risk. He didn’t know how to love a woman, his love was for war and power, blood and gold— still the gnat buzzed, unrelentless. 

Laying in the sex sodden sheets, he knew what his dream would be of tonight. It hadn’t changed in the months of you arriving here: Caracalla dead by his hand, and you, the gnat, sweet as a rose…his empress.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

latin translation:

virgines— virgins

dulcis ut rosa— sweet as a rose

balneum— bathing room

te necessito— i need you

ora pro me deus meus— pray for me my God

puella pulchra— pretty girl

mea es— you’re mine

tagging some moots: @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @etherealxwitch

[sonic-fankid-showdown]

The Sonic Fankid Showdown: Round 1!

These are the match ups for the first round of the tournament! The polls will go up this Wednesday, April 24th and will be active until May 1st for you all to vote for your favorite fankids!

Image transcript under the cut.

Blair Acorn Rose (@icednebula) v/s Comet the Hedgehog (@sonicanon)

Gina (@meetje-rotyourbrainhere) v/s Cipher (@altairsarts)

Comet the Hedgehog (@sonic-polis) v/s Sunny the Chao (@wereh0gz)

Wafer the Chao (@pokeypoqi) v/s Leonid the Cyborg Hedgehog (@deimostes)

Sakura (@estellardreams) v/s Leo the Hedgehog (@aexonn)

Nova Rose (@spicychimera) v/s Blur the Hedgehog (@muffin-gods)

Spike the Hedgehog (@valerytheweirdo) v/s Spark the Sable (@sci-twi)

Flicker Prower (@burning-stars98) v/s Scrap the Hedgehog (@the-gay-ghost-king)

Fletcher the Fox (@susahnasomething) v/s Amelia Solaral (@lethalbreadkills)

Violet the Hedgehog (@t4tsurge) v/s Horizon the Jackal (@scorpiolight-madd)

Mordred (@mephiles-the-jester) v/s Lapis (@time-of-your-life-au)

Stellar the Hedgehog (@emthimofnight) v/s Rapidfire-Harley Davidson (@confused-bagel)

Nymph the Cat (@einelitas) v/s Sasha the Hedgehog (@sapphanimates)

Star (@sonicgetsrawed) v/s Punchline (@iihavenomouth)

Pegasus (@transzsonix) v/s Chroma Prower (@m3tr0n0m333)

Saydee (@kuroshirae) v/s Echo (@a-crow-with-a-pen)

Neso the Hedgehog (@foolnamedjoey) v/s Aryan (@totaleclipse573)

Dill Picke (@sonilver-yuri) v/s Smith (@koreyeet)

Winter the Lemur (@sonicrewrittenau) v/s Alice (@invisableartist)

Whistle the Wolf (@khalewren) v/s Calamity (@alex-chullin)

Splotch the Hedgehog (@thefakehedgehogaroundhere) v/s Tom the Hedgehog (@ShadowAndSonic96)

Twitch the Child (@colorfulplasma) v/s Mav the Hedgehog (@val-va2)

Vallerie the Hedgehog (@so-called-egg) v/s Aurora (@adhd-sonic-the-hedgehog)

Ebony (@idrptr3) v/s Castor Niclaw (@spiritofrainbursts

Emmie the Hedgehog (@head---ache) v/s Silhouette Rose (@galacticghoste)

Tulip (@silvers-starrway) v/s Sunshine the Hedgehog (@yellowvixen)

Pacífica the Cat (@saku0115) v/s Midnight the Android (@kristhesheep)

Aster (@afuntimepartyy) v/s Beau D'Coolette (@mischeva)

Blitz (@jestopolis) v/s Juice the Hedgehog (@sonlc)

Jade the Hybrid (@carnation-damnation) v/s Autumn (@artist-fan146)

Kaiko (@somemismatchedsocks) v/s Gigi (@w0lp3rtinger)

Ember Robotnik (@the-sky-queen) v/s Sprout "Sept" the Jackal (@snowpearart)

See you on wednesday, everyone! And good luck!

[dobbysnotsureaboutthis]

Devotion - Nun!Alastor x (fem)Reader

Masterlist

WC: approx. 16.7k

Be warned this one’s a fattie of a fic!

Warnings/ tags:

NSFW, soft dom Alastor (well the soft part is more of a guise), kind of an emotional rollercoaster if I do say so myself, Attempted sexual assault (not by Alastor), crude language, probably a toxic relationship, choking (in several scenes), biting, reader slowly loses her sanity, heavy sexual tension/ reader being cockblocked by Alastor, eventual smut (a bit of a slow burn… for a one-shot), sacrilege (Note: this has heavily religious themes, but absolutely does not represent actual Catholicism in any way. It’ll become clear later on that they are still in Hell for a reason), Alastor’s manipulative as usual, SISTER ALASTOR!!! I might regret writing this one day Probably not though

Teaser:

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.” Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly.  Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it. His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks. “I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.” 

.

.

.

.

.

You thought you were going to Heaven. And, if you were going to Hell, lust would’ve been the last possible sin you’d pin the blame on. You had been a good daughter, and a good spouse.

This had to be a mistake.

When you fell, you simply laid there, back as bruised as your ego; you had barely a minute to register the deep red Hell called a sky before you snapped to your senses and realized you were naked as the day you were born. All your bravado and fine silk dress had been stripped from your body.

You felt like a lowly offender. Nude and shivering, hot and cold and numb at the same time as you watched twisted winged demons you previously thought only existed in your nightmares surround you, their black eyes gleaming with eagerness at the thought of devouring a fresh spawn in hell.

“Stay back!” You had not a single thing on you to utilize as a weapon, not even the sharp edge of a diamond ring. “Don’t you dare bite me!” 

Your muscles had frozen from the shock of the fall, leaving you unable to even attempt crawling away. All you could do was choke out cries, pleading with the hungry monsters to spare you. But why would they? Even you knew your shouts were nothing but the useless attempt of a stubborn caught prey, calling out for the near impossible chance of being saved. 

Pointed fangs stop half an inch from your face. You inhale sharply at the sudden movement, as the creature’s pupils slit in surprise at being caught; then its head explodes, and you clenched your eyes shut as the sound of flesh squelching pierces the air, a warm viscous liquid blasting onto your face. You strain against the rigid weight of your body, attempting to lift your hand from the invisible chains that bound it; just enough to shakily wipe at the sticky fluid coating your skin. 

You blink once, twice, trying to adjust your sight to the feeling of stinging salt and bloody red. Around you lay the monsters’ bodies, their corpses still so fresh from their second death that their limbs were still twitching. Your eyes dart around, searching for your savior - then you hear the soft clearing of a throat and crackle of radio static.

The first thing you noticed, with a startle, was their costume; what was a nun doing in Hell, of all places? Or perhaps this wasn’t Hell after all, and your initial deduction - that you remembered dying, the sky was crimson, and savage creatures roamed everywhere, so this must mean you’ve fallen from grace - had been incorrect.

You let hope spark in your heart. Maybe you really hadn’t done anything wrong. You were good, and the figure had come to send you to your proper place in Heaven. You curl up into yourself as you suddenly become aware of your nudity- and the scrutiny of their gaze. You felt dirty, and inferior, to the figure of chastity looming above you, their black veil gracing over your shoulders as they examined you up close, concealing you from the predatory eyes of filthy sinners. 

They turn your head left and right, up and down - you shiver at the feeling of firm hands through soft suede gloves, afraid to look directly at them lest you accidentally think something depraved. 

“I can’t imagine what a lovely dame such as yourself is doing in Hell!” 

You blink, surprised at the masculine voice sounding from underneath the delicate cloth framing their head. Then you look up, finally meeting the gaze of your unexpected hero. And you wish you hadn’t, because the crimson in his eyes was piercing, the sharp line of his jaw dangerous, and you curl further into yourself, heart palpitating rapidly as you scramble for words. 

You nervously smile in response to his own, unsettlingly wide grin. “Oh, I uh, a-actually just got here.” You pause. “And, I don’t…exactly know why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Every demon here has earned their place in Hell’s wicked fire by their sin.” He extends a hand for you to hold, which you take gratefully. The air hits your naked body, and you cover your breasts with your free arm, attempting to make yourself smaller in your vulnerability. But you had no room to ask him for a spare change in clothes as he relentlessly rambles on, seemingly not at all concerned over your nudity. Was this normal in Hell?

“You don’t think that maybe it’s a mistake?” You hunch your shoulders, trying to partially obscure your skin with the length of your hair. “That maybe the angels up in Heaven overlooked something?”

He laughs, the rambunctious noise vibrating sinfully against your frame. “Oh no! I’ve been here for quite many years and Heaven has yet to make a mistake in their judgment.”  

Your heart falls, gaze turning downcast. He tucks a clawed finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his widely grinning face. “But don’t distress yourself, dear sinner! Under my direction, you are sure to find the cause for your sin.”

You peer at him, whose ebony headpiece draped over his devilish face so angelically. “May I ask why you’re in Hell? You… you’re a nun, aren’t you?”

A sharp noise wooshes by your ear, and you yelp as his pointed nails curl around your bare waist, pulling you into his side just in time to avoid the savage onslaught of humanoid demons racing past you to get to… your stomach curdles as you spot the creatures tearing into the remains of the bird-like monsters the nun had just defeated a few moments prior. To your horror, you spot a heart in one creature’s hand, the organ just as ordinarily shaped and red as any living human’s heart, despite its abhorrent outer appearance. 

“What a wretched sight those sinners are.” 

You’re once again startled at the closeness of his voice - then you catch yourself. This was a nun, for God’s sake (literally)! Just because you were in pain, died, went to Hell, and lost all your possessions and material value, doesn’t mean you need to toss away your decorum as well. Don’t think anything of that nature.

“Yeah.” You nod, eyes wide as you nod slowly to stabilize your reaction. “I don’t think I can get used to this place.” Your breath quickens at an alarming rate, and you grip tightly onto the lanky, but well-defined arm of the nameless nun beside you. 

“I really think it was a mistake,” you whisper.

He presses two gloved thumbs to your cheeks, pulling them into an upward crescent; though you felt its corners drooping downward, straining against his effort. “What a pitiful sight you are,” he starts, playing with the flesh of your face. 

“You must be miserable, thinking that the Heavens have forsaken you!” He starts walking again, guiding your stiff body down the street. You latch onto his voice, which feels akin to a stable blanket that shields you from Hell’s barbaric residents. “You’re absolutely lost!”

A sniffle escapes you, and you realize you’ve begun to cry. The nun croons at you, swiping at a tear sympathetically as you cling to his form pathetically, letting his words fuel the pessimism already rotting your brain. “What do I do now? I’ve lost everything!” 

You think of yourself just a minute before death, still smiling brightly at the glistening diamond on your digit. You think of, with bitter regret, how the yacht you rode on was far too away from shore on a much too windy day. And you remember how your salty tears melted into the waters around you, sacrificing themselves to the sea, as your last thought becomes your elderly father still at home waiting for his next payment. Waiting for his only daughter, whom he would never see again, not even after death, where you would be wrongfully cast to Hell for the rest of eternity. 

Misery, despair, and self-pity feed into one another, spinning and bubbling higher and higher until they reach a climax at the back of your throat, expelling in the form of another choked sob between your parted lips.

“I don’t want to be here forever. I-In this awful place. With awful monsters.” You mop at your tears with your arm, peering up at him through your wet lashes. His gaze is steady on your face, the soft hum of static somewhat comforting; making you want to lean on him, depend on him despite the low buzz of warning in the back of your mind. 

“Now who says this place has to be awful?” His hand feels dangerously like lava on your shoulder. He taps the tip of your nose. “You are merely at the beginning of a very long journey, dear sinner! Some souls are indeed not made to ever find the light, and those are the ones who find themselves sinking deeper into debauchery until the day they drown in their own filth.” 

Your heart squirms a little at the word drown, your own demise still clear as spring water in your mind. But you surely were not part of the some mentioned. “And others…?”

His grin stretches, face falling into shadow as you turn a corner. His half-lidded eyes glow scarlet in the partial darkness. “Yet still, some others find themselves changed after death, no longer concurring with the sins they partook in when they were alive. Those sinners work tirelessly to erase their wrongdoing…”

You gulp as his voice deepens, shamefully pushing at the thoughts prodding heavily at the barrier you built in your mind.    

“…, so that one day, they might even find themselves capable of…” He pulls you in now, dramatically pausing before announcing, “... redemption!”

“Redemption,” you whisper, mainly to yourself. Then, to him, who twinkled expectantly at you; “And how can demons, who have defied the Heavens, be redeemed?”

His head tilts sideways, so that the shadows completely obscured his face, leaving only the wicked outline of his sharp nose and Cheshire grin. You leave your ears unguarded, eagerly leaning on your toes for his response. 

The noise, which you previously had thought to be his laughter, was in fact static, which had risen from a low purr to a roaring buzz. Your forgotten nudity suddenly felt painfully evident.

“They pray.” 

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

Sister Alastor. That had been the name he introduced himself, the Mother Superior, with when he brought you into the cloister he resided in, where several other nuns - you counted at least 20 other heads - were under his care. 

It was only your second week in Hell when he would save you yet again. 

You’ve slowly accepted that day he found you, that there was nothing much you could do but move on, regardless of the abruptness of your death and the regrets you left unsolved. Instead, you had done your best to adjust; but if you were to be honest, a large part of that effort was due to a certain nun. You had spent a majority of the tour he took you on hanging off of every word, letting him inspire you into faith, afraid that if you were to let go, you might lose your belief altogether. 

Never did you think there would be a colossal, gothic cathedral in the very place that repelled the divine. You had to crane your neck to see the very top when the two of you neared its imposing entrance. Even as an appreciator of the luxurious when you were alive, you had never witnessed something so…grand. Such architecture would’ve taken humans centuries, perhaps longer, to build. 

“Lucifer himself oversees the church.” You had torn your gaze away from the massive building, eyes landing on crimson pupils, which squinted schemingly at you. “He thought it would be a good idea to introduce the damned to prayer. To enlighten their ruined minds, and make them just a bit more bearable to manage.”

He was humming an unfamiliar tune. There was an old-timey quality to the nun’s voice, one that made you feel as though you were on the phone with a soul who had died long before you; vintage, as the people of your time would call it. 

 In spite of its awe-inspiring beauty, there were strange details that caught your eye; such as the fact that the benches were filled with scratches, from smaller scores to longer, more offensive gashes. The ceiling seemed to be some Biblical painting, but you could not decipher the angel’s faces; upon closer inspection, you realized that their likeness had been carved out. The only face that remained intact was the tragically fair face of a winged man, brows furrowed in rejection as a lonesome tear wept from his cerulean eye. 

Lucifer’s fall from Heaven; you remembered seeing such a painting while alive, and looking at it in Hell felt strange. It made everything you ever saw on earth feel like a simple prelude to what was to come, a mere teaser for the full-length film you weren’t aware of.

Ornamental windows line the length of the room, color reflecting off its surface so purely, so clean, that you would have mistaken the blood-red sky for blue if you didn’t know you were still in Hell. Rows of pews stretched so far that you could barely see the altar from your position in the back.  

For the entire week, you would follow the sisters into the cathedral and watch as they prayed. It was an interesting sight, watching the nuns gather around Sister Alastor, who led the prayer; as though they were praying to him rather than with him. You weren’t familiar with the practice, so you had no comparison to draw it to. All you knew was that you longed to appease him, to earn his grace somehow so that you might also earn your place beneath him, feel the firmness of his crimson gaze hold you down. 

You frown. Have you always been so pathetic? Your memories were already starting to fuzz. 

Now you sit on your borrowed bed, with nothing much to do but play with the skin of your hand and think of ebony cloth, red eyes, and sharp smiles. 

Perhaps you could get up and see what the others are doing. They had all been polite, albeit distant; you’re familiar with the way people formed cliques, and it was clear there was some sort of history you weren’t aware of. Only one seemed to be particularly not fond of you. The one with a TV for a head, whose headpiece strained comically over his screen - Sister Vox. You recall the way you stood awkwardly next to Sister Alastor, in nothing but your own flesh as he sneered at you from across the room; seemingly already angry with you despite you having done nothing.

You exhale, brushing your fingers through tangled hair as you propel yourself onto your tired feet. In a way, the greatest Hell was not your punishment, but rather the realization that there would never be rest, even after death.

You pop the door open gently and decide to do some exploring, not sure of where to start looking. The halls were empty, so you pushed open the brass door at the end of it, stepping out into a carefully arranged garden, the many rows of fruits somewhat difficult to identify from Hell’s red light casting onto their surfaces. 

“Oooh! A lady!”

You lower your stare to the tiny one-eyed girl tending to the plants, the resident cleaner, gardener, and… bug-enthusiast. All the sisters were tidy and cleaned well, but Niffty was particularly active in ensuring the place was several steps beyond spotless. You snort, somewhat amused that she forgot your identity yet again. 

“Hey Niffty. It’s me, remember? I was just helping you with the garden yesterday.”

Her single eye widens, pupil dilating like a cat’s. “Ohhhh right. You’re the new lady!” The impish girl giggles.

“That’s right! Mind if I joined you for a while?”

“Ok! I’m just going to catch some BUGS!!” She kneels, manically pulling at an earthworm stuck in the garden’s dirt. “Come. On. Get out. Get out!”

You smile, watching as she tries in vain to tug out the little wriggling creature. Nifty was the only resident you could somewhat converse with, as she didn’t have the same strange distance the others seemed to hold around them. Perhaps because she wasn’t a sister at all. When you asked her what she was, if not a nun, she had replied that she was working here simply because she wanted to. 

You knelt beside her, picking up her task of watering the tomatoes while she was distracted. In life, you had been a chatterbug, riding on the waves of attention you got from your designer clothes, hooked on the arm of a wealthy man you didn’t love. You trace a finger on a velvet leaf, admiring the way it snapped back to position the moment you let go. But in death… you found the quiet so welcoming, that you wondered why you never stopped to enjoy it. 

You mindlessly pluck at a weed. 

“If it isn’t our guest! What are you doing on the floor?” You look up, to see Sister Vox grinning down at you. 

“She’s helping me!” You’re surprised when it’s Niffty who pipes up, having expected her to already forget what you were there for. 

He ignores her, holding out a hand.

After some initial suspicion, you hesitantly take it, dusting off your borrowed clothes. 

He lets go of you before you can fully stand, distaste clear in his eyes at having to make contact with you. You stumble a bit but manage to catch yourself, shooting a half-confused, half-annoyed look in his direction. 

“What are you doing here in the garden? Could I… help you?”

Despite his religious clothing, the cat-like tilt of his eyes and sleek grin felt more like the practiced expression of a conniving businessman than that of a genuine sister. You didn’t trust him. And you also had no idea what he was here for, when none of the sisters had initiated any conversation with you. 

“I was working on the garden with Niffty, like she just said.”

“Right, right.” 

“So no, I don’t need help. Do you need help with something…?” 

His grin turns sly. “That’s alright. I was just thinking, we haven’t gotten to know each other at all, hmm?” 

You unconsciously lean away from him. “Yeah. I figured you and the others weren’t interested in getting to know me.” You briefly smile for the sake of manners, before making a path to his left and attempting to side-step him; but he grabs your arm, with enough strength to make you yelp in slight pain. 

“Hey! Bad man!” Niffty interrupts your exchange, raising her shovel to stab at his ankle; but he dodges her, plucking the tiny girl off his leg and tossing her aside. 

Any hope you had of her success ends when he points toward a distant patch of dirt, exclaiming, “Looks like there’s a lot of bugs in there!,” which sends the tiny girl scurrying, screaming “Where?”

He turns his attention back on you. “Back to what I was saying! You’re new, aren’t you? You must be wondering all about this place.”

“Sister Alastor has been helpful in providing me with information.” 

He laughs, waving his hand in the air. “Of course he has! But as I’m sure you noticed, there are plenty of secrets about this place. Sister Alastor doesn’t allow electronics, you know. And I get to work around that rule because my head has a search engine.”

“That’s… uh, good for you, I guess. I’m fine, though.” You tug at your arm again, attempting to loosen it from his hold.

“I insist! Trust me, I have all the information you could possibly need.” He sneaks a hand to your lower back, turning you around while you’re distracted by his words. “Aren't you curious about what sort of things he’s hiding from you?”

…Yes. But not from this guy.  

“So what do you say? You could ask me anything at all.”

He was asking you for permission, though the still firm grasp on your arm told you there was no real choice. You sigh, trying not to appear too displeased. “...Alright…wait, where are we going?” 

Sister Vox had resumed walking, turning heel and making his way back down the way you came from. “It’s best if we talk in a more private space. I wouldn’t want anything here interrupting. You know how the demons in Hell are.” 

You think of how crude the sinners who first attacked you were, and wonder if the others in Sister Alastor’s convent were also capable of such degeneracy. “Ok… not for long, though. I still want to help Niffty with the garden.” You say that more to yourself than him, trying to calm your instincts that were rapidly firing off red flags.

“Naturally, I wouldn’t want to waste your precious time.” 

He’s a nun, after all, he should’ve taken vows, he wouldn’t hurt you. 

The walk from the garden to the nuns’ cloister felt horribly wrong. As does the entire place, you think, stepping cautiously after him. Their weirdly mysterious schedules felt wrong, the prayers they sang were pure in a mechanical sense, as though nobody believed the words they were singing; the cathedral looked wrong cast in red, and, now that you thought of it, the sisters’ kinship was more of a cult than a clique. 

The only thing that didn’t feel wrong - or rather, did feel wrong, but felt equal parts right - was the figure at the center of it all, the nun whose promises you truly did want to believe in. When you peer off the center, to the ones worshiping below, your gut only burns with wariness.

The two of you stop before a room - his, you presumed. “After you then.” He gestures to the open doorway. 

You pause for only a moment, out of some remnant of self-preservation; until, ironically, his impatient glare is what sends you scurrying inside. Any questions you might’ve had were long gone, you just wanted to ask him whatever to get it over with.

I should’ve called for Sister Alastor, you think with slight panic as you hear the noise of the door clicking shut. Something in your chest whines at the thought of his reaction, his lips stretched into a grin as his eyes stare down at you with disappointment. 

The sound of Sister Vox’s footsteps near behind you is the equivalent of a shark circling its prey on land. You rack your brain for any question at all. 

“How long have you been a nun?” 

“Fifty years.” 

“O-Oh that’s a long time.”

He closes the curtain, keeping an eye on you the whole time. You’re left in darkness, cautiously watching his flickering screen of a head, the only source of light in the room. 

You swallow. “How did you get to know Sister Alast-.”

Your sentence gets cut off as a palm roughly pushes at your back, forcing you to land on scuffed knees. Before you could even attempt to comprehend what had happened, you felt a hand encircle your neck, cutting off your breath while furious laughter rang behind you. 

“You’re even dumber than you look.”   

“What are you do-?” His hand tightens on your neck, and your voice trails off into a squashed squeal.

“Let me make one thing clear to you.” He hisses. You could feel the heat emanating from his screen this close. “Whatever you feel for Sister Alastor, forget about it.” 

He twists you around, leaning closer until the surface of his screen is pressed angrily against your own rather feverish skin. “I know what you think! You’re new to Hell, all lost and disoriented, and here comes a nun who promises to guide your corrupt soul to salvation.”

You gag heavily, bits of spit hitting the edges of your lips as he grips your neck with such vigor, that your eyes reflexively become vitreous with a sheen of tears. You could see nothing but his glaring blue screen between bouts of blackness in vision. 

“You think he cares for you? That he’s interested in anything else but raising his own status? Ah, yes, Sister Alastor, the sweet altruistic nun who’s just so interested in the problems of an ordinary, lowly sinner.” He’s speaking eagerly now, the sharpness of his teeth nicking against your nose with every other syllable. “That’s what you are!”

Out of self-defense, you align the hard part of your knee with his crotch, and jerk it up, hard. 

He screams, the noise surprisingly girlish; though you couldn’t tell if that was part of the ringing in your ears. 

“U-urg–h-. What the fuck?” Your voice comes out awfully scratchy. 

You clamber sloppily to the door then, not waiting a second to get out of there. Sister Alastor - you had to find him, let him know that one of his nuns was crazy! 

You didn’t even get two steps forward when his claw encircled your ankle, dragging you down onto the ground with him. “Let me go, you’re insa-!”

“NO!” You’re taken aback at the utter desperation tainting his voice, whipping your head to see his screen glitching at an alarming rate, all sorts of expressions flickering on his face. 

“You’ve no idea how FUCKING LONG it took, for ME to get HIM-.” Pixelated hearts dot his screen, each one of them cracking in two as they fall to the bottom. “TO NOTICE ME! To just FUCKING LOOK AT ME!” 

He grabs at your neck again, before you can dodge his advances, and shimmies your face right up to his. “You think I’m gonna let you stay here and take what’s mine?” 

You refuse to fall unconscious now, weakly tugging at his arms with your hands, digging your nails into his skin. He’s absolutely unrelenting in his assault. Finally, as you gather enough spit to expel at his screen, his grip loosens enough for you to speak - “I’m not here to take anything!”

“LIAR!”

“I’m not lying!” You’re raising your voice now as well, although nowhere as loud as his. “I just met him today! I-I can’t leave, I don’t know where else to go! He’s going to help cleanse me of my sins, that’s all!” 

“Oh yeah? You want to be relieved of your ‘sins’ so badly?” He’s grinning like a lunatic. No, he is a lunatic! “Why don’t I help you instead of Sister Alastor?” 

What?

A rough sensation encompassing your breast made you realize, with horror, that he was groping them. “I’ll relieve you of your sins if you promise to leave this place, and never come back.”

You were growing faint from his chokehold, and this time, you weren’t sure you would stay conscious. Something heated and slimy licks its way up your face, and an all-consuming nausea grips you from the inside, as your heart palpitates faster and faster, trying to outrun a reaper you felt destined to lose to. 

You’re horrified as you realize you might have no choice but to endure his assault, your hands falling listless to your side as they pointlessly brush at his insulting limbs, unable to lessen his savage grip. A sheen of humidity coats your neck where his breath hovers and you shrink in revulsion, imagining something infesting your skin where he touched it.

“...Trust me, you’ll never get what you’re looking for from him.” 

What is he even saying?  

His head had turned double in your vision, his smile mocking you.

Please, don’t. You struggle pointlessly against his hold, as pathetic tears pooled in your eyes for the second time since you landed in Hell. This is Hell, you realized. Where every moving thing was a potential hazard, regardless of their appearance. You had no way of finding out what kind of cruel fiend they had been when alive. 

There is no need for the dead to breathe, but your mind still concludes that you’re suffocating. What a strange way to die a second time; a reaction to some missing mechanism you didn’t technically need to exist. 

Was there nobody you could depend on? 

“That looks like a no to me!” 

Sister Vox carelessly releases you, and you immediately gulp in big breaths of air. From the corner of your still-recuperating vision, you spot a slim figure clothed in black towering over your fallen form. You’ve been saved, yet again.  

The room sways, and you feel as though you’re floating; the need to find an anchor has never been so strong. You whimper, dragging yourself by your nails toward the figure, who seems to be in the middle of scolding the other, though you find it difficult to focus on their words. You put one distorted palm in front of the other, and the other…

“.....lastor She’s filthy! I could see the way she looked at you, she can’t be in a holy place like this! Wh…” 

If you had two hands, then what were the other four limbs moving alongside your body? You poke at one, and it moves away from you like a ghostly apparition.

“...when I looked at you that way, it was ‘disgusting,’ but when SHE does it’s ok? WHY? Have you ever thought, that maybe I…” 

After what seemed like a lifetime of effort, you finally made it to the figure, who stood a ways from Sister Vox. You reach out, making a rough estimation of where his legs are, and throw your arms around them, curling the rest of your phantasmal body around his solid form. 

The effect is immediate; you feel as though you’ve been sedated, in a pleasant way. The room felt a little less shaky when you were holding onto him. You shut your eyelids to help settle your stomach, then breathe in deep - you’re hit with the soft, mildly spicy scent of hyacinths, then as you sink your face further into the cotton ebony material, a deep, musky scent of wood. It deeply pleases your restless soul, and you settle there, feeling safe in the touch of your savior. 

Something vibrates against your cheek; and you realize it’s his voice - Sister Alastor’s - that thrummed all the way down from his chest to your body. 

“Look what you’ve done to the poor girl! Now Sister Vox, this is hardly a new topic of discussion between us. Haven’t I warned you plenty of times before to keep your temper in check?”

You nearly purr as a large hand comes down to caress your head, gentle but firm. The other nun’s voice, Sister Vox, is noisy and irksome in comparison. He sounds distressed. “I-I know Sister Alastor, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I just- I really- I lov-.”

Oh, I see.

“I’m afraid I cannot allow that!”

“No-.”

“You made a vow of celibacy, Sister Vox. And of obedience, and kindness toward others, though it seems you failed to follow through with any pledge. You know what that means, don’t you?” The air pops with static, the noise threatening, like the hiss of a viper preparing to strike; but you only snuggle closer to its source, which was still petting you reassuringly as though nothing had happened. You were safe. The target of his poison wasn’t you. 

“You don’t mean that, do you?” He laughs in disbelief. “It’s true, I have f-screwed up many times, but you’ve always forgiven me! What’s changed this time? It’s her, isn’t it? Sister Alastor, don’t tell me… you actually favor this thing?” 

“Ha! Don’t be ridiculous, Sister Vox. I am a creature of celibacy, just as you are supposed to be. You dug your own grave by failing to adhere to your sacred vows. Do not try to blame your own incompetence on an innocent passerby, if you have any remaining respect for your role as a Sister.” But…  you wanted to be favored by him. Perhaps one day. 

“Ok, I get it! I’m wrong! Sister Alastor, please…” Was that a sniffle you heard? His voice cracked, as though he were expecting something horrid to come. “Please. I should’ve obeyed my vows. I shouldn’t have done that to her!”

“I have turned a blind eye to your wrongdoing enough times. Rest well tonight, and know that by tomorrow, I will have you transferred to Sister Rosie’s convent.” 

Slender limbs swoop down to collect your crumpled frame into a hard chest. Your heart quickens embarrassingly fast, the odd blend of his motherly yet masculine scent sending your thoughts spiraling. “I’ll tend to our guest now-.” He cups your cheek in his hand. “-You gave her quite the fright there.” 

“Alastor! Please. I beg you. Please don’t do this to me.” 

You had half a mind to feel bad for the sister who had fallen to the floor on his knees, having lost all his dignity and bravado, reduced to nothing but a desperate beggar. You lean your cheek into Sister Alastor’s hand, notice his stance; and you feel powerful, wrongfully so. Powerful because a nun was lowered in prayer to a being he revered, while you laid elevated in that being’s arms. Wrong, because that might’ve been the very feeling that led you into Hell. 

You look away. 

“Sister Vox, I implore you to not take it personally! You have come here to devote yourself to the cathedral, not me.”. 

He truly left the room then, his long steps creating a rather soothing rhythm that swayed you side to side. Much like a lullaby, though the childhood innocence of that melody had been replaced with a much more sinister tune. Sister Vox’s sobs echo down the halls of the cloister, until they grow distant enough to be nothing more than a small buzz in your ear. You tune the remaining noise out.

Sister Alastor’s steps felt more like gliding. The only sign he was indeed walking was the force each step sent to your body, each jolt sending a shiver up your spine. You let yourself relax into him, as you tried to make pressing your face into the cloth of his habit look like an accident.

“Well that must’ve been terrible! On your first day in Hell too. It’s unfortunate, but some demons truly cannot be redeemed, no matter how long they’ve prayed.” His voice disrupts the steady flow of static humming in his throat, and you momentarily turn your face to peer at him. 

“How did you know to come find me?” You let yourself hope, for a second, that it was somewhat like destiny; how nice it would be, to have somebody tethered to you so deeply they would always get you when danger came and shrouded you with that despicable helpless feeling. How nice it would be to have Sister Alastor protect you forever.

“One of the sisters warned me of a loud scream coming from Sister Vox’s room, which embarrassingly occurs more often than you’d expect,” he casually explains.

…Oh.

“Does he find it difficult to control his temper?”

He laughs, brow quirking as though entertained by your question. “Something of that sort! Some demons were originally not so terrible, then went searching for redemption and lost sight of their purpose.” 

“Is that… What's happening with Sister Vox?”

“Indeed! Smart girl.” He taps your head with two sharp claws, eyelids lowering as his gleaming grin relaxes into more of a soft smile. The touch from his nail makes your scalp buzz, sending a bolt of heat down from your scalp to your body. “But don’t let his progress deter you! Just as many sinners have cleansed themselves of filth through repeated prayer, and have become genuinely devoted to their cause!”

He gestures in front of you, and you realize that he’s arrived at your door. You reluctantly let yourself down from his hold, immediately missing the warmth of his arms.

“Then I bid you goodnight for now, dear sinner.” 

You’re unable to look away, gaze stuck on his unreadable expression, longing to grasp onto him and do something absolutely humiliating, such as begging him to stay the night. He might agree. Before you could, he turned around, the bottom of his dress swishing. 

“Go on now, you must rest before the morning!” 

You shut the door, finally collapsing on the mattress way too firm for your liking. But it’ll do, for a body as exhausted as yours. You shut your eyes, waiting for sleep to take you.

…Except it doesn’t. You groan in frustration, being well-acquainted with insomnia and its way of keeping your mind wide awake while your body aches to rest. For the next hour, you roll around, adjusting any part of your environment that bothered you - tearing off your borrowed dress, moving your pillow aside, sleeping on your left then your right. 

Then at last you give up on adjusting your surroundings, admitting that it was the thoughts whirling in your mind that kept you up.

You weren’t a believer whilst alive, you didn’t put your faith in any God. Some turned to religion in times of desperation, and chose to put their fate in the hands of the almighty; but you turned to material possessions instead, and firmly thought there was no problem too great that money couldn’t solve. And now, while you haven’t exactly changed your mind, you find your thoughts relentlessly drifting back to him, twice now having stood tall over your folded body, the crackles in his voice a siren's call you couldn’t not hear.

Your eyes couldn’t find physical proof of the divine, and your mind couldn’t process your abrupt shift in value; but your body tucked into itself obediently, as though it instinctively knew it wanted to worship him.

…It was ridiculous. Disrespectful, how your wretched mind polluted such an act of purity.

Still, you toss and turn, unable to rid yourself of the urge.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s difficult to describe the atmosphere in Hell. The airflow is practically nonexistent, although you do not feel suffocated. In fact, as a reminder from your close encounter with Sister Vox, you don't need to breathe at all; but you could, if you so choose to, still inhale and exhale - almost as though time had frozen everywhere, but each individual element of the landscape could still move about as they normally would. 

So you don’t feel cold when you tiptoe out of your room, avoiding the telltale bumps of creaky floorboards as you make your way to the exit; but you shiver anyway, perhaps purely from the memory of sleepless nights you spent walking the streets from when you were still alive.

And now you’re dead, but your muscles still strain with the effort to not be heard, your eyes still dart about to check for signs of danger possibly lurking around the building, your heart still quickens in anxiety at the thought of being caught, though you weren’t trying to hide from anybody in particular… were you?

You briefly wonder whether those automated bodily functions would eventually come to fade when you’ve become accustomed to death. 

This part of Hell was surprisingly quiet, in contrast to the nightmare you first landed in. You find yourself lost in its silence, which feels neither peaceful nor safe; but you relax into it anyway, for lack of a better source of comfort. 

You snap out of your inner thoughts when you hear the soft, haunting melody of a choir; you lift your head, and you’re met with the familiar sight of the cathedral.

The stone doors loom over you expectantly, luring you to grip onto its handle. There are still others awake at this hour?, you think as you tug with your whole body’s strength to get the heavy door moving. The hinges make a despaired screeching noise as they release from their frame. The choir rises in volume when you open the door, though eerily enough, you find nobody singing inside.

Your footsteps start as a soft ping on the tile floor, then blow up tenfold from the sheer size of the room. They sound like lonely drums to the suspenseful invisible choir, melancholic but enigmatic. You walk down the aisle, closing your eyes to savor the haunting tune until…

…Your face stings, as though somebody’s stare was burning you. You look up to find Lucifer’s teary eye pointing down, and you follow his gaze to the altar, where an isolated figure kneels on the top step. Red light shimmered through the multicolored windows, casting a halo around him. His back was turned, but his bent elbows signified that he must be clasping his palms in prayer. 

It seems you were mistaken, and there was a source for the beautiful melody after all. Up close, bits and pieces of the song he hummed audibly glitched, as though the phantom extra voices in his choir were composed of several radios playing simultaneously, with him at the core. He must’ve heard you come in by now. But what was he doing up so late? Come to think of it, you’ve never seen him head to his room, when bedtime came and all the other sisters went to sleep. 

“Sister Alastor?” Your voice comes out hushed, afraid to disrupt the almost divine sight in front of you. 

He doesn’t reply, and you stand quietly to the side, simply admiring the sharp angle of his face. You should look away, but you don’t. You were afraid of being scolded, but some part of you felt compelled to stare at him until he opened his lidded eyes, which would narrow down at you to reprimand, but ultimately be forgiving. 

Indeed, you wanted the sweetness of redemption that could only be savored as the after-meal dessert to a heaping plate of bitter punishment. 

It takes you a moment that he really is peering back at you now, and not as part of your fantasy. His grin is as sharp as ever when he stands, slowly making his way to your figure at the bottom of the steps. 

“Were you unable to sleep, dear sinner?” 

You swallow to ease the dryness of your throat. “Yeah. I was just taking a walk, to clear my thoughts.” 

Up close, his gaze is too intense to hold, and you find yourself staring at his chest instead. “And what sort of sinful thoughts could be torturing your mind at this hour of the night?”

“I don’t know, just thoughts. Thoughts of the whole fiasco with Sister Vox, I guess. And…” Your face flushes further. “And just about why I got into Hell. I’ve been wondering what type of sin I committed.” 

“Hmmm, and you can’t think of a single wrongdoing you’ve done?” You jolt, heart racing as his voice buzzes right beside your ear. “Not a single crime you might’ve committed?”

You pause in contemplation. The answer was right at your tongue, yet… a lump forms in your throat, but you push, determined to get your words across. “Well I’ve never done anything wrong outright. But I guess… I might’ve been too greedy in life.” 

“Oh?” His voice tastes just like a purr. “Do tell me, what sort of dreadful pleasure was a modest little thing like you greedy for?” 

“I was greedy for wealth. E-Especially new clothes, jewelry, shoes. I didn’t mean to.” The syllables were rushing out of you now, and you hurried forward, determined to keep speaking until you expelled the one truth you genuinely wanted to say. “I was born into a poor family. My mother was gone by the time I turned 12, and my father soon grew ill. I had no choice but to make money for the both of us, and I did, but it wasn’t enough. And I was getting tired.” 

“How pitiful!” 

Even while his words stung, you still wanted to hear more. So you kept going. “There was a wealthy man who showed up to my college campus. He complimented my eyes. How cliche, right? I didn’t like him from the start. But I was tired, and I thought he was a good opportunity. And once I got some, I wanted more. I became greedy. I-I stopped talking to my father, aside from the monthly payment I’d lend him. Because I was too busy spending.”

You lift your head to look at him, heart pulsing faster as you realize that his gaze is as steady as ever. “That must be my sin, right? I was a greedy, horrible daughter.” 

You eagerly search his face for signs of praise, a hint that you have answered correctly. Instead, his eyes slit further, his mouth closing into a closed-lip grin; he was amused at your attempt, but you weren’t entirely there. 

“Something tells me that wasn’t your only sin!” His voice turns singsongy as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as he gesticulates with his other hand. “There must be something else, something that is so shameful you are unable to even admit to yourself. Try again, dear sinner.” 

You rummage through your brain, pausing and scrutinizing every possible mistake you’ve ever made. “Once when I was 12, I rode my bike over a squirrel. I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t see it.” 

“Surely you can think of something more depraved?” He examines his nails, looking bored at your attempts. You begin to grow frustrated. 

“I picked my neighbor’s lock when I was 7. I just wanted to try it out since I read how to do so in a book. I screamed at my mother sometimes. I stole a pencil from my high school once.” He looks at you expectantly. You inhale, already out of ideas. “I don’t know! I really don’t! I just want to be rid of it, whatever my great sin is!” You continue, riding on the momentum of your exasperation. “I want to pray beside you, Sister Alastor. I want to put my faith in God.”

The fidgety motion of his nails comes to a stop. “You wish to pray beside me? How noble of you!” You hold your breath as he cups your chin, the tip of his claw scratching a nerve pleasurably, causing your eyes to water as you attempt to keep your stare on him. His palm flashes cold and hot on your feverish chin. 

“For sinners, worship holds an entirely different meaning! We have all come to this place because in one way or another, knowingly or not, we’ve disobeyed the word of God.” 

He’s guided you away from the altar now, headed toward some place you couldn’t bother to pay attention to. “Some of us choose to pray for forgiveness, and do indeed want to redeem ourselves in the eyes of God. Others of us no longer want to put our faith in God, but rather come here simply to pray to something.”

Your legs weaken again, your head lightening at an alarming pace at the seemingly consistent dizzying effect he had on you. “And why do you think that is?” You croak out your words.

“Why would any sinner pray for anything? For the pure fulfillment of thinking they aren’t alone in their wickedness! That somewhere, there is still something that will receive their decrepit prayer.” 

He steps behind you. 

“That there is still something above them…” A sharp-tipped finger knocks at the underside of your chin, forcing your eyes onto him, the one above. “...Something they can surrender themselves to, and still be accepted as they are.” A small, submissive, choke leaves your lips. He’s not at all deterred, as though he already knew your filthy thoughts and was expecting them. “So that they can continue sinning, all while believing somebody will answer their prayers regardless of the wretched grime that they are.”

You're fully shivering now, desperately pushing yourself against him to feel something, anything, answer the prayer that ached between your thighs. He laughs, the sound echoing across the empty space of the church and infiltrating your innards.

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.”

Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly. 

Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired at this point that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it.

His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks.

“I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.” 

He licks lazily at the pulse on your neck. It thrums erratically, as he begins to answer your unspoken question. “It’s obvious in your appearance, though you try to hide it. There’s a way those burdened by lust walk, all clenched tight. It’s in the way they talk, as though they’ve lost their rationality in favor of the all-consuming desire…”

The sharp teeth of his grin ghosts over your skin. “...to fuck.”

You’re caught off guard as the nun utters that dirty word, an open-mouthed moan leaving your lips before you can stop it. His nails graze your hardened nipples through the sheer fabric of your nightgown, that he had personally lent to you. He continues. “I can smell it too! But why settle for that when I could choose to taste it?” 

There’s no amount of mental preparation you can do for the feeling of his teeth slicing through your neck easy as butter, the odd angle making you lax like a prey in the jaws of a hunter, having fallen for his irresistible trap of allurement. You let out a defeated whimper, wounded and small. A whisper of a growl rumbles at his throat (add more, smth about how you shamelessly push into him) - but all too quickly, he’s pulled away. What - no! Come back!

You hopelessly thumb the place where his teeth were, already aching for his mouth again.  Impatient frustration brews in your gut. “What-where are you going?” Your desire overrides embarrassment, driving you to tug at the cloth of his habit. “I thought you were going to relieve me of my sin?”

He laughs once, the sound sharp - and humiliating, even more so when he rejects your touch and pushes your hand off his clothing. “Now, now, I hope you weren’t expecting anything when you went wandering out at night, lost and seeking warmth like a little doe.”

Was it a trick? You could’ve sworn that you heard his breath hitch when he held you from the back and that as you pressed yourself onto him, there was evidence that he, too, wanted you. No, he wouldn’t trick you. 

“Remember dear, good things come to those who wait!” He hums sweetly at your expression, which must’ve been confused and crestfallen. “And such a heavy sin takes time to resolve!” 

Or was it that you misread the situation? Ah, that must be it. Of course, you had! He was a nun! Just as you’ve been reminding yourself since the beginning! Why would he be thinking of such a thing in the first place? You must be more affected by your sin than you originally thought, to think such a dirty thing while in the arms of holiness. 

And just like that, the bubble bursts, leaving you scrambled, completely out of breath, and outrageously needy while Sister Alastor walks toward the double doors, the perfect image of sacred composure. 

You breathe deeply, smearing the sweat of your palms on your clothing, trying to gather yourself. This couldn’t go on. You must cleanse your sins so that you can stand properly below him.

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

Three weeks into your new life in Hell, the dreams began. 

Ever since Sister Alastor enlightened you on your sin, you’ve been actively avoiding it. 

Lust. 

You still recall how sinful the word sounded on his lips, how you had gone back to bed that night all too hot and bothered. And how you laid awake for hours, afraid to go to sleep lest you betray his words and dream of something lustful. 

You managed to ward off sleep for two weeks, given that the dead really didn’t need sleep. But keeping up with the rest of the sisters’ rigorous schedule, and the fact that each interaction with Sister Alastor sent your entire body into overdrive, was wearing on your energy. You didn’t need sleep, but you were tired. And the only way you knew to rid yourself of tiredness was to sleep. 

So it was inevitable that one day you would lay down to rest, heavy head sunken into your pillow as you promised yourself not to fall asleep - you were only going to close your eyes a few moments for the reprieve. Then you were lost to your dreams, which does indeed end in debauchery. 

It begins innocently enough, taking place in the very same room you fell asleep so that you couldn’t even tell your reality had shifted to imagination. You were staring up at your ceiling, reflecting upon your newly found cause of sin, when there was a knock at your door. 

You dragged yourself off the bed to answer the door. Sister Alastor stood on the other side, grinning down at you as he gestured for you to step out. 

 “Come now, you’ll be late to the ceremony!” He starts walking down the hallway, and you hurry after him, almost tripping over the length of your nightgown as you race to catch up to his long legs. 

“What ceremony?” You rub the sleep from your eyes, glad that somebody had interrupted you before you could fall asleep (oh if only you knew). 

“To our ceremony, of course!” 

“Huh? We’re getting married?” Well, he was a nun so that was out of the question, but really you couldn’t fathom what else he meant by our ceremony.

He laughs. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, dear sinner! Rather, today is the day we finally ease you of your sins. You’ve been eager for it, I’m sure.” 

You nod, more awake than ever now. “Yes! Yes, Sister Alastor, I want to be pure.” You breathe a sigh of relief; all the weeks in Hell questioning your reason for being there, feeling dirty next to the untainted sisters, would finally end. Today was the day your sin of Lust would be lifted, allowing you to stand beside Sister Alastor without those sorts of thoughts. 

He led you to the doors of the cathedral, which truly was becoming familiar to you at this point. Inside, you walk down the aisle, trying to control your pace. You don’t want to appear too eager, just because you intuitively worry that might bother him. 

He steps up to the altar, and, to your surprise, stretches out a hand as though to invite you up with him. Ah, that’s right, he had said our ceremony. You beam, excitedly offering up your hand, which he takes firmly and pulls next to him. 

And that was the line where the innocence of your dream ended, while its true corrupted nature showed itself. 

You can’t tear your eyes away as he trails his lengthy fingers over the top of his headpiece, moving to unfasten it. Oh my. Oh my…whoever. Panic starts to rise as the veil is loosened from his head, revealing a mess of crimson hair that starts in black at its bottom, and ends in two pointed ears at the top; ears that you could see the silhouette of through his headpiece - but you had no idea they were the same alluring red as the rest of his hair. You want, badly, to tug on them. He continues speaking, casually, as though he weren’t a nun stripping his clothes in front of a tainted sinner with a deeply perverted mind. 

“Poor girl, you must’ve been waiting a long time.” 

The nuns around you had their heads bowed in prayer, not a single one daring to peer at the two of you. He scoops you up, and you revel in the delightful feeling of weightlessness, of having to carry no burden, for everything that was heavy had been lifted by him. 

Half of your mind thought it was strange, that he might perform a forbidden act with pride in public, while the other half convinced you that this was the normal you were kept from all along. He rests his veil on the floor with one hand, the other helping lean your body against the altar.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hands on the sides of your nightgown, pushing up the material inch by inch. This was not an act of perversion, but an artful performance. He, the subject of your mind’s masterpiece, tilts closer; this was a different kind of art, where the painting had taken control of the artist.

His nails drag across the divots of your body as he tugs the nightgown up and over your head. You were bare as the day you were born, bare as the day he found you, vulnerable and about to be eaten alive. But he saved you then, he saved you from Sister Vox, and he’s going to save you now, by relieving your lust once and for all. 

A soft noise catches your attention then; and without even looking, you become aware that the nuns beneath you had started singing. The sound of violins pierce the air, along with the hiss of static. The orchestra is coming from the radios, you realize. Just like that night when you found him alone in the cathedral. Finally, he was going to give you what you needed. 

Lust crawls up your body like a snake, whispering something ugly in your ear. Your eyes close, feeling the heat of his breath near, his gloved hands brushing over your hardened nipples… then past, across your back. You crack your eyes open to see a very real snake coiled around your neck, and your mouth part in a half-moan half-scream. He shushes you, a lithe finger pressing against your soft lips. It’s then that you notice how strangely his pupils glinted. They were a ruby blood red as usual, but the blurred circumference of an orange circle reflected across them. Your head tilts back as he licks a trail across your chest and over the snake cutting off your airflow, until your gaze is parallel with… did Hell always have a sun? 

“...Darling, your hand.” 

You refocus your attention on him, who clutches your smaller hand gently, so delicately that you don’t notice where he's taking it until your fingers are right beneath the jaw of the snake. You widen your eyes nervously, but his stable composure relaxes you. Perhaps this was part of the ceremony. The snake hooks its fangs onto your ring finger, and bites. 

The bite was soft, and painless. Sister Alastor widens his grin, as though saying, I told you it would be fine! 

Then his hands grope at the skin of your thighs, parting them so that he could insert himself at your center. You feel your hole clench, lifting your hips to meet his thrust. 

“Are you ready, my dear?”

Then before you could fearfully whisper yes, let your breath brush over the snake which was choking you increasingly hard with regained vigor from your blood, and look up to see his expression - would he appear pleasured? Or would he look composed, the same as always, lowering himself to the sexual act only for the sake of saving you from it?

You had no chance to find out when your eyes snapped open, the scene dissipating as you shifted back to reality. The touch of his firm grip still echoed on your body, the stinging scales of the snake shaping a ring of ghostly pain around your neck. 

You’re horribly disappointed at first; then you snap to your senses, panicking, as you push yourself into a seated position and give a quick comb through your hair before running to the door to answer the very real knocks. Thank goodness the knocks had woken you up! Who knows what other perverted things you would’ve dreamt of? 

You opened the door to find Sister Maria, the nun residing in the room next to yours. “It’s time for supper,” she courteously informs you.

This wouldn’t happen again, you promised yourself as you followed her to the garden, where a table of hot meals was already set out. You were going to stay awake as long as possible, until you’ve fully ensured your purity.

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

Two months into your afterlife, and you had dreamt a similar scenario many times, one where a guileless beginning would turn to an ending where Sister Alastor would embrace you sinfully, his hardness buried deep into your wanton walls. Then you would awaken, inner thighs uncomfortably sticky with the evidence of your depravity, as you shamefully make your way to clean up so that you could get dressed, and greet the sisters in the cathedral to pray alongside them, your mind burdened with guilt; every word you spoke, every note you sang felt an impure lie.

You’ve begun to avoid him; after every prayer, song, and meal, you would make excuses to hurry back to your room. You’d say you were tired, that you were still adjusting to the pace they lived at. Not that any of them would notice. In fact, it was just the opposite, and they were all too happy you were leaving early. 

But you could feel the weight of his stare as you left, its gaze so intense you had half a mind to check for red stains on your back. You wanted to turn around and collapse back into his arms, to show him all your sins and hear his forgiveness, if not for the crushing fear of rejection weighing densely in your mind.

It was an accident, the day you finally spoke to him. 

All of the sisters had left early that day, for the excuse of preparing some extravagant meal. You hurry back with them, engaging in conversation with Sister Elaine, who you had practically never spoken to, in fear of Sister Alastor catching you free. It was an accident, because how were you to know that Sister Elaine had forgotten her readings at the cathedral? She had requested you go find it, because she was the main cook amongst all the sisters and had to get to the cloister first. So you ran to the cathedral, chanting to yourself that all you were going to do was grab her readings, which you yourself had never read, and then run right back. If you were lucky, Sister Alastor wouldn’t be there at all.

To your luck, he was indeed gone - or so you thought. As you’re scouring your eyes over the benches, searching for a sign of her belongings; a familiar static-filled voice greets you from the back. 

“My dear sinner! Have you forgotten something?” 

Your heart skips a beat when he addresses you as his, though you forbid yourself from thinking further. “No, Sister Elaine forgot to take her readings.”

“Did she now? That’s certainly… not good.” 

“Yeah-.” 

You collide into his chest when you try to leave, making a little “oomph” sound. “I have to get the readings back to Sister Elaine.” You quickly mutter your excuse, but he doesn’t budge an inch. Anxiety starts wrapping its spindly fingers around your chest, threatening to squeeze when the seconds tick by and he still doesn't move. 

“What are you in such a hurry for? It’s been a while since we last conversed, hasn’t it?” He bends his head to your level, grinning knowingly like how an adult might scold a child for lying. “Could it be that you’re hiding something from me?”

Your will to resist weakens with each word he speaks, and you curse yourself for agreeing to retrieve Sister Elaine’s readings. “I-.” Fuck. You couldn’t lie. “I might be.” 

If feeling charitable was your first mistake, admitting that he might be right was your next. Now he was sure to ask another, then another, until you’ve entirely poured out your heart; then he would know every sinful dream you’ve had, every wrong way you’ve looked at him. Would it finally be too much for him to forgive? 

He scratches leisurely at your head, and if you could purr, you would. 

“It isn’t good to keep sinful thoughts to yourself, my dear!” His grin turns sly. “Disgrace grows much faster when left to ruminate in a single sinner’s mind.” 

His hand comes to rest on the side of your jaw. “Do tell me, what has been troubling you lately?”

And as usual, the ambiguous tone of his voice is so alluring, so full of promise that perhaps, he will be understanding; that you cave in and speak without meaning to. “I-I actually do have something to confess.” 

“Hmmmm?” His eyes tempt you to go on, and so you do.

“I’ve been having dirty thoughts.” Your face is a furnace as you continue. “And dreams. But I really didn’t mean to!” You bite your lip, unsure of how to continue.

“Dear, have you heard of confessing?” He notices the confusion in your eyes and carries on. “It is the idea that by admitting all your sins, that alone might lessen the burden inside you.” 

He walks to a bench, and then, seats himself on it. You were free to leave… but you couldn’t. He gestures at you with a single hooked digit, and your feet release from their glue-like bind to the tile floor, scurrying to sit beside him. The heat of his body reverberates into your side. His breath hits your head as he speaks. 

“Confess to me, dear sinner.” 

His presence was a metaphorical magnet, suctioning the words from your chest. “I dreamt of you… doing things to me.” You could practically see your blood pulsing before your eyes. “Bad things, that felt good. L-Like touching me. It felt so g-good.” 

“Oh dear!” 

You felt your dead heart stop, your next sentence stuck on your tongue. Then you look at him, compelled to say what can never be taken back. “I dreamt that you fucked me.” 

The sound of static breaking fills the air; and for what felt like an eternity, that was all you heard. Just crackles and pops and the sound of hissing, which was ordinarily hum drum, but now felt torturously suspenseful. You start to feel light-headed. Something flickered beneath his eyes; a living thing you couldn’t decipher. 

“I apologize. It seems I’ve underestimated how deep your sin truly runs.” His dark gaze never leaves yours as he draws a finger across the downward tilt of your lips, pressing them upward into a counterfeit smile. “That was my fault. How could I, a devout Sister of the cathedral, ignore such an obvious plea? Not to worry dear, I have just the idea to help ease the weight of your sin.” 

Like clockwork, tears pool in your sockets as you peer up at him, trembling in your seat on the bench. The wetness pricking your cheeks nagged at you, as it felt all too wrong, that you should cry so often under a being so sublime. But you couldn’t help it; his words provided only the promise of comfort, leaving you wondering whether you will ever have him how you want. The lump in your throat feels bruising. 

Sister Alastor caresses your cheek, swiping away a fallen tear with a finger; the slight cut from his claw replaces your sorrow with a bead of blood. 

“Come now, dear sinner, don’t weep.” 

The silver cross on his neck gleams with red, taunting you, mocking you, with its purity. 

He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it to rest on his own lap, then shifting you until your heat is slotted over the hard muscle of his lean thigh. Your eyes widen, shaking your head, your tears scattering with the motion, and you grip the cloth over his chest; you try to warn him, that you are dirty, that you shouldn’t be tainting his clothes.

But he merely croons at you, brushing your messy hair behind your ears as he begins to rock you back and forth on his thigh. “Let go, my dear. You’re alright now.” 

There’s a challenge in his eyes, as though he were watching, waiting for you to crack. For all his care and comfort, there was something equally demeaning in his expression. And for that, you summon up all your will not to melt all over his lap, clenching the muscles of your inner thighs to minimize the contact it had with your pulsing heat. Your hands loop over his neck, freezing as they clasp onto his veil, soaking the cloth with your sweat. You weren’t going to give in. You still wanted him to believe that you could be saved!

He hums, the noise vibrating directly into your sensitive chest. You harden your resolve, refusing to let it affect you. But how could you ignore something so all-consuming? You were unable to peer away from him, as the height of his figure blocked your view entirely; unable to stop the gratifying torment of his claws in your hips, grinding you down so deliciously on his thigh. Your breaths turn heavy as your muscles begin to weaken, threatening to collapse on him. Back, and forth. 

Back…, and forth. You cry out as your thighs unwillingly part, allowing his muscle to press directly onto your clothed pussy. With each motion, your mind grows more and more fuzzy, so that even if you desperately wanted to, you couldn’t cling onto your determination. Without the grounding pain of his claws, you would’ve surely melted into his body. Your mouth opens, stilted whimpers rushing out like a waterfall, when several bolts of heat jolt into your womb consecutively. Faithful as ever, you listen for his feedback; but the usually talkative nun has gone quiet, leaving behind only the low buzz of static. 

“Sister Alastor…” You grind through your teeth, needy for his voice. “Please-.” 

You squeeze the tears from your eyes, just enough so that you can see his still figure, entirely collected save for his clenched jaw and lidded eyes, which bore into your trembling body with the heat of magma. His grin is strained. Did he want this as well? You moan, shifting yourself further into his lap, closer to the spot you really wanted. But all you could find, in the depths of his cryptic eyes, was blatant cold condescension. 

His hands tighten around your hips, gyrating them down with increased force. Your pussy convulses at the same time your heart shatters, leaving you sobbing as you feel yourself coming to a climax. But your orgasm evades you, as each grind of his thigh only sends jolts of vibration into your heat, leaving your aching womb unfilled. Through the haze of your pleasure, you distantly hear what sounds like his breaths turning ragged. 

The static clips, glitching intensely in the background as you hear him speak up. “Are you going to release onto my thigh, dear sinner?” 

Your eyes fly open in shock when you realize that the radio filter has disappeared, leaving only the raw baritone of his voice. You catch his eyes, which narrowed deeply into your own, his usual wide grin erased into a closed-lipped smile - then it was over, your eyes lulling back into your head as you nearly screamed, feeling yourself spasm violently over his thigh. Your climax carried on for ages, your vision turning black as one wave rode into the next, the comforting buzz of broken static aiding you through your peak. Yet when you at last lowered your head, gasping forcibly while clutching onto his figure, your heat still ached to be filled, still wanting more.

You were still dirty, tainted with the expectations of a sinner. 

You gather yourself, thoughts racing rapidly as you try to comprehend what has just happened. Before you could lower your head in shame, or will yourself to climb off his lap to beg for forgiveness - his fingers tighten their hold over your hips, reminding you of their presence. Then, in one sharp unexpected move, you realize that he’s pulled you over his crotch. 

You shoot your gaze to him, who stares down at you with an indecipherable expression. Your heart beats so quickly it drowns out all noise around you, leaving only the sound of blood racing through your eardrums. Your eyes darted around his face, trying to get a sign, anything of what he was thinking. Strained grin, eyes slitted. The tiny handle of a radio dial ticks in his pupil, and you hang onto its movement, letting it guide you further into suspense. 

It becomes a game of who will look away first. You’re frozen, afraid that if you were to move, the moment would end. If only you could see clearly the murky creature slithering behind his eyes, which was normally dormant, obediently coiled up like his collectedness, but now wriggled freely like wildfire; unexpected and untethered.

Hunger. 

The realization that there was pure, unbridled voracity in his eyes sent your sinful heat clenching over his cock, which, you realize with a wanton moan, was painfully stiff beneath you. You realize at the same time as him, and before you could gyrate your hips down by instinct, the moment was over. He stands, settling your shaky figure onto the cold tile floor. 

“What a performance!” He lifts a finger to adjust the lens of his monocle, which is still steamy from your breaths. “Do you find your soul just a touch lighter, my dear?” 

You search like crazy for a break in his voice, a crack in his composure, anything to indicate that deep inside, he was as affected as you were. That you had somehow brought a creature of devotion down to your wretched level, that you had affected him with your perversion. 

But he only stood straight and tall as always, the only difference in his appearance was the wrinkled cloth where your palms had grasped so tightly. 

“I…” You barely make half an effort to find your words, still unable to compute your reality.

He adjusts the crumples in his clothing, smoothing his lengthy fingers over his lopsided headpiece. His grin is once again open and sharp-toothed, as he turns to face the doors of the cathedral. “Now dear, what have we learned from today?” 

Your knees wobble, only barely catching yourself in time on your feet. You were no longer listening to his words, only the delectable sound of his voice, which you desperately pleaded to come back to you - but nothing would come out of your lips, as you only huff out more breaths, eyes doe-like with their current wideness.

He chuckles. “Well there’s no hurry! You have an eternity to think, and I do expect a lovely little thing as devoted as you will come to an answer.”

Don’t leave. Your tears, which had only just stopped their flow, began to wet your cheeks yet again. Please wait for me! I can’t leave this place without you. I need you to save me from my sins! 

“Don’t leave me!” 

He was long gone when you voiced your plea. Your knees give out at last, as you sit sobbing pitifully; deserted in the enormous interior of the cathedral, with only the musky scent of his mouth still lingering on your quivering lip. 

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

It had been several weeks since the incident, and life carried on the way it always did after death. You stopped sleeping at all because you knew that your dreams would hurt more than ever, given what had occurred between the two of you. 

The worst part of it all, was how unaffected he was by it all. How unchanged he was. You would’ve preferred it, in fact, if he had grown more distant. Because then at least, there would be a clear sign that your interference had an impact on him. 

Instead, it was only you who darted your eyes away a little quicker, only you who ached with the pain of uncertainty. At night, you warded sleep by pacing in your room, thoughts of him torturously plaguing your mind. Why wouldn’t he accept you? Hadn’t you shown your faith enough? If not, you could pray harder. You devised plans, of improving your cooking skills, doubling the times you prayed a day, of kneeling for him even when it was not required. 

Of devoting yourself only to him.

There was a boundary between the two of you, one you couldn’t find the bridge to. He had the power to give it to you, but he wouldn’t. Because without the bridge there would be no difference in your level. And you found yourself hopelessly grasping for him from below. 

Perhaps that was the true reason you couldn’t clear your sin. Perhaps that was what lust meant. Lust lured you, a lowly sinner, to try and set foot on the bridge connecting you to the heavenly. It gave you the nerve to long for the embrace of something that shouldn’t be touched. But you didn’t care anymore. If you couldn’t climb up to him, then you could at least pray for his mercy, so that he might consider coming down to you. At least once, you needed him to claim you. To fill the enormous emptiness inside you. 

A throat clears above you, while you’re kneeling in the dirt of the gardens. You don’t bother to look up, not until they bend next to you. It’s Sister Maria. 

“Hey.” That rouses your attention, because she speaks with the understanding voice of a friend, rather than her usual distant monotony. “I was just looking for you.” 

You stare at her, your glum contemplation fogging your clarity and slowing your response. A basic reply finds itself in your mouth. “What for?”

“We just wanted to talk.” A second voice sounds behind you, and you look to your right to find Sister Sofia. 

“So you had that kind of experience with Sister Alastor, huh?”

The gears of your rusted mind start turning, as your vision clears, becoming aware of what she was referencing. You begin to deny them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-.”

“You don’t have to lie. We can guess what happened.” 

Your face flushes with embarrassment. 

“If it makes you feel better, he never even touched any of us like that.” A sigh comes from your right. 

“Yeah, the most he ever did was entertain Sister Vox, although that was just to put him in place. And, he’s gone now.” 

You rest your head on your knee, peering at the sisters who each looked so forlorn, so down about his indifference that it made you wonder - why did they still revere him? You ask them just that. 

“Revere?” Sister Maria begins, a small smile growing on her face. Then she sighs, bunching her knees to her chest to mirror your position. “I guess we all still have some hope that he will return our affections one day. That our subservience is some sort of divine discipline we must master before he can acknowledge us.” 

“And… you stay here just because of that?” You speak slowly, their words a sudden bolt of enlightenment through your mind. 

Sister Sofia pipes up quietly, staring out the window at the red sky. “Yes. Just because of that.”

Seeing their reactions, it wasn’t too difficult to deduce that perhaps this was the secret you felt divided you from the rest of the sisters. Oh, you realize. All along, they had already been in reverence to him, devoted purely only to him. And I was the newcomer, who was still too fresh to understand the bond that forms only from a deep, shared admiration.

Sitting here now, in the garden with the rest of the sisters surrounding you, you felt a sudden kinship with your fellow devotees, who each prayed for the petting hand of a figure so far up he might be in a different realm entirely. 

“Do you think he’d cast me out? If I tried for his affection?” 

The sisters glance at one another. One worried, one indifferent. You glance back down at the still-wet dirt, thumbing through the thick brown paste absentmindedly. One of them speaks up. “Well, we wouldn’t recommend it. Sister Vox was particularly insistent on his attention, after all, and…”

“Sister Alastor was truly generous with him. He should’ve cast that fool out the first time he tried to touch him.” 

“Sister Sofia!” 

“It’s true. Look what he did at the end!”

Another pregnant pause. You feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“What we’re saying is, just be careful. I know what you want, because that’s what we all want. But you need to learn to control that desire. Learn to let it fuel your prayers, not destroy your faith.” 

“Exactly. You should stop, while you can.” 

You don’t hear anything they say, with the exception of what you thought was a chance. “So you say he was generous with Sister Vox…” You mumble to yourself, digging your fingers deeper into the dirt. 

Then you start smiling, and the world around starts lighting up with you. The garden suddenly felt that much more beautiful; oh, Niffty cared for the plants so well! Your smile grows to a grin, and you admire the pretty lining of dirt under your fingers. Jagged and unkempt, with a light sheen of moisture creating gentle red reflections on your nails. Hell looked celestial.

You grin even broader until you feel the edge of your dried lip cracking from the stretch; and it delights you, as you think of Sister Alastor’s eternal grin. So that’s why he’s always grinning!, you think excitedly. If I were able to see the world from such a divine view, I too would never stop feeling gleeful! You spring to your feet then, widened eyes searching for the lovely sisters beside you so that you can embrace their purified souls and share your newfound joy. 

They were gone. They left, but it’s no matter. They helped you understand! 

Your footsteps are light, and you start humming softly as you glide forward, enjoying the lift from your invisible wings. There would be time to relish in the feeling of flight later. Right now, you were set on finding Sister Alastor, eager to share your newfound revelation. 

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

By the time you reached the cathedral, where you would most likely find Sister Alastor, your hands had started quaking with the thrill of seeing him. 

You hadn’t blinked the whole way, afraid to miss a single second of the spectacle around you. And even the sting from the dryness of your eyes sent tremors of joy down your body, for the world had never felt so vivid. The stone doors had turned to paper, and you giggle at the thought of them flying away, clutching just a bit tighter onto its frame. 

You dart inside, and unlike every time before, you instantly spot his figure. Beautiful and alone, beside the altar. The carmine sky reflects off the jeweled cross he held in his palms, scattering a path of light pointing toward you. You follow each glowing dot with anticipation, the staticky sound of violins growing louder with each step, until you’re encased in the hypnotic instrument.

Up close, you notice for the first time his lashes; which lay petal-like over the grayish tint of his cheek, an intricate contrast to his domineering stature. His mouth twists into a demonic grin, made angelic by his serenity. That twinkling crescent mirrored onto your own lips, as though his whole body, and not just the cross he held, had turned into a gem. 

He’s beautiful, you think breathlessly. 

You smile, enchanted as you hold a hand up to him, one half of a prayer. You understood now, that all the pearls you pleaded for, all the diamond rings you held to your chest at night, in place of a loving body; none of that was sin. They were candy-colored stones that would one day lead you to a house of platinum. And all along, you were meant to step behind its doors, so that the lord might lift your sin of lust. So that he could take you, and let your wretchedness reflect onto its platinum walls.

“You’ve come to find me, dear sinner.” 

“I have.” 

His eyes are slitted; pupils contracted, glancing at you curiously, asking you a silent question: have you figured out the answer? You lean forward, keen to prove your knowledge. 

“Sister Alastor,” you begin, kneeling on the bottom step of the altar. “I think I’m ready for redemption.” 

“Oh? Pray tell, how am I to be sure of that?” It was a rhetorical question, a request for you to demonstrate your sincerity. 

So you beam up at him, your hands releasing from their prayer, and pressing against the ground to support your weight as you kiss at his ankle. And just as you suspected, instead of pulling away, he hums instead, keeping his body a statue for you to worship. 

  You daintily tuck your hands beneath the cloth of his habit, lifting it up while taking care to not tarnish the gossamer surface. Your fingers slide up the expanse of his legs, your eyes widening as you glimpse the chiffon fabric of black stockings that end around the hard muscle of his thigh. Your heart pulses faster, yearning to explore what was hidden from you up till now. You offer a kiss to his heated skin through the cloth, arching your back as you lean further into his legs. You lick a strip up his thigh, higher, and higher…

The sound of the violins has started breaking, though you no longer find worry in that. Rather the breaks were equally breathtaking, its existence creating a second, more primal song out of the purer first. You glance up to find his eyes sprung wide, pupils taking on the shape of radio dials, just like that day on the bench. But it wasn’t enough. You turn your attention back to his lower half, lifting his habit over his hips. Your smile brightens in delight to find him hardened beneath lacy black undergarments. 

You press your lips to the bulge there, wetting the cloth as you offer your mouth to him. You start to lick, flattening your tongue against his cock, hands finding purchase on the sides of his sharp, angled hips. You vary the flicks of your tongue; small kitten licks give way to longer strips, as you crane your neck, dedicating yourself to pleasing him. 

A sharp sound of static pierces the air as you encircle your lips around his clothed tip, creating a third song that is so erratic in tempo that the notes are hardly decipherable. Yet it too was beautiful, and you moan ecstatically onto his hardness as your pussy grinds down onto his suede shoes, the point hitting your nerves just right.

You lift your fingers to the band around his hips, ready to peel away the only cloth separating you and your object of devotion, only stopping the motion of your mouth so that you could-. A primal groan infiltrates your ears, and his clawed hand digs into your hair, yanking you away from your ministrations.

You take in a gasp of air, face flushed and hair lightly clinging to your forehead. 

“Sister Alastor…?” 

There are small cracks in his composure; a subtle, barely there flush to his cheeks, his sharp teeth gritting so tightly it looked like a zigzag across his mouth. His chest rises and falls, the distorted jumble of music and static mixing in with his breath. He tugs on your hair to lift you into a standing position, causing you to moan in surprise. 

Now you’re at eye level with his chest, though he tilts your head so that you can stare directly at the insatiable fire in his. His other hand squeezes around your jaw, the dampness of his sweat apparent through his gloves. You wait with bated breath. 

“That’s quite enough out of you, my dear.” Soft tufts of red hair had loosened from his headpiece, and they brushed heatedly against your cheeks as he bent down to ghost his teeth over your pulse. “Your prayer has been heard loud and clear.” 

Then he bites down, and color explodes before you like a kaleidoscope entirely composed of shades of red. He lifts you by your hips; and by now, you’ve lost track of where the ceiling and floor was, of what was beside you or within you. All you can feel is him, tearing into your skin as he ravaged the fluid from your neck, him throbbing fiercely between your legs, his sacred mouth stained with your dirty blood as he pulled away, a small, jagged piece of your skin on his lips.

You whimper, your dripping pussy glued to the outline of his cock, desperately trying to suction him in through his clothing as his eyes wildly drink in your reaction. In the distant background, you hear a laugh track start to play. Or was it screaming? Perhaps it was laughter, so maniacal that it mimicked screeching; or perhaps it was screaming, so in denial of negativity that it turned to laughter.

It blends in seamlessly with the nun above you, who had started laughing himself. “Ha ha! Are you feeling it now, dear sinner?” He forces his bloodied jaw onto yours, and you moan at the taste of your own blood, hot, salty, and sickeningly sweet, with the slightest hint of bitter. 

“The marvelous passion of salvation!”

Before you even have time to take a breath, he puts a pause to your prayer, gripping your thighs with the whole of his lengthy hand, ripping away the cloth of your underwear, and thrusting himself into your waiting hole in one go. 

You scream, throwing your head back as your walls flutter in shock at the sudden intrusion, the hissing of a thousand laughs encapsulating the two of you as he grunts into your ear, hips twitching with the effort to stay still. You throw your hands around his neck, tugging unceremoniously at his veil and digging your fingers into his hair, stroking over his folded ears. 

The ceiling’s mural is a blur of color before your pleasure-hazed eyes, and you note that even Lucifer’s teary face was grinning down at the two of you. Though you had no time to contemplate whether he was weeping from happiness, or grinning to conceal his tears as Sister Alastor slides your slickened pussy up his cock, then slams you down again. And again, and again. 

Your foggy mind couldn’t decide anymore; was he a sinner disguised as a nun, who used his saintly appearance to freely express his wicked nature? Or was he a nun, disguised as a sinner; a devout angel whose nefarious image had distracted you from his genuine desire to help? How could someone whose thick, satiating cock that snapped so deliciously against your own hips have cruel intentions underneath it all? Each thrust of his girth filled your womb just right, and this time when your eyes rolled back, Heaven was right there in front of you, glitching white-hot like lightning against the hellish red veins of your lids. 

“...N-nghh…Sister…A-Alastor!” 

His name is a stutter on your slobbering tongue, a screamed prayer from your upturned lips. Sweat runs down his ashen cheeks, dripping past his clenched teeth onto your whimpering mouth. 

You squirm in the firmness of his hold, your body a mere ragdoll in the hands of his faith. Why did you ever request him to help you find God, when all along you could find Heaven within one another?

“I-I'm s—orry!” A lousy strand of drool drips down your chin. You tangle your dirty fingers in him, your untarnished savior. Laughing as you at last confessed your wrongdoing. 

“-----so–rry, sorry for sinning—!”

He peers at you knowingly, the line of his wide grin wobbly with the effort of sex. His breath is ethereal, reverberating on your collarbone as he nips you there. “The Lord forgives you, dear sinner.” 

He flips you onto your stomach, cock rubbing languidly against the sensitive nub of flesh in your walls, pressing your wrists to the ground with his claws as he resumed fucking into your sobbing wet hole from behind. Then his larger frame collapses against yours, his chest pressing flush to the heated flesh of your arched back, and just like that you once again doubt his purity. For a man of Heaven wouldn’t grunt so depravedly into your ear, plunge himself so desperately into the womb of a sinner, as though he were afflicted by the very same sin himself. 

And he leaves you no room to feel betrayed, no time to reflect upon your basal desire of being rutted into, by a nun or a demon, or whether that was wrong, because the enormous head of filthy gratification pulsing inside you led you to believe that it could only be right. 

“I forgive you.”

The sound of his remission sends the top of your scalp bumping against his lowered chin as you throw your head back for the nth time, feeling something build inside you to an uncontrollable degree. He holds your head in place by the moist strands of your hair, grinning down at your contorted face. With each long drag of his cock against your walls, you feel yourself tighten harder around him, until he pants beside your ear, clamping his teeth into the sensitive divot beside your shoulder. And you howl with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the proverbial rubber band snap, sending your walls convulsing in waves around his cock, as though some biological part of you were trying to suction the cum out of him. 

“...Fuck.”  

Your eyes snap open to find him watching your expression, his own brows furrowed over his glowing eyes as he spoke the unfiltered curse word; the one syllable so filthy, yet so right coming from his virtuous lips that the band snaps a second time, drawing out the clenching of your walls around his cock, your smile giddy with hedonism. 

Your body sinks bonelessly into his hold, but there’s no time to recuperate as he relentlessly pounds into your womb, his grin pulling into more of a snarl as he approaches his own climax. You whimper weakly; the feelings were all too much - his cock squelching against the sponge of your heat, the pleasant sting of his bite marks, the knowledge that this saintly being was losing himself in the sinful depths of your body. You cry out, feeling yourself lose control of your muscles, the need to cum present, at the border between unreachable and occurring. 

His claws circle around your neck, squeezing you like a dog on a leash; and just like that, your beyond exhausted body resurrects itself, only for the sake of coming around him one last time as he stills, staticky sigh releasing from his lips while spilling inside you, painting your walls sticky white with his blessing. His hips stutter a few more times as he holds you against him.

You foolishly imagine that he doesn’t want to let you go. 

Then he’s getting up, and you blink, trying to recuperate your senses. Your hearing returns to normal first, noticing that the jumbled radio orchestra has quieted. Your sight and touch stabilize, and you take in your surroundings. 

You laid, spent, on the floor warmed by the passion of your bodies. Above you, Sister Alastor hums a tune, collecting his seed which spilled bountifully around your lips, and pushing it inside. Your hips twitch, still overstimulated, and you obediently clench your thighs to retain the gifted fluid. You peer up at him innocently, a smile still resting on your lips.

His grin is approving. He dabs a handkerchief at the dried blood around your wounds, readjusting your clothes. “Good job! I always knew you had potential.” The pat he places on your head feels affirming, good, and not condescending. 

Then he stands, but not before scooping your molten body into his arms, the tune he’s humming vibrating pleasantly against your body. The walk back to the cloister was light, warm, and carefree; you still felt as though you were floating, but the vibrant disco ball of colors around you had dulled down to a tranquil pool of softer hues. 

The sisters gasp as Sister Alastor walks into supper, his mouth still stained with your blood, your ruffled body tucked into his chest. You revel in their disbelief as he takes a seat, joining the rest of them for once instead of eating alone. Pride glitters in your chest, unafraid and free. 

Still, you know not to step too out of line, as you eat beside him, noting his gaze, which was once unreadable to you, fixed on your form. You know what he means; that you had successfully walked the bridge beneath you, but now you had to return to your rightful place beneath him. 

Until it comes time for your next prayer.     

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

“Starting your morning prayers so early, my dear?”

You grin around the base of his cock, eyes teary with appreciation. Your nod of agreement comes out as a bobbing of your head, which sends his smile straining in that enticing way you loved. 

It was still early in the day, as according to the clock Sister Alastor had made to circumvent Hell’s lack of a night and morning. The rest of the sisters should still be asleep, while you had rushed to serve him the moment you awoke next to him, who sat next to you with a book in his hands.

It made sense to you that he never slept, unlike the rest of you who, while you didn’t need sleep, still did so because your sinful minds needed a rest. The divine had no such needs. And you were happy to greet him in the mornings with a prayer, your throat gagging around his length as he gracefully pushed on your head. Sometimes, you would wake from a sinfully perverted dream to find your pussy already filled to the brim with his erection, as he grinned down at you, reassuring you that he was here to cleanse your body from your wicked sleep. 

Then you would laugh with him, letting your glee bounce into his body and then back to yours, so that you could wake up another day and do it all over again.

With time, the sight of your sisters’ betrayed faces no longer bothered you. Sister Vox’s pained cries as he was expelled, rejected from Sister Alastor’s care, became but a mere dent in your memory on the pristinely crafted image of your new God. Your fate was different from theirs, as long as you kept his eyes on you. As long as you tirelessly bent beneath him, praying to his body while he salvaged yours. 

Remaining, utterly and completely, for an uncertain fraction of infinity, devoted.

.

.

.

.

.

Then you ride his dick into the sunset THE END!

A/N:  Dear Grammarly, stop correcting "her heat" to "her heart" I MEAN HEAT WHEN I SAY IT IT'S A SYNONYM FOR PUSSY. Anyway if you got through this fic without thinking “Hey sisters!” once, congratulations! I did not have the same luxury LMAO. This fic was supposed to be a very quick snippet, that turned HUGE (as his cock). If any of you saw the poll, I was actually gonna post that relatively short fic on the same day I made it… but then something dangerous started happening. I started to feel POETIC. AAHHHHH I COULDN’T STOP MY CARPAL TUNNEL WRISTS FROM TYPING. It took over my mind this week :( and while I do type fast, it actually takes me forever to complete a fic because of one main reason: I always end up changing my mind 30002790372097 times on what the plot should be and what should go where then I have to edit out all the stuff I wrote previously that doesn’t work with the new stuff THEN THE CYCLE CONTINUES except when I actually do get the plot settled I'm too lazy to edit the final and it’s AMAZING but also it SUCKS cuz I still have the rest of my life to tend to. But whatever fuck the rest of my life. Does the rest of my life have Alastor in it? NO? THEN WHY IS IT THERE

Taglist: @angeldustharmony, @littlebluefishtail, @cryssyd, @reath-solia, @speedycoffeedelight

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.0k

Summary: In which your friends are idiots who think gallivanting around a haunted castle surrounded by lava is a great idea. And then there's a dragon.

ie. Or, I watched Shrek this afternoon and could not stop thinking about the memes of the Prefect being Donkey and Malleus as the Dragon.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

‘Treasure beyond your wildest dreams!’ Ace said.

‘Knowledge long since lost to time!’ Deuce corrected.

‘Yeah, okay, but what is it,’ you asked.

And neither of them had an answer.

Abandoned castles suspended over a sea of bubbling lava were not your preferred holiday destination. You’d told Ace this several times. You’d begged, pleaded, to please just be normal for once. But noooo. Both the snarky, ginger, bastard and the other half of his singular brain cell had apparently decided that suicide ala boiling rocks sounded like a perfectly lovely plan for your Saturday evening.

“I’m just saying,” you huffed as the rope bridge swung worryingly beneath your feet, “taverns are a thing. Faires. Market runs. Casual side quests that won’t wind up with us being flambeed alive.”

“But there’s treasure!” Ace complained, the muddled light off the lava below illuminating his pout in a way that made it look especially punchable. “I heard there’s this really awesome magical sword! Or maybe it was a shield or something—”

“Or something,” you grit out. “What if it’s a book, huh? You can’t even read.”

“We can try!” Deuce returned, a spark of that familiar determination zipping through his blue eyes.

“Or we can sell it,” Ace said, which was certainly the more likely option of the two.

One of the rickety, wooden, slats cracked beneath the low heel of your boot and tumbled down into the lava below. Maybe it hit the gurgling pool of death with a hiss, or a whump, or some other cool sound. But all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

“Oh my god. I’m going to die.”

“I mean, maybe,” Ace shrugged. “But at least you’ll have a cool new sword propped up at your grave or something.”

You managed to make it all the way to the other side of the horrible death bridge without plummeting to your doom. Except now you were standing at the foot an equally horrifying castle. It was massive—grand on a scale that seemed entirely impossible for something constructed in the heart of a volcano. Its dozens of ebony spires clawed at the sky. The walls crawled with grey ivy and thickets of thorns so dense that you couldn’t see even the barest hint of brick beneath. It looked evil in the way that cursed tombs felt evil—eternal, and still, and oppressive. Like a creature in its own right rather than just an agglomeration of black stone.

Ace drew his sword and Deuce readied his axe. You sighed and plucked at the strings of your stupid fucking lute, and wished once more that you’d had the foresight all those moons ago to take the cushy internship position Lord Crewel had tried to offer you. But, no. You’d wanted to be an adventurer.

The massive double doors of the entrance swung open with an eerie groan. A pair of stern looking gargoyles stood guard as the three of you cautiously made your way into the castle. You swore you could feel their eyes following you—that you’d seen them flex jagged claws into their stone perches in an aborted attempt to dive after you.

The inside of the looming fortress was no more welcoming than out. Dark, emerald, stained glass windows lined the walls—smothering any of the warmer light from the volcano and tinting the entire hall a sickly green-grey. The stone floors and walls were elaborately carved with the faded stories of dynasties long since passed, but what had once surely been immaculate craftsmanship had shifted and cracked with age—crushing floors into tight slopes and littering already narrow walkways with heavy debris.

“We just have to find the tallest tower,” Ace hummed, swiping at a few dangling trails of thorns with the blunted edge of his blade. “And then the highest room in that.”

“The treasure is never in the highest room in the tallest tower,” you complained. “You just heard that in a drinking song once.”

“Is that true?” Deuce frowned, looking terribly betrayed.

“No way!” Ace snipped. “I told you! An old crone read my fortune in her bone dice, and she said to always check the highest room in the tallest tower! Because that’s where I’d find my greatest treasure!”

“Maybe the greatest treasure is the friends we’ve made along the way?” Deuce suggested helpfully.

“No.”

So you split off from a grouchy Ace and dejected Deuce to try and find some stairs. Every room in this stupid castle was swimming in so many shadows that you could hardly tell right from left, let alone if there were any kinds of secret doors or passageways that may lead to an equally secret tower. The chamber you’d found yourself in now was gigantic, and each tentative step you took echoed discordantly through the ashy gloom. You kicked miserably at a loose rock and it skittered off into the darkness with a dull thunk. And then something… odd, began to happen. That darkness began to move—to rise and unfurl like a great set of wings on a beast. And—oh. Oh no.

“Would you look at that,” Ace whistled under his breath, neck craned all the way back as he squinted at what was most definitely the tallest of all the towers this creepy castle had to offer. “Guess what, nonbelievers. I found the—”

“DRAGON!”

Whoosh went the great swathe of emerald fire as it exploded down the barren hallway and nipped at your heels. You dove out into the open courtyard just in time to avoid being roasted alive, and the gargantuan monster behind you let out a roar fit to shake the earth. A quick tuck-and-roll left you crouched behind a fallen pillar, and the dragon’s bright, green, glower turned on you and your garbage hiding spot with a rumbling snarl. Its rows of sharp, white, teeth closing just above your head—missing its mark by barely a hair’s width.

“Gotcha!” Deuce snarled, his armored fists dragging the dragon away by its tail. Or, well, tried to. Because the dragon was a hundred feet long at least, and your blue haired friend probably looked like nothing more than a pesky rat darting between its feet. It turned and snapped at him irritably, taking a great, big, step forward in a bid to get a firmer stance to attack. You threw yourself in the other direction to avoid being trampled.

“Go!” Ace called, charging in from the other side. “Quick!”

Because at the end of the day, they were still both your brave, tanky, warrior, friends. And you were just a very, very, squishy bard who really would not fare well against a particularly motivated goose, let alone a dragon. So you skidded through the rubble and onto your feet, and started to sprint back into the castle’s halls—hoping maybe you’d be able to find a bit more cover.

There was a great clatter, and both Ace and Deuce yelped. You looked back hurriedly to see the pair of them clutching onto the dragon’s tail for dear life as it whipped them back and forth through the ash and debris cluttering the ground. With one, final, great, sweep, the dragon pitched them into the air and sent them careening through the roof of that ‘tallest tower.’ You muttered a hasty incantation and the sparkling outlines of soft feathers danced along your fingers. You hoped you weren’t too far. You were probably too goddamn far. But you hummed frantically under your breath nonetheless and entreated your middling magic to give them a soft landing.

And then there was another wave of green hellfire raining down over your head and you turned and ran.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

Even if you’d been a champion sprinter, there was little good it would have done you against a beast whose stride was longer than you were tall. You made it back into some hall or other, and into another cavernous room, and then you were pinned into a corner—the dragon looming over you like a vengeful wraith come to take its due.

It was gigantic. Probably the biggest creature you’d ever seen. And it was sleek—all lithe muscle and glossy rows of black scales that glittered oddly in the dull, grey, light. Its wings spread wide behind it, spanning the entirety of the vast chamber. They looked like the sort of wings that could stir up a hurricane. The curling horns atop its head seemed sharp enough to gore a man or twenty, and the purple crests lining its skull were tapered down flat in a way that reminded you a bit deliriously of a pissy cat pinning its ears back before it swatted at you.

Its lips curled back over pointed canines as it snarled at you, and you were showered in a swathe of hot sparks.

“Oh, what large teeth you have,” you squeaked, and when the dragon dipped closer to bellow into your face, your reeled back with a splutter. “I—I mean white, sparkling, teeth!” you rattled, nearly incoherent. The dragon’s snout twitched away, almost like you’d startled it. “I mean, I’m sure you hear this all the time from your food, but—wow! Just! Very lovely! Definitely the prettiest smile I’ll ever be eaten by!”

Slowly it lowered its great head, and you could see the neon glare from its narrowed eyes.

“Not that you have to eat me,” you added hurriedly, hoping to whatever Gods could hear you that your smart mouth could finally be useful for more than just talking circles around assholes in bars or weaseling your friends out of shitty contracts. “I’d very much like not to be eaten. But all the same, we did intrude in your home—and it’s definitely a very nice home—so I’d totally get it. And I guess if I did have to die today, knowing that my life would be in the hands of something so magnificent is certainly reassuring.”

The dragon seemed to preen a bit at that. You could see the sharp crests beneath its horns soften as tension bled from the beast’s posture. It ducked in close again, and this time you felt a sharp pull of air rush past your cheeks as it sniffed you. Its nostrils were the size your head—bigger even, maybe. You didn’t want to think about it, but the dry heat of its breath puffing into your face made the entire thing a bit hard to ignore.  

“Did I mention what a charming home you have?” you rambled on. “Very aesthetic. The gargoyles at the gate were a lovely touch.”

The dragon made a low, warbling, noise in its throat that wasn’t quite a growl, but wasn’t particularly… reassuring, either. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

It ducked away—not far, just enough to reach one of the large, carved, walls at the outskirts of the room. Its long neck slithered out before pausing pointedly over an archway. It took you a long moment to realize it was gesturing to something. Another gargoyle from the looks of things—this one almost entirely crumbled away under the strains of time. You could just barely make out the shape of its square jaw and taloned fingers.

You nodded so hard you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Yes! I see! Very beautiful! Such fine craftsmanship!”

The dragon cooed at you. Swear on your life and all the money in your back packet. An actual, honest to God, coo. Fuck, maybe you’d managed to charm your way out of imminent dismemberment and death after all.

It ambled closer once again, a curiosity lighting its eyes and warming those neon irises into something that was less poisonous-hell-fire and more mellow-evening-in-the-forest.

Amidst all the rippling waves of ebony scales, your eyes caught on the smallest smear of crimson. Just a touch of red—right along the spikes of its tail. Carefully, cautiously, slower than molasses, you stepped forward with your hands raised. You whispered a handful of familiar words under your breath and your palms glowed fuzzy and blue. Dragons were supposed to be inherently magical, right? So this one would certainly understand that the string of syllables you’d babbled out were good, and helpful, and not at all a provocation. The dragon was looking down at you with lidded eyes, its gaze a bit unfocused. You gulped.

“I’m sorry my friends messed with your tail,” you apologized, gingerly holding your fingers out to hover over the abrasions without actually touching. “They were just trying to protect me. If—if that makes it any better.” The minuscule wound began to knit itself back together neatly beneath the pulses of your magic. “I do tend to need a lot of protecting—I’m not much a warrior, if that wasn’t completely obvious by the everything about me—so I can’t really blame them for being a bit gung-ho about it.”

After a moment or two, the scratches had faded back into solid, matte, black and you drew back with a content hum.

“There! All fixed!” You gave your most winning smile. Please don’t eat me, your brain chanted on endless repeat. Please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me—

The dragon reared back and settled on its haunches with another heavy puff of sweltering breath. You could feel the heat of it prickling all the way up your arms. After a long, long, moment of silent consideration, the dragon leaned forward again and rumbled deep in its chest. When you only stood there, properly petrified, it huffed again and bumped its nose against your sternum, nearly toppling you over.

“I don’t—” you started, nervous. “I’m sorry. I don’t really get what you’re trying to say.”

With another sigh that sounded entirely too put upon, the dragon lowered its great head. The air itself seemed to grow heavy against your shoulders, and you could taste the cloying bitterness of strong magics on the back of your tongue. Black miasma oozed from beneath the dragon’s talons and melted along its scales. The caustic scent of ash and petrichor burned along your nostrils, and you had to pinch your eyes shut and cover your nose to keep from coughing. You managed to sneak a peek past your fingers just in time to watch the shadowed outline of the beast collapse. And out of that puddle of black goo emerged a man­. He was tall and lithe, just as the dragon had been, with glowing green eyes that were terribly familiar. They were framed with thick, dark, lashes and sat perfectly on a face that was nearly too handsome to be human (well, it really wasn’t human you supposed, so that little tidbit probably accounted for said inhuman beauty well enough). Recognizable eyes and stature or no, the curling horns atop his head would have sealed the deal plenty well enough on their own.

He shook off the shadows twining around his ankles with a lazy twist of the hand and then turned to you with a curious little hum.

And holy fuck Mister Dragon apparently had no sense of shame, or maybe just no qualms about social niceties and practicalities, because his human self was wearing about just as many clothes as his lizard form had been.

You squeezed your eyes shut with a squeak, and then double covered them with your hands for good measure.

A chuckle rolled through the air—as dark and pleasantly rich as the finest of chocolates. And then there was a clawed finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back, and back, and back until you were at least half-way sure it would probably be safe to open your eyes again without infringing on his decency.

“You are fascinating, Child of Man,” it—he—hummed, low in his throat. His thumb dragged down to hook beneath the curve of your jaw and support the finger tucked up under your chin. “And it’s been so, very, long since I’ve been fascinated by anything.”

“Uh,” you replied, like a perfectly functional human being.

The dragon’s lips curled up over his pointed teeth—still just as sharp and white as they had been when he’d been so much bigger and scalier.

“I think I’d like to keep you,” he said with a nod to himself, as casually as one may talk about picking up extra groceries from the market.

“Uh,” you said again.

“You did mention that you needed protecting,” he continued, tapping a clawed finger against his own chin. The small smile quirking his lips twisted into something smug. “And that is certainly something at which I would excel.”

Your head was swimming.

“I—I mean. I’m honored that you—that… you—” You couldn’t even think the words, let alone get them past your brain and out of your mouth. You cleared your throat and fought to keep your eyes level with his clavicle and nowhere else. “D-Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?” you laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m sure my friends will probably be on their way back down soon—and—I mean, we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, slow and serpentine.

“Oh. I suppose you wouldn’t.” He canted his head to the side, long strands of that inky black hair of his spilling across his shoulder. An amused sort of grin worked its way along his mouth. “Dragons are not keen to give out our true names so readily, but you seem like a clever one. Tell me—what do you think I’m called then, hmm?”

You glanced up quickly at the horns atop his head and couldn’t help yourself.

“Tsunotarou?”

He let out a bark of laughter that seemed to shake the walls.

“Oh,” he trilled, looking positively delighted. The hand not curled beneath your chin reached down to snag your own, and he brought your wrist up to his lips. You could feel the imprints of his canines against the soft skin there. “I’ll definitely be keeping you.”

[settingmyheartablaze]

not even close - t. inumaki x reader

———————————————————————————

The sunrise was beginning to turn the sky from its slumbering ebony to a soft pink, and the chilly spring air whisked through the blossoms that fluttered beneath it.

Standing on a street corner was a slowly accumulating huddle of the Tokyo as well as Kyoto’s students, who had been dual-assigned to a particularly nasty bunch of curses. The schools had decided it was a good idea to begin intermingling the two in hopes of fostering more collaboration and teamwork. While a few of them had been less than thrilled at the proposal, it seemed others had found it to be a stroke of luck.

“I think I should make my move,” Todo said in utter infatuation as he stood beside Panda and Maki at the corner, watching your legs idly swing off the bench you were perched on.

You were sat a few feet away with Nobara and Itadori stood directly in front of you, chatting your ear off rather animatedly for so early in the morning. Maki followed his eyes to your figure, who smiled warmly at your friends with eyes still puffed from sleep as the two carried on.

Glancing back at Todo with a smirk, she scoffed.

“Good luck getting her attention.”

Panda giggled in agreement, and Todo cocked his head in confusion. He let out a haughty laugh. “I think I know how to get a girl’s attention, especially when the competition is those two dopes.”

Maki’s brow raised slyly, and then it seemed something behind Todo’s shoulder caught her attention. “Those dopes aren’t the ones you need to worry about.”

Todo frowned in confusion, glancing back over at you. In fact, the closer he looked, he’d say that despite your polite smile and responses, you didn’t seem particularly focused on the two in front of you. It might have just been the lasting sleepiness, but it almost seemed as if you were glancing about, looking for something else — or someone.

Todo looked back to Maki and Panda. “What do you mean—”

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him, and Inumaki strolled up leisurely, rubbing sleep from the eyes peeking up just above his coat with a grumble. His usual smooth hair was a tousled mess, and he looked about one shove away from crashing down on the sidewalk. He held what looked to be a warm cup of coffee steaming up from his hands, but if he’d had any of it, it didn’t seem to help one bit. It was a pretty amusing sight, and Todo snickered at seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

As he approached the three of them, Inumaki tossed Maki a small bag that she eagerly snatched up with hungry eyes. Peeking into the bag with satisfaction, she jerked her thumb back over her shoulder. ‘She’s over there.”

“What’s that?” Panda asked.

Maki licked her lips, pulling a fresh muffin from the bag. “Payment for my services.”

Todo watched, dumbfounded as Inumaki made his way towards your group.

The moment you’d caught him approaching in your peripheral, you turned sharply and a blush flooded your cheeks. You did a horrible job at hiding the smile now blooming on your face, and it was so bright Todo thought he was about to be blinded.

“Toge, there you are!” You chirped happily.

Amidst the flurry of mumbled greetings he received from the group, Inumaki paid nobody else any mind, heading straight for the spot beside you on the bench and plopping down, silently handing you the cup in his hand.

Todo didn’t think your cheeks could have pinked any more, but it seemed he was wrong.

“What? For me?” You asked softly.

The boy beside you grunted out something reminiscent of ‘salmon’ before his head hit your shoulder. His eyes closed right away, and you smiled warmly with eyes wide in suprise.

“This is my favorite shop! How’d you know?” You took a sip and your legs stomped softly on the ground in excitement.

Inumaki waved a hand haphazardly, too tired and far too comfortable (and maybe just a bit too shy) to reach for his phone and reveal his informant.

Todo watched in complete and utter defeat as you slowly coaxed Inumaki to awaken with your gentle voice while you all awaited the rest of your classmates, insisting he share the drink with you as he quietly listened to you chatter. His soft gaze didn’t once leave yours, completely enraptured by you and the rather strange dream you were recounting from the night prior.

“And then you told Gojo-sensei to shit himse — Oh, that reminds me.” Your amused recount paused, and your hand reached in your pocket to pull out a small bottle of throat medicine. “You forgot this in my room.”

Todo’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “How long have they been going out?” He whined.

Maki rolled her eyes as if she’d been asked that question a thousand times. “Wouldn’t we all like to know?” Her voiced was laced with irritation and a mouthful of muffin. “They think they’re just friends.”

Watching at the way you two looked at each other, Todo was baffled. You two weren’t friends — not even close.

[daughterofyore]

George and the Pond.

King George x f!reader

[[Queen Charlotte (Netflix)]]

category; heavy smut, fluff, angst (lil bit)

wc; 2,249

music inspired;- apocalypse

a/n:: George has a manic episode by the pond, you manage to calm him and he’s so thankful for you he fucks you to show it :)

TW!: NSFW, George porphyria episode (Venus), heavy smut, breeding kink, Good ol fast sex

Venus begged George to find her. She pleaded with him to search, to save her. She was his one true love. She needed him! He ran through the palace grounds, in the distance behind him there was a cacophony of shouts, someone begging for him to turn around. It was Venus’ ex lovers, surely. They didn’t understand the love they shared, the adoration of their coupling. Her beautiful, pale skin and blemished face. Glowing like a fading star against the ebony blanket of the night sky. An infinite amount of white blazing stars surrounding her like a halo in all her glory. Oh, how he longed to be by her side. How he dared to get closer to her. He needed to feel her glow upon his skin, so without a moments hesitation he ripped his clothes from his skin. Silk pyjamas made of the finest lapis lazuli blue discarded into the mud of the pond. He raised his arms to her, crying for her to join him on this mortal plane. For the goddess of love to bless him with her prowess. He could feel her compassionate deposition seep into his very pores, touching his bare, sculpted body. Casting shadows along the dips and ridges of his muscles.

“George!” You cried out to him, watching as he bared his body to the entire garden. Reynolds raced ahead of you, reaching before you could. You were still adorned in your glittering evening gown. Made of a deep fiery scarlet, as if it was made of the last embers of a great fire. Silver lining cascaded down its centre and bodice, elaborate lace adorning the contrasting peachy cream underskirt. It flew around you as you gathered the skirt into your arms, heels clicking off the cobbles and then sinking into the finely kept lawns. You stumbled and struggled to reach your husband, you could see his eyes glistening as he stared at the planet Venus. He cried of his love to her, his devotion. How is it I don’t receive that love? You scoffed, a moment of clarity as you were still unsure as to why he acted this way. You had suspected it for some time now, his comings and goings from Kew. The secrecy surrounding him and the protectiveness of not only Reynolds but his mother too.

Your voice was like an arrow through the fog, piercing the hazy clouds in his peripherals. Venus seemed to fade into the background as he spun to look at you. You weren’t Venus, you were you. Shining brighter than she ever could. As he watched you approach, the sparkles glittering from your dress enraptured him. He felt himself falling in your direction, before a voice called him to turn around. Venus, competitive as always. She challenged you for his attention. He laughed incredulously, how lucky was he to be fought over by the Goddess of Love and her rival? Reynolds stood at his side, begging helplessly for him to return to the castle. He gathered his clothes in his hand, looking at him with a pleading gaze. Continuously he requested for the King to go inside, tried to reason with him. You knew you had never seen this before but maybe, just maybe he would recognise you.

You reached his side, letting go of your dress. It fell on his feet and pressed into his calves. He turned to you, eyes wide, hyperventilating. “You won-“ He whispered looking at you, as if it was the first time he truly saw you. He turned towards the sky, laughing. “You lost Venus! Imagine that!” He returned to face you but upon seeing your worried expression, his celebrations halted. “How come you are not happy? You have won, have you not?”

“George, it’s time we go inside now.”

“What, why? The night is beautiful we-“

“George, Venus has lost this game but I would prefer to celebrate with you indoors.” He stood very still for a moment, dark brows scrunching together as he tried to concentrate and discern exactly what you were implying. His brain felt jumbled, mixed and confused. Like he wasn’t allowed to understand, as if there was a black alabaster wall separating from the here and there.

“I wish to stay here. Let’s celebrate here.” You paused and gazed at him, studying him carefully. You spun to Reynolds.

“Cover the windows and leave his clothes here. Ensure nobody enters these grounds or can see us.” Reynolds pressed his lips into a thin line before muttering a ‘Yes, your majesty.’ He left, grabbing Brimsley by the elbow and guiding him indoors. You turned back to George, your husband. Your king. You rested a gentle hand on his chest, and he stilled. He sucked in a devastating shaky breath before raising his arms to hold your shoulders.

“You, you saw- oh, wife I- oh I am so sorry.” His eyes began to water, a new clarity crossing them. His face slackened, now an evident frown replacing his once maniacal smile. You hushed him, gently guiding him to your chest as you snaked comforting arms around him. You held him in your embrace, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let silent sobs escape him. He sniffled, clutching onto the fabric of your dress as he eventually sunk to his knees. “My dear I am so sorry, I am sorry I have avoided you. That I have tried to hide I-“ He couldn’t get his words out but you put a comforting hand on his head. Intertwining your fingers with his brown locks, you gently massaged his scalp.

“Do not apologise George. I understand you. I am here for you. Come, let us lie and look at the stars together.” You smiled at him, holding his hand and laying on the lawn. He tentatively lay beside you, he finally noticed his nakedness and his hands rushed to cover himself. You once again shushed him, grabbing the many layers of your skirts and draping them across his waist. “No need to worry about what I have seen before darling.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled, sucking in a breath after as he looked to the sky.

“I could be married to a pompous wench right now, who wouldn’t give a damn about me. Who would run in the opposite direction if she saw what I did tonight..” he turned his head, gazing at you. You met his eyes and smiled. “Yet you stay, you lie with me. Why?”

“I believe I see myself in you. Trapped, misunderstood.” You took a shivering breath. “Sometimes all we need is a little kindness and a show of stability. I wish to be that for you.” His eyes began to glaze, he sucked in his bottom lip as it began to quiver.

He turned on his side, a new light coming to his eyes. Slowly he raised a leg to bend at an angle across your thighs. Bracing himself on an elbow he gazed at you. His face inches from you. “I do not know what I have done to deserve a woman such as you.” Slowly he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You reciprocated it, lips merely mingling before he slipped his tongue across them, asking for entry. You obliged, parting your lips as his tongue slipped by. He licked the bottom of your teeth, before dancing around your tongue with his. He sucked on your lip, biting it gently and sucking the sting away. You gasped, a hand travelling up his side. You could feel his muscles shiver at your touch, he manoeuvred over you, straddling your hips. His cock pressed against your stomach, hardening. His hands travelled up your sides before reaching your breasts. They were secured behind the corset of your evening gown, yet he managed to push a hand down its front and grope one. He massaged it in his hand, loving the mass and softness of it. His kiss deepened, he peppered them along your jaw and to your collarbone. Reaching your cleavage he looked at you mischievously, recalling his hand and replacing its absence with long, sensuous licks across the top of your breasts. His tongue travelled over them, then between. He licked up from your cleavage to your throat, to your lips. Kissing you again before he backed down, grabbing your skirts.

“And I you, my queen.”

You were breathing heavy, barely able to control the growing heat intensifying between your legs. A steady throb as it begged for attention. Your core tightening in angst of what was to come. This was what your wedding night should’ve been, but you didn’t care. This, this was better. Laying on the cool grass beneath a bright moon and stars that reflected off of a still pond. This was bliss. George hiked your skirts up, laying them across your midriff. He bowed down again, grabbing your pantyhose and pulling them down to expose bare thighs. He looked at you over the mound of skirts, smirking. “Are you alright my love, may I continue?” You nod, breath escaping you. You peered up at the stars between the foliage of the cherry blossom tree. George dipped his head between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, licking the sting away again once more.

Agonisingly slow he made his way to your centre, licking over the underwear covering you. He raised a hand, rubbing a finger between your folds and feeling the wetness seep the fabric. He grinned, pushing a finger into you and watching you arch your back. He kept the underwear on, watching you squirm as he teased you. Ever so slowly he retracted the finger, dragging it up and pressing it to your clit. Your juices soaked the fabric now, it clung to your very shape. You jolted at the contact, the pressure on your clit making you pull away. He grabbed your left leg, putting it over his shoulder and gripping your thigh to hold you in place. He spread you with a knee, continuously exploring you over the whimsy barrier of your panties. You moaned, trying to move but he held you firmly in place. “Are you ready wife? Ready for me to take you?” You nod feverishly, his ministrations have built a fiery ache in your core. Begging for his attention. Your cunt wept as it pleaded for him to enter it, to give it attention. George smirked, gently taking your hands and pulling you up. He stepped behind you and made short work of the lace up your back. He quickly pulled the dress off, then the undergarments until finally you were bare before him. He smiled, standing back and admiring you. “My beautiful wife, in all her glory.” His eyes were ravenous, without a moments hesitation he was back between your legs. He kneeled, grabbing your hips he hoisted you into an awkward position, your legs dangled above his shoulders while you lay only on your shoulders and head. He held you in his grip, his lips placing tender kisses across your cunt. He licked, slow as of tasting your every essence. His tongue slipped into you, to which he began to lick inside you. He left it begging for more and turned his attention to your clit again. It throbbed for him, and he knew it did. He wrapped an arm around your leg, balancing your ass against his chest as he spread you with two fingers. He began to taste you, sucking on your clit. He nipped it, sucking it better straight after. You squirmed in his grasp but he still held you firmly, refusing to let you move. He lapped at your pussy like a thirsty dog, drinking you up. He turned his attention back to your clit, sucking intensely on it. You moaned, cried out his name. He seemed to only grow more excited and you could feel his length pressing into the small of your back. He sucked, and sucked, and sucked until finally the growing tension ruptured. You screamed his name, yet he continued to suck and lick you through the orgasm. You were trembling at the end, and he lay you down, kissing your stomach. He looked up at you as you threaded fingers through his hair. “I’m going to put a baby in you, my queen.” He smirked and you swore it nearly undid you again. He sat back on his knees, his cock long and hard as it stood. He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. He grabbed his dick, rubbing it’s tip along your slit. He pressed a firm hand down on your stomach as he slowly pushed his way in without any warning. You stretched, moaning around him. His sheer size pushing you close to ecstasy.

Once he was in he let loose a shivering sigh, looking back to you. “Are you alright my love?” You nodded, placing a hand on his as it pressed into your stomach. He could feel the faint mass of his cock in you, it turned him on even more. Slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in again. Keeping a slow and steady rhythm till you had adjusted. Once he could feel you relax, he began to pound into you. Growing in intensity. Gasps of air escapes him each time he fucks you. You were a moaning mess, barely able to breathe. Your breasts bounced up and down at the ferocity he pounded into you. His balls clapped off your ass, sounding through the garden. You felt like you were in heaven. He looked up at you and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it. He pinched your nipple, pulling it slightly as he fucked you. You were in ecstasy. Every inch of your being burning, yearning for his touch. He grabbed your hips, spinning you around to be on all fours as he stayed inside you. He gripped your hips and continued his merciless fucking. “George! Oh fuck George-“ You screamed for him, moaning his name.

“I’m going to cum inside you pretty queen-“ He moaned your name, deep and guttural. “And watch you grow with our child, our heir.” You cried out for him again, and it was all he needed to slam himself into without mercy, he reached a hand around you, rubbing your clit with no remorse. It was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“George I- George I’m going to cum!”

“Do it, do it for me my queen. Do it together.” He moaned above you, continuing his ministrations. The pair of you cried out, heads thrown back in ecstasy. You orgasmed, and he spilled his seed into you. It’s warmth spreading through your core. He stayed in you for a moment, breathing deeply. You were gasping for air below him. Eventually he slid out, pulling you down to lay beside him. He held you close, running a lazy hand up and down your side.

“My beautiful Queen, fucked by the garden pond.”