#bells hells & reader

[distant--shadow]

The Witch and the Widow – Chapter One – The Lake

Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

Maybe murdered. Apparently. That is what brought Imogen here - indirectly, at least.

Not that she's with the law enforcement or anything. Not that, definitely, though ironically being an officer - an interrogator - would suit her well, at least on paper. Passion and enthusiasm would be a different question - and that's why she's here. Sorta. Indirectly, again, for a different question. Words travel, by means of mouth or ink or thoughts (apparently, she had found out), even though thoughts should not travel past the head that they were made in. But they did, and continue to do so, and Imogen had heard enough accounts about the man himself (the Lady’s husband, when he was alive and after the fact), had seen enough women squashed under the boots of the men they were tied to to intimately know and understand a flash decision made in a moment for self-preservation-

all too often women tempered their instincts to allow themselves to become the soil underfoot rather than the sole of the shoe

so much as to say that Imogen does not care much if Laudna Bradbury had murdered her husband.

She cares more about what the words whispered and weaved and waded in the time after wrote:

Laudna Bradbury had used witchcraft to murder her husband.

The only utterances of magic Imogen had heard of, had seen, had unexplainably received taken telegraphed by inner voice and grey matter before that rumour, were her own.

Imogen needs answers, desperately, as though a necessity purely imperative like breathing and eating, and so she brought herself to the source of the lake before it divided and weakened and meandered from river to muddy stream to drink directly from her-

(it.)

Laudna Bradbury is a widow, a widow who continues to live on the estate her husband’s heraldry and wealth had afforded them, company kept by a small team of housemaids and gardeners and the like.

and it is a large estate, a lot to look after, for sure, certainly, with its couple hundred maybe more years in age and just as many acres. There's hairline cracks in the stucco, a missing roof tile here and there

but there is no denying that it is a fine example of architecture, certainly was the highest of fashion at the time. A grand country house with an East Wing and a West, bay windows and towers and pleasing ratios between alcove and doorways and arches and walled topiaried gardens that extend from north to south, illustrations in stained glass ornately framed with flowering climbing ivy

statues that step out from domesticated bordering jungles, now appearing more as gargoyles thanks to the decay of time, noses eroded like they have rotted off, birds’ nests of briars thorned crowns or horns

rosemary bushes skirt the main building’s façade, perfuming the sometimes hot-and-humid, more often brisk-and-grey air carried through the opened lead-lined boiled sweet coloured window panes into the dark mahogany-panelled and silk-embroidered tapestried interiors.

Off of the West Wing there is an extension nearing the height of the gargoyled walls that surround the estate. This is the wall that fortifies the Lady Bradbury’s private garden; with doors adjoining directly to her study - both of which are off limits. Imogen doesn't know much of pretty and imported flowers, but she knows local common sense, knows what berries to pick and which weed’s sap causes a blister that will never heal again should it brush her skin.

Through small cracks in the masonry delicate tendrils curl out; leaves crawling, surfacing, small purple flowers with yellow tear-drop centres blooming.

Deadly nightshade.

She wonders what else grows behind the wall, patiently biding its time until the decay of such allows it through. 

It is in the stables that Imogen spends most of her own time; her years of experience working under Master Faramore awarded her an earnest recommendation, and it sure helped that a couple of the Lady’s mares and a stallion were from his own livery, that they had been raised and trained by Imogen's own hands before they left them.

She needs answers, so she has taken herself to them, to the lake to drink from. She observes from a distance, listens to any whisperings and wonderings that bed with her in the servants’ quarters.

The days are long, mostly spent between mucking and feeding and exercising and grooming the horses and watching the Lady Bradbury taking a walk around the herb garden with knees as muddied as the kitchen staff’s, or cutting bark segments from off of the trees that dot the grounds as if she were operating in front of an amphitheatre of flora and fauna students whilst Imogen brushes down one of the horses or shovels hay

and despite the distance and Imogen's best efforts to remain subtle, the Lady Bradbury’s eyes would sometimes catch hers observing (staring, admittedly), and she would smile, and perform a barely perceivable curtsey (one of many behaviours outside of expectations), and Imogen would tip her brimmed suede hat in return, and would think of how despite the fact that the Lady’s practices of class and boundaries and what is proper were different, a bit odd, nothing of the woman's behaviour suggested that of a killer - only the situation that she stood in - the peculiarly beautiful widow with a walled off poison garden. And so maybe the same is to be said of her magic, should she even be harbouring or practicing any (although admittedly her appearance certainly is bewitching…)

and it's like the instances before but unlike them - Imogen stealing glances of the Lady Bradbury as she potters about her estate (she probably really does potter, she fills so much of her time with crafting and making. Imogen wouldn't be surprised to see her pale skin elbow-deep in caked-on terracotta pigment digging out clay rich soil into old whisky barrels to have carried by willing hands to a throwing room with a secret kiln.) but on this day, when their eyes in new routine now inevitably meet across the wildflower-speckled field (that in itself is unusual, highly out of vogue, it isn't the acres of well-kept uniform lawn and paths laid with talking-point pebbles imported from the coast that the other estates boasted and Imogen had glanced when ferrying Master Faramore’s horses elsewhere) the Lady Bradbury takes pause, before she starts to make her advance towards Imogen.

shit.

She's been brushing the same patch of short thick hair on Foie Gras’ shoulder for so long that she's surprised there isn't a bald patch. Maybe the Lady Bradbury is worried as such. Maybe Imogen has been too obvious in her observing (admitted staring). Maybe she has been found out.

She feels her brow start to perspire, the muscles in her limbs wishing to move erratically and awkwardly and restlessly and to carry her to stand out of sight hidden behind the thick neck of the horse like an obvious child playing hide and seek behind a tree trunk, or to flatten the creases in her breaches and her linen tunic and pick out the strands of hair and hay that have lodged themselves into their weave, untwist the grasp of her suspenders over her shoulders - but she practices restraint - is trained and cautious and intentional and thorough she was only being thorough with the mare, casts her gaze in iron like the blacksmith hammering the horseshoes and steels herself for the Lady Bradbury’s approach.

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

Imogen has heard her call them her children (the birds that is, not the wrinkles) - has heard her talk to them as if they are responding, oftentimes giving her own tampered voice to do so (and to Imogen’s amusement)

The Lady never had children of her own; those are their own rivers of rumours within themselves. Imogen did not care for that stream of gossip at all.

The Lady steps closer, and the yet-to-be familiar fog of her mind cocoons Imogen, water transmuted into mist against jutting rock at the plummet of rapids, relief from the laborious work and humidity, her previous restraint to keep her body in check breaking as she visibly swallows and licks her lips, suddenly aware of how dry they had been.

The Lady Bradbury rests her hand on the back of Foie Gras’ neck, fingers long and pale and decorated in black lace like mother of pearl inlay and marquetry on a lacquered curious curio cabinet that perhaps Imogen had eyed through a stained glass window standing in the corner of the out-of-bounds office.

“Good day. It's Imogen, correct?” her delicately veiled fingers comb through the mare’s mane, her dark mahogany eyes seeming to look over the gloss of Foie Gras’ coat to inspect the way the late morning sunlight rests upon its sandy hues before turning her attention back to Imogen with a smile.

She hadn't spoken much to the Lady since she was hired a few weeks back - not much being that this is the third time, after her interview and a brief acknowledgment when being shown around by one of the housemaids the day she started.

The Lady Bradbury’s lips are painted a deep purple, an unusual colour for sure; Imogen had only seen illustrations and paintings of the dignitary from era’s passed in shades of peach and pinks and reds, stencilled in exaggerated shapes, and as with the landscaping of grounds, to wear such obvious make up itself is frowned upon, old fashioned, conveniently equated with providing false fronts.

The Lady’s teeth are bright, especially in comparison to the purpled dark lips.

and sharp

especially in comparison to how soft-

“You must pardon me, have I got it wrong?”

shit, fuck-

“Oh! n-no-” Imogen was staring, definitely “I apologise m’lady. You are right, it is Imogen.”

God dammit - she’s gonna get herself fired, fired for daydreamin’ and giving the horses receding hairlines and ignoring the Lady of the Manor when she addresses her-

The Lady chuckles to herself delicately, an act displaying a markable absence of frustration and bewilderment.

“From Master Faramore’s, yes? How are you finding the new environment? I am sure the stables here pale in comparison to his, but I do not believe that they afforded such space and the opportunity for frequent walks around such a beautiful lake…”

“Certainly, m’lady. There are less of them so they get more attention, they can be well looked after-”

“Indeed, plenty of grooming at the very least-”

Imogen can feel the hot blood rush to the surface of her cheeks, unable this time to wrangle her body’s motor reflexes.

“I have yet to visit the lake m’self, I am sure they enjoy bein’ taken by you though, they always seem happier when they come back.”

“Is that so? Well, I must insist you see the lake for yourself, if not only to relish the fact that you took great part in an amount of their contentedness.”

The Lady Bradbury looks to her expectantly, Imogen expected to have a reply for the unexpected.

“Would you accompany me this afternoon?”

Imogen can read thoughts. She can read thoughts but what if the Lady Bradbury can too? Or what if she can tell that she is imposing? Would she find herself in the bottom of that lake on her very first visit? A drink more filling than what she had wanted, her lungs full and void of buoyancy. Imogen can read thoughts but she dares not to read the Lady’s.

She can feel them, though, that first and second and now third time in her vicinity, feel how they are different, an audible silence amongst the swarm of bees wings and small talk and anxieties

At some point the Lady had stepped around Foie Gras’ head to stand beside Imogen

She smells like sage and gunpowder

On the day of her interview she had smelled of eucalyptus and raw animal fat-

“You’re quite the thinker, aren’t you?”

Of that she is guilty, though usually she can argue that the majority of the thoughts that weigh her down are not her own.

“Apologies m’lady, I wasn’t sure I had heard you right. Did you want a horse saddled for you for this afternoon?”

Imogen had never thought that her accent sounded particularly thick or clunky, but it felt as heavy as her mind tends to be around other company when speaking with the Lady, her tongue all thick tangled muscle swelling against the roof of her mouth and her teeth.

Perhaps this is some sort of witchery. She waits for the molasses to take a hold on her muscles and limbs, for the her skull to be crushed concave from the inside

But it doesn’t happen.

The Lady smiles (again)

“Almost. One for you and one for me, if you would accompany me around the lake - there isn’t a cloud in the sky today and it would be a shame to keep the clear reflections of the mountains to myself and Foie Gras here.”

Imogen is thrown. Yes, y’all could argue that this is exactly what she came here for; time alone with the Lady Bradbury, the opportunity to form a rapport or to subtly pluck at her brain but there is something in the way that she carries herself, how she talks to Imogen with ease and lack of formality that is alarmingly disarming, and leaves Imogen cloudy on why she came here in the first place-

“C-certainly, if it’s what the Lady wants-” she chuckles (again, again) waving her hand dismissively before catching herself and laying it over the patch of hair on the mare’s shoulder that surprisingly hasn’t thinned from all of Imogen’s enthusiastic (distracted) brushing.

“I will take Ceviche; you seem to have formed quite the bond with Foie Gras.”

Imogen can only nod with lips parted in silenced protest as she feels her cheeks flush again.

~

The walls of the stable are thick and stone, absent of windows save for the upper halves of the handful of wooden doors that allow for the horses to pop their heads out in eager greeting to Imogen as she walks towards them with their buckets of feed.

It is a clear day, as the Lady Bradbury has said, hot and humid and Imogen is grateful for both the surroundings and the company of the stable.

As she rakes the trodden-in and dirtied hay across the flagstone floor she allows the earthy scents of the dried grass to remind her of the smell of the sage, the crumbling mortar imitating gunpowder.

She wipes the back of her shirt sleeve across her brow, skin also sweating at the wrist where the gloves wrap work-beaten leather over shielded skin

Soft skin, mostly - save for where her fingertips appear to be frost-bitten.

A fairly visible reminder of why Imogen is here, should she forget again in the Lady’s presence-

Not that she would dare to take off the gloves.

That would only lead to questions.

‘Jammed in between horse-drawn carriage and stable door’ - she used to say, before the purple bruised tips started to migrate further, splitting out like surfaced capillaries that encompassed her fingers one knuckle at a time

They mark half-way over her palms now – like someone had dipped fine dense vegetable roots in an inkwell and struck them in lashings across her hand, punishment obfuscating her palmistry.

She hears one of the horses whinny – Ceviche most likely, a little restless, the black stallion not having been let out onto the fields yet today, as Imogen was now preparing him for his ride to be taken shortly.

The Lady’s saddle is very ornate, the leather finely tooled and decorated with organic flowing arrangements that resemble leaves and petals and insects with patterned wings or many many limbs

Its material and stitching is kin to the other saddles, the ones for notable guests and stablehands alike, brands the same maker’s mark

After a short amount of time observing (staring), Imogen suspects that the Lady tooled it herself.

~

The Lady does not ride sidesaddle – she straddles the stallion proper.

Imogen can only assume that she changes from her garden-strolling undergarments to allow for this, having never worn a crinoline herself - that would both be out-of-class, and, more importantly (to Imogen at least) - real impractical.

She had noted as such about the Lady on the first day she had seen her taking one of the horses (it was Carpaccio, a black and white paint) out of field.

It was the first instance of out-of-expected behaviour that she had witnessed.

Imogen can admit to herself that such a small thing had ignited her warming to the widow.

~

Imogen allows the Lady Bradbury and her steed to take the lead, pace set by the older woman’s enthusiasms making themselves known in short enough time from pointing out ‘notable’ forms in the sloping rock faces lining the well-worn path, covered in blankets of moss and ferns and tall stems of bell-shaped pink and white foxgloves and pomanders of wild thistles.

“I just can’t help but imagine what tiny creatures would love to make home between the cracks in the rock and the tree-stumps.”

“’lotta mice and rats I imagine, probably squirrels-”

“Well, yes, certainly…”

Ceviche’s slow walk carries on ahead of Foie Gras’, and the Lady sways with his gate in the saddle, though despite this Imogen could just about read the slight deflation in her shoulders when she had replied to the Lady’s statement.

Her head turns over her shoulder, gaze searching and challenging Imogen’s, caught staring (again), dark eyes hollows of homes burrowed in rocks, the high sun exaggerating high cheekbone architecture, pleasing ratios of brow to bridge of nose.

“…I refuse to believe that there are no imps or fairies when the land is so perfectly carved for them.”

“I can only say I’ve heard stories…” Rumours, rivers.

“Certainly, else you would not be here, would you?”

The Lady holds her gaze a moment longer, as if expecting Imogen to have an answer worth vocalising for that. Imogen feels her pulse begin to thud at her temples, the sweat returning to her hairline and underneath the cuff of her gloves.

The Lady giggles melodically and dismissively, returning her attention to whatever catches its fancy on the path ahead.

“How ugly it is that we must quarry and build. I have thought more than once about leaving the manor to the animals and the girls and making my home in the cave by the lake- oh, I am so very thrilled to show it to you.”

Her excitement cuts the atmosphere, spring back in her step transposed through the steed’s, one hand off of his reins and gesturing in the air.

“You can see it from the upper floors of the house – though that is rather rude of me to say, isn’t it? If you will allow that injustice to fall upon the architect and how societal structure seems to love its walls and assigning basement dwelling.”

Imogen finds herself inadvertently allowing Foie Gras to fall at a pace beside the Lady and Ceviche.

“That’s alright, most nights I tend t’lodge in the stables; eases my mind that I’ll be near the horses should anythin’ happen.”

“Plenty of wild animals around, yes? They do get spooked so easily.”

“I like how you’ve named ‘em – it’s fun.”

“Oh!, You do? I am so glad! You are the one who has to be calling their names most often after all.” Imogen may be in early days (hours) of learning the Lady’s tells, but the smile that creases the skin around her nose and mouth and deepens the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes feels genuine.

“It does often make me chuckle, I assume you’re fond of raw meats?”

“I suppose you would think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Are y’not?”

The Lady takes pause, her look introspective.

“Have you ever eaten horse?”

“w-what? Of course not – do people actually do that?”

“Mmhmm, across the waters – in all directions. It is certainly a common custom. What makes horse any different from beef?”

“I could never – we share a bond, they let us- they give us-” Imogen's tongue is too thick and heavy again, blubbering with words that do not come easily to it as they do her head. She allows herself a deep breath, collects what little face she has, remembers the presence she is in (a Lady regardless of murder or witchcraft) “-in all honesty I rarely eat any meat, the more time ya spend with animals the more guilty ya feel about doing so.”

“How peculiar…maybe you need to spend more time around carnivores.” The Lady laughs at her own joke this time, hand patting at the side of Ceviche’s neck, the horse unaware of what words have been said. Imogen is thankful, in this instance, though she will admit she has tried more than once to see if her mind reading extended to her four-legged friends.

“But they’ve got no choice, that’s how they were made.”

She mimics the Lady’s movements, lovingly patting Foie Gras at the same spot on her neck.

“Made…yes…You have incisors don’t you? Canines?”

“I do, but I don’t have a mouth full of ‘em. Most of our teeth are as flat as these fellas over here…” she ruffles the mare’s mane “-though I won’t deny that gettin’ bitten still hurts something fierce.”

“Makes you wonder what sort of damage you could do if you so chose to, after all, your eyes are not on the sides of your head.”

~

The lake is beautiful.

Of course it is. It displays itself naturally basined, wrapped in the embrace of the mountains surrounding draped in forest cloak, walls both man-made and much older obfuscating its view from the ground floor of the estate.

The lilac and blue hues of the pebbles are familiar, lining the vegetable patch borders in the garden, larger stones used for holding stable doors open.

It is quiet over the lake. The terrain raised around it shutting out the winds, only the quiet breeze that drifts through the canopies on the mountain crests giving a gentle whistle to the waters below, an enjoyable confusement between what is wind and what is the crashing of the tender tides.

The waters are clear blue with a hint of turquoise, green given by either the surrounding plant life’s reflection or by the ones that live underwater.

It reminds Imogen of the lakes in the mountains from her childhood. It is something else new.

Their horses slow to a stop, on the Lady’s cue.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

“It really is - no wonder why the horses come back so happy.”

“And will you be as such on your return?”

“Certainly m’lady, thank you for allowing me such a privilege”

“It is not mine to give, though I will make it explicit that you may come down here whenever you wish – providing the horses are happy, of course. That is what I ask of you.”

Imogen thinks she is blushing again, but the feeling is further inside her than her veins, a warmth radiating.

“You take good care of the servants at the estate, don’t you?”

For the first time, the Lady seems thrown by what Imogen offers, a step behind instead of two larger-horsed paces ahead.

“They take better care of me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone wish to leave their home to the help.”

“It would be the very least I could do.”

“You give ‘em food and a roof over their heads-”

“They sow the seeds, they tend to the animals, they butcher their meat and harvest the wheat to bake the bread. I have been so lucky that they have yet to poison me.”

“I can only say from ma short experience that I’d find that hard t’understand.”

Her face softens again. It feels both comforting like a blanket but then uneasing like having the lights blown out.

“Funny thing, perspective…”

Lady Bradbury slides off of her horse, heels of her fine boots falling into the gaps between the pebbles, though her footing remains certain, experienced.

On the surface of the lake the trees grow downwards, the birds fly with their bellies exposed to what lies in the waters.

The Lady halts, dropping to one knee as she makes short work of the laces on her shoes.

Imogen isn’t sure if she should be offering to remove them for her, jumps down from Foie Gras and jogs clumsily on uneven surface towards the Lady regardless. 

“There are old stories of this lake, you know-”

Lady Bradbury confesses a little breathlessly, lung capacity limited by the press of her thigh into her stomach. She swaps her knee for the other on the ground, starting on the other lace.

“I won’t tell of them just yet, I would hate for them to be off-putting.”

She stands straight again, the sieved remnants of harsher winds that have made it over the mountains’ embrace wishing to make field mouse nests of her hair, spiderwebs of the lace collar around her neck, footprints of birds’ feet fossilised in the marble cornering her eyes.

She looks at home at the lake, certainly a natural thing - flesh and blood and bones cocoons to silk cotton to yarn to lace – Imogen wonders what a marvel the Lady could paint and chisel into the mouth of an open cave.

Balancing, she pulls each shoe free, grin knowing, slightly manic, intensely catching Imogen before she gathers the length of layers of skirts into one hand and steps into the clear waters.

Imogen swears she sees something conjure beneath its surface to greet her.

Laudna Bradbury had (maybe) murdered her husband – (maybe) with witchcraft, most importantly - but Imogen has bigger questions that require her answers, and so she follows the Lady into the lake.

[demigoddessqueens]

hugs

thinking of the tightest hugs possible, ones that start so slow and hesitant with arms slowly circling around before they get tight, burying their head in the crook of the neck to hide the betraying emotions behind eyes screwed shut, perhaps flirting with the idea of a kiss on the cheek, fingers digging into the shoulders and where they meet the back to hold on as if it feels like the last time, a forlorn grimace when one pulls away because it wasn’t enough time to savor the feel/touch of another, interlocking fingers when you pull away as if it’s still enough (it’s not)

[yaekiss]

okay. the will wood song as vampire childe. a reverse of that oh so beloved fic based off a lil ask of mine.

the way he loves your pure, unadulterated humanity as you breathe down his neck when you’re on top of him. you’d have him squeeze his scarred thighs together if they weren’t pinned open from your pounding into his pretty and greedy hole.

he begs for your attention either way. his bratty words as he tries to set you off, wanting to drain you of your blood to have you even a part of his body. he begs and begs, taking in every careful breath of yours between his own moans of pure bliss and his sucking of your blood. the way he looks on with dazed eyes as your own roll back when you tell him to detach… but no　♡︎　he’s not doing that.

vampire childe who is just your silly little parasite! despite his expensive tastes, he likes it when you drag him to some seedy club’s bathroom and take him in the stall where anyone can hear him. his tab’s forgotten as he makes up for pissing you off from letting others ogle at him, such lecherous monsters he’s much better than, at least, that’s what he says as he’s holding onto the dirty mirror, seeing the possessiveness in your gaze as you surely leave bruises on his hips and ass.

IHDSWJHD I can't believe I wrote so much for Bloodied Fangs... something about exploring the different dynamics of vamps I guess idk what came over me. I think your asks just do something to the writing part of my brain. Hmm. Rambling under the cut again, I think I'm losing it

On a side note, if anyone reading this would like a full fic based on a prompt/request you might have, do check out my ongoing event!!

ANYWAYS! sorry I have worldbuilding(?) brainworms I have to get out first b4 everything else as usual sigh. I think a vamp!Childe is bloodthirsty in ever sense of the word. If we're going by the more popular vampire tropes, he might enjoy the boost to his abilities (i.e. heightened senses, supernatural strength) although I am curious to see how it would affect the use of his delusion and his Foul Legacy state.

Would additional vampiric features manifest themselves in the Foul Legacy state? Sharpened fangs, torn and roughed up bat-like wings?? Would mixing the powers from the delusion and vampirism produce any backlash? If the delusion draws from the user's life force, what would happen to a vampire who's immortal? One can only speculate.

Perhaps it's the genuine concern combined with natural curiosity in your expression when you pose these questions to him that continues to draw him closer and closer to you. How sweet of you to worry over him, he swears he can almost feel his now non-functioning heart skip a beat when your warm hand cups his face. He drinks in your warmth, constantly clinging to your side like some leech.

Which is why he loves it when he managed to rile you up, the contrast you show him is addicting. He knows what he's doing when he licks at the salt rim of his glass, shooting you a coy look as he consciously ignores the way the other patrons of the club are eyeing him. He knows he's won when you're dragging him off to the bathroom, a possessive glint in your eyes. Meanwhile, Childe is beaming when some customers whistle at the spectacle.

You sure that those outside can definitely hear his moans over the trashy upbeat music the club is blasting on the speakers but the man before you doesn't seem to care at all. His fangs sinking into your skin, the familiar taste of your blood settling on his tongue. The flavour is intoxicating, heady, rich. Infinitely better than whatever that drink he ordered just now was, how could it even compare?

He feels you yanking at his hair, trying to drag him off you and saying something along the lines of, "C'mon detach already, haven't you had enough?" The answer could not be more clear to him, how could such a small taste of you ever be enough?

If he drains you of everything, doesn't that mean your entirety will be a part of him for all eternity?

Bonus!! can't really figure out how to link it to everything I wrote above but I think he'd really like it if he could drink your blood while you're fucking him. Something about lapping away at your neck/wherever he chose to bite, acutely aware of your heartrate speeding up when he clenches down on you, your blood laced with the sharp sweet taste of bliss and arousal. He could simply drown in it all.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

If you'd like to request a full fic of your own, do consider checking out my event post!

[o-pandora-o]

Modern AU with the WHB Kings

In a world wherein the Kings weren't devils, and that you weren't the great granddaughter/grandson of Solomon, how would they meet you?

Warnings: harassing man on Beelzebub's, unhinged woman and knife on Leviathan's part, cursing/profanity. Gender-neutral pronouns were used. Reader is of legal age and working. Yes, I'm sorry if I have favoritism on Beel's.

a/n: I don't usually post WHB in a scheduled manner so I'm really sorry to those who wait for me. Requests are open tho! But I would like to warn that I can't post early T.T

Satan

🩸He was a gym owner and coach near your area. He always wears a white jumpsuit that compliments his eyes.

🩸You noticed that you were gaining a bit of weight and wanted to try out the gym near your area.

🩸When you entered and paid the fee, the gym was empty the time you came. The gym was well maintained, there were also lockers and shower area.

🩸You were looking around the gym equipment, and you decided to try one but... You didn't know how to, but you tried to use it still. "You're not supposed to use it that way, you're supposed to hold the cord then pull" A long haired guy (did i mention fluffy hair) with a white tracksuit said. "I- uh... Sorry thanks" you sheepishly said "I'd rather appreciate it if you ask for help rather than destroying my equipment" he chuckled. "By the way, the name is Satan, and you are?" Satan extended a hand for a handshake. "Y/n" you shaked hands with Satan. "Sorry about that... I'm new to these things... Is it alright if you teach me with these equipment?" You shyly asked. "No" he said with a grin. "W-wha?! But you sai-" "Hah, I'm kidding, alright where do you wanna start? I'm also a coach btw. I train and have sessions every other day. Wanna sign up?" "Not yet, I just wanna familiarize myself first with the equipment and the atmosphere." "Alright, just don't go breaking my shit alright" "I-i said I'm sorry!" you playfully smacked him. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"

🩸You realized how good Satan was in becoming the owner and coach. He had several rules over the gym.

🩸He often got pissed whenever people were flirting in the gym epecially to you. You sometimes hear his teeth gnash.

🩸People love him, even children and elderly! Who knew his gym would be filled with various people.

Mammon

🪙You were a fresh graduate applying to one of the biggest companies specializing in technology; Tartaros.

🪙You were in the Lobby of Tartaros, and asked the receptionist where the Human Resource Department was for your interview.

🪙When the receptionist told you the directions, you hurried towards the elevator and somehow bumped into something...no... Someone.

🪙You bumped into a tall buff guy with black hair and gold eyes. His eyes were really mesmerizing enough for you to stare instead of apologizing.

🪙When you realized you were staring, you bowed your head and apologized. "It's alright, I apologize also" he said and you somehow hear the warmth through his deep voice.

🪙You noticed that he dropped his wallet, and you wanted to return it so you followed him.

🪙He went to the elevator, you went to another elevator. He walked towards one of the hallways, you also walked. You were trying to get his attention by saying "Sir!" but your voice wasn't loud enough for him to hear you.

🪙He stopped in front of an office and went in. You saw him go in another room inside the office room. You were trying to catch his attention and ran to him but one of his attendants with a stingy face stopped you. "What business do you have with Mr. Mammon?" The guy with the stingy face said. "Wha- who? I was just going to return his wallet since it fell!" You explained "Yeah that's right, I heard that excuse many times. Off you go, you just want a promotion do you?" He shooed you off but his co-worker stopped him. "Sorry to break it to you, Bimet, but I don't think they're an employee" the guy with a gold hair with eye patch said. "Sorry about that, you said you wanted to return Mr. Mammon's wallet?" The guy faced you and asked you. "I don't know his name but... The guy with black hair and a bit buff and yeah i think he went there!" you pointed at the room Mammon went. The guy with gold hair chuckled, "I'll accompany you to Mr. Mammon's office." The guy knocked on the office and said "Mr. Mammon, someone is here to talk to you", you looked at him and he whispered "it's better if you return it to him personally, he's a nice guy don't worry". The other person replied "Ah Valefor, please do let them in".

🪙The guy, Valefor, opened the door for you and you went inside. It was only you and Mammon. "Oh you..." "Um... You dropped your wallet when I bumped into you. I was trying to gain your attention but you didn't hear me many times. I'm just going to return it." You said "Oh, thanks. You can have what's inside." Mammon said. "What?" You exclaimed "You can have what's inside" "No, I cannot. I don't want to" "But you were nice enough to return it." "Yes, but I can't accept it." "Really? You don't want it?" "I'd rather earn the money by hard work. Thank you for being nice though. But I cannot accept this" you returned the wallet and bowed to him. "May I have your name, at least and the department?" "Y/n, oh and I don't work here. Oh drat! I forgot my interview!! This was nice and all but I have to go, thank you Mr.?" "Mammon, call me Mammon." "Thank you Mr. Mammon!" You returned the wallet.

🪙When Mammon checked the contents of the wallet, he did see that there were no finger prints inside and the money and cards were intact. He was really sure to reward you. He made a call to the HR department, telling them to hire you. "Hi! Sorry I'm late for the interv-" "Are you y/n?" "Y-yes I am" "You're hired." "What. Wait what about the interview?" "You should thank Mr. Mammon" "Uhm. I hate to ask but... Who is exactly Mr. Mammon?" "Oh he's the CEO of Tartaros" "HUH?"

🪙You thanked Mammon again and now you're working for him. His company was really nice and non-toxic (well except for the Money grabbing attendant of Mr. Mammon).

🪙You were seeing him every now and then and you'd wish to experience more dealings with him in the future.

Beelzebub

🕶️You were referred as a bartender in a club by your friend Naberius. You were working there for about a month now and met wonderful co-workers and even customers.

🕶️You met the Chief and Acting Owner Bael who taught you with the drinks, rules, and policies. Amon, one of the chill security. Surprisingly, your friend Naberius was the chief security and receptionist of the VIP area. Lastly, Stolas, one of the security who was easily mad but is cute.

🕶️In the Avisos Club, there were two areas. First is the common area, where folks drink alcohol, mingle with people, dance a little and even flirt. Then there was also a VIP area that also works as a 5 star S&M hotel. Getting in the VIP area was really hard, but VIPs will have their own room and they can do anything in that room (using their money ofc). Most guests use it as an intimate or S&M area (yes toys are also for sale there). Some also use it as a high stake gambling area.

🕶️You mostly work at the common area to avoid weird requests, but you also share a fair share of chaotic situations in the common area.

🕶️Oh boy, today is not going to be your day. One guy kept flirting with you while making his bloody mary, how you wished to make his head a bloody mary. "*Whistles* Oh baby you look hot today, why don't I take you out today and drink some of yours; I take both males and females if that's your concern" "Nope sorry. Just drink this bloody mary instead." You were trying to keep it together. "Awww but I wanna have fun with you." he insisted "Rule Number 6 in Avisos Club, when a person says no, it means No." You replied while cleaning your work area. "Rules are made to be broken~ Come on, just a drink with me please~" He somehow grabbed your shoulder, and you were on the other side of the bar. "Sir, I respectfully ask you to remove your hand and leave me alone, or I will call security" "Yeah as if security will stop me, come on just one drink with me" "Three" "Two" "That won't work on me, you cant threaten me bab-" He noticed someone grabbed his shoulder "Hmm if I remember correctly, customers aren't allowed to harass, let alone to a bartender, no?" A guy with light blonde hair with yellow and green eyes said, he looked pretty but his smile looked so deadly. "Fuck off, can't you see I'm flirting with this guy/girl. And you're not my ty-" the guy grabbed him by the collar and removed him from you and made him sit on his seat. "What the, what's the big dea-"

🕶️The timing made you press the red button under the bar, signaling the security. Security will come in a few minutes.

🕶️The guy put a hand over the mouth of the person harassing you and looked at you instead "Oh! You're quite new here aren't you? My my, now I understand why this jackass was forcing you, you look handsome/beautiful!" the guy with the light blonde hair said. "Thank you I guess? Oh and you're correct, I just started this job a month ago" "Oho, Bael did a good job hiring you, I heard you also make good drinks and food, by the way the name is Beelzebub" "I'm y/n, thank you for helping me btw, and ah.. well I like making drinks and cooking so uh.. hehe I really like this job so I make sure I do my best!" you sheepishly said "Aww, I can see that, keep it up!" he said.

🕶️Security came and somehow the guy harassing you had a handkerchief on his mouth and his hands were tied. Huh did beel do that?

🕶️When you talked to the security about the guy, you told them what he did and beelzebub did. "Oh yeah also this guy, Beelzebub, he helped me wi-" Naberius cut you off "DID YOU SAY BEELZEBUB?" "huh? Yeah he's right here...oh he's gone..." you noticed there was a note under the glass he drank. "You make drinks that are unlike any other! Oh and that grilled cheese was delightful! I'll make sure Bael knows about this... But not today though! Try to keep this a secret okay? :3" You mentally facepalmed why saying sorry in your mind. "Uhm.. Naberius... Not to be dumb but... Who is Beelzebub?" "HE'S THE OWNER OF AVISOS BAR! HE WAS HERE?!" You noticed how this was making a scene, not to mention Amon and stolas as well as Bael was coming towards you "I... Yeah? Very light blonde short hair on the front, with green and yellow eyes, and pretty? Yeah? Oh with long earrings and necklace too?? Oh he's the owner..." You were shocked "He always wanders off and let's me do all the job here... He'll pay for this!!!" Bael said "He said you did a good job hiring me and... He liked the drinks and food" "Oh. Looks like you're going to be promoted soon. Keep it up then. As for him... That demonic person... When I get my hands on him he'll pay tenfold!!!" Everyone was devastated that they missed Beelzebub.

🕶️You kept seeing Beelzebub in the club every now and then. Both of you shared stories and you can see that he's really fond of you.

🕶️He always wants you to keep it a secret whenever he's there tho.

Leviathan

⚰️You were an office worker with an 8 to 5 job. Your co-workers invited you to a club after the anniversary of your company. Somehow the name of the bar was quite familiar to you, but you couldn't remember the significance.

⚰️The club wasn't really your thing, some of your office mates mingled, some drank and you were sitting with your phone in your hands. You somehow had an uncomfortable, eerie feeling that someone was watching you.

⚰️You tried to brush off that feeling and went to the bar. You sat beside a guy with light colored hair, you noticed that he was looking pretty.

⚰️You didn't notice that you were staring at him for too long and he looked back at you. "Didn't you mother taught you that it's rude to stare?" He said while glaring at you. You apologized and sheepishly looked away.

⚰️You ordered your drink and somehow you still feel that someone was staring. Until one lady approached you and started flirting with you. "Hey sweetie? You alone? I've been looking at you for quite some time now. How about I accompany you, hmm?" She was being a bit touchy, she put her hand in yours and you retracted. "Ah no, I've got some friends there, I don't need accompanying thank you" you politely declined as she was making you uncomfortable. "Now now sweetie, I know you need company, don't resist now" "Um. Sorry I'll politely refuse." "I said you need company. Don't refuse me sweetie" you were looking at her weirdly. "No. Sorry..." "I said, YOU DO NEED COMPANY" that's when the unhinged woman threatened you with a knife. "Heard of the phrase 'no means no'?" the pretty light haired guy beside you spoke. "Hah who cares about what other people think, what is important is what I think, and that's why shut up!" she was becoming deranged. "Who told you that you can talk to me, huh? 'Fuck off'? How about you fuck off." it was all too fast, the light haired guy pinned the deranged woman in the bar table. He showed his badge which says 'F.B.I.' "The name's Leviathan, undercover agent of the FBI. Thank you for being useful and luring this deranged woman into showing her true self. She has already killed 60 innocent lives. She often goes to this club but she always use her money to make the owners shut up" he said as he handcuffed the woman. "If you ever become stupid enough and get lured and need help, call this in the future." He gave you his business card and you accepted.

⚰️Thank Heavens you did, because apparently you were a magnet for trouble. You often call his number every now and then. "Who knew a person like you would be wanted by many criminals that I kept track of." "What does that suppose to mean?!" "Nothing. I'll treat you today for making my life easier than it is." "I- well fine! I won't hold back with the food!"

⚰️You someone noticed how Leviathan was pretty but really serious. He also says what he thinks in his head which made you so irritated.

⚰️Needless to say your interactions become more frequent as he was a FBI agent and you're a magnet for trouble.

[danwhobrowses]

Good Morning world because I turn on my PC to learn that Callowmoore is Fucking Real!

Fuck Yeah.

[aeons-behind]

critical role c3e90: a story told in captions

[railroad-migraine]

Hey Poet ♥️ I had to put my bird and companion of 12 years to sleep earlier today... I was hoping it would be okay to request Molly, Kingsley, Ashton and Caduceus comforting a Ranger SO (friend in Cad’s case) who had their beast companion pass away? I hope it’s not too grim of a prompt, thanks a lot either way! And thank you for what you do, your lovely writing brings joy to many people :)

Oh darling I'm so sorry. We also recently had a family pet put to sleep and it is very hard, but know that you provided your lil friend a wonderful life and that's something to make it easier as time passes 🩶

Comforting Ranger!GN!Reader

Ashton 💚

Is the shoulder to cry on that you've always needed. They're a strong presence, someone reliable to lean on, something physical and real to keep you grounded and help you not lose yourself in feelings.

They say they have difficulty with words, but Ashton surprises even himself with the soft tone and even softer things he offers you. Little phrases of encouragement, of how things will get better, and how you're not going to carry this alone. You have him and friends who care about you - he ignores the hot feeling in his face when your teary eyes meet his upon the confession - and pulls you into their side with a soft "I got you."

-

Caduceus 💜

Arguably the best person on the list to console you after losing someone you held dear. If it's something you'd like, he'll organise a little ceremony - allow memories of the good and fun moments shared with your companion to take centre stage. It's a happy occasion, with friends in attendance, a celebration of their life, their love, and how they made a home in your heart.

Cad takes time out of his day to sit with you, share tea and treats and the quiet tranquility of his porch, content to give you silent support but even more eager to offer counsel if that's what you seek. He understands how you're feeling, and guides you through them with careful, attentive ease.

-

Molly 💜

He knows what it's like to mourn a life, be that of a friend's or the past that he will never truly know. He makes sure that as you're processing this change in your life, that you continue to look after yourself. He ensures that you eat, even if you don't feel hungry. He washes your hair and cleans your face, helps you change into fresh clothes, coaxes you outdoors to feel warm sunlight on your skin. He wants to remind you to keep living, to enjoy it just as your pet beast did.

Life moves on. It always will. Your animal came into your life unexpectedly, just as you came into Molly's life. He's there for you, to get you through the day, the week, the month, and beyond. It happens gradually, as all wounds heal, but eventually he sees you smile at him more and he knows it hurts a little less. He smiles back, all teeth and pride for you.

-

Kingsley 💜

He's still discovering the big emotions that come with experiencing life. Grief is one of them. He fumbles in the beginning, and is scared to say anything in the fear of hurting you further, but he feels more confident after you melt into his arms and let him hold you for who knows how long. He realises later that a distraction can help further along healing.

So that's what Kingsley does. He spends more time with you, takes you sailing and has you steer the ship (with his professional supervision of course). He drags you into dances along the deck and sings you songs before bed. He holds your hand as you fall asleep, and tells you how grateful he is that you're there with him. Thanks you for giving him that - just as you had given your familiar that.

[saphirered]

I saw your autumn/winter prompts

It’d be cool for you to do some fluff with Ashton for either cold nights or thunder and lightning

Love your stuff!!!

More prompt requests incoming! 😘

Miserable. This weather feels absolutely miserable. Ashton is uses to the rain and thunder but now it’s fucking cold. Freezing, frigid cold and fuck does it hurt. They can feel it in their bones, their entire body just hurts, more so than usual. The jungle is fine, perfect even. It’s like home. But they’re far from home. The heart in the jungle, lies far beyond sight and perhaps even mind. This fey bullshit is something else entirely and Ashton doesn’t quite like it. The weather seems to hate them especially. If there’s some asshole watching over them making this all happen, he’ll personally see to it that there’s a nice and comfy spot in the earth about six feet under. Fuck. 

All of those emotions disappear though. A burst of light illuminates the skies and with it your face. You look up at the sky and admire the tendrils flash before the disappear as quickly as they came. You’re a beautiful sight- It is a beautiful sight. Fuck. You’re beautiful. They’re in deep. Once upon a time Ashton thought this was fun while it lasted. A little teasing and flirting never hurt anybody but the line had blurred a long time ago. Ashton caught feelings and it’s very few times they’re unsure about anything. Your lips move but your voice is drowned out by the sound of crashing thunder. 

“Hah?!” Ashton leans in closer to hear as the ground shakes once more. 

“I said we should find some shelter!” You all but shout pointing at the sky and take their hand. So much for venturing off on your own and having a little voyage ‘back in an hour’. You hope the others have the mind to find shelter too. You send them a message just in case as you pull the genasi along through the trees and rocks until you stumble upon a cave. You’re not taking any risks and the lightning is getting closer. From here you’d be safe with cover, and still able to witness nature in all it’s grandeur. 

Letting himself be dragged along Ashton isn’t opposed to the shelter you’ve found because with his track record he wouldn’t put it behind any mischievous fey to set the gold in those cracks to attract the lightning. On the other side they too are a little curious to see what would happen… Maybe another time. Ashton curls and uncurls their fingers, rotates their wrists when you let go and take a look out at the oncoming clouds hiding the moonlight, or dusk-light should be more appropriate. You stay at the mouth of the cave to watch another rumble hit the earth in a cacophony and the lightning, quick as it passes makes this cave all the darker. Ashton can’t see shit and in an attempt to find a wall loses their footing. A crack, that’s luckily hidden by thunder saves most of the hit to his pride. But then fire glow appears in the palm of your hand. 

“Why are you on the ground?” You hide a chuckle as you watch Ashton give up on, life, existence, everything laying on their back, legs bent at the knees and groan. 

“I just wanted to be one with my element.” They speak as casually as they can but your brow furrows and you take a tentative step closer, and another and another. You kneel down and help Ashton sit up. Groans are not just a casual annoyance at this place, but something of discomfort. You caught on. Shit. 

“I can give you two a moment if you’d prefer but I don’t think that’ll do you much good.” 

“There’s room for one more. Plenty of the earth to go around.” Ashton jokes. 

“I was hoping there’d be plenty of you but I can settle for the rocks beneath my feet.” You jest and Ashton scoffs though the attitude is quick to slip when your arm hand touches their back. Even through their jacket, the warmth offers such a relief. “You doing okay?” Again your brow furrows. 

“Yeah. Yeah sure.” And so the comfort disappears. You pull back and just sit on your knees, hands gathered in your lap. Disapproval crosses your features. 

“Sure.” You deadpan and grab onto Ashton’s wrist, uncurling the fingers gently and clasping his hand between yours. You bring it to your lips and blow warm air. It doesn’t take much to see the instant relief cross their features. 

“Okay maybe I’m not entirely okay.” The look you give them is much akin to ‘ya think?’ and it hurts to admit to the way it makes Ashton feel inside. Then your features soften. You look out towards, the oncoming storm, to the lightning reaching out, and the wind rustling through the trees picking up. 

“Sit with me.” You simply say. It’s not quite a question as much as it is an order and Ashton does feel like they have a choice. It’s just a very tempting one despite their disdain for authority and following orders. You shift from your knees until you’re comfortable, looking out over the horizon. Everything seems so much easier when he looks at you. Everything is. You make it so because any doubt falls away. Ashton knows they’re on the right path because you’re there and as long as you walk it with them they’ll keep walking with you. 

Ashton shifts and sits next to you. He bumps your shoulder with his. You chuckle and bump back, though much likes the rock around, they don’t budge. The cold pain creeps up again and almost as if you know exactly what to do, you wrap an arm around their back, slipping your fingers under the jacket and lean your head on their shoulder. Just your sheer presence, and a little magic manages to numb the pain and that’s more than Ashton can say the majority of people they’ve had in their life have ever been able to do. 

“You’re so fucking confusing.” Ashton speaks before they think.

“Wow, so much affection.” You scoff but pull closer. 

“You are.” Ashton doubles down. “You’re a fucking disaster waiting to happen.” 

“But I’m your disaster.” You poke a finger at his chest. 

“Are you?” Again, speaking before thinking but that seems to be the right track. You take a deep sigh and Ashton’s heart stops, their breath stops. Time stops. There’s not but anticipation, both joy and dread loom overhead and they’re just stupid fucking feelings because end of the day you’re just you and you’re fucking amazing. That’s what you are. You’re fucking amazing. 

“I don’t know. Am I?” The both of you look at another lightning bolt striking close by. Ashton gives it a moment, letting the trembles of the earth fade and the light too, not but the dim orb behind the two of you offering the littlest of light. 

“Maybe you are. If you think you can handle it.” He looks down nudging your head from his shoulder. 

“First off, rude-“

“You’re the one using my shoulder as pillow, find a rock or something.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Will you now?”

“Yeah. A nice and comfy one.” You’re unreadable. That’s dangerous. Next Ashton knows you’re on your knees at their side, back facing the exit of the cave, your warmth has disappeared from their back but settles on their shoulders. It takes everything to not lean into the touch. Not that they have to because you lean closer. 

“This one seems plenty comfortable.” You close the gap, press your lips to Ashton’s. While you’ve shared your flirty kisses before they were just that. This kiss is different. This kiss is a lifetime unfolding however long it might last. This moment is as bright and beautiful as the flashes beyond the cover. You’re like a warm fire in the cold dead night and are simply a relief. You’re a certainty in their life when they have known so little. This might not be eternity but this is certain. You’re certain because you’re just fucking you and that’s all you’d ever need to be. Cover from a thunderstorm isn’t so bad out here. 

[loverofwhump216]

Presenting the first of its kind (I looked, it's the first on AO3) a Hell's Belles and Cafae Latte Crossover.

Title: Therapy and Scones

Characters: Cyrus, Sharkie, Nicole, Penny, and Jennifer "JC" Charles

Rating: T for Teens and Up for mentions of violence and mild language

Summary: Cyrus takes a trip down to Hell to deliver some coffee and baked goods to the people of the Hellp Desk. While there, he opens up about his latest brush with death. Set after Cyrus's Kidnapping, but before Sharkie's Reincarnation

This story would not exist without the help of @mysteriouspegasus. It was their wonderful idea of putting Sharkie and Cyrus together that brought the story to life. I just acted as a tool.

If you read this story please be sure to thank her in the comments as well. Her name is TallyCharming on AO3

[elliesbelle]

not to be tmi but when my ex comes to visit me for an entire week in just a couple of months, y'all will likely get so much ellie x reader content after that cause the similarities between my ex and ellie and the crazy amounts of disgustingly nasty lesbian sex we're gonna be having? the writing inspiration will just be flowing nonstop

[distant--shadow]

“It’s freezin’!”

Imogen finds her toes inadvertently curling as if they could retract into themselves like a snail in its shell.

“It is! But you do get used to it!” The Lady turns to her and that grin is back on her face that often shares its graces - though now perhaps too comfortable - occupying more space of the decorous recline of skin onto sharp cheekbone, freshwater pearl white teeth exposed like skirts ridden too high to expose alabaster leg in manic casual-ty, and those skirts are still held in the grip of her laced palm, not fruitless but maybe turning, over-ripened sweet musky and mushy, their tails laying on the surface of the lake in a bride’s trail behind her.

Imogen had turned her trousers at the cuff, the brush of their cotton at her knees feeling like burlap in comparison to what she imagines of the silks and laces now gaining weight in water behind the Lady.

The pebbles under her feet are slightly slimy from the cling of emerald algae (or at least some sorta plant life) - she hopes she does not slip over them, the thought of being submerged even on this fair day being a thought too undesirable, undesirable like her linens in comparison to the Lady’s silks

-impractical as they may be-

The skin on the inside of her knees says otherwise.

She had ‘gotten used to it.’ She had only known it.

[demigoddessqueens]

Hey,

So I saw your repost with the sentence starters for ships and as I read it (they're all really good) "I think I might be in some kind of love with you" kinda jabbed me in the ribs, and I thought it would be PERFECT for an Ashton x Reader.

You're doing Fantastic!!

Aaahh this just screams soft for the punk genasi!!

HERE ON MASTERLIST 9

Writing prompt, this is based on, HERE

“I think I might be in some kind of love with you

You replayed Ashton’s confession in your mind like a broken record.

“I think I might be in some kind of love with you.”

The fires from camp reflected against Ashton’s face but his expression was unreadable, intentional or not. Was he anticipating you to be speechless or was it just an impulse?

As you tried to decipher the words, Ashton let his shoulders slump as the weight of his confession was lifted but the brief disappointment at your hesitation.

“It’s fine, really, you don’t have to—.”

He gasped as soon as your fingers brushed gently across his cheek, carefully so as to not cause any discomfort.

You leaned in so tortuously slow before placing a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“Ashton…,I’ve started to fall for you too.”

[imaginedreamwrite]

Come Hell Or Highwater: Part 3

A/N: Trigger warnings for mention of blood/mild violence/bruising/wounds

It was difficult not to be distracted by the appearance of raindrops that rolled down the clear glass of the music room. It was almost as difficult to ignore the rain as it was to look past the overhanging clouds that gave the city an inauspicious and dismal appearance.

The forecast had been calling for rain for the past seven days, each consecutive day supposedly going to be barraged with precipitation and yet only today had the city gotten any.

It would have bothered you if you hadn’t been staying later to collaborate on a project with one of the other music composition students. You would’ve been concerned about trying to make it back to your apartment in the dreary weather, even if the rain had already stopped, but seeing as how you’d be working late you figured the rain would stop.

Although the longer you watched the rain while your classmate worked, the quicker you had become doubtful that the clouds would lift and the rain would stop. It was a heavy and trodden blanket that hung over the city, the rain and the dense burrowing clouds adding yet another layer of darkness.

“I can walk you home.” Your classmate and collaborator, Ryan Beauchamp, had offered you a ride when he was done.

Normally you would’ve taken him up on the offer although the prospect of staying another hour past what you already had seemed worse than facing the weather.

You appreciated the offer anyway, you said as much when you gathered your notes and the composition pages and tucked them into your bag. You knew Ryan was a good friend and more trustworthy than most college guys you knew.

Ryan was a brother to three younger sisters and he’d liked to consider himself a universal campus big brother. He had chided you more than once for trying to walk home on a particularly cold night, or when he was worried about you running into trouble.

You’d told him countless times when you were working together that the walk was short and it was safe enough.

Once you got off campus onto the main road you only had a fifteen-minute walk and you would pass a few places that were open late in case you needed somewhere to hide if anything had happened. It was a reoccurring event that you’d grown used to in the past three weeks while working on the project with Ryan.

You would gather all your composition papers and notes, all the thoughts and ideas in your head that you’d bounced off each other, shove them into your bag and then start to head to the exit with him. Ryan and yourself would make small talk, insignificant conversation before you’d part ways.

That night had been no different, to your relief the raindrops that had barraged the portion of the city you were in had stopped, the cement drenched and pooling in sections of the surface. You started your trek through campus as usual, avoiding the grass that was soaked headily with moisture only stopping once you’d stepped off campus to find your phone.

It was the message you’d gotten from your roommate that was the catalyst for your night gone to hell, the innocent message asking you to stop at the drugstore on the way home to pick up her prescription.

It was a simple request, an errand that you hadn’t thought twice about doing since you were closest and the pharmacist was closing soon.

Your roommate wouldn’t have made it to the drugstore before they closed and she needed the medicine for the morning, a problem that you hadn’t minded helping her with. It was a detour that you had made before, the quick stop at the pharmacy wouldn’t add but minutes to your trip home from university—a short errand that bled into a flurried hell that you couldn’t escape.

It was nothing but a moment between stepping outside the pharmacy with your roommate’s prescription in your bag, to the pained and wounded cry that called you toward a side street near the drugstore.

You were caught off guard by the sound that was reminiscent of a wounded animal, the whimper tugging on your bleeding heart and stirring your engrained desire to do good in the world. You followed the sound, your naivety compelling you to help where you could even if you were heading further down the side street.

You found them dumped in the corner of a dead end, two men slumped over together against a chain link fence. Their clothes were torn and ripped to shreds, very little pieces of their once pristine jackets had remained intact and even through the dim lighting you knew they needed help

Dropping to the cold wet concrete, you reached for the man closest to you, the one whose eyes were in a constant flux of opening and shutting as he tried to remain conscience.

You grabbed hold of the front of his jacket and attempted to move him, your stomach churning at the acrid stench of copper that hung in the air, twisted and mixed with the unpleasant malodour of grave injuries.

Even in the darkened side street, you could discern the severity of their wounds. Through the dim light, you could recognize the man furthest from you as one of the more prominent businessmen in the city who had founded a number of councils and boards. You could recognize him through the wounds and the bruises, the blood that clung to him hadn’t done enough to misconstrue his identity.

Jason Wallen was a rich man, he was a man whose face was on countless billboards with his prominent message a vow to the city council to eradicate the crime districts. He had vowed to commit a vast majority of his wealth and influence to find and track down every underhanded man who had invested in the seedy dealings of this place.

“P-please-“ The man clinging limply to the chain link fence pleaded with you, every breath was coming at the cost of his ability to stay awake and verbally communicate with you.

Your hands were going to be stained with blood, and tracings of the necessary and vital substance to keep them both alive were soaking into your clothes as you tried to keep the main you were helping upright.

Sinking back on your haunches, you dug through your bag for your phone, adrenaline pumping through you while you dialled 9-1-1. Your mind was far from you, you were being led by your instincts while talking to the dispatcher detailing everything you had found and needed.

“I d-don’t want to d-die-“ The sound of his gurgling nauseated you, it was a sound that you felt you would never be able to uproot from the corners of your mind.

“You’re not going to die, you’re not going to die. An ambulance is coming, okay? You’re going to get help.” Your voice trembled, your hands desperately trying to stop the bleeding from his chest while you looked at the prominent businessman, watching his chest slow down and his eyes become distant. “You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be fine. Help is coming.”

Despite your effort, it felt like you hadn’t done enough. You should’ve done more.

The sound of sirens pierced the ill silence, the sharp signals of ambulatory care were echoing in your head like an air raid siren only you could hear. You fell back with a strained scream when bright lights illuminated both the side street and the damage done to the two men that were left to die.

You couldn’t get out of the way fast enough for the paramedics, struggling to rise to your feet and grab your bag while they worked on the two men. Your feet carried you out of the side street where you were stopped by two police officers, one speaking on the radio and the other trying to speak to you.

It was all muffled and quiet, discourse between what you couldn’t hear and the images engrained in your mind of the two men and their broken, bruised and battered bodies.

You were jostled from sleep by a warm large hand shaking your shoulder, and the husky whispering of one of your guards.

Your first reaction was to smack his hand away from you and protest his disturbance with a muttered threat that was incomprehensible. Your eyes remained closed, screwed shut while the faint and unrelenting memory that invaded your sleep was replaced with a stern prompt to get up.

“We’re here, Y/N. You need to get out of the vehicle and stretch your legs.” He placed his hand on your shoulder once more, shaking you twice until he could see you open your eyes and feel you shift in the front seat.

You raised your hands to hide your eyes in the palms of your hands, fingertips and nails digging into your scalp as a temporary release of tension. It was only a moment of the dull sense of pain before you lowered your hands and settled your vision on the location of your new and falsified life in the Witness Protection Program until you could head to trial.

The house was another piece of this fabricated story that you would be living until things had come to a close, this structure would be filled with fake memories and dinner parties, gatherings that would all allude to you, Steve, Ari and Andy being this new to town polyamorous unit who wanted peace in a safe place.

It was a fine thread spun into a fairytale-like story that was convoluted, just like the ring on your finger and the rings on theirs. It was all a necessary addition to a lie that was put in place like a shield to hide you until you were useful. So much of the drive had been lost to you being caught in your mind or to sleep that felt less fruitful than it should’ve been.

And now you were home.

It was a cute little house if nothing else, with an enclosed porch that would face the sunset. It was built of solid wood and stained white to match, with a solid oak door that led into the porch and further on into the house. Attached to the left side of the enclosed porch was a swing built into the left of the space with two mismatched hand-sewn pillows.

The house was on two levels, and as far as you understood, had six bedrooms and 4 baths. It was beautiful and newly renovated, it was a farmhouse on the edge of this small town where no one would know your real name.

It was a dream come true in any other situation, if you weren’t here for your protection you’d have loved to live in a place like this. This house was cozy and seemed welcoming, in a small town where everyone helped each other out and neighbours took care of neighbours. This would have been ideal for you, it would have been encompassing some version of your dreams that called to you.

You took it all in with scrutiny, on the edge of fear weighing you down and apprehension rooted in uncertainty. You couldn’t plan your future days, weeks or months. Not even in the most minimal way could you have planned anything and that had sparked your anxiety.

However it wasn’t the homely state of the house or the enclosed porch that had made your attention wander from two of the three men acting as your husbands, it was the trio standing on the lawn waiting for you. The two men and one woman appeared friendly and welcoming, with trays of food and homemade baking resting in their arms.

“Hi! We wanted to be the first to welcome you.” The woman was beautiful though older than yourself, with rich dark hair that was fastened in boxer braids and tied back in a silk scrunchie.

“I’m Lia and these are my husbands, Sam & Carter.” Her husbands, like her, were equally as beautiful as she was and no less friendly or welcoming to the three of you. They had all appeared to be relatively close in age and there was a deep bond between them that was apparent to you even if you’d just met them.

“Grant,” Steve gave his faux name and rest his hand on the small of your back to ease your worries, “my brother Andy and I share our wife.”

They didn’t bat an eye at the idea of sharing, they hadn’t hesitated to extend the polite first meeting with encouraging and warm smiles that matched their personalities.

“The realtor mentioned there were three of you?”

Carter had questioned them, no less polite than he was before.

“Cole works long distance, he’s here for a few days and gone for weeks.” Heat bloomed beneath Ari’s hand when he placed it upon the small of your back, a nudge for you to converse despite your lips feeling like they’d been seen shut.

“I’m sorry, we never even asked your name.” Lia had drawn attention to you, her warm eyes cast upon you expectantly.

“Danah.” You mumbled the name that had become your new identity. “My name is Danah.”

The name felt foreign rolling off your tongue, unclear and unfamiliar though you would have to grow used to it. You repeated yourself, a little more clearly than before and with more enunciation.

“We know how hard it can be to move so we wanted to welcome you with some food. And if you need any help when your things arrive tomorrow, Sam and Carter have the day off.” Lia handed the gifts of food to Steve, trading them off with a polite and warm offer to have dinner together once you were settled.

With the food and gifts of sweets given, the new neighbours had made a quick departure to give you privacy, though you followed them with your eyes until they were out of view.

“We should get inside.” Ari led you first, following behind you as a shield to block you from view as you walked up the steps of the porch, through the screen door and further to the front door of the house.

For now, you were home.

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[o-pandora-o]

I LIKE YOUR BLOG SM T_T

CAN I REQUEST FOR WHB BEELZEBUB AND SATAN HOW WILL THEY SURPRISE YOU ON YOUR BIRTHDAY? My Birthday is coming up and I really really really wanna feel loved by the boys 😔

The Kings (minus Lucifer) surprise you on your birthday

Warnings: Bit suggestive on Satan's part, mostly fluff genre. Reader isn't necessarily MC, but someone who is famous with the demons. I made it Gender-neutral as much as possible.

a/n: Hiii! Glad you like the blog, I'm sorry if I don't have a regular posting sched 😭. Also HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUU, I also included Mammon and Levi. Didn't include Lucifer because I don't wanna make him OOC. Hope you enjoy this!

Satan:

🩸He's gritting his teeth and you can hear the crunching noises whenever demons of Gehenna gives you gifts. "They're mine...grrr..*crunch*"

🩸Will definitely kick them in the rear when they give you something and you decide to hug/kiss/pat them (any physical touch rly).

🩸When Paimon offered to have a tea date (and gave you chocolates too!) it was the last straw for him.

🩸He drags you to his castle and to outside of his room. "Satan I know you're mad but... Your grip is too tight it hurts!" You said, and you saw Satan smirk. "So slap me" he said with a smug grinning face. "No" "Yes" "No!" "Yes... i can feel it" he lifted your hand and slapped himself and made an aroused look on his face. "Heh.. your anger... Tastes good..." "Anyways..." Satan said as he wiped the drool off his mouth. He opened the door to his room, revealing a room full of decorations and gifts for you. "You... Did this for...me?" "Yeah, I kept seeing you look at surprise videos of partners, and you kept telling ppyong that surprising people in human world isn't common...do you like it?" Satan smirks, he already know the answer to the question. "Of course I do! Thank you" you hug him and he kisses your forehead.

🩸The both of you open the gifts and cuddle inside his bedroom.

🩸Needless to say that you weren't seen outside that night because you're unwrapping your other gift.

Mammon:

🪙You woke up to the firm feeling in your bed. But also something akin to a warm teddy bear.

🪙You hugged the figure, only for it to reply with a deep laugh.

🪙You realized that Mammon is in your bed (in his castle), you woke up and stared at him, hugged him and gave him a good morning kiss and went back to sleep. "Hey little one, don't sleep on me, do you know what day it is, hmmm?" he said with a hearty deep laughter "Hmmm? Monday?" Then you went back to sleep "It's your birthday little one! here I got you some gifts and we'd do what you wanna do today how bout that?" "Mmmm just wanna sleep but ill open the gifts later thank you, Mammon" You lazily kiss his nose and fall back to sleep.

🪙Mammon gave you tons of gifts, including the new Dphone 15 and Ninten Switch 2!

🪙He also gave you some gifts for your hobbies and a bag of gold coins too!!

🪙You managed to move on the evening though, but Mammon had another surprise for you! A dinner on the rooftop of the 66 Demon Star Hotel!!!

🪙Scattered were some roses that had a touch of 24 karat gold leaf, a never ending candle flame created by the most powerful fire demon, and a table with your favorite fancy food.

🪙You were beyond disbelief, you know Mammon was lavish but you he keeps surprising you with the most expensive things and places. Before you can utter a word, Mammon spoke. "These things could not put a price on how priceless you are, you made me realize that despite owning everything in Hell, I could not put a price on your value... You're really unique and priceless as you are. Thank you for being with me." he pulled up his chair and let you sit.

🪙The night was full of chatter and laughter, under the starry skies.

Beelzebub:

🕶️You finally visited Avisos and you were in the palace to keep you safe, you were sleeping in your room.

🕶️You woke up with Beelzebub sitting in the window. "Oh you're finally awake! Come on, let's go!" Before you can utter a word, Beel scooped you up and jumped to the window. Everything was too fast, you can already hear Bael screaming from afar ("BEEL COME BACK HERE, YOU HAVEN'T SIGN THE DOCUMENTS!!!") "It's your birthday right? And I can smell that you missed me a lot, hehe I'll give you a grand tour of Avisos on your birthday!!!" Beel holds you tightly as he smiles like a child whose parents gave him his bday present. "W-wait beel! I haven't showered! I'm still in my pajamas!!!" "It doesn't matter! Plus you smell good~" he says as he smells and kisses your neck while still running. You bury your head on his chest, hiding your blush. 🕶️He knows where you wanted to go, honestly its thanks to his sense of smell. But you still tell him where to go.

🕶️Oh you wanted a stuffed toy that looks like him? Both of you went and play with the claw machine (well both of you know it's rigged...but you still got it!)

🕶️Wanna try out the new cafe? Sure! He only requests you try it with his body fluids, well if you don't want then he won't force you.

🕶️Do you want him to cosplay your husbando/waifu? He gotchu! He knows a cosplay cafe! He can also cook something for you too!

🕶️You wanna spend some sexy time with him? Oh boi he knows a good S&M Club to spend your energy on.

🕶️He's really sweet, he's the type of person that know your desires upon your smell. He knows when you're hungry, when you're angry, and if you're feeling a bit naughty.

🕶️When you fall asleep having a good time, he'd carry you back to the palace to sleep. He'd kiss your forehead/cheek and leave the gifts on your bedside table. "Ah... I'll miss you so much... But I have to go..."

🕶️He'd also leave a matching earring as a gift for you.

Leviathan:

⚰️He's pissed off, he's glaring. How come demons like you? It's unfair.

⚰️A Small demon gave you a gift? "Off with your head!" Barbatos gave you a rose because it looked like you? "Hang!" Glasy looked you from head to toe and almost uttered something sexual? "Get out!" (He was hanged and dragged away LMAO).

⚰️You're alone with Leviathan in his room. He's glaring at you. "W-what's the problem?" you should've kept your mouth shut... "You... How dare you! Han-" "You hang yourself! This is my birthday, stop making a fuss!" You cut Leviathan midway, he was looking shocked, albeit impressed. There was now dead silence but the tables have turned, you're now glaring at Leviathan and he now makes a :o face. "You don't want others giving me gift right?...then make up for it...please?" you said but you were looking away from his eyes. "How dare you...a mere mortal asking a king to make up for what he'd done... Truly you're..." "I won't choke you on bed anymore" you said, glaring at him "....fine meet me in the restaurant tonight at 7... it's not like I planned dinner or something..." (He did)

⚰️So you went to the restaurant he told you about, with the best suit/dress he provided. Suprisingly, he rented the whole restaurant to the both of you.

⚰️He was so beautiful with his suit. You can't feel but envy him (he knows...he can feel it). Well he kinda did apologize for his behavior (no not really), but the ambiance of the restaurant was beautiful enough to forgive him.

⚰️You both ate your favorite food and he slid a gift. You looked at him quizzically. "Open it..." He said. He gave you a bracelet with an intricate design. "A bracelet? It's unlike you to give me something like this... Thank you" a blush appeared in your face. "Oh it's also convertible to a whip see?" He presses the design, and it somehow shine like the color of his hair. In your hands were a silver whip with an intricate design. You couldn't understand how it became a whip, but it was cool.

⚰️Leviathan smirked, looking at you like he finally won. He won the 'best gift award', a competition that was never a competition in the first place.

[danwhobrowses]

What's this? My skin, cleared? My crops, watered!? My heart, soaring!!??

Callowmoore softness, comfort and sleeping beside each other my FUCKING BELOVED!

[pushingdaisies1]

★: 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

- { art credits to @pixelllls!! } -

𝘐𝘮𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵— ✦ coming soon!

𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘺— ✦ coming soon!

𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘯𝘢— ✦ coming soon!

𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘦— ✦ "𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 ~ . . . ➔"

𝘖𝘳𝘺𝘮 (𝘖𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘪𝘳 𝘈𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪)— ✦ coming soon!

𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘗𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰’𝘗𝘦𝘢— ✦ coming soon!

𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘊𝘶𝘵 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴 (𝘍𝘊𝘎)— ✦ coming soon!

'𝗚𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦' (tbc) . . .

𝘋𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮— ✦ coming soon!