#like !??!?! why is there a youth ward

[hakusins]

twins are finally here !!!! and wow omg, i have so many questions about bailey and youth ward....

[degrees-of-lili]

Y'know if PC wasn't an orphan; it'd make Bailey's story less weird. They could have been someone from another [country] who came to DoLland to go to university (to keep the school aspect), maybe you needed a visa and couldn't get one so you go to Bailey but now Bailey expects you to work for them or they'll ship you off (but not back home obvs.). Except Bailey's "work" is running around town fucking, stealing, and maybe working a semi-normal job. Like some aspects are questionable like Whitney, but Whitney is a parody of an actual bully. Like, the shit Whitney does (and to the level they do it) isn't something that'd anyone would reasonably get away with. Also, how the school works from a gameplay point of view because college you usually pick and choose your classes are.

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

Angel Face, Devil Thoughts

Summary: The first time Rafe Cameron saw you, he knew he had to have you. Whatever it takes. Wk: 6.8K

•This is a collaboration with @babygorewhore🖤 I had so much fun working on this with you baby, I love you so much!!!•

Warnings: Possesive!Rafe, obsessive behaviors (Rafe and reader), kidnapping, drugging, kinda clueless reader (or is she…?), daddy kink, borderline stalker behavior, spanking, hair pulling, jealous!Rafe, bondage, age gap (Rafe is 35 reader is 26), spit kink, oral, unprotected sex. Dark fic, 18+MNDI!! (Divider by me)

Rafe Cameron’s legs turned as he swung the golf club, perfectly hitting the ball as it landed near the hole in the ground yards ahead. He smirked to himself. Topper clapped a hand on his shoulder. His grip firm and Rafe cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t know how you do it. I’ve never beaten you.”

Rafe shrugged. “No one can,” He chuckled and scanned the scenery of the yards ahead of him.

It was a beautiful day. It wasn’t too hot and he was able to wear nicer clothing than he usually did for golf. A simple button down shirt and comfortable pants allowed him to easily pick up his bag of clubs and make his way to the small section of the park where food and drink was served. By Pogues and the middle class.

But he wasn’t as involved in the war between kooks and pogues. At 35, he truly had better things to do. Run the empire and look after Wheezie who was a young teenager now. After Wards death, his sisters random marriage, his own growth over the years, Rafe just wanted to make money, fuck, and…make more money.

But then his eyes widened and he almost stopped short when he saw you. And his entire world came to a halt.

You were wearing a simple outfit, a little black tennis skirt and a polo tee that bore the logo of the franchise representing the park. Your hair was out of your face, you were wearing makeup and you were currently talking to Wheezie, who giggled and blushed at a young boy across from you both. Rafe’s footsteps slowed but he continued your way. He was close enough to hear the conversation.

“I think he’s really cute. But I don’t know how to approach him.” Wheezie complained and he wanted to roll his eyes over her thirtieth crush of the week when you smiled at her. And he melted inside.

“That’s okay. All you have to do is wave and smile. Men are easy.” You winked at her and he swallowed thickly.

You were so beautiful. Delicate. Angelic. Perfect. You radiated kindness and a youthful spark that he hadn’t exposed himself to in a long time. He was probably about ten years your senior but he didn’t give a shit. When he saw Wheezie walk away from you and your adorable smile continued to grow, that's when he decided.

You were his.

He cleared his throat and prepared to further approach you after abandoning Topper. He had no issue with shyness or other bullshit younger men dealt with but something about you made him hesitate. Why were you working? Someone as perfect as you deserved to be treated gently, like a princess. You needed to be kept.

Rafe could do that. Easily.

As he walked to you, your pretty doe eyes looked up at him, and a smirk so faint crossed your face that he almost missed it.

“Haven’t seen you before. Sorry if my little sister annoyed you. But I have a soft spot for her.” Rafe didn’t bother with introducing himself. You’d be screaming his name soon enough.

“Hi,” when you gave him your name, he almost got chills. Even your name was perfect. You were an angel. The way your feet rolled, trying to shorten the distance between you both was adorable. “She was cute! I remember my first crush.” You twirl your hair and Rafe gave you a hum of approval.

“What’s a pretty little girl like yourself doing working here? With looks like that, I figured you’d be a model.” Rafe complimented and instead of becoming shy, you batted your eyelashes and grinned.

“I’m thinking about it.” You glanced back at the bar cart, “but I have to get back to work. It was nice to meet you finally, Rafey.” The nickname made his lips quirk in a sadistic smile. A nickname already? One he never allowed others to use.

But you weren’t anyone.

You were his little bunny.

Rafe stayed longer than usual, watching you from a distance and leering at the way your skirt hugged your ass and hips. You were a little clumsy but he enjoyed that. He knew you’d have to rely on him for everything. You needed him.

When you clocked out, Rafe was horrified to see you start to walk down the road. You didn’t have a car. And that made him feel rage. How could someone allow you to walk home alone? He certainly wouldn’t. Not his pretty kitty.

Rafe marched forward, catching up with you before his hand gently touched your arm. “Pretty girls shouldn’t have to walk home. Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

He expected you to deny it but then you grinned and nodded rapidly.

“Yes! That sounds great!”

This would be too easy. But he was worried. What if a bad man got a hold of you? How would he live with himself if something happened to you? He’d never let it go. No. His darling little girl would never get hurt.

“Come on. My car is this way.”

Rafe lagged behind you ever so slightly, despite his legs being much longer than yours. He couldn’t resist getting another peak of your ass in that little uniform. He also couldn’t resist when you stumbled as he was helping you into the passenger seat and one of his hands landed on the skin of your ass just under your skirt. He had to hold back a chuckle at the sight of you displaying yet another act of clumsiness. You were so helpless, fragile, too good for this world. He had to protect you from anyone who tried to hurt you, even yourself.

“Alright, Angel face, where am I headed?” Rafe buckles himself in, one of his long fingers hitting the push to start on his fancy sports car. He glances over at you, noticing that you haven’t buckled yourself up yet. He lightly shakes his head before leaning over the center console to buckle your belt for you.

“Oh, thank you, Rafey.” You run your fingers down his forearm, batting your lashes at him again. He takes note of your chipped nail polish, he’ll have to remedy that immediately. He’s definitely going to be calling the nicest salon on the island first thing tomorrow. Get you the full treatment, hair, nails, massage, whatever you want. “It’s on figure 8, I’m actually staying three houses down from you, I think. It’s my grandparents old house.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about their passing. I’m sorry about that, doll.” He smiles at you softly, earning the cutest little grin in return. “Is that what you’re doing here? You inherit their house or something?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. They left it to my mom but she doesn’t have any interest in living here so her and dad are selling it. We came here to go through all their stuff and get it ready to put on the market.”

“What about you? You like it here?” You cross your legs, and Rafe can see how deliciously your thighs squish together out of the corner of his eye. He stifled a groan at the sight.

“Yeah, it’s nice. It’s a lot different from my hometown but it’s really pretty here. And I make better money than I did at my waitressing job back home.” Your voice is so cute, Rafe wants to drown in it.

“If your moms parents left her all that money, how come you’re working?” He takes a chance to look over at you at a red light, eyes roaming your form, committing as much as he could to memory.

“They are still dealing with all the legal stuff, and I don’t really know if they’ll even give me any. I don’t think they trust me with it. I haven’t always made the best life choices.” You sigh, a frown spreading across your lips, a crease in your brow. Rafe hates it, how dare they upset you? How dare they not help you? If you aren’t great with making choices, he doesn’t mind making them for you.

“Ah, makes sense. But a pretty girl like you? You deserve everything you could ever want. Waited on hand and foot.”

“That’s so sweet, thank you, Rafe. But I’ve always worked for what I want, ya know? I don’t really mind it.” You shrug your shoulders, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

“Well, I think you deserve better than that, s’all im saying. I’m gonna set up a spa day for you, alright? What are your days off?” This is a win, win for him. He can spoil you a little and figure out your work schedule.

“Oh! You don’t have to do th-“

“Angel, I don’t have to do anything, but I’d really like to do this for you. Let me.” It comes out like more of a command than a request and he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches in your throat at his tone.

“Alright, if you insist. I work Tuesday to Saturday every week. So I have tomorrow off, since today is Saturday.” You smile at him, and he thinks it’s adorable how proud you seem to be stating simple facts. You seemed like a bit of an air head but Rafe didn’t mind, he liked that, it would be easier to guide you.

“Okay, I’m gonna call and make you an appointment for tomorrow.” He pulls into the driveway of your grandparents home and takes his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Put your number in here and I’ll text you the details.”

Your smile is wide and he feels like he can practically see a sparkle in your eyes. He wants to give you the fucking world. You add your number to his phone, putting yourself in as “Angel Face” with a little bunny next to it. You give him his phone back and he smirks down at it, you were almost in too cute to bare.

“Well, thank you so much for the ride, and for tomorrow too! You’ve been so kind to me and you hardly even know me, I wish I could repay you somehow.” A little pout forms on your lips as you look up at him through those god damned lashes.

“I’m sure we can figure something out, Angel face. For now, be a good girl for me and get inside safely. Make sure you lock the door behind you. I’ll text you soon about your little spa day.” He smirks at you, resting his hand on your thigh and giving it a squeeze. The cutest little squeak leaves your lips and he can’t wait to hear what you sound like when you moan his name. “Also, no more walking home, alright? I’m usually done with my work shit by the time the club closes so I’ll pick you up from now on.”

You look like you’re about to protest, but it’s almost like you think better of it. Instead you give him one of those sweet smiles.

“Sounds good, thank you again, I’ll make sure I’m a real good girl for you. Get lots of rest for my big day tomorrow. Good night Rafey.”

“Night, Angel.” You pat his hand before grabbing your purse and exiting his car. He swears you bent over a little extra to give him a flash of your little black panties, but he’s not complaining. As long as he’s the only man you’re doing that for. He’s totally and utterly addicted to you already, and he won’t stop until he owns you completely. Rafe quickly calls the salon owner's private number, knowing they’re probably closed by now. He offers her however much it takes to get you in the next day before typing out a text to you.

Your appointment is at 12:30 tomorrow, I think baby pink stiletto nails would compliment you well. I'll pick you up at noon, don’t be late. Sweet dreams, bunny.

Rafe eagerly pulls into the salon parking lot the next day. He picked you up at noon on the dot, you came bouncing down the driveway with a bright smile on your face. He must say seeing you out of your work clothes was a spiritual experience for him. You were wearing this little black mini skirt, and a little light pink tank top. You had on the most impractical shoes for a place like this, big, chunky, studded platform Mary Jane’s, with little white ruffle socks. The thing that really did him in though? The black o-ring choker around your neck. It was all so contradictory, the pink, the studs, the little socks. He’s never seen a girl like you in all his years. He needs you so badly.

Last night felt like one of the longest nights of his life, he never thought he could miss someone he just met so much. But he was up nearly all night, his thoughts riddled with you. Your thighs, the way your tits looked in that little work polo, the way your ass would bounce when he fucked you from behind. Rafe has never jerked off so much in one night. Not even when he was younger. All he can think about is filling you up, spoiling you, maybe putting a few babies in you once he’s gotten his fill of alone time with you. He walks into the salon with a pep in his step, his eyes scanning the room for your beautiful face.

His features immediately harden when he spots you though. You’re sitting pretty in one of the plush pedicure chairs your feet propped up while a man paints your dainty little toe nails. His nostrils flare, anger surging through him at the sight of another man’s hands on his angel. His expensive loafers thud against the ground as he stomps towards you.

“Rafe, hi! You’re early! But this is the last thing, so you shouldn’t have to wait for long.” You give him that saccharine smile, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown.

“Hi angel.” He smiles at you, but he doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You about done with my girl here?”

He looks down at the man as he coats the polish on your toenails, wanting nothing more than to cut his fingers off one by one for even thinking he’s worthy of touching you. Let alone doing it. He doesn’t give a shit if he’s paying.

“Yeah, this is the last step then I’ll have her out of here.” The guy smiles at him before returning to his task.

“I didn’t know dudes worked at places like this.” Rafe scoffs.

“Rafe! That’s kind of a rude thing to say… Everyone here has been so helpful and kind! I’ve had a great day!” Your lips form into a pout, your brows furrowed. The last thing he wants to do is upset you, or scare you off. He needs you to trust him. Plus he’s not the same hot headed guy he used to be, he’s a man now. He can keep this to himself.

“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry. Thanks for treating her right, man.” Rafe forces the most polite smile he can muster in his direction.

“No problem, just doing my job.” He taps his fingers against the polish, making sure it’s dry. “Which I’m all done with, you’re free to go ma’am. You can pay up front.”

“Thank you so much!! They look perfect!!” You wiggle your toes, your hands clapping together excitedly. You’re so cute Rafe hardly remembers why he was mad, hardly. He still wants to singe that guy’s finger tips off. “You like them?”

“Yeah bunny, those are gorgeous.” Rafe smirks, pleased to see the baby pink polish on not just your fingers but your toes too. You even went with the shape he suggested. You’re such a good girl already.

He walks you to the counter, using his black card to pay for everything. He even leaves a generous tip, despite how much he’s still simmering with jealousy over that man touching you. He wanted to make a good impression on you, he needs you to see how perfect he is for you.

“Lemme see you, pretty girl.” Rafe offers you his hand so he can spin you around, a low whistle escaping his lips as you twirl. “Gorgeous.”

“Oh my god, thank you! I really had such a great day. I got a massage. Then they did highlights and a blow out on my hair. And of course I got these pretty nails!!” You giggle, holding your hands out to him to give him a closer look.

“Very pretty, bunny. The little bows are a nice touch. I knew that color would be perfect for you. You ready to go?”

“Yup! All set.”

Rafe leads you out to his car, helping you in and buckling your seatbelt just like he has the last two times you've been in it. He drives towards your grandparents house with an almost uneasy feeling. He doesn’t want to let you go yet. Or ever. He left you alone for a few hours and regardless if it was his job or not another man had his hands all over you. He didn’t like it. You were too precious to be going around without him. You needed him just as much as he needed you.

When he pulls up to your house you thank him over and over again, telling him no one has ever done anything this nice for you before. How could they not have? You deserve a thousand times more than just this, and he’s going to give it to you. You lean over and leave a sticky lipgloss kiss on his cheek. His heart feels like it’s nearly going to burst out of his chest and he has to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching out and kissing you like his life depends on it. You make sure to bend over again when you get out of his car, and it just drives him even more crazy. He was going to make you his, by any means necessary.

Rafe carefully selected another item into the cart as he walked down the aisle at the store. The aisles were nearly empty since he picked the perfect time to arrive and buy things for his little girl. His shopping was usually done by someone who worked for him but how could he allow anyone to touch things that were yours? Only he could give you these things. His little angel wouldn’t ever have to worry about anyone ever again.

In the cart were stuffed animals, blankets, decorations and even coloring books. He had already assembled the basics in the bedroom he specifically designed for you two days later after he had been driving you home. The room would be ready tonight.

His caretaker nature allowed him to easily pick up on things you liked. Soft, sweet and gentle natured you. His baby girl.

As he returned to his home with several bags, he didn’t allow anyone to put things away. The room was a soft pink color. Completely removed of any objects that could cause you harm. Stuffed animals, a tv set, a computer that would be monitored, and a soft bed with fluffed pillows. Rafe stood straight and admired his work. Yes. This was perfect for a sweet girl like you. Everything about this plan would go perfectly. His little bimbo would fall for his trap and he didn’t have a moment of doubt or guilt. Why would he? You needed him. And he wouldn’t stand the thought of anyone else having you.

Like clockwork, Rafe heard the doorbell ring and he knew it was Barry. Here to accomplish his part of the task at hand. Rafe opened his front door after begrudgingly leaving your bedroom and Barry leaned against the frame.

“Sup, country club.” He dangled a bag full of small pills. “Got the dough. You have my money?”

Rafe handed over the wad of cash and accepted the plastic bag. “This better be the real fucking thing or I’ll kill you.” He warned and Barry smirked.

“Yeah, yeah I’m so scared of you big boy. Pretty fucked up though. What you’re planning to do with that chick. But it’s safe I guess. Not gonna hurt her.”

“That’s all I need to know.” Rafe pressed the bag against his chest and Barry crossed his arms.

“Ain’t ever seen you like this, bro. When you gonna get her?”

“Tonight. When she’s on her way home. Pretty little bunny doesn’t have a car. She’s making this easy for me.” Rafe chuckled.

“Aight, I don’t need to know anymore.” Barry held his hands up and walked away towards his bike. “Careful, Rafe. Sounds like you’ve really fallen for her.”

Rafe nodded and a twinge of emotion made him feel warm. He swore to himself he’d never fall in love. And now look at him. Planning on taking this poor girl but he was doing her a favor. She was his and his alone. He would protect her. Even if it was against her will. Even if it meant forcing her.

Later, Rafe was in his car waiting to pick you up with your favorite drink. A milkshake. His trembling hands gripped the steering wheel as the minutes went by on his digital clock.

You will be coming out soon. All his. His precious baby. Rafe craned his neck and finally saw you walking towards his car. His body tensed and his cock twitched with adrenaline as you smiled when you saw him. Twirling your braids, you waved at him while approaching the car with a half slip.

“Hi, Rafey! You’re right on time!” You said as you happily slid into the car.

Rafe nodded. “Of course I am, baby. I’m a man of my word. Here, I got you something, Angel.” He handed you the milkshake, his fingers twitching as you grinned and immediately wrapped your lips around the straw. You moaned at the taste and his mouth watered at your pretty sounds.

You fell for it.

Rafe inhaled slowly as he started driving, but not in the direction of your home. It didn’t matter anyway, you were drinking too eagerly to really notice.

“It’s a pretty day, Rafe! Almost as pretty as you are!” You giggled and Rafe reached over, placing a hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle yet firm squeeze.

“Thank you, bunny. You’re such a sweet girl you know that? My sweet girl.” He muttered the last part and he noticed your movements were growing slower.

You blinked, your doe eyes becoming unfocused. The Valium was taking effect and he smirked with satisfaction. God, you were such a little bimbo slut.

“Rafey…I feel so tired…” you yawned and he traced his ringed fingers along your skin where your skirt had rode up.

“Go to sleep, baby. You’ll be all nice and safe when you wake up.” Rafe trembled as you slumped over, your mouth parting as you drifted to a deep sleep.

That’s it. That’s my fucking girl. So obedient.

Your body feels weighed down, you try to open your eyes but it feels like someone put bags of sand on top of them. The last thing you remember is falling asleep in Rafe’s car, but what you’re laying on right now is definitely not a car seat. It feels like the most plush mattress you’ve ever laid on, even softer than the one in your grandparents guest room. Your head feels like it’s resting on a cloud, and the air smells nice. Like vanilla and strawberries.

After a few minutes of struggling you finally force your eyes to open slightly. There’s a soft warm light illuminating the room, and what looks like a sheer pink canopy on the ceiling above you. Your body still feels heavy but you’re able to move your hands now, spreading your fingers and running your palms across a silky soft blanket. You turn your head to the side and your eyes land on a pink wall with the prettiest vanity you’ve ever seen pushed up against it. You weave your head the other way, trying to get a grip on your surroundings. Up against the opposite wall there’s a rack filled with clothes and from what you can tell it’s all things you’d wear.

You try to push yourself up on your palms, now extremely aware of how dry your mouth is, how thirsty you are. But your body still feels too weak. You let out a little groan and lull your head back against the soft pillow.

“Hey, hey, don’t try to move, Angel. I’ve got you.”

“Rafe?” Your voice comes out a cracked whisper, you can’t see him, but there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s him.

“Yeah bunny, it’s me, daddy’s here.” The self proclaimed title sends a shiver down your spine.

“Daddy? What’s going on? Where am I?” You’re about to try to push yourself up again when Rafe comes into view. He’s towering over you, looking down at you with what only could be described as adoration.

“You’re home.” His large hand reaches out to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb running over the apple of your cheek.

“Home? This isn’t my grandparents' house - I - I’m so thirsty.” You nuzzle into his palm almost subconsciously. You’ve spent so many nights now dreaming about his touch, more than just the brief thigh touches or a hand on your shoulder. It felt so nice.

“Shh shh, baby it’s okay. Don’t overwhelm yourself. Here, I’ll help you sit up, I have some water here.” His snakes one arm underneath your head and the other behind your knees, hoisting you up against the headboard with ease. Now that you’re sitting up you have a better view of the room. It’s beautiful. Something out of your wildest dreams.

“Where - where are we?” You ask with wide eyes, your voice filled with borderline awe.

“I told you Angel, we’re home. This is for you. I did this all for you.” He takes the cap off the water bottle sitting on the nightstand and holds it up to your lips. You eagerly chug it down, the cool liquid calming the burn in your throat.

“For me? Rafe? How did I get here? Did you change my clothes?” Now that you’re feeling more aware you realize you’re no longer wearing your work uniform. Instead you’re wearing a little silk nighty with white lace embellishments. It’s soft and comfortable and honestly gorgeous.

“Bunny… I need you to listen to me, alright?” He discards the water bottle so he can sit on the bed next to you, his hand returning to your face. You nod against his palm, looking up at him with big wide eyes. “Use your words.”

“I’m listening, Rafey.”

“Call me daddy when I’m talking to you like this, alright baby?”

“Okay, daddy.”

“I - fuck - I did what I had to do alright? I did what’s best for you. You’re too fragile, too precious for this world. That first day I saw you working at the club, I knew I needed you. Knew you needed me.” You try to hold in your smirk, you really do. But you were already starting to crack as it was, and this? This isn’t something you would’ve expected.

“Oh I know, daddy, I see the way you look at me… you didn’t answer my question though. How did I get here, huh? Did you slip something in that milkshake? Knock me out? Strip me down and get a good look at my little body?” You look at him with a Cheshire smile, and a gleam in your eye he’s never seen.

“Hey, I didn’t fuckin’ do any weird shit if that’s what you’re thinking, I want you fully aware of your surroundings the first time I have you. That is until I fuck you so good you forget everything but my name…”

“So kidnapping and drugging me isn’t considered weird? Got it.” You let out a breathy chuckle. “You know, I knew you wanted me, but I didn’t think you’d go this far. I have to say, daddy, it’s kind of hot.”

“The fuck you mean you knew?” His brows furrow, his nostrils slightly flare and you can tell you hit a nerve. But you just couldn’t keep up this clueless girl act anymore, not after he went to all these lengths just to get you. You needed him to know you wanted him just as bad.

“I mean, I’m not blind. You look at me like you want to put me in a cage and never let me go. You drive me home everyday. You offered to buy me new nails the first day you met me. Also, don’t think I didn’t notice how jealous you got when you saw that guy doing my pedicure. And guess what? The funny part is, you didn’t need the drugs to get me. I would’ve just let you take me.”

“You knew this entire time how badly I wanted you?” You nod and his hand reaches out to grip your jaw, rougher than before. “I told you to use your words, bunny.”

“Yes, I knew.” You smirk at him and he adjusts his grip so he’s pinching your cheeks.

“And you still continued to tease me like a little slut? Bend over and flash me your little panties every time you got out of my car? Always pushing those tits up against my arm and batting your lashes at me? Was that all some kind of act? You trynna scam me?” His hand migrates from your face to your throat, his thick fingers tightening against your esophagus deliciously.

“Daddy, no. It wasn’t an act at all. I want you so bad. Just wanted to see how far I could push you before you finally cracked. I have to say, you exceeded my expectations. I can’t believe you did all of this just for me. That’s so sexy.”

“Oh, so you’re just a little fuckin’ tease. That it?”

“I wasn’t teasing, you could’ve had me any time. You just got in your head that you had to carry out this elaborate scheme to keep me, when I’m already yours.” Rafe practically growls, he feels tricked, he feels frustrated that he risked hurting you with those drugs when you wanted him all along. But most of all? He’s so fucking horny.

“Well, I want you right fuckin’ now.” He uses his grip on your throat to push you onto your back and eases his body over top of yours.

Your breathing intensifies as you give him a small smirk. Of course you knew he wanted you. You may be a bimbo but you had common fucking sense. His blue eyes burned whenever he looked at you with a hunger that was impossible to deny. The material of his shirt rubbed against your bare skin, your slip riding up from his movements that left you pinned on the mattress under his mercy. His palm pressed against your throat felt heavenly, his fingers locked around the sides of your neck held you down posessively.

“You fucking slut. You liked it this the whole time. Liked playing with me. I’m gonna make you regret it.” Rafe flipped you over, grabbing your hips and yanking you up on your hands, your ass up in the air. Your pussy clenches around nothing before Rafe’s hand slaps your ass, hard enough to make you jolt forward as his other hand flies to your hair, holding you in place with a makeshift ponytail.

“Apologize to daddy. Say you’re sorry.” He growls and you want to be a brat and say no, but his fingers slide from your hair down, down, down to your entrance, sinking knuckle deep in your cunt. His two digits play inside you, curling in a come here motion and your slick welcomes him in further as his thumb brushes against your clit with a delicious pressure. “Mmm, wanna give you love, bunny, but you’ve been a bad girl.” He grunts and you whine with your face pressed against the bed.

“Sorry, daddy! I’m sorry I acted bad!” You shriek when he spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark. He spanks you again, and again and again. Tears prick your eyes and you hear him shift as he releases you. You fall forward, crashing onto the blanket and you feel his hands take your ankles. He moves you around on your back, dragging you to the headboard.

“Dumb little kitty. Bet you’re so wet from this. Let’s see,” He gives you a predatory smile and shoves off his black tie. He pins your wrists down, using your weakness to his advantage as he loops it around your hands. He ties you to the headboard and his knee spreads your legs, making you feel the air on your damp panties.

Rafe breathes through his mouth in a taunting huff, “look at that. You’re such a little whore for me. Wet from me hurting you? Drugging you? God damn you’re so pathetic. I love it.”

As you jerk, trying to move you realize you’re completely trapped by him. Rafe looms over you, cupping your jaw. “Open your fucking mouth,” He hisses and you immediately obey. He spits inside, “swallow it. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” You shudder at his filthy words.

Rafe crawls down, sliding your panties down your legs. A groan escaping him at your sticky pussy on display for him as he spreads your knees.

“Mmmm, so good. You’re so worked up.” He situates himself on the bed, burying his mouth against you, his tongue lewdly licks at your clit like an ice cream cone. His heated lips suck at your center with loud moans as he grinds into the mattress.

Your hips buck, his nose continually brushing against the underside of your clit as he laps all around before thrusting his tongue inside your entrance, gathering every single ounce of precum he can get.

“Fuck, daddy. Feels so good, I needed this.” You barely manage and he chuckles.

“Desperate, huh? Needed daddy to fuck this tight little pussy? My little girl is such a good bunny.”

Your stomach tightens, a tightening coil in your belly growing the more he licks you up relentlessly. He rips away, whipping your juices from his chin. His cock inside his trousers looks painfully hard.

“I’m going to make you fucking scream.”

Rafe pushes himself up on his knees, easily ridding himself of his button up and then moving onto his slacks. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock, you knew he’d be big, but it’s even better than you imagined. All those nights trying to stifle the moans of his name so your parents didn’t hear you.

“Fuck daddy, your cock is so pretty.” You’re practically drooling. “Fuck my mouth.”

He finds himself questioning if you’re even real at this point. His little angel all tied up and laid out, practically begging him to use your pretty mouth. He straddles your face, the head of his heavy cock brushes against your lips and you flick your tongue out. You moan at the taste of the bead of precum that gathered at the tip.

“Fuckin’ look at you, gonna let me use this little mouth?” He taps his cock against your outstretched tongue a few times before using his free hand to grip onto your hair, pulling your head back. “Open wide, slut.”

You stick your tongue out as far as it can go and he glides his length across it. He thrusts slow a few times before shoving his cock down your throat, causing you to gag.

“Yeah, that’s right, fucking choke on it.” You close your lips around him, taking a deep breath through your nose as he begins to assault your throat with rough thrusts. His groans are almost animalistic as he uses you for his own pleasure. You moan around his cock, clenching your thighs together at the feeling of being at his mercy. “Mmm bunny, this mouth is so fucking good. But I bet that little pussy is ever better. She was practically begging for me to fill her. Is that what you want?”

He uses his grip on your hair to pull you off his cock, leaning back so he can look down at you with a condescending pout.

“Please daddy, want it so bad. Want your cock, want your cum. Fill me up.” His large hand grips your face, punching your cheeks together as he tilts your head from side to side.

“You’re such a good little bunny, begging for daddy’s cock like my own personal little slut. That’s all you’re gonna be from now on. Mine to fill, to use, to fuck, to spoil. You’re never going to have to think about a single thing ever again.” He expertly undoes the tie binding your wrists, gripping onto your hips and flipping you onto your stomach again.

“Yes daddy, that’s all I want, just want you. Wanna be your good girl. Want you to take care of me.” You whine into the sheets. “Please fuck me daddy, please don’t make me wait any-“

You’re cut off abruptly when he pulls your ass up into the air, lining his cock up with your entrance. He fills you up in one rough thrust, your slick walls practically sucking him in. He doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking into you at a brutal pace.

“Oh fuck yeah, this fucking pussy is even better than I imagined. You’re so fucking tight, never gonna stop fucking you baby. Gonna keep you full day and night.”

“Daddy daddy daddy, it feels so good. So good. You’re so big.” You let him take you, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside of you over and over. You’re gripping the sheets so tight you’re scared your new nails are going to tear through them and drool is dripping down your chin and onto the fabric.

“Yeah, fucking take it, slut. Take this fucking dick.” He leans forward, his thick forearm snaking around your throat. He uses his grip on you to pull you up so your back is flush against his chest. You didn’t think anyone could ever be so deep inside of you, and the pressure on your throat makes your head light in the best way.

“Oh my god, daddy, I’m gonna cum.” His free hand finds your clit, and the minute he’s circling it your orgasm is crashing over you. You thrash in his hold, a pornographic moan ripping through you.

“Fuck yes angel, fucking cum for your daddy. Pussy is fucking squeezing me. Gonna make me cum. Look at me.” His hand leaves your clit, roughly gripping onto your jaw so he can pull your head to the side. It’s borderline painful the way your neck is craned so you can look up into his blue eyes. But when he smashes his lips against yours in a bruising kiss you can’t bring yourself to care.

Rafe continues to fuck into you, his tongue invading your mouth, intertwining with yours. He pushes his hips flush against your ass as he reaches his high, filling you with ropes of his cum.

“That’s it, good fucking girl. You're so good for me.” He releases your throat, pulling out of you slowly, causing you to whine. He eases you onto your back, leaning over top of you to place a much more tender kiss than before on your lips. “Let me clean you up baby.”

He gets up, quickly wetting a washcloth in the ensuite bathroom. He rushes back to your side, running the warm cloth along your folds.

“Mmm thank you, daddy. That feels nice.” You hum.

“Yeah? Gotta take care of my angel, you’re my responsibility now. I’m going to do everything and anything you need.” He lays down next to you, pulling you into his side so you can rest your head on his chest. “I am sorry about the way I went about this. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. The first day I saw you I knew I needed to have you. Knew you were meant for me.”

“I feel the same, daddy. All you had to do is ask. Although, I must admit, it was honestly pretty sexy this way. You might be observant but there’s still a lot you have to learn about me.” You happily nuzzle into his chest. You’ve never felt so safe before. “I love my room by the way, it’s perfect. Does this mean I don’t get to sleep with you though?” You pout.

“Of course you get to sleep with me, Angel. I just wanted you to have a space of your own here.” He runs his fingers through your hair, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “There’s going to be ground rules that I want you to follow, but we can go over those when you’re more clear headed. Wanna take a bath?”

“Yeah Rafey, a bath sounds nice.”

[flowersandbigteeth]

I Have an idea for a character one shot (I'd just irk to fuck a centipede monster but same thing)

You get lost in the desert come across a cave, take a nap in the cave but when you wake up you’re trapped by a large centipede man who’s staring down at you like you’re a snack.

Preferably nsfw and Fem reader, also I’m sorry if you’re not taking requests I’m new to your blog

I really like this idea ^_^, It actually inspired a longer story I'm working on about a sarantopodarousacentaur. But for now, we have this.

sarantopodarousacentaur/half-centipede half-human (Mitas) x F reader

Word Count: 3K

Warning: nsfw, dubcon half-centipede smut, kidnapping, descriptions of violence, desert vibes

“Have you seen a witch run this way, miss?” a lanky member of the city guard asked. 

You squinted in the desert sun as it reflected off his shiny gold armor. 

“A witch?” you asked, leaning on your bow. “Nope, can’t say I have.” 

He gave you a nod, glancing at your horse, Bina, who had her head in a bucket of water you’d drawn from the oasis. 

“Pretty horse,” he said, tipping his hat. “Better stay safe tonight. There’s a witch on the loose. Murdered one of the merchants in town with black magic. Could be dangerous.” 

“Sure thing,” you said, giving him a little salute as he walked away. 

“She’s not here!” you heard him yell at his captain over your shoulder. “Just a huntress watering her horse.” 

“She’s the bloody witch, you mouth-breathing dolt!” his captain shouted. “After her!”

Time to go! 

You hurried to empty the bucket and climbed on Bina’s back, kicking her lightly to make your escape. Pulling your goggles over your eyes, you turned into the wind, heading towards the mountains where you might be able to hide. You weren’t any witch, as the guard thought. You’d killed the merchant with poison before you’d stolen all his gold. It only appeared to be magic to the idiotic guard, who apparently had no idea what poisoning looked like. He’d bled out of every orifice, but his death was faster than he deserved. 

You could hear the hoofbeats of their horses on your tail. The guards were wearing heavy armor, however, and carrying swords. You were much faster. You twisted in your saddle and shot off a few arrows to ward them off. 

“We’re under heavy fire!” one of the guards shouted, and you snorted.

A few odd arrows were hardly heavy fire. You could have killed them if you’d wanted, but you aimed at their obnoxiously shiny chests, and your arrows only dented the metal. 

You often stole, but you didn’t often kill. The merchant had it coming, though. When he took you back to his home, thinking he’d seduced you, you’d found a house full of half-starved slaves. Slavery was illegal in Dechete, but he’d bragged to you about how he’d paid off the city magistrate to claim he’d adopted all the teens. So, annoyed that he was both a lech and a slaver, you hadn’t felt the least bad about dropping a few drops of Bloodweed essence in his drink. You let the teenagers take what they liked of his possessions and horses, pointing them towards the coast before you broke into his safe and pocketed the gold coins he kept there. 

No one would have noticed for a few days if one of the newer slaves wasn’t a snitch and called the guard, hoping to gain a favor from the magistrate. He got an arrow to the chest for his opportunism. Probably didn’t kill him, but the punctured lung would keep his mouth shut while the others got away. 

Which is why you were galloping through the desert, hoping to lose the city guard in the rising sandstorm. It was better they chase you than newly freed youths. 

“Sorry, Bina,” you muttered, pushing her faster into the fading light. “I owe you as many apples as you can eat when we make it across the mountain.” 

Beyond the mountains were the green lands of the Thundering Redwoods and safety. With all the gold you’d stolen, you could buy some animals and a little house in the woods. You’d never have to see this dismal desert again. 

“Fall back! The storm’ll take ‘er!” you heard the guard shout as the wind whipped around you, shooting particles against your face like liquid sandpaper. If you could have breathed a sigh of relief, you would have. Instead, you focused on keeping Bina running straight so you didn’t end up lost. 

“You’re a good girl, Bina,” you murmured, though you doubted she could hear you over the whistling wind. 

The rocks of the mountains came on you so quickly, you would have driven her straight into a stone wall if she didn’t have better sense. She made a sharp 90-degree turn at the last moment and carried you into a canyon. The wind didn’t reach here, and you pulled off your goggles, looking around at the high cliffs stretching up above you. 

“You’re worth your weight in gold,” you cheered, rubbing Bina’s neck. 

She gave you a pleased whinny, happy to be safe from the irritating sand. Hopping off her back, you wandered through the winding canyon, hoping it would take you straight through to the other side of the range. Night fell, and you still hadn’t come upon the opposite end, so, lighting a torch, you looked for a cave where you might get some rest before starting off again in the morning. 

“This look all right?” you asked Bina, holding your torch into a hole in the canyon wall only a bit larger than her. 

She nuzzled your hair, and you supposed that was her approval. Inside the opening, the cave opened to a large hall with a high ceiling you couldn’t see with your weak light. The sound of trickling water echoed off the cold stone walls, and after making your way quietly through the passage, you found a spring pumping, clear icy water into a small stream that went deeper into the cave. 

“I think you chose correct,” you said, smiling at your horse while you pulled your saddle and her bridle off so she could have a nice drink and a rest. 

You washed the layer of dirt off your face before you plopped down on the floor to get comfortable. Pulling an apple, you’d nicked from your bag, you gave it to Bina as she’d done most of the work. You could find something to eat in the morning. 

“Sleep tight, Bina,” you muttered, exhausted. 

Curling into a ball on the hard floor, you quickly fell asleep. 

You woke looking at the floor…but it was the ceiling…No. You were upside down. You blinked, peering in the low light at a shadowy creature silhouetted by the sun creeping in through the mouth of the cave. Your eyes frantically searched for Bina, but you found her safe and sound, resting in a bed of hay and eating a salad of apples, carrots, and melon from a crudely shaped clay bowl. Where did that-?

“Hello, little human,” the creature hissed. 

As your eyes adjusted to the light, they popped open, realizing what was holding you aloft by your ankle. 

“Sarantopodarousacentaur!” you gasped at the half-man, half-centipede smiling at you. 

His body was long, and the segmented carapace looked like polished mahogany. Shiny gold legs tapped the stone floor as if he were excited. He righted you, lifting you so you were eye to eye. His face was rather handsome despite his mouth appearing far wider than a normal human. Messy black hair fell around his jaw, and his skin was as gold as the desert sand. Two odd, blood-red teeth poked past his lips, and you puzzled at what they could be until he stretched his maw in an eerie smile, and you found they were the tips of two mandibles that rested in his cheeks. He flexed them at you as if he were hungry. 

“Um…hello…” you said, unsure what to say to a legendary monster. 

Sarantopodarousacentaurs were a myth, a story the desert folk told to keep their children from wandering at night. Yet, here was in front of you, grinning like a demon. He set you on the ground and patted your head. 

“You are a juicy little morsel,” he beamed, folding his muscled body to your height. “The perfect size to be my mate!” 

You swallowed hard and waved your hands at him, stepping back. 

“Oh no, I’m no…er…mate,” you said. “I’m just passing through. Bina and I will be on our way. Didn’t mean to disturb you!” 

You inched towards the bow you’d left on the ground while sleeping. His body curled around you in one smooth movement, pinching legs trapping you in a golden cage. A finger tipped your chin up to meet his red eyes. 

“You will be my mate,” he said. “But don’t be frightened.” 

He waved a hand at Bina, who happily munched on her bowl of treats, not the least afraid of the monster. 

“I will take good care of you and your Bina,” he said. 

His black-clawed fingers tore at the filthy, sandy clothes you wore, slicing them to ribbons as he unwrapped you like a treat. Lifting one of your legs, he examined it closely. 

“You look delicious,” he murmured as his eyes took stock of your body. 

You wracked your brain, trying to remember if centipedes killed their mates, but you couldn’t think clearly under his careful inspection. 

“Don’t you think we should get to know one another…before you…do…whatever…?” you asked. 

Please don’t eat me. 

He smiled again, his face so close to yours that his mandibles brushed your cheek. 

“I go by Mitas,” he said while he sniffed your hair. 

“I’m…ah…(Y/N),” you said, shivering. 

The cave was cold now that you were naked, and Mitas frowned. 

“You will be warm in my nest,” he assured you, tapping legs carrying him at a dizzying speed deeper into the cave. 

You gasped at what must have been the creature’s bedroom. On one side of the room, jewel-toned blankets, furs, and pillows formed a large, wide bowl where he slept. Your mouth went dry as you took in the neatly piled bones and skulls of his victims. Some were split to make bowls for food, drinks, and pigments, while some were carved with intricate designs and hung on the walls like art. 

He plopped you in his nest and coiled around you like a snake, his stiff legs holding you in place. His odd mandibles bloomed, pinching your cheek gently. 

He’s definitely going to eat me, you thought. His heavy hands moved all over your body, tracing your curves as if he were getting to know them.

“Normally I devour little mouthfulls like you,” he hummed, tucking his nose behind your ear and sniffing you. “But you’re too pretty to be a meal.” 

He sighed. 

“I’m lonely,” he pouted. “I want a proper mate.” 

“Yes but…” you started to say. 

“No buts,” he hissed. “The goddess led you to me. You walked right into my den. She must have meant for you to be mine.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you argued. 

“You’re either a meal or my mate,” he reasoned. “Which would you rather? It’d be a pity to eat you, but I’m sure you’re scrumptious!” 

Posed with those options, you chose the one that did not result in your immediate demise. 

“M-m-mate,” you squeaked. 

If only you had your bow nearby! The sarantopodarousacentaur was strong, but not invincible. A shot to the heart would kill anyone. 

“We ought to kiss,” he decided. 

“You think?” you asked. 

He nodded and smiled his eerily wide smile. 

“That’s what mated pairs do, no?” he replied. 

At that you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared for the worst. What you felt, however, was rather nice. His lips were soft and warm as they brushed yours. With your eyes closed, you took more notice of the scent of his nest. He didn’t smell bad, more like sandalwood and moss. Without thinking you leaned in to him, your hands finding their way to his chest. 

The muscles were firm and sculpted. Curious, your fingers drifted down to his abs as he tentatively brushed his tongue against your bottom lip. Your lips parted on their own and you were presented with his flavor. Surprisingly he tasted like mint and honey. 

You sighed your appreciation as his fingers gently moved along your waist, exploring your curves. Your body betrayed any lingering sense of caution sparkling under his touch. It’d been a long time since you’d been with a man. As a desert scavenger, you were more likely to rob one than take him to bed. 

You heard a lusty moan build in your throat and he pulled you closer, the sharp points of his legs scraping your skin in a not unpleasant way. His lips set off on an exploration of your body, drifting to your cheeks, then neck, until he was curiously nibbling at your breasts. 

There was no holding in your gasps when he pulled a nipple past his lips and ran his tongue over it. The pointy mandibles tucked in his cheeks nipped at the tender skin making you shudder in pleasure, not pain. 

He hummed, pleased that you were obviously enjoying his investigation. Thick fingers slid down your stomach to dip themselves into your wetness. 

“What’s this?” he murmured as his roving fingers found your sensitive spot. 

Inquisitive sanguine eyes met yours. 

“It’s called a clit,” you explained in halting breaths. 

He chuckled lightly as he felt your body stiffen while he circled it. 

“You like that,” he observed and you gave him a tight nod punctuated by a loud moan. 

He made an odd chattering noise that sounded rather victorious before returning to your breasts, to lick your nipples, one after the other. He had your head all fucked up. Pleasure rolled over you like a unstoppable wave, clouding any thoughts of escape with ones of surrender. 

Feeling you relax into his arms, he pushed you down into the soft pile of blankets and pillows beneath you. Opening your eyes you found him looming over you, considering his strategy. 

As you watched a portion of the yolk of carapace that wrapped around his hips parted and what must have been his cock emerged. It wasn’t like a man’s at all, instead the tip was slightly curved and the shaft lined with knobs arranged in a spiral. You whimpered at it’s size, unsure if it would even fit inside you. 

“Oh,” you mewled and he smiled down at you, his mandibles stretching wide, obviously proud of what he had to offer. 

“I like your little, squishy legs,” he purred opening them with ease and brushing his member against the soft skin of your thighs. 

Precum mixed with your own fluids that had slid down your leg. Curious, he dipped his head and you felt his long tongue explore your channel, making you squeal. No one had ever been quite so close before. At first, you were frightened, but as he worked his tongue inside you, you couldn’t deny the pleasure he sent shooting up your spine. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your lashes fluttered. Panting your hands found his shaggy hair on their own and held him in place. 

You heard a rumbling grow echo through the chamber, coming from his chest. He stopped for a moment to glance up at you. 

“No, don’t stop,” you demanded despite yourself and he grinned at you, lowering his head again. 

His efforts moved to your clit, his tongue twirling around it like some tentacle. His teasing pushed you up and up like a drifting balloon until you popped, screeching as you came. Pleased with himself, he loomed over you, licking his lips with the agile appendage. 

“Now you’re mine,” he declared, his hips snapping forward and his cock plunging in to your soaking core. 

Your body was his to take as his cock stretched you. His shaft was stiff and smooth, the covering feeling more like smooth bone than velvety flesh. 

"Ahhhh!" you groaned as he drove into you. 

His claws fingers held you in place, gripping your neck and all you could do was gaze up at him. His eyes had shifted from a deep garnet to cherry red. 

"Minnnnne," he muttered in a labored hiss. 

His hips slammed into yours mercilessly, rutting you like a beast. You started to lose yourself in bliss, his member stroking the places inside of you that felt the best. 

Your eyelashes fluttered closed and the only thing that passed your lips was incoherent babble. 

"Touch yourself, mate," he ordered, eyes eating up your vulnerable body and you obeyed. 

Your narrow fingers desperately circled your clit, chasing your end and plucked at a nipple. His gaze on you was lecherous, enjoying your neediness. After a few minutes, he couldn't take it anymore, brushing your hand away and folding his large body in half so that he could nibble the pert nipples you'd tugged to a point. 

His other hand found your clit and as he drove into you he pinched and stroked your little bundle of nerves until you were sobbing. Pleasure detonated in your core like a bomb and your back arched in the soft linens as you screamed his name. 

You heard him chuckle, devolving into animal grunts as he took his pleasure. His glowing eyes narrowed and you could see the rapture growing in them. They were solely focused on you when he emptied himself inside. 

You both laid there panting, his body curved over you like a cave, but not pressing his weight on you. 

"Little mate," he purred,  fingers stroking your cheek. "You are so lovely." 

Like a gentleman, not a monster, he twisted around offering you a sip of water from a bone bowl. You were too thirsty and spent to complain, so you drank eagerly. 

He hummed at you in satisfaction. It seemed providing for you pleased him. Your head was dotted in his happy kisses. 

"When we are done resting we'll go pick fruit," he said, snuggling up next you and trapping you in a cage of his legs. "I won't let my scrap go hungry."  

"Where?" you murmured. "We're in the middle of the desert." 

His chuckle rolled over you like a heavy grumble of thunder, sending a shock of pleasure up your spine. 

"There's an oasis where I cultivate plants," he explained, yawning. "Only I know about it. Very secret, but I'll share it with my mate. Sleep now, little one." 

Escape briefly crossed your mind, but to be honest, you'd never been so satisfied carnally before and you were rethinking that plan. Your body was glowing and your hormones were slowly binding you to the myth made flesh dozing beside you. Maybe escape could wait until after a nap and some fruit salad. So you pressed your head into his chest and maneuvered his thick arm over you like a blanket, which earned you a satisfied hum from Mitas, and drifted into sleep. 

[megalony]

You're Not Leaving

As promised, this is my new Dark! Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon. Thank you for this idea I loved it and any dark Evan requests I'll happily try and write them. Let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17 @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) tries to walk away from Evan, she knows his obsessive nature is out of control. But after a drunken night, she finds her way back to him and realises leaving a second time isn't going to be easy.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What do you want, pal? You've been following me for the last five blocks."

Simon turned to look over his shoulder, hunching his shoulders up as his lips crinkled in distaste and panic.

Who was this guy? Why had he been following Simon since he left that bar? If he was looking for a hook-up, he had the wrong person in mind. And if he was looking for a fight, Simon wasn't the type to go round brawling with strangers.

It didn't help that the moon was barely visible behind the shimmering clouds and the street lights were as dim and helpful as a single match.

The man continued to stalk over until he was one foot away from Simon. He had broad shoulders that seemed to expand for miles and his arms were almost ripping through the thick denim jacket he wore that wouldn't even button up around his chest, he was that heavily built.

He had a heavy frame that made his shoes bash and stomp against the pavement, announcing his presence to anyone within listening distance. His hands were stuffed into his jean pockets. His face was freshly shaven, giving him a youthful look and his hair was perfectly cut into short strands that were just starting to curl and crimp at the ends. He didn't look as if the midnight air toussled his hair or touched him at all.

His eyes were the worrying factor. Simon couldn't tell what colour they would have been in the bright midday sun. But here in the darkness of the clouds, the man's eyes were raven black with tiny, glimmering flecks of white like miniture moons captured within each eye.

He looked manic.

"I want to give you a warning." His voice was smooth like velvet, with just a tiny frayed edging to it that cut through the air as sharp as a blade.

He took a step closer, hunching his shoulders higher and tilting his head down due to the height difference. The stranger was easily over six foot and he towered over Simon like a bad omen of death, here to take him down to the underworld.

"What?"

"You need to leave (Y/n) alone."

(Y/n).

The girl Simon had just been on a date with? The girl he had just parted ways with at the bar only ten minutes ago?

Why would this stranger need to give Simon a warning about (Y/n)? Why was he warding him away from her?

She was the one who had asked Simon out again tonight. They met in a cafe two weeks ago, went on a date last week and had been on a second date tonight. She was the shy type. The type of girl who had her face buried in a book and her soul hidden behind protective layers that took time to scrape through and see the girl hiding beneath. Who was this man, to her?

"I don't understand-"

"Then I'll simplify." Evan latched his fingers around Simon's throat before he could finish his sentence. He dug his short nails into his neck, pinched his thumb over his pulse so he could feel the artery in his neck throb and ignite with panic.

His left arm moved to pin across Simon's lanky, thin chest and with very little effort, Evan shoved him back against the brick wall behind him.

He squeezed his throat just tight enough to have tears welling up in his eyes and cause his lips to part in panic. He struggled for breath, gurgling and gasping as Evan pinched his throat so he only had partial use over his airways. He needed him frightened and compliant. He needed Simon to listen to what he was going to tell him and to heed his warning carefully.

"On your next date with (Y/n), you tell her you don't wanna be with someone like her. She's not your type. And you leave her the fuck alone."

"W-why?" Simon's voice was nothing but a gargle, a cat mewling in the midnight air. Begging for someone to walk past and see this altercation and help him. To get this freaked stranger off him before he crushed his windpipe or strangled him to death.

"Because she's mine."

Those three little words were as dangerous as a gun being aimed in his face. They were fire and ice, life and death, sun and moon all combined together in one big combustion.

(Y/n) was his. She was Evan's girl.

And he didn't care if she instagated this date or not, another one wasn't going to happen. He wasn't allowing this guy to take his girl away from him.

She wanted a break. She took a step back from her relationship with Evan, but he knew she would come running back to him when she realised how deeply he loved her and what their relationship meant to them both. She walked out of their flat and had been living with a friend. She didn't know Evan was still checking on her, making sure she was okay, that she got home from work safely, that she wasn't meeting strangers and getting herself into trouble.

He had left everything in their flat the way it was, he didn't move her clothes or their pictures or her hairbrush or anything in the bathroom. He was wating for her to come back. She hadn't taken a lot of her stuff with her and she hadn't come back for the rest yet, clearly she wasn't finished with their relationship like she pretended she was.

"After you break things off, I don't want you near her again. If you so much as look at my girl… well, I'll have to get creative."

The smile that formed on Evan's lips was more than frightening, more than sinister and much worse than pure terror.

(Y/n) was Evan's girl; his one and only. She was the one for him and he wouldn't have anyone else trying to hurt her or take her away from him. This guy needed to stay away from her for his own sake, or Evan would have to take more drastic action to make him pay attention to the rules laid out before him.

When Simon started to bash his hand down on Evan's wrist and then his elbow to try and gain some air, Evan obliged. He loosened his grip enough to let strangled gurgles leave Simon's lips as he gasped for breath.

"Understand?"

"Y-you're derranged-"

With a shake of his head and a chiding click of his tongue, Evan grabbed the hand that was about to land a very frail attempt at a punch on his jaw. In one swift motion, Evan bent his index and middle finger back until the tips of his fingers were touching the back of his hand, earning a howl from Simon at the same time as a sickening crunch tore through the air.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes! Fuck! Yes, j-just let me go." Tears drenched Simon's face as he pleaded and nodded his head until his neck ached and felt like his head was going to drop off.

He understood. He was listening. He knew his orders. He would stay the Hell away from (Y/n) if this guy was going to be hovering around her like a bad omen. He would stay away from her. He didn't need this kind of trouble and he wasn't getting involved in whatever mess she had going on here. This unfinished business had nothing to do with Simon. He wanted nothing to do with it.

Evan said nothing, but his smile was satisfactory. He took two steps back and watched with a grin as Simon slumped down to his knees like he was praying to the Devil himself.

He seemed to have learned his lesson.

Now all Evan had to do was stand back and wait. He knew (Y/n) like the back of his hand. She would come back to him in no time, and he would be waiting.

***

Swaying on her feet, (Y/n) leaned forward until her left shoulder banged into the familiar doorframe. Her right hand wavered and made the keychain hooked on her thumb jingle out a strange tune.

She tried her best to fiddle with the keys, but the chain wouldn't unhook from her thumb and her nimble fingers were trembling too harshly for her to find the right key. She had too many on the chain. Why did she even keep the key for the apartment in the first place?

This wasn't her home anymore.

She hadn't been back here in almost a month. She hadn't stepped foot inside, not to collect her clothes or her books or her jewellery or the little nicnacs she had made and was rather proud of. (Y/n) was too afraid to come back and bump into Evan in the process. He would make it harder to leave, and walking out with a small bag of clothes had been the hardest thing she had ever done in the beginning.

A groan tumbled past her lips and she slumped her forehead onto the cold wood, relishing in the way it cooled down her burning skin and relieved the headache pounding in her temple.

The chain finally unhooked from her thumb and when the metal sang as it collided with the floor, (Y/n) bashed her hand limply against the door.

"Evan?" His name trembled past her lips like a song she was too afraid to sing in fear of the consequences it would ensnare.

Evan loves you. That's why you're here right now. He's going to take care of you.

It was all (Y/n) could process.

If she wasn't drunk to the point of passing out, (Y/n) wouldn't have come back here to the place that still felt like home. The place she had moved into after only two months of dating Evan.

If she weren't drunk as a skunk, (Y/n) would have told herself some cold, hard truths that would make her turn around and go home.

Evan is obsessive.

He checks your phone. He won't let you go out alone without him. He won't let you take a phone call in another room.

He needs an exact schedule of your day, your week, your month so he knows every movement you make. Keeping you safe is his priority, but smothering you is the cost that comes with it.

He thinks you're the one for him and if you leave, the world will end. He is always anxious about you leaving him, it fuels the fire burning inside him and makes him controlling.

Give me your phone! Where are you going? Why don't you want me to go with you? Why won't you tell me where you're going? Can't you see I need to look after you? I need to keep you safe! Too many people get hurt in this world and I have to protect you. I can't let you leave. Why won't you let me look after you? Where are you going?!

The alcohol blocked out all of those thoughts. The vodka made them blurry, the shot of whiskey watered them down. The cocktails turned them into sludge and washed them along the river. Everything drained out of her head until the only thing left was the one truth (Y/n) could conceive. Evan loved her, and she needed some love tonight.

"(Y/n)- hey, you okay?"

When the door opened, (Y/n) didn't realise how much weight she had leaned onto the door, or how heavy her head was. Until the door opened and her body slumped forward like a pendulum.

A broken gasp broke past her lips but her head met with a hard, familiar chest that smelled like leather and pine. Her wet lips pressed into a cotton shirt that felt like the softest cloud beneath her skin and she almost started to kiss it. Her arms curled around a familiar waist that was broad and large and stocky. Her very own weighted comfort.

A large hand softly planted down on her back between her shoulder blades and the chest took all of her weight for her as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of sugar.

"Hi,"

It was clear the moment (Y/n) tilted her head back and pressed her chin into Evan's chest that she was drunk. Her eyelids were halfway over her eyes which were blown wide with pupils that were dancing around like stars. Her lips spread into a wide, lopsided grin and the soft, laboured breaths she took showed how drunk she had gotten tonight.

Saying nothing, Evan pressed his lips to the top of her head and let go of the doorframe so he could take a step back. He kept his arm curved around her waist and let her slump against him and stumble inside their flat.

Once the door was closed, Evan made quick work of bolting it shut and drawing the chain across before he looked down at the girl in his arm who melted his heart.

"Are you okay?" Evan's voice was as soft as melted butter and it made heat rise to (Y/n)'s cheeks and had her smile turning cheeky and flushed and embarrassed.

He did care. Evan was the only person in the world who cared about her. The only person she could rely on, despite his obsessive, protective tendencies that frightened her. What was fear compared to the love he made her feel?

"Can I stay with you? I d- I don't wanna be alone… or with Lacey." (Y/n) hiccupped through her words but her arms tightened around Evan's waist until he took a sharp breath. His eyes were enamoured by her and he took the time to drink in every inch of her that he could. He drank in her plump lips that looked even softer and thicker than the last time he kissed them. He was having withdrawal symptoms every day just thinking about those lips.

He raked his eyes over the dress she was wearing. Dark blue. His favourite colour. Did she dress up just for him? Did she know that off the shoulder look was going to aggravate him into wanting to rip that material off her arms and ravage her right here in the hall?

Did she know that it started to flutter around her thighs and stick to them when she started to sweat? Did she know not wearing any tights just gave Evan a better view of her plump thighs that he wanted to lay between until the world ended?

(Y/n) didn't want to go back to Lacey's apartment where she had been staying since she left Evan.

She didn't want to go there where her friend would already be in bed and she would be alone with her thoughts and the drowning knowledge that nobody wanted her. Simon broke it off with her. Two dates was all it took for him to say she wasn't his type. She seemed clingy. He couldn't get into another relationship right now. He wasn't ready for that. For her.

The only place (Y/n) could think to go that would make her feel comforted and loved was here. Her old home, with Evan. With someone who worshipped the ground she walked on and would love her like she depended on him to breathe.

"Then you'd better come in." Evan's voice was comforting and quiet and rolled in one ear and out the other, but in a good way.

He slid her bag off her shoulder and slung it on the second hook on the wall that still had her denim jacket and her raincoat hung up. He curved his arm tight around her waist and dug his fingers lovingly into her hip while he leant down and slid her high heels off her aching feet.

When she got drunk, her mind would wander. She sought the reassurance she couldn't get the courage to find when she was sober. She clung to Evan like her world, her life, depended on him. She kissed him and attached herself to him and became clingy and needy in such a way that made Evan feel like he had taken a dose of ecstasy and was on top of the world.

He knew he was needed when she clung to him and kissed him and ravaged him and begged him to tell her everything was okay. To tell her that he loved her.

He guided her towards the kitchen until (Y/n) turned to face him.

Her arms bound tight around his waist until her hands were on his upper back and he could feel her nails scratching through his shirt. She tilted her head down and suddenly smothered her face into the centre of his chest, squishing her nose against his sternum and fanning her hot breaths against his skin that was getting flushed already.

"Missed you." She murmured softly into his chest, so quiet that Evan almost missed the words. But they made him grin.

Simon had done as Evan had asked. (Y/n) had come back to him. Evan wasn't going to let her leave again.

"I missed you too, baby."

Evan kept his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and moved his left hand to cup the back of her neck. His head tilted down until his lips and nose were smothered in her hair and he breathed in the scent of her lemon shampoo that drove him wild.

He swayed them both from side to side, feeling the way (Y/n) grinned into his shirt and he was sure she was starting to kiss his chest too.

"Don't wanna be alone…" Her voice was as quiet as the evening breeze drifting by outside. And Evan felt each word vibrate through his chest and into his heart. She knew he would never let her be alone. He would always look after her and shower her with love and show her exactly how much she meant to him.

That was why she was here. She was here because she didn't have the strength or the willpower to stay away now she was drunk. Her defences were down and she couldn't fight herself to stay away from Evan. She wanted to be loved and Evan was more than ready to do that for her.

"You're home now, you're not gonna be alone."

Moving his hand around from her neck to her face, Evan gently pinched her chin between his thumb and finger and lifted her head up from his chest. He wanted to see her. He wanted to look down into her eyes and see the stars that twinkled within them. He wanted her to look at him like she always used to; with love and adoration and wanting.

His thumb brushed across her lower lip and he tugged it down, noticing the dark patch in the corner where she had anxiously bitten a layer of skin off.

He couldn't resist any longer. He crashed his lips down against hers, tasting the infusion of vodka, whiskey and all sorts of alcoholic combinations on her sweet lips. His tongue battled against hers, winning the fight easily and stealing the gasp she elicited into his mouth.

His fingers crushed down around her hip as if making sure she wasn't a figment of his imagination trying to tease him.

Their lips parted for all of a second, just enough for (Y/n) to draw in a sharp breath to push away the dizziness in the front of her mind. And then his lips were back on hers, savouring her taste, drinking her in, swallowing her whole and consuming every inch of her that he could get.

When he walked her back, (Y/n) stumbled along, letting him drive her in any direction he wanted until her back collided with the kitchen wall.

A groan bubbled up in her chest but Evan swallowed it down, crashing his teeth against her lower lip until the metallic taste of iron trickled onto both their tongues.

Her heels scraped against the floor to keep herself upright and a dull ache throbbed in her shoulders and the back of her head when Evan kept her head tilted back and pushed into the wall. But he kept her pinned in place with his hard chest that collided with hers and crushed her between him and the wall.

His fingers roughly let go of her chin to glide back round and cup the back of her neck, curling his fingers into her hair so he could give a sharp tug and tilt her head up to be more at his level.

(Y/n) finally found some control over her limbs and wiggled her arms out from around Evan's chest so she could loop them around his neck instead. Her fingers dragged over the back of his neck and raked up, scratching against his skin until she felt him shivering against her and groaning into her mouth.

"Evan…"

She wasn't sure what she was asking him or trying to convey, but it didn't really matter. Evan seemed to have complete control and (Y/n) was more than willing to surrender to him.

Her heart rocketed in her chest and she felt adrenaline pooling in her stomach and travelling down her limbs when his hands moved. He let go of her neck but the way his chin pressed into hers kept her head tilted at just the angle he needed her in to keep devouring and biting her lips.

One hand travelled down until his fingers were splayed out in the middle of her back, pressing her chest fully against his so there wasn't even a membrane of space between them. But it was his other hand that (Y/n) started to focus on. His fingers scrunched up in the hem of her dress that had already ridden up her legs and became glued to her thighs.

With one sharp tug, Evan raked her dress up over her thighs until it was bunched over her hips, exposing her black laced underwear.

She gasped for air when Evan finally released her sore, bruising lips and though her fingers stayed curled around the back of his neck, she watched him tilt his head down. His chin pressed into his chest and his head leaned to the right so he could get a look at the underwear she was wearing.

The smile that formed on his lips was devilish and made his blue eyes darken three shades.

He hooked a finger into the lace and pulled it back, watching with glee as it snapped into (Y/n)'s hip and made her jump forward against him.

"Come're." His growl made (Y/n)'s knees go weak and she could feel herself about to slide down against him into a puddle on the floor. But his hand secured around the back of her thigh, dangerously close to her underwear and he gave a sharp pull. He lifted her leg until she hooked it over his hip and when he pulled, (Y/n) took the hint.

She lifted her right leg over his other hip and let him hoist her up onto his torso. Her arms bound tighter around his neck and she took the opportunity to smother her face against his neck while his fingers dug deeply into her thighs which would leave bruises in his wake in the morning.

(Y/n) let her hazy eyes fall closed and breathed in Evan's scent that felt like another wave of alcohol washing over her, intoxicating her to the max. Her wet lips started to create hollow kisses up and down from his shoulder up towards his jaw. And when she grazed her teeth over his skin, a dark hum vibrated through Evan's chest and made her stomach jolt.

She realised he was walking out of the kitchen and he lifted her higher on his hips so he could make quick work of climbing the stairs.

(Y/n)'s head started to spin and she opened her eyes, watching the light fixture spin in clockwise circles above her when Evan laid her down on the bed. The alcohol was starting to take a different kind of effect. She didn't want to keep her eyes open but the room continued to spin even when she closed them.

She could feel her hands trembling against the back of Evan's neck and she clung to him tighter, breathing through her nose to clear her head.

She almost whimpered when he unhooked her hands from his neck and started to retreat down her body. She thought he was leaving her. Maybe Evan thought she was too drunk and was going to let her sleep it off.

Electric sparks flickered through (Y/n)'s thighs when Evan laid on his chest between her legs and started to place open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs. She felt his fingers hook into the top of her underwear and her head spun faster when he slowly dragged them down her thighs and flung them somewhere in the room.

"I'm glad you came back, baby." Evan was more than glad, more than relieved, more than grateful that she was back.

And he wasn't going to let her leave again.

***

Oh God, what had she done?

(Y/n)'s limbs felt like bars of gold when she brought a hand up to rub across her eyes and try to open them properly. She was thankful for the blackout blinds in the bedroom. They stopped the light from blinding her this morning and showing off her shame.

She could feel her heart rocketing up into her throat, closing off her airways when she looked down at her chest.

It wasn't a dream. Nor was it a vague memory. She had slept with Evan last night. The proof was Evan himself, wrapped around her like a blanket.

His head was laid comfortably in the middle of her chest, his nose tickling her skin and his sandy curls swept across her collar bone. He had both arms curled around her like she was a teddy he was clinging to in his sleep and his body was resting comfortably between her legs. Well, Evan seemed comfy. (Y/n), on the other hand, was aching. Her hips were bent outwards to accommodate him resting between her legs and from how stiff her joints felt and how accustomed she now felt to him laying on her, (Y/n) guessed they had been like this all night.

She didn't mean for this to happen.

(Y/n) didn't want to end up in bed with him like this. It wasn't what she planned. Hell, she didn't even plan to go back home with Simon after the date they were supposed to have last night.

Crawling back into bed with Evan only made this sticky situation worse because it made it that much harder for (Y/n) to walk away from him for good.

(Y/n) dropped her hand from her face and let her palm rest on Evan's shoulder and the touch made him groan into her bare chest.

He was always a light sleeper. (Y/n) could never walk out on Evan during the night because he woke at the slightest sound. If she moved in bed, his arm would suddenly secure around her and bind her to him like fate keeping them together. If she tried to get up before him, he would wake up and pin her down to the bed.

Trying to make a quiet exit this morning would be impossible with him laid on her like this, and something told (Y/n) this was part of the plan.

"Morning." Evan's rough, gritty voice sent shockwaves through (Y/n)'s system and woke her up immediately.

She stayed perfectly still as Evan moved his arms so his hands were planted down on the mattress either side of her arms and he turned his head to kiss her collar bone delicately. His lips worked their way up her skin, making their own path along her neck as he crawled up her body and hovered over her.

Hovering over her like this allowed (Y/n) to take a proper breath, but it also let her feel every ache and bruise she now had. Her shoulders were tense, her thighs were aching and surely bruised and she didn't want to look and see what marks Evan had left down her neck and across her chest.

"Here, take these for the headache."

(Y/n) didn't see him move and she stayed still as Evan pecked her lips and dropped a packet of painkillers on the pillow beside her from his bedside drawer. He knew exactly how rough she would be feeling and she figured she didn't look her best self either.

Her eyes followed him as he slowly climbed off her, shrugging on his boxers before he headed downstairs to the bathroom.

She didn't want to move. Her head was still pounding and when she sat up, the room tilted at an angle and sent her head swaying from left to right.

She had to leave.

(Y/n) had to be quick and leave the room before Evan managed to keep her here. He was the kind of person to pin her to the bed and distract her or he would wrap around her and sweet-talk her until she gave in and stayed here with him.

It was for her own safety that she had to leave.

Her legs trembled when she slumped off the bed and took a look around. Wearing last night's clothes wasn't an option today. (Y/n) had no idea where Evan had thrown her bra or underwear last night. And when she leaned down and picked up her dress, her lips pressed into a thin line and she dropped the material back down to the floor.

Evan had ripped it. As she tried to think back, (Y/n) had a vague memory of his hands roughly yanking the straps off her arms and tugging it down her waist. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the material shredding and the threads pulling apart.

"Thanks, Evan." She huffed to herself and shuffled towards the wardrobe in the corner of the room.

Everything was still in its place. (Y/n) thought Evan would have bagged everything up when she walked out. She thought he would have binned her things or bagged them so she could come and get them later. But she should have realised he wouldn't move anything. He wouldn't get rid of her things because Evan wanted her to come home, he would leave everything as it was because he didn't take no for an answer and he didn't believe their relationship was over.

In haste to try and make a quick escape, (Y/n) shrugged on some underwear, a bra, a pair of jogging bottoms and one of Evan's shirts. Somehow, despite all of her clothes staring her right in the face, she picked Evan's attire.

It's easier. It's quicker. Getting dressed in his clothes was quicker than fiddling with one of her shirts or dresses or fighting with a pair of tight jeans.

Her hands shook and her head pounded as she ignored the painkillers Evan had found for her and hurried down the stairs. Her eyes cast around the room to try and find her purse. She wasn't sure where she left it last night, or where her shoes were. Walking home in high heels was going to be a killer.

"What's the rush?"

His voice rattled (Y/n) down to her core and she spun on her heels to find Evan stood leaning against the wall in the hallway.

"I- Evan I'm sorry… I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have come round last night-"

"Yes you should. You came home."

She couldn't help but cringe at his words. Technically, (Y/n) did come home. This was her old home. This was the only home she had so far, she hadn't gotten around to taking her name off this flat. Her post still came here, her job still thought this was her address and she hadn't found a new place to rent on her own.

But (Y/n) couldn't stay here. She couldn't get back into this predicament of telling Evan where she went every time she had to leave the flat. She couldn't handle the constant messages and calls and how he would glare and push her behind him if anyone tried to talk to her that he didn't know.

She couldn't handle his obsessive nature that was getting out of control. She turned into his possession instead of his partner. She felt like someone under twenty four hour observation who couldn't take one step out the flat without Evan knowing where she was going and who she was going to be with.

"I'm gonna go-"

"No, baby, you're not. You're not going anywhere, you need to stay with me."

Evan moved within the blink of an eye and a croaky gasp left (Y/n)'s lips when his hands found her waist and her back suddenly hit the wall. Her eyes snapped closed and she couldn't bite back her whimper when her already aching body pinned into the wall.

"Evan I can't." Her voice was feeble and she knew he didn't believe or listen to her words. And when his lips attached to the side of her neck, (Y/n) pushed her arms into his chest and scrambled out of his grasp towards the door.

It was locked. Her fingers shook as she unhooked the chain across the top of the door but when she flung her hand in the dish on the side cabinet, she froze. The keys weren't there. Evan always kept his keys in the dish so if he had to leave in an emergency or for a last minute shift, he could always get out on time and as fast as possible.

Where were her keys? She still had her key to the flat on her keys- oh no. She dropped them last night. She didn't unlock the door, Evan had unlocked it last night to let her in.

"Where are the keys? W-where's my bag?" (Y/n) darted her eyes around the hallway but she could feel her heart dropping down to her stomach like a stone sinking into a lake.

She couldn't see her bag, she knew she had come over with her bag because it held her phone, her purse, her ID, her work ID badge. Everything important was in that bag and she had it on her last night when she went out. She must have come over here with it. She knew she did. What was Evan up to? What was he doing?

"Evan… what are you doing?" She was almost too afraid to ask.

Her eyes followed him as he pushed off the wall, dragging one rough hand across his lips and down his chin and jaw. The action was so slow and methodical that (Y/n) couldn't help but shiver. She watched him stalk closer to her, his hair askew in all directions, his muscles tense and free on display. The only piece of clothing on him being the boxers hanging dangerously low on his hips.

"I told you you're not leaving." Evan's hand was unusually soft as it curled around her upper arm and he slowly dragged her away from the door. "The only way that door will open, is if this relationship is patched up again. Otherwise, you're staying exactly where I can see you."

Bile rose in the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she shuddered as his words started to sink in.

He wasn't going to let her leave.

He had locked the door and hidden the keys. He had plugged her bag away somewhere in the flat so she couldn't find her phone and call for help. Their apartment was on the fifth floor, (Y/n) couldn't climb out the bedroom window or get out onto the balcony and find her way down to the ground without risking her life.

The only way she could leave was by finding the keys and risking making a break for it. Or by agreeing to work things out and getting back into a relationship with Evan.

(Y/n) took a step back but when Evan stalked closer, he looked just like a demon coming to claim her soul. The light from the balcony windows shone across on him and created a halo of light around him while his face and chest basked in darkness.

He advanced towards her, following her as she moved past the kitchen and stumbled into the living room. Her eyes swept around frantically, trying to search for anything she could use to either defend herself or break the lock on the front door to get out. But all she could focus on was the photos littering the apartment.

Dozens of them. Evan with his arms wrapped around her. (Y/n)'s cheesy smile as Evan rested his chin on top of her head due to their height difference. A picture of them both with Chris and Eddie on a day out to the zoo. A picture of them at Christmas. One of them with the team at the summer party a couple of months back.

Each photo showed how strange their relationship could twist. In half the photos on the walls, Evan simply had an arm around (Y/n) or his hand on her back. But in others, he was wrapped tightly around her like a predator trying to squeeze the life out of her and keep her safe and secured to him. No one else would be able to notice, but (Y/n) could tell which photos showed Evan in one of his manic moods.

His eyes always gave it away.

"Evan… baby, please don't do this. I was wrong to come over last night… I stayed the night and I hurt you-" (Y/n) cut herself off when she saw the way Evan's expression changed.

"You came home. Come on (Y/n) you admitted you missed me and I know you still love me. Let's talk."

Biting her lip, (Y/n) found herself nodding and she backed up towards the sofa and slumped down just as her trembling knees started to give way beneath her. She coiled her arms to her chest and flopped her head back on the sofa, but her heartbeat quickened when Evan sat down next to her.

He sat so close that their knees were touching and when he laid a hand on her thigh, she didn't have the nerve to pull away.

The way he tipped his head back so casually almost made (Y/n) feel like they had gone back in time to when they first bought this flat almost half a year ago. Back when (Y/n) didn't feel like she was smothered, like she was someone's possession and when she thought Evan's expressions of love were the best things in the world and life couldn't get any better.

"I never said I didn't love you," (Y/n) spoke quietly, her eyes focusing down on her hands that stayed rigid and frozen on her lap.

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect, although (Y/n) wasn't sure what kind of effect she was hoping for. But his hand on her thigh wasn't it. She felt like shrinking back and disappearing, but her body stayed motionless even as Evan leaned closer until his face was inches from hers.

"I want you to stay." He spoke as if (Y/n) didn't know that. She knew he wanted her to stay here, stay home, stay with him. The locked door gave that message away loud and clear. "You belong with me, you know I love you and I'd do anything for you. Anything."

Anything but let her go.

His lips attached to the side of her neck and when his chest merged with hers, (Y/n) couldn't stop him from leaning his weight onto her. She let him carefully push her back into the sofa and pin his hands near her head and the other next to her hip. Caging her in beneath him. Binding her to him.

"Tell me you'll stay. Tell me you'll come home to me." His words sounded like a command, something (Y/n) didn't want to disobey in fear of how he would react if she said no.

What choice did she have? She couldn't leave if she didn't agree, Evan wouldn't let her. She couldn't say yes and then disappear, Evan would find her. She couldn't start a new life without him, he wouldn't allow it to happen. And no one else seemed to want to be around her or in a relationship with her.

Evan did. He was here, he loved her, although he loved her far too much for his or her own good, he still loved her unconditionally.

When he worked his way up to her lips and stole a gentle, tepid kiss, (Y/n) watched his face hover over hers. She locked her eyes onto his blue orbs and felt his nose nudge against hers. She felt his breaths entwining with hers, his lips tickling hers as they barely touched, barely parted. His fingers dug into her waist. His chest pressed down on hers, his heart beating rapidly in tandem with hers.

"Tell me," He murmured against her lips, stealing another kiss. Then another, and another until (Y/n) felt positively drunk again and she couldn't think straight.

"I'll stay."

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the two of the had always treated it as one big joke, was the thing. bruce and dick would put on a show together: a stumbling, overly-friendly yet well-intentioned gatsby and his young ward with a sweet tongue and an artful smile. laugh a little too loud, bat the eyes, play up the youth, and they had gotham eating out of their palms. it was fun, a punchline only the two of them were ever in on.

"that was a good one," bruce said, voice warm, deftly removing his cufflinks. "the bit with mrs. arlington's cosmetic surgery was particularly inspired."

"i thought so!" dick chirped back. his suit jacket was already draped over a chair in the sitting room, shoes flung off. "i mean, what could i possibly know about the divorce rumors."

bruce hummed in amused agreement. "i always forget how tiring brucie wayne is to play, though," he said. "for someone who doesn't exist, he's quite the effort."

right then, though, a quiet ripple of alarm went through dick. "wait, what do you mean brucie doesn't exist? what do you mean he's an effort?"

"i mean he's not...he's not real, dick. you know this." bruce shot him a confused glance. "he's a fiction i have to endure on occasion. having you there does make the theatre much more bearable, though."

"of cource brucie wayne is real. he's you!"

bruce was staring at him now, the tired comfort from a successful night wiped from his face. he was just confused, and more than a little concerned. heart on his cheek , always, helplessly (to dick, anyway). "it's just a performance, dick. it doesn't mean anything. you are well aware—"

but dick cut him off, shaking his head. "nothing is ever just a performance, b. that's not what performance is!"

and it killed him, gutted him that bruce didn't understand this, that he had failed to grasp 'brucie wayne' was poetic, was almost victorian, was a masterclass in crafting a mask around a kernel of truth. was the kind of murder you watched a play just to revel in at the end.

"i don't see how it isn't," bruce said, speaking very carefully. "the version of bruce wayne the public sees is a persona. his very existence is to perform the function of deceit."

"deceit?" dick said incredulously, almost laughing with it. "performing isn't deceit, bruce. and that's not what you're doing either." he jabbed a finger in bruce's general direction. "you way overplay how harmless brucie is, but you're not hardline serious all the time. with me and with other kids you meet on patrol, you're gentle."

"that isn't—"

dick kept steamrolling over him. "and sure, brucie is ridiculous sometimes. but you didn't pull that silliness out of thin air, did you? no, because you're playful with me and alfred."

"how i behave with you and alfred isn't a performance though, dick," bruce explained. "that's simply...well. that's who i am when i'm not pretending to be someone else."

"that's what you're missing, b. a performance isn't you pretending to be someone else. you're exaggerating certain parts of yourself like crazy, but at the heart of it all, you're still you."

"why does this affect you so much?" bruce asked. "you're hurting." you're hurting because of me, went unsaid. it wasn't an apology, but it was the closest dick was going to get.

"because brucie is bruce in all the ways that matter, and bruce is my best friend," dick said simply. "don't you dare tell me my best friend doesn't exist!"

bruce was still tense, though. like his heart was a step behind his head, like was a dandelion seed and the wind was unsure. so dick did what he should have done at the beginning of his whole ordeal: went over to him and looped his arms over his waist in a hug, as high as they would go.

"performing is a little tiring, but like batman is," dick mumbled into bruce's shirt. "it isn't a chore you gotta get through. it's an art, and you should have fun with it! because every show you put on is you basically just exaggerating different parts of yourself. you're not creating anyone new."

bruce reached down to hug dick in return, holding him close and sure, strength and sinew and sharing it all. "dick," he said honestly, "that sounds exhausting."

"yeah. but it's worth it," dick said in return. "you always perform for a reason. brucie exists 'cause you want to help people."

"i suppose that desire's real enough," bruce said, gentle. "in that case, thank you."

"for what?"

"for being my best friend, no matter the performance."

---

hahaha noooo being a performer from a young age hasn't impacted me or dick in any way at all we've got a perfectly normal relationship with performance i promise

anyway look guys!!! i wrote a thing!!! first time in forever idk my writing's rusty but i hope yall like it regardless. lmk if i should pop the taglist back in here i'm pretty sure half the people on that thing forgot i existed

[sky-kiss]

Raphael/Haarlep: Potential

A/N: Just wanted to do some early days exploration.

R/H: Potential:

Shall they say there are moments of peace? 

Haarlep doesn't know. Peace is the antithesis of their being. They are chaos—it is their blood, marrow, flesh. And so they cannot say there is peace so much as there is…a lull. If an ocean's waves crest, they must also fall. 

There are days when they sit in the dip, neither at the arc's apex nor rising—they are cradled in the storm's eye.  

It should be contentious; some days it is—Haarlep's brat is not the easiest ward. Raphael's temperament veers towards vanity and arrogance, not unlike his father before him. The difference lies in his mortality and his youth. In the earliest days, in those first few years when Mephistopheles sends him to the House, and the boy-king is still seeking to establish his merit, they feud. Raphael reads while Haarlep sucks him off. Days pass where not a dozen words pass between them. 

Haarlep is forced to peddle his juvenile outbursts to Mephistopheles instead of proper information. They're badly beaten for their insolence, threatened, etc. Haarlep hates, but that is not unsurprising. Hate is familiar; hate does not preclude lust. 

Raphael tips his head to the side when Haarlep returns; the incubus' lovely skin is mangled beyond the telling, mottled, bruised, and eaten away by Hellfire. They hiss when they settle in the healing pool, submerging themself to the chin. 

"Such is the price of your service," their brat says, head held high. "These are the wages your master pays, slave."

Haarlep wants to snap at him, every fiber of their body aching. It is beyond even them. "Slave is a fine word for it, lordling." The incubus smiles with teeth. "I suspect you know something of the Cold Lord's attention? How many years did you spend in his dungeons, dearest?" 

Raphael's eyes flare brilliant gold. The lines of his face are softer than his sire's. In truth, Haarlep prefers them. "Be silent, wretch." 

And so it goes, goes, goes, for so many years. Raphael clutches at scraps; Haarlep absorbs their beatings. A divided House. 

"It cannot stand," Raphael mutters, voice drowsy with sleep. He's always softer after, borderline agreeable. The cambion trails fingers down Haarlep's spine, skin still sweat-soaked, lovely. His tongue flicks out to wet the seam of his lips, eyes lulling shut. 

Haarlep smooths hair back from his forehead. "You quite like the sound of your voice—say more." 

"The House." Raphael sighed, shifting under their weight. "Mephistopheles will destroy us."

"He need not." The words are surprisingly soft. In truth, Haarlep barely knows why they say them. They only care that the House is comfortable. And Raphael is…tolerable, nearly saintly by the standards of Hell and the Abyss. "You have proven…capable." 

Their brat chuckles. "You sing such high praises." Raphael frowns. "I am not too proud to seek an accord between us." 

Their initial instinct is to poke, prod, and tease because he is too proud. Haarlep drags the tips of the claws across his cheek instead. No, no, they will not tease. They've worn a slave's collar too long—sold from the Abyss, sold to the House, traded, traded, undervalued. And there is a degree of vengefulness and distaste, like bile. Haarlep's vanity is offended. 

"Shall we speak plainly?"

Haarlep kisses the corner of his mouth. "If you like." 

"I will see him dead." 

Raphael doesn't say who—doesn't need to. It hangs between them like a song. Haarlep shivers. The incubus rocks their hips against their brat, eyes lulling shut—pleasure, low and hot. "Yes."

"I will be king." 

The voice in their head laughs at this—a cambion will never sit as king. But there is an intoxicating sweetness, a whisper of potential, and what if. What if the boy-king killed him? What if he gained power? What if Haarlep was not beholden to the Lord of Contradictions? What if, what if?

It's potential. It tastes like the Abyss, evolution unbeholden to the Hells' rigid power structure. Haarlep groans against his lips, meaning the words. "Tell us how."

And they are pretty tales, childish, but they have merit. 

Haarlep keeps them. They are not for the Cold Lord. 

They have potential.

Haarlep thrives on potential, violence, lust—everything that is not of the Hells. And as much as his brat will rail against it…Raphael is not of the Hells. Not truly. Not entirely. Raphael is potential. 

And how sweet that tastes. Sweeter than the lordlings' breathy cries as Haarlep takes him, sweeter than the arms around them, sweeter than the violent peak of their pleasure. It speaks of an alliance, of evolution, of growth. 

And Haarlep welcomes its potential.

[hyperfixat]

hbd to me!!!!!!! here’s a vent fic i wrote a few months ago so proceed with caution; reader attempted suicide, reader continues to have suicidal thoughts/attempts, reader seeks harm onto themself (both from external sources and self inflicted), reader is depressed!!! be sure to evaluate your mental state before reading this fic :3. this also contains a scene that i felt compelled to write for some reason involving assisted hygiene: idk i felt that needed a little acknowledgment..

ik its my birthday fic and it proably should be happy, but theres a bit of hurt comfort to this that i love and i polished it up to share so that hopefully u like it too.. again heed my warnings^

also final note; formatted on my pc, sprry if its funky

The first thing you feel upon waking up is disappointment.  This… you rub your face with your hands.  You can’t do anything right, you sigh.  Waking up is a clear sign of a failure as to your plans.

Although you frown as you observe your surroundings, this isn’t where you would be if someone had caught you attempting to take your life.  You wouldn’t be dumped in the middle of a sunny field.  This isn’t a hospital or ward, in fact there’s no sign of any modern buildings from where you sit.

Just where are you…?

You use shaky arms to lift yourself up, and begin to attempt to find a way home.  Or for something to just kill you.

What luck, you realize morbidly, you spawned on a plateau, and that’s all you allow yourself to think before breaking into a sprint and running both to and over the edge.

You hit the plains with a crack and you wheeze out a pained groan.  Before you can lift yourself up to try again or seek help or check for any witnesses, you feel your body fade away. It’s a weightless feeling as you sink into the earth of Teyvat.

There is not much pain, not as much as you had hoped or expected.  In ways this is a pro, for you are a coward in the face of pain no matter deserved or otherwise.

You fade, but not into the hold of death, at least you don’t think this is death, rather you fade from your spot crumpled on the ground into a sitting position firmly in the arms of an Anemo Statue of Seven.  The marble orb of Barbatos’ lookalike stops you from falling out of the statue’s arms and you heave a sigh.

How unfortunate.  It seems you cannot permanently die here.  Though… what if it was a fluke…?  With another bone deep sigh you fall to the ground and walk back to the ledge and stare down at the fifty foot drop.

Before you work up the courage to take the plunge a high, excited voice calls out for you.  You flinch, opening your eyes to see a youthful bard dressed in Mondstatian green, holding his hands out for you.  Venti is sprinting towards you and you take a step back nervously.  He seems to recognize you… but how could that be?  

His face falls as you back away and his sprint slows when he’s a few yards away from being able to reach out to you.  Venti calls your name again.  He falters, the smile adorning his face slips.

“Wait…” his voice wavers.  “What are you doing, Divine One?”

Why did he call you that���?  Is it some Mondstat greeting of sorts?  You can’t kill yourself in front of him and retraumatize the poor guy, so you allow him to get closer to you, and you don’t stop him when he sweeps his lythe form down into a kneeling bow.

“Hello.”  You greet, unsure of how one is supposed to act when approached by a fictional character.

Venti lifts his gaze from the ground up to your face, looking downright awestruck.

“I, we, have long awaited your descent, Divine One, it is an honor to have you grace the lands of Freedom with your presence first.”  

Uh-oh.  He seems to have confused you with someone else, because you are certainly no one special and definitely not any sort of divine.  How are you gonna break that to him without too much embarrassment on either of your parts?

“Please, come with me to the city, I’m certain the people will be delighted to host the one who shaped the world.”  His voice is high with a musical lilt, and it’s hard to decline him.

“I’m sorry,” your voice comes out dry, and you realize you’re terribly dehydrated.  “I think there’s been a mistake.  I’m not whoever you think I am.”

You take a step back, backing yourself up the hill onto higher ground.

“Whatever do you mean, Divine One?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

You shake your head, stepping further away from the Archon.  Venti reaches his hand out to grasp at the bottom hem of your pajama pants.  “Please!  I’ve waited so long for you.”  He falls onto his knees to beg.

Fuck, his eyes are so pretty when he pleads.  You don’t want to risk angering whatever God he’s mistaking you with, though, “Venti….”  

The blue-green sky of his eyes turns to the color of the ocean as tears well up in his waterline.  His whole body shivers when you utter his chosen name.  “I can keep it a secret from the public.  Surely only Archons and those blessed with a Vision will be able to sense you.  We can keep it quiet, please, Divine One, I beg of you.”

“I’m not this Divine One you speak of,” you kneel and place a hand on his hat.  Venti’s eyes search yours with confusion. As he lifts his head, your hand presses into the curve of his skull, making him lean harder into your touch.

“Th-That’s okay, please just stay in Mondstadt for a night, that’s all I wish.”  He doesn’t believe you, that’s clear, but he seems so eager to appease you.

You pause, looking away from the pathetically begging archon.  His hands clench on your pant fabric.

“Okay.  Just for the night.”  You hope no one else from Mondsat is as strange as Venti is…

“I don’t have any way to pay for this,” you smile at Diluc, placing a hand on the side of the glass to push it back across the counter.

“I wouldn’t dream of making you pay, please drink all you wish.  Let me know if it isn’t to your taste.”

“Does that apply to their guide as well, Master Diluc?”

“No.”

“A shame,” Venti sighs, taking a deep drink from his glass.

You have to hand it to Venti, he is a good guide.  He’s quick to shut down any vision holder you come across with a quick whisper in their ear, and he truly knows Mondstadt in and out.

The bell above the door jingles as it swings open, and you glance behind you in time to see Rosaria come strolling in with a timid Barbara clutching the back of her cathedral robes.  She must not visit the Angel’s Share much, seeing as the hydro-user looks around with quick, nervous eyes.  When her eyes land on you they widen comically, her small hand darting out to steady herself on Rosaria’s forearm.

—

“Farewell, my Divinity,” “Safe travels, Divine One,” and “May the wind bless your travels, Your Grace,” follow your retreating form as you make the hike to Dragonspine.  

Honestly you aren’t certain where you’re heading.  If the other nations treat you the same as Mondstadt, that's a no-go.  You won’t know unless you go, though.  Maybe you should head the same route the Traveler would.  That would mean Dragonspine is your next destination.  

Who will you meet there?  Albedo…?  He’s the only one you can think of that stays there.

As you begin the trek you realize; he’s a research-type dude, you hesitate to say scientist, but he does experiments and such.  Perhaps, you can make use of yourself by giving your body up to him to work on.  Surely an undying body would greatly interest the research of life?

After a surprisingly simple search you find him and present your proposition.

“Absolutely not,” Albedo dismisses you without thought.  He doesn’t even bother to spare you a look.  “That is blasphemy of the highest order, I’d suggest giving that attitude up sooner rather than later.”

You flinch back at the words, taking a step back into the chill of Dragonspine.

“I can offer you sanctuary here if you seek it, but I will not harm you.”  

“That’s…” not at all what you want.  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I must decline.”

His haunting blue eyes follow you down the snowy path to Liyue.  Once you are far too away to hear, he states calmly, “safe travels.”

As you walk down the icy paths lining the gravel streets you think… Albedo had rejected you just like that.  What’s the next step?

You might as well stop by Liyue Harbor, maybe meet some characters before… before maybe heading to Sumeru?  

Ahhah! It hits you then, the harbinger introduced in Sumeru: Il Dottore.  If Albedo had reservations, then Dottore would have none.

Even still, Liyue is a harbor.  You’re sure to find a way to Snezhnaya from there.

You almost get to the docks without drawing any attention to yourself.  Almost.

Your mistake laid in the fact that you passed the Golden House, the weekly Childe Boss fight.  In your defense you didn’t actually think he’d be in there.  And it’s not like you even went in, only going up the steps and around for a detour.  

And it was a quick route until a strangled gasp came from behind you, making you spin around in alarm.  There, Tartaglia stood, with pupils nearly the size of his gray-blue eyes, staring, completely enraptured by your visage.  Your knees buckle and you make to sprint, but your body is no match for a Fatui Harbinger.

In retrospect you’re not entirely sure what drove you to run, perhaps some fight or flight instinct buried inside of you.

His long hand wraps around your forearm, tugging you to a stop, you face him, and your face must portray your panic clearly because Tartaglia’s twists into sorrowful sympathy.

“My Divinity… it is an honor to meet you in the flesh.”

“Let go.”  He does, promptly so. 

“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself.  May I ask where you are headed, and if you are in need of company?”

“No.  Thank you, Childe.” 

His face shifts into a serious look, nodding.  “Do you need an escort to Liyue then?  Is that where you’re heading?” 

“No.  I know where I’m going, and I much prefer to go alone.” It’s not entirely false, you know where you’re headed, just not how.

“Well… be safe, okay?  I hope to see you again.”

“I will.”  The lie comes out and you cringe, because its delivery falls flat and its so obviously untrue.

“Does Mr Zhongli know you’re here?  Surely you’re here to see Morax?” He strolls to your other side, offering a hand to lead you to the city.  You ignore the hand.

“Goodbye, Tartaglia.”

“I can’t let you leave alone in good conscience…. You don’t seem well.  Let me lead you to the harbor at least.”

Since he is as unmoving as stone, you let him take you to the main city, managing to ditch him before more people can know about your presence.

The boats docked at Liyue Harbor are hopeful.  “Where is this ship headed?” you ask one of the dock workers.  They look up at your voice before glancing at the ship they’re loading up with lumber.

“Snezhnaya.” They say glancing up at the grand vessel.  “Why?  Where’re you tryna go, friend?”  

“Snezhnaya.  How much does the fare cost, one way?”

—

“News of your travels have reached Snezhnaya, Divine One.”  Dottore starts, fixing his posture from a lean on a surgical table to something more proper.  You shake your head, the weariness you’ve accumulated on your journey weighing down on you.  You’re finally where you deserve to be.

“I’m not the Divine One you speak of, Dottore.”

“Hm?  Do you think so little of my intelligence?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

“No, it’s not that.  But I’m not.  I’m just a regular person.  And I came to you for a reason.”

“Oh?  The Creator themself, seeking me out?  It’s an honor,” the doctor bows to you, smirking at you from beneath his beaklike mask.

“I need you to hurt me.”

“What?”  He pulls himself up with a startled question.  “I’m afraid I misheard you, Divine One.”

“I can’t die, Dottore.  I’m giving myself to you, you…” you heave a sigh as you explain your reasoning.  “You could make use of me.  I’m not whoever you think I am, please just take me.  I don’t care what you do to me.”

“You’re… giving yourself to me?”  

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happens to my… patients?”

“Yes, that's why I’m here.  I can’t die, I imagine I would make a good test subject.”

“Is this a test?”  Dottore seems to be speaking to himself more than anything.  He pushes away from the table and paces to the back room of the lab, muttering madly to himself as he does so.  The door swings open with a loud screeching and you catch sight of multiple mops of blue hair and masks.  

His Segments.

You can hear a conversation ongoing between all of the parts of Zandik, it seems he doesn’t want to be rash and take you in too hastily.  You can understand his (their?) hesitancy; if a god offered themselves up to you, you would surely think it was a trap.  But you aren’t a god, so it should be a no brainer for him.  How often does he get consenting test subjects?

It seems this absurd idea of you being a higher power has infiltrated Snezhnaya as well, which is… not good. Everyone is saying you’re more than what you are, you can’t be a god, you barely consider yourself a human.

An older, completely unmasked Segment sticks his head out of the door, frowning once he makes eye contact with you.  There’s gray leaking from his roots into the teal of Dottore’s hair, and visible aging lines on his face; crows feet and tension on his cheekbones.  Glowing red eyes narrow upon meeting your own, mouth pulling into a tight line.

A younger segment, smaller in size and stature, with a nearly full face mask, only showing part of his mouth.  You think that is the one that the Fandom surrounding him dubbed Webttore.  You usually see pictures of him with a wide, jagged-tooth smile, but, like his older part, he looks solemn.

You wonder just how many Segments Il Dottore has, because you can still hear an entire conversation going on without the two.

The conversation seems to be dying down, not ending without a few red eyes peeking out from behind the door at you.  It’s surreal seeing so many versions of the same person at once; the youthful ones, eyes wide, and the older ones with wrinkles built with time and age, all at the same moment in time.

Eventually though, they do seem to come to a verdict: the Omega segment, the one you met upon walking into his lab, exits, closing the door behind him with a click that resonates through the room.

His answer is a simple word.  “No.”

Your heart drops and stomach sinks at the rejection, and based on il Dottore’s reaction it must show.  “Why?” your voice is small and sounds foreign to your own ears.

“I cannot forsake the true god in such a way, whether you acknowledge it or not, you have that power.”

All the turmoil and hardships it took to get here come crashing down, the light at the end of the tunnel is rejecting you.  You hadn’t known this was something that could happen, your… your savior, the one you were looking for is telling you no.  He won’t lay a finger on you, and it’s tearing you apart.  This was the only thing that kept you from burying yourself in the deep forest of Sumeru and letting yourself rot.

“Oh.” It’s shaky and you nod, trying to take it maturely.  “I see.”  Your voice is warbling like you're on the verge of tears.  Blinking rapidly to dispel the water from your eyes, you lower your head and make to scamper out of the lab.

Dottore lets out a heavy sigh, and his leather gloves wrap around your wrist.

“Wait.”  You nervously glance up at his mask.

“You said you would ‘give yourself to me,’ no?”

Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, “yes.”  Has he suddenly changed his mind? You shouldn't get your hopes up.

“I will take you.  I doubt you will appreciate my intentions, but if I were to own you, you wouldn’t be able to complain.  After all, you will have done it to yourself.”

You don’t know what those words mean, but the stinging rejection welling up in your eyes turns to relief. “Thank you,” he doesn’t stop you from dashing to his side and wrapping your arms around his waist.  You press your face into his abdomen, letting his clothes soak up your tears.  A hesitant hand rubs over your spine, an effort to soothe you.

You pull yourself together, sucking in a deep breath of the sterile lab air.  

“Alright,” Dottore says after he deems you put together enough.  “Come.”  His hand covers your wrist, gently tugging you behind him.  You aren’t sure where he is leading you, as he takes you out of the lab.  The halls are tall and gorgeously crafted, intermittent with intricate moldings on the wall.  

It’s a small room you find yourself in, but it is infinitely better than the wilderness.  The size is comparable to an average hotel room.  Dottore instructs you to sit and stay on the bed, which you do obediently.  Nerves swirl inside of you, as to where he has gone and what he will bring back with - when he will return, if at all.

Il Dottore knows.  While he is not well versed on human, much less godly, psychology, he can tell you’re depressed when you first stumbled your way into his workstation. Besides, he’d be hard pressed to deny the rumors from various agents that had been located in places you’d traveled through.

With a small caddy in his hands Dottore kneels next to the nightstand and places a hand on your shoulder to force you to lay down.  “Arm.”  Is what he prompts for you to let him maneuver your arm to lay open and flat over the edge of the bed. 

The scent of alcohol alerts you to the sanitary wipe before you feel the chill of it.  You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling as you feel the slight pinch of a needle  and a clicking as an IV is deposited into your arm.  Out of the corner of your eye you see Dottore set up a drip, but you don’t bother to ask what it is, the excitement of the day catching up with you.

Il Dottore eventually leaves the room in silence after pushing an odd vial of liquid into the drip, not bothering to look behind him as he closes the door and leaves with confident strides.

Although it’s entirely possible it’s simply the Placebo Effect, as the drip spreads throughout your veins you can feel your eyes getting heavier and heavier.  Before long you can no longer keep them open and slip into a dreamless sleep.

You wake up to a Mirror Maiden tidying up the nightstand next to you.  You observe her work, wondering how she can manage to navigate with the blind pulled over her eyes.  She startles when she catches your eyes on her, though returns back to work, quietly disposing of the used needles from earlier.  You wonder what The Doctor has injected you with; wonder if he added more of whatever it is while you were unconscious.

There’s a brisk, impatient knock on the door and the Maiden straightens up, taking hold of everything to discard and striding over to change positions with Tartaglia behind the door.

You stay flat on your back, looking at the ginger in mild surprise.  Last you saw him he was in Liyue and set to stay for quite a while.  Had he heard you gave yourself away to Il Dottore?   Is he here to plead for you to change your mind?

But to your bemusement he stays quiet, walking over to and kneeling next to your bed.  Instead of speaking he merely rests his head on the nightstand, dull blue eyes gazing at you sadly, yet reverently.

You’re unsure of how long you look up at the ceiling, doing your best to ignore Tartaglia’s eyes on you.  His gaze is unwavering, and eventually, you turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry for my behavior in Liyue.  I was too excited to see you, and my manners deserted me.”

“It’s okay.” You croak, throat dry from sleep.  “I was dismissive as well.”

Dottore doesn’t bother to knock when he comes in.

“I see you’re awake and seem to have found a stray harbinger.”

Tartaglia doesn’t react to his entrance, merely moving to the far end of the bed, laying his head on the covers near your feet.  You realize someone has drapped a plain, solid color duvet over your body when you slept. 

“Are you feeling anything out of the ordinary?” Dottore asks, checking the emptied IV bag.  He unclips it and pulls a fresh one from his lab coat pocket.

You take the moment to assess (how do you spell it) your body.  In all honesty you’re feeling much better, the hydration from the drip really made a difference.

“I feel hydrated.”

Dottore hums, he sounds disinterested.  “How’s your appetite? Can you stomach anything for me?”  He clips a new bag onto the pole, screwing it into your IV’s tube. “Stand if you can.” 

Dottore’s eyes watch you intensely behind his mask, observing how you tremble when you put a leg onto the floor.  “Childe, help them and follow me.”

Tartaglia scrambles to steady your arm as you fully get out of the bed, wrapping the one without the needle in it around his shoulder to support you.  You stiffen, but aren’t in any position to be able to get around without him, not with the emptiness of your stomach and the way black fades into your vision when you stand.  “Get them to the restroom, take care of their needs.  I will return with what they will eat.”

“Come on, I got you,” Tartaglia assures as he leads you to the ensuite restroom. It’s nothing too fancy; simply a sink, shower, and toilet.

You eye the toilet, realizing how long it’s been since you’ve relieved yourself.  A shower would also be nice…

“Allow me to assist you, Divine One,” Tartaglia remains stoic and respectful as he shimmies your pants and underwear down your legs, letting you support yourself on his broad shoulders as you step out of the pant holes.  After making sure you get to the toilet safely he turns around and starts the shower faucet.

The sound of the water helps you get over your pee shyness and by the time Tartaglia finishes soaking and preparing a cloth for you, you’ve finished and are ready to bathe.

With weak arms you gather the hem of your shirt in your hands and remove the remainder of your clothes.

Tartaglia helps you get clean with warm, respectful touches, passing you the cloth for you to clean more intimate areas, before helping you out of the shower and wrapping a large, soft towel around your body.  It’s huge, covering the top of your bust to well past mid-calf, looping around your body almost twice.  He tucks the towel tightly with practiced precision. 

“Il Dottore will be back soon, I’ll help you get dressed before he returns.  Do you have any material preferences?”

—

You sit up in bed, feeling marginally better than the day before.  The day after that, and the day after that all proceed in a similar fashion; each time you feel just a little bit better.  More clear headed, a better appetite, less like a corpse walking.

Only after Dottore deems you well enough to remove the IV do you get your suspicions that it was more than just the proper nutrition making you feel better.  He still stops by your room twice a day for some shots; he encouraged you to choose where he would deposit them (when you said into your brain or through your chest, it did not amuse him).  It feels suspiciously like the antidepressants you’ve been on before.  

It only further confuses you, though.  Does he want you in a proper state of mind for something?  He has no reason other than unfounded faith to help you, you don’t like it.  It’s … uncomfortable receiving this type of care, knowing it’s only because they think you're better than who you really are.

The food they feed you, the clothes they dress you in, it's all much more than you deserve.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Pardon?” Dottore sets the syringe down with a metallic click.  Through his mask you can feel his gaze on you.

“You’re… you’re trying to— to…” the words fail you.

“Mitigate your depressive symptoms?  Yes, I am.  What of it?”  Il Dottore picks the syringe back up, pushing the knob back before stabbing it into the vial in his hand. He pulls the liquid up with ease before removing the needle and pushing to remove the excess air in the syringe.

“Why?”

“Hm?  Why would I not?”  He flicks the syringe and some liquid flies from the point of the needle.

“If I were anyone else you wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Indeed.”

“Haven’t you realized by now that I’m not who you think I am?  That I’m just a normal human in a horrible situation of being unable to die?”

“That is not so.  Your skin cultures and biopsy results do not share that conclusion.  Even if you continue to deny your god-hood, it changes nothing. I know for certain who you are, and you will remain in my care until you utilize your divine right to revoke such.”

Biopsy? When on Earth — Teyvat? — did that happen?  But there’s more important things to discuss with him for now, not that you care how or when it happened.  You’re more surprised you never noticed, that’s all.

“You’re wrong!”  You wail, tears finally coming for the first time in a while.  You had thrown your head back to speak, but now you collapse in on yourself with your head between your arms and legs.  It’s humid, but saves you from having to look at the doctor and his unreadable bird mask.

“Oh my,” you hear Dottore murmur, then he sets his medical supplies to the side and places a hand on your shoulder. He remains there while you sob, when finally the lack of speech seems to reach the boiling point, he heaves a sigh.  “If it is of any consolation, if it were to come to my attention that you are not in any way godly or divine, I would treat you the same.  I’ve put far too much care into you to just toss you aside..”

That consoles you, if only a little, damn the drugs making you want to continue life to see the future.   But you broke the dam of tears, and it’ll take a while for them to stop; you need to cry out everything that led you here….

Your… attempt that put you in Teyvat, the one you tried right after arrival, the false death, all the eyes and praise that aren’t meant for you.  It’s dysphoric.  

The lurches of your body with your cries, stitches your sides and you sniffle harder into the crevice your body makes, the moisture of the confined body space blending in with your tears.

“There now,” Dottore says, quieter as you get so as well.  “Perhaps some more rest will do you good.  I’ll be at the ready whenever you wake.”

[ukiyowi]

Mini PAC I

Notes: Please check out the Masterlist for more! Reblogging and paid readings help a lot! Pls DM me if you want one!

What flower are you? 🌸🌸

Read from left to right, 1 - 3 then 4 - 6

Note - I know its not long, but I am still coming into things because of the long break I had taken from pick a card readings which is why I will slowly build up to reach my ability to do longer readings again whilst doing shorter readings in the time being.

Paid readings || Old PACs

Pile 1: Crocus

Your energy resembles that of the flower crocus. Although these usually symbolise the welcoming of spring and the start of youth, as well as cheerfulness and hope, some cronus flowers also grow with the start of fall or winter. These signify the changing of times and renewal alongside new beginnings.

You may be the kind of person that changes constantly for the better, you're always trying to see how you can improve yourself and work on yourself, whilst keeping a positive mindset and optimistic approach to life. You may be someone who's constantly hopeful even in times of dire stress or situations where people may feel hopeless, being the well needed light in times of darkness.

Pile 2: Hydrangea

Hydrangeas often symbolise gratitude and understanding but can also represent abundance, prosperity, love, peace and grace. Certain cultures also associate them with forgiveness and apologies.

You could be the kind of person who finds it very easy to forgive people, you could also be forgiving to a fault at times which might end up hurting you. You may be conventionally attractive and be of a calm demeanor, knowing how to keep your cool and the kind of person who will always vouch for peace or often stay neutral during arguments, acting as a designated mediator.

Pile 3: Lunaria

Lunaria often symbolise honesty, transparency and the flow of money due to its other names being Honesty or Silver Dollar plant and the names stem from their translucent seed pods that resemble silver coins. In some cultures, it is also believed that keeping these plants near the alter or at the home, helps ward off monsters or negative spirits.

You may be the kind of person who finds themself to be lucky in the matters of finances and carry goodluck in general. Your guides may be extremely strong and great and warding off any sort of lingering negative energies near you which can often result in you having a lot of moments where something bad almost happens but then doesn't. People value you as the name of the plant suggests for your honesty and how you are able to give them straightforward responses.

Pile 4: Xylosma

So this plant is not as known and was a little tough to research upon however, it is very special in my opinion. The plant I usually used for ornamental purposes and beautification due to their adaptability in different kinds of environments and has a very strong network when it comes to the structure of the plant itself.

You may be the kind of people pile 4 who are grounded in reality and may be realists to a fault. You find peace and quiet in the smaller things in life and may have found yourself in positions of having to be resilient because of fast-paced challenges being thrown at you like constantly changing jobs or schools or constant movement. Furthermore, you are able to provide people with the safe space and security they need as well.

Pile 5: Ixia

Ixia represents, joy, happiness and cheerfulness and with it's very colourful and bright appearance I think it also represents the innocence of youth and childhood. It also often represents the fulfilment of wishes and aspirations and an environment where dreams and hopes can be cultivated.

You pile 5, are the dreamers and the people who actually go after what they are passionate about and see it through rather than simply thinking about it. You are able to execute your ideas and plans which lead to the fulfilment of your desires which may put people off at times because they may think you have it easy. However, your youthful spirit keeps even people envious of you to hold you in high regards.

Pile 6: Blanket Flower

One of my favourite kinds, blanket flower represents warmth which is suggested by the name itself, protection, nurturing and perseverance. In some cases they are also associated with festivities and celebrations due to their vibrant colours that stand out in any room.

You could be the kind of people who are always looking out for others and may be the first person someone goes to when they are having a hard time because of your warm and comforting presence. You may also be a little bit of a party animal where you love to go all out and dance and sing and celebrate even the smallest of your victories because you have had to cultivate that habit so that you prevent yourself from becoming overly critical.

[readychilledwine]

Do you think each court has their own winged fae? I read Home to Me and can't stop thinking of it.

Absolutely

The Winged Fae of Prythian Headcanons

Warnings - references to wing sensitivity in all ways, long post, sad back stories

A/n - poll at the end for giggles

Dawn - The Peregryn

Similar to the Illyrians, Peregryns are a warrior breed of winged fae

Liz personally pictured hawk to falcon like wings

Their wings allow them to be agile and very fast due to how narrow they are in comparison to Illyrian wings

Their wings are sensitive like Illyrians, but due to the protection the feathers provide, you have to be a little rougher for the same reactions.

Their wings are considered very sacred.

If you were to court a Peregryn male, if they intend to marry you, they will pluck one of their feathers, causing them pain, and offer it to you. Mainly, females will weave that feather in their hair, carrying a piece of their husband at all times.

Peregryn females offer similar tokens to their loves. Males will turn them to writing quills, signing important documents as if their wife is right beside them.

Day - The Celestine

The Celestine are a thought to be an extinct race. They were hunted down by Amarantha's forces.

She did not stop until every last one she knew of was wiped from the court, a cold and calculated move she knew hurt Helion and his father

The Celestine got their name from their wings. Feathers of pure white that glitter gold in the Day Court sunlight. They were thought to be celestial bodies until one of the former Lords of Day finally approached one and realized they were fae

They were a breed of scholars, specifically studying the pegasus. Before Amarantha's attack, you would commonly see them flying with the majestic horses and handling their care.

There are a handful left that warded themselves with the remaining pegasi. The race is slowly rebuilding, but like all fae, pregnancy is rare.

Helion has kept them secret, finding them much to valuable to his court to risk someone getting the same idea.

The Celestine do not have wing sensitivity the way Illyrians and Peregryn do. Their feathers are rather thick.

They do still use their wings as a courting symbol. They will turn a few feather into a clip for their partner's hair. The clips are traditional gold with gems.

Night - The Illyrians

Arguably the most powerful of the Winged fae, the Illyrians reside in the mountains of the Night Court

They are a race of warriors with strong bat like wings.

Due to their wings being so exposed, they are highly sensitive. You could gently run the back of your finger along the ridge and bring a grown male to his knees.

Wings are not used for courting purposes to illyrians, but they are seen as sacred. To touch an illyrian's wings is a great privilege.

Female wings are typically larger than male wings. Hince why they are clipped during a female's first cycle. It makes them non functional and stops them from overshadowing the males.

Autumn - The Leaf Folk

The Leaf Folk race is truly extinct. The Autumn Lords hunted them down like it was a sport for their unique wings.

Their wings were seen as treasures to the people of Autumn due to them being so similar to the leaves of the forest, thus making them a desired object for mating presents and a sign of wealth

They were peaceful fae. Their sole purpose was maintaining the apple trees, ensuring each and every single one was perfect and producing ripe fruits.

Their wings make crinkling noises like autumn leaves as well, giving them camouflage and protection.

Little is known regarding their courting traditions, but it is known they rarely bred or married outside of their own kind

Beron had met one. A female. It was during his youth, before he had been fully corrupted by his father. He learned firsthand how sensitive their wings were.

Just a breath could make this fae putty.

Since the last female was found, her wings now splayed in the Autumn Court throne room long after her death, there's rot settling into the court.

It started in the orchard furthest from the Forest House and has slowly spread.

The last female had whispered something in a tongue no one understood. Centuries later, Eris discovered it was a curse. One that would end when the love of the last female met his death.

Summer - The Stormmakers

The pride of the summer court.

Rich deep grey wings that spark with lightning, the Stormmakers can change the weather with just a breath of magic.

Their wings blend perfectly into storm clouds, their favorite place to play.

Touching their wings is dangerous. They carry lightning in every feather. It can make for an exciting experience if you are into that type of play, though.

They typically do not feel the touch on their wings due to the numbness the constant sparking caused

They are a thriving race, and most are found in their small community they have carved out in a cave.

Courting is not a thing amoung this race. They marry young based on deals made by their parents to ensure a strong bloodline

Spring - Flower Folk

The flower folk are treasures to the Spring Court.

Their wings come in a variety of colors, shapes, and styles, but they are all consistently irredescent and translucent.

They are very peaceful and almost always unseen. Their magic allows them to change their sizes, and most choose to live in fae gardens and houses set up by children in Spring.

They work with pollinators to keep the flowers and fruits growing and producing.

Their wings break very easily due to how thin they are. They do not partake in wing play with just anyone for that reason.

These fae learned to communicate with bees, so it is very common to see them dancing, little pieces of sparkling fae dust coming off them as they do

These are the fae humans warn their children most about, the playful pixies who will lead them into dangerous fae traps.

These fae offer each other butterflies as a courting gift. To exchange a butterfly with them is to accept their offer of marriage due to how sacred they see their winged friends.

Winter - Ice Spirits

Rarely seen and very deadly

These fae have been known to freeze others for discovering their hide outs.

They were once believed to be myth, a nightmare mother's warned their faelings about.

One was dragged to Kallias's father by her hair, and that bond snapping led to one of winter's most well-kept secrets.

They want to be left alone. Do you know how hard it is to maintain winter over four courts?

Their wings look soft, but they are actually made of snow and ice. You can't melt them, though, don't worry.

They hold a soft spot of their Lord and Lady, always willing to take a load off his shoulders and rebuild broken ice dams.

Rhys once approached them asking for more snow fall in Velaris. Mistake. Huge. Mistake.

These fae are well known for their ice sports, but be prepared to watch from a distance

They tried to teach Kal how to ice skate once, he is too muscular to be graceful on the ice and had to instead settle for what they call "hockey." The High Lord has received a few black eyes during his time playing.

These fae also tend to only marry within their own kind.

They purpose with a snowflake they hand crafted. The more intricate the pattern, the longer your love took to craft it for you.

Their wings are always numbed due to how cold they are, but they absolutely love temperature play. Warmth is such a rare thing for them to feel, and it makes their wings very sensitive.

[flodaya]

you should never have said here that you take meds. this became yet another reason for them to pick on you, it should only be known by your friends

no, the opposite tbh

i am in no way ashamed of needing anti-depressant medication, my depression and anxiety is a health issue just like any other, my body does not produce enough serotonin on its own so i have to supplement it to be healthy

i am at my most stable and mentally healthiest i've been since i was a teenager all thanks to the medication i've been taking for about 1.5 years now, i literally owe this medication my life

no one can ever make me feel bad for taking it and i will never stop talking about it openly because normalizing needing medication for your mental health is so important, same reason why i will always be very open about going to therapy and having been to a psychiatric ward in my youth, these things are nothing shameful and do not make you worth any less

mental health is no different than physical health, sometimes your body just requires medication to be healthy <3

[katiapostsss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐃 . . p. I, anakin skywalker

🎬//

ˢʸⁿᵒᵖˢⁱˢ:

to conquer your own thoughts, you're forced to begin training with the being who second-handedly started them in the first place. anakin skywalker.

ᶜ ʰ ᵃ ʳ ᵃ ᶜ ᵗ ᵉ ʳ ˢ :

ᵃⁿᵃᵏⁱⁿ ˢᵏʸʷᵃˡᵏᵉʳ x

ᶠᵉᵐ! ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

warnings! :

swearing, mentions of abuse

part 2 >

〰️

( i have—surprisingly—not watched star wars, so i really do apologize if any of the information is incorrect)

anakin knew nothing about love, though, that was expected.

as a jedi, any love—familial or romantic or even platonic—was strictly warded against. he knew not what it felt like, nor what it even truly was. he prided himself in it, too, the fact that he could so easily discard any unnecessary—unwanted feelings. it was, for so long, a good thing. but during you, it got to be a barbarous curse.

he suspected. he suspected it was indeed love damning his heart, threatening his title, plaguing him. he suspected it was you who was damning him. you and your stupid, fatuous smiles—that were never for him—your heedful eyes. everything about you, perhaps. and it made his skin crawl with what he wished so purely and truly was hate. but it was not. he knew that much, because he had grown to know hate. he had walked by its side and held its hand in battle. out of battle. he knew hate like a brother. this was not hate.

though, he imagined you must've hated him.

maybe he did go a bit too hard on you, a youthful, naïve padawan, too easily distracted, so easily tangled in your own thoughts. it was your one weakness on the battlefield, for you were a skilled warrior, a worthy opponent, despite your abstractedness. any hilt of any blade fit so easily in your hand, like it was your own bone that you wielded. it impressed anakin, truly, that unabashed skill. it was the reason you were his padawan in the first place. but your own emotions would be the death of you if you could not learn to bury them away.

a saber at your legs, the locking of knees, a grunt, and you were on the ground as easily as a lawn chair folding. you groaned loudly, head throbbing and a ringing filling your ears, your backside aching profusely. anakin. stupid. of course he had used that foolish move you hated so much, meant to avert your attention elsewhere. he had looked off to the side, and curious, you had followed his gaze, getting knocked to the dirt not a moment later. hours. it had been so many hours, out in the sun, battling him like he was the sworn enemy he made himself in your eyes, and sweat was slipping down your back, and your limbs were so weak, and your joints groaned and protested against any movement you executed. disgruntled and uncaring of the mess you most definitely looked, you dropped your arms to the ground, giving up entirely.

"one would think you'd finally stop falling for that trick after using it on you for so long." you faintly heard across from you, anakin's arms now crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes boring into your own, dull ones, which were half-lidded and begging for rest. your entire body was begging for rest, as were your thoughts. even the stark ground below you seemed oh so comfortable at that moment. "training does not include sleeping, ace."

"don't call me that," you managed to wheeze. ace. a nickname he had deemed you when you had first started your practices. he never told you why, even when you asked. some research told you it was another way of saying, "best", or, "top", which might've been a compliment if it weren't coming from him. you snarled in his face about it the very next morning. "and one would think you'd finally stop using it once you realized i'd always fall for it."

on shaky—embarrassingly so—limbs, you propped yourself up onto your elbows, promptly panting. anakin's eyes narrowed, face contorting into that of disappointment. you knew that expression so well. it was what kept you up at night, what haunted your dreams like a monster under a child's bed.

"one day," he replied simply, extending a gloved hand to help you up. as if you needed it. (you did). eyes narrowing, you proved to him exactly how stupid he was for being disappointed, struggling very thoroughly to a stand without his help. your legs shook beneath you, as limp as saturated noddles.

"one day that is not today. can we be done here?" you croaked, eyes still staring daggers at him. anakin scowled, shaking his head.

"have you been using the methods?" of course he didn't answer your question. instead, he asked his own. you rolled your eyes, shifting.

"no, i have not. i find them to be useless."

"they are not useless," he countered. the sun was bleating at the back of your head, so hot you felt you might collapse. "if you had used them at all after yesterday's lessons, you would've known that."

"i tried."

"don't lie."

you pursed your lips, your nose scrunching. "my apologies."

anakin weighed a look.

"master," you added, tilting your head down, your eyes swimming with stark vitriol. "my apologies, master."

a moment passed of silence so tangible with angered tension you felt you might drown in it. your throat was caked with dryness, that even swallowing was no use. you needed water. desperately. your teacher looked skeptically at you, and you sent the look right back.

"i expect you to be here tomorrow. at the same time." a groan of relief nearly parted your lips at his words, legs already moving to leave.

"yes, master," you quickly threw out, turning on your heel and walking away, shoulders painfully bunched as the look on your face. his eyes on your retreating figure was the last thing you felt of him before you were out of sight.

---

you didn't know why you hated anakin skywalker.

well, technically you did. you blamed him for it. for that feeling, that stupid, stupid feeling within you. of nothingness. of emptiness. of hollowed-out bone. that feeling that drove you to tears every night. you'd never be good. you'd never be better. your own mother had stated it.

the only thing you remembered of your childhood was palms, raw from being beaten. beaten because you were too sensitive. hours of training, bordering torture, and every time you so much as made a mistake, made a pained face, made a sound of protest, you were to go without dinner, and you were to be beaten. it was why you were so good. you had to learn how to be good if you didn't want to be hit. and that was the only thing you could thank your mother for. your skill.

skills you hated. you didn't hate fighting, but you hated training. you hated failure. each time you fell or grunted or cried out, you half-expected anakin to pull out a ruler and beat your palms bloody, or make you hang from a tree until your shoulders popped out of their sockets, only to pop them right back in and send you to bed without any dinner or medicine. you hated failing. and anakin made you fail.

he was too good. you weren't narcissistic, no. you weren't envious either. not of his talent. he could flaunt it around for all you cared, but you hated losing to him. it reminded you too much of a past you buried deep within you. you weren't an angry person, but for him, you would be.

so you blamed him. and you'd blame anyone in his position. maybe it wasn't his fault. in your eyes, it was. and it would stay that way. you'd hate him and he'd go the rest of his life knowing it, but never knowing to what extent it ran to.

a week had passed since that lesson and you were no better.

your failings were a jealous, conniving friend, incessantly whispering in your ear hateful words to knock you to the ground as anakin did so seamlessly. now, hours after training had ended and you had been dismissed, you still seemed so filthy, even freshly washed, like your soul was the one contaminating your skin, not the dirt that had once matted your hair.

words. there were so many words. you couldn't shut them out. they were a ringing in your ears, they were a reminder in the mirror. the mirror you refused to look at but somehow managed to every now and then. tears sprung to your eyes. so many words. when you stared at your reflection, all you saw was your mother. that only hurt more.

so instead, you stared at your ceiling, sprawled out on your bed, trying and failing to lull your thoughts into that of nothingness. it was no use. it never would be. it was far, far into the night when you fell asleep, finally succumbing to unconsciousness solely because your body demanded it, even when your whirling mind protested against it.

what woke you up was him. him. anakin. a good thing to wake up to, indeed. his face was like a curse, to damn you to a horrible day for the rest of it. but... what? why was he...?

"how was your sleep?" he asked from his place leaning against the doorframe. you shot up in bed, rubbing your eyes and willing your mind into consciousness.

"huh?"

"you slept in," he deadpanned. you stopped, dropping your hands at your sides and groaning, your head falling against your headboard.

"can we postpone—"

"no."

you pursed your lips, eyes narrowing at his damned face. you did not give one flying fuck about the skimpy silk nightgown you had donned earlier last night as you hastily stepped out of bed, watching his eyes slip down your form, widen, and quickly look the other way.

"gonna watch a woman change, too? pervert."

anakin threw you one last, angry stare before stepping out the door and shutting it behind him.

---

"you're dismissed."

"thank you master."

the only thing you planned to do when you got back to your chambers was sleep. to make up for lost time. time anakin had so rudely ripped from you.

pushing open your door, you nearly fell onto your mattress just at the sight of the bed, so beautiful and white and comfortable and soft. so unlike the ground you had hit over and over again minutes earlier. but you couldn't sleep yet. not when you were coated in thick mud. not when your hair was riddled with it, matted and tangled. so instead, you made yourself turn to your bathroom, strip yourself of your fighting leathers, and turn on the shower. while it heated, you risked a glance at the mirror above your sink, and scowled at who looked back.

it took a good 30 minutes to rid yourself of your earlier endeavors. every time you thought you were clean, you looked down only to see brown water flowing down the drain. by the time you were out, the bathroom's air was stuffy and suffocating and wet, struggling down your throat. you did not bother tying up your soaking hair, only pulling on some sleeping attire and crawling into bed. sleep hit you immediately.

but you should've known.

a few hours later, you awoke in a sea of sheets and blankets and warmth. too much warmth. sweat was slipping down your back, your skin chilled with a cold breeze, your mind a whirlwind. almost immediately, you shot out of bed, tripping over your blanket and stumbling across the floor. you couldn’t breathe enough. you were suffocating on nothing. the ground at your feet was freezing, biting, but your skin was nothing at that moment, your nerves weren’t there. you couldn’t feel, not as you tripped into your desk and nearly fell into the bathroom, chest heaving and eyes wide. not as you flipped on your sink and watched icy water gush out, hitting the porcelain with a prompt sound you couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears.

on any other day, you would’ve reared back from the freezing water, immobilizing your hands when they cupped together and gathered it, but the only thought running through your head was your earlier dream, still haunting you, even when you were awake. without giving yourself time to think, you splashed the cool liquid onto your face, again and again and again, until your eyes were blurry with invading water. it dripped onto the tiled floor when you turned, blindly searched for the towel rack, and grabbed the cloth strung on it, oddly warm in your shaking hands. you wiped the remaining droplets off of your skin, wiped away the ones that had traveled to your elbows, below your shirt, on your neck. you barely recognized the person who looked back at you in the mirror when you turned around once again. it scared you. your lip quivered, the face of fear, and you stared hopelessly into your own eyes until you couldn’t handle it anymore. you turned on your heel and walked out, in search of someone in particular.

you didn't let yourself think about it. the whole walk. especially when your mind was buzzing and your hands were shaking at your sides, bags beneath your eyes and face pale.

you found anakin talking to padmé, someone you did not know too well but had grown to know the presence of. the sun was sinking in the cloudy sky, swimming into dusk.

"y/n," she greeted upon seeing your approaching figure. you smiled, dipping your head in a warm acknowledgment, which was anything but warm. anakin beside her was staring at you like you'd just told him the world was ending at his feet. "how are you, my friend?"

she was so kind. too kind. you intertwined your fingers in front of you, hoping your smile was believable. "who could not be simply ecstatic with such weather and life thriving around us?"

padmé huffed a laugh, her eyes bright as the sun over her shoulder. "ah, yes. it is quite lovely. are you in need of something?"

finally, finally, you looked to anakin, who was staring strangely at you. who had stayed quiet this whole time. "yes, actually. may i steal master away from you for a moment?"

and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. you? why? what? a breath stuttered in his lungs, his brows raising in confusion. padmé looked to him, then back to you, perfectly unaware. "why, of course! no need to ask," she quickly approved, her smile something you wished your own could be. "have a good rest of your day." and she was gone.

both of you were quiet a moment, looking at each other with equal surprise. surprise on his part that you had asked for his presence. surprise on your part that you had asked for his presence.

surprise about what you were about to ask next.

"yes, y/n? is something amiss—"

"teach me the methods." even more surprise. anakin's lips parted in silent shock, the only sign he was shocked at all save for the ever so slight widen of his eyes. even you were bewildered that you were asking. but there was no other solution for the thoughts in your head. he was right. they needed to be shut down. they needed to be locked away, for they were what caused your failings, and they in turn, accumulated because you failed.

"pardon—?"

"the methods." your hands had unlatched from each other, now flexed in front of you and moving with your words. "for— for my emotions."

anakin looked at you for another moment. strangely. so strangely. he opened his mouth and you nearly winced, tensing, and relaxing once he closed it again. he looked... confused. you understood completely why. and when he dipped his head in a slight nod, turned on his heel and expected you to follow, you were briefly grateful he hadn't teased or asked any further questions. no. not briefly. immensely.

you both walked. and walked. you silently pondered where he was leading you to, but did not inquire out loud. at some point, it became clear that he was guiding you to the place you normally trained. when he finally stopped and turned, you stood in the same place you had only a few hours before.

you finally cleared your throat. "i thought the methods did not include battling—"

"they will soon, when you master them enough to apply them to fighting," he responded before you could even finish. it was so weird, this new tension. not an hour ago, it was snarky comments and rude stares, but now, it was unadulterated seriousness and unwavering stoicism. you felt anakin assess your body, and you involuntarily shifted into your fighting stance, hastily bringing yourself out of it again. "this is where we will practice. we could apply them to your lessons—"

"no," you quickly jumped, which was more instinct than choice. after lessons, you did not want to have to focus on your breathing or bodily control. you wanted to sleep. deeply and thoroughly. anakin quickly scrunched his eyebrows together. "i meant— is there any other time?"

"in the afternoon, yes. is this something you want to do daily?" he asked, and you swallowed down thickness in your throat.

"yes," came the tentative and choked-out answer. he nodded, lips pursing. you were briefly worried he'd continue with his questions, specifically why you wanted to do this. but he didn't. he just sighed through his nose and straightened, and the lesson begun.

---

it was long. and time-consuming. and just slightly annoying.

you couldn't get yourself to focus the way the instructions called for. acknowledge your surroundings and let those thoughts go, they stated. but you couldn't do that. it was supposed to help with distraction, and it took a while for it to actually work. anakin was seated beside you, facing you, while you sat straight ahead. his hands cradled your back and torso, keeping your posture straightened after he had reminded you one too many times to be mindful of it.

beneath his touch, it was difficult not to squirm. you never really touched boys before. save for training, of course. other than that, you never had a reason to. anakin's hands all over you was a plague you weren't sure you were happy about catching. his voice rang through your ears, counting. each time you shook your head, telling him you'd lost track of your breaths and had gotten distracted again, he restarted.

"8.... 9... 10." finally. you couldn't stop now. you'd been working at this for hours. "okay, now let your mind go again." he spoke, and you eased back into yourself. thoughts and colors and feelings exploded all around you, all things you had somehow managed to block out. it was like flying through clear skies and then having your wings clipped midair, plummeting, plummeting, plummeting, until you hit the ground. your eyes shot open, immediately widening, and you looked off to the side, where anakin smiled openly and proudly at you.

"you did it." because you did. for the first time possibly ever, you grinned back at him.

when it was all over, it was late into the night.

the walk back was silent. you didn't speak, and neither did he. not about your earlier lessons or the ones to come. or the fact that this meant most of your day would be spent with him. it made your stomach flip. for reasons you didn't want to ponder over.

later, you stared at your ceiling once again. night was bleeding into dawn like ink on a wet piece of paper. you tried the method. to fall asleep. just to see if it'd work.

it did not.

.

hi. if i still have your attention, i want to use it to talk about what's going on in gaza. during the superbowl, the last safe zone was bombed by israelis who lured innocent palestinians to it, claiming it was what would keep them safe from their advances. everyone who went there died.

everyday, people die in gaza and other parts of palestine by the hands of israelis. their forces are dying off, they have nothing. no hospitals, food, running water. absolutely nothing.

there are many ways you can help. i assure you, you do not need starbucks to live. if you care even a bit for the children who suffer everyday, for the men who die and the women who are tortured, you will forget about your pink drink or your coffee, and you will help boycott. you do not need even a penny to support palestine, you just need to start refusing service of those restaurants.

a man lit himself on fire, as well, as a last cry for help and a protestation. for gaza. he lit himself on fire, and the israeli force's first instinct was to lift their guns and threaten to shoot him. while he was burning to death. it's worse than you think, and if you support israel, i ask that you get off of my page.

there are so many people on instagram and youtube and tiktok that you can follow, so many things you can do without spending a penny. i ask that you please help. nothing will change if we don't.

free palestine 🇵🇸

.

| part 2 >

@kingdomhate :)

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on stories I'm too sleep deprived to write #XYZ

Sometimes I really think about writing a Polin fanfiction where Penelope marries Lucy's uncle and ends up neglected and abused, but doesn't leave him because of teenage Richard and little Lucy. Until she finds out about the deal to betroth little Lucy to Haselby Junior and how her husband is commiting treason and basically wants to sell his young niece to cover it up. So Penelope finds some will to live after years of just taking the abuse to protect the kids and sells her husband out to the crown, on the condition that the Abernathy title isn't affected.

Cue Lucy's uncle officially dying in a mysterious accident and Penelope moving back to London with little Lucy and young Richard. The Bridgertons and the Featheringtons are happy to have her back but Penelope's marriage has changed her and the first one that notices is Colin.

Penelope doesn't smile anymore, she's busy running the Abernathy estates and putting the fear of God into her teenage nephew because Richard is the darn heir to the Abernathy title and he needs to act like it, David did Richard no good and he really needs a good male influence in his life.

'No Colin not you, the last thing I need is Richard deciding he wants to drop everything and go gallivanting across Europe while his aunt and little sister despair in worry... I meant a male influence like Anthony, or Simon'

Colin starts putting the pieces together about her marriage when he sees that Penelope keeps reassuring Lucy that yes everything in the mansion is all theirs and that nobody can hurt them now. And when she keeps pushing Richard to make friends among the ton so his sister can have a better chance when she's presented.

Basically, id love to see a deconstruction of a situation where Penelope doesn't realize she's turning into her mother. And actually begins to see things from Portia's point of view now that she's officially An unhappy widow who's only joy in life will be to see her wards safely married and enjoying the life she never could.

She's Determined to make up for lost time when it comes to building connections and ensuring Richard and Lucy's future, going as far as policing Lucy's friend circle because ' Lucy is too kind and too naive, any false friend could play her for a fool'

Everyone else thinks Penelope is just being Penelope but Colin can see that she's spiraling under the weight of her worries and the ghost of her former husband, and he wants to help, he keeps showing up to everywhere she goes, trying to bring a smile out of her, encouraging her to think about herself, to dream about love, maybe remarriage, like Francesca, live again with a purpose.

Penelope thinks Colin is cute but annoying and needs to buzz off, she may still think he's handsome and charming but gone are the days she would feel over the moon for sharing a dance with him. The harder he tries to cheer her up, the more upset she gets, who gave Colin the right to see through her? Why is he so fixated on helping her, she's fine, she got rid of David, she's got Lucy and Richard and boatloads of money to do as she pleases! Penelope doesn't need Colin Bridgerton's pity!

Bonus if this is an au in which Colin still remains a bachelor, because he never found the love his parents used to have. And always felt guilty for not saving Penelope from the marriage that ruined her life.

But Colin keeps trying. Almost as if he's in love with her or something, but Penelope no longer believes in love. She's only hopeful for Lucy, because that child deserves true love, Lucy will have everything Penelope never did, Lucy is the future...

Even if Lucy IS developing the same predilection for Eton attending Bridgertons that Penelope did in her youth, Penelope will ignore Gregory's friendly attention to Lucy the same way Portia continues to ignore Colin's attention to her.

This won't backfire, not at all

[littlefreya]

Danse Macabre

Summary: She cannot tell who she is anymore, nor where she is. All that she knows is that Sherlock is not the man he pretends to be and that every night he comes to her bedroom to feast on the delights of her body... 

Pairing: Vampire!Sherlock Holmes x Virgin OFC (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)

Word count: 2.2K

Warnings: 18+, Dark, horror, dubious consent, sex, supernatural themes, I guess we can say monster sex? Mentions of blood, hinted Stockholm Syndrome, loss of virginity, metaphors, obsession, hinted hypnosis, bites, vampire sex, mind manipulation.

A/N:  I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes. Many thanks to my angels: @agniavateira for beta'ing my work and supporting me, and to @notabronte for giving me feedback and encouraging me to post. Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed it. 🖤

Danse Macabre 🕯️

How long has it been; a month? A year? An eternity? 

Time swayed differently in Mister Holmes’ mansion — if it moved at all.  

The nights seemed endless, and the days… she couldn’t remember the last time she was awake during daytime. Perhaps this was a nightmare, or maybe it was the cold tentacles of death that pulled her into an abyss; but then, if the dead couldn’t feel pain then why did his kisses hurt?

It was in the bawls of midnight when Sherlock stalked into her bedroom— his jaw stern, cheekbones sharp and strikingly distinguished by the flame of a single candle held in his hand. Hunger filled his careless face, and his eyes flickered brightly like glowing orbs of ice. 

Unable to scream or move, she watched him behind the ghostly veils of her bed. Hot wax dribbled down his fingers—little white tears of sorrow that she wished she herself could cry, but Sherlock had not only drained her of such force but by some enchantment, coaxed her to submit to his sacrilegious desire

“Undress,” he demanded from the doorway where he stood, shrouded by the crimson haze of the poorly lit corridor. Whatever was behind him, she could never see, the width of his bulky figure blocked the path like a monster from a children’s tale.

‘Monsters are real, Momma. They look like men in tailored vests and shiny leather shoes.’

Her fingers trembled, hands stiff and heavy. Yet she did what she was told without question, allowing the straps of her nightdress to fall down her shoulders the way a dying leaf falls from a branch. 

Eyes a shade colder than ice, his glare fell to her breasts, and his chest puffed with a rumbling growl. Slowly he stalked forward, treading like a spider on its web. The tips of his fingers turned black as if dipped in poison whilst his nails grew long and sharp at every step.

“The duvet. Set it aside.” 

His voice was the rumble of an inching thunder, an echo inside her head that made her bones rattle. Whenever he spoke, it felt as if invisible strings wrapped around her wrists and persuaded her limbs to do as he commanded. Even when her soul begged her to give a sliver of resistance, her hands still lifted to obey this dark ventriloquist and pushed the blanket away. 

The stem of Sherlock’s throat clenched at the delicious splendour: bare, youthful skin, so tight and so supple. A thing that should have never been touched, should have never been spoiled and yet he yearned for nothing but to leave his marks at the depth of her soul.

The scent that emanated from the flesh between her thighs elicited a guttural groan from his chapped lips. In his throat pulled the ghastly hunger. Setting the candle on the wardrobe, he stalked toward the bed, his shadow metastasizing and devouring every shred of light that dared enter the chamber. 

Both the mattress and her heart sank once he placed a knee on the bed and began to crawl between her parted legs, slowly and predatorily, dragging himself closer to her heat. Black, sharpened nails graze their way up her inner thighs, admiring the pureness of the forever-young flesh. 

Encased in a glass coffin, his young ward would forever be protected from famine, disease, and time; and what was Sherlock if not a warden fulfilling his duty?

‘A monster! God, please! There is a monster in my bed!’ 

If only she could scream, if only God hadn’t abandoned her. Instead, all she could do was shiver, her heart giving no sound as Sherlock forced himself between her thighs. One razor-sharp fingernail traced the plumpness of her breast, tenderly circling and caressing the nipple. 

“Mine,” he growled and slipped his nail down the valley of her torso, casually tugging the remains of her gown to expose her pure mound. Red glinted on those piercing shards that replaced his eyes—red like a flicker of fire from a match. “Look at me,” he demanded, though there was no need for him to ask. 

That same gaze that possessed her had sliced through the tendrils of her mind. 

Nodding, she lifted her gaze to meet his, her lips parting in a quiet plea as the ghastly, pointed talon made careful strokes amidst the swollen petals to collect the honeyed dew that gathered at the seams of her untouched cunt. 

“My poor little dove, it’s so lonely in there…” he keened, attempting to slide his long monstrous finger inside of her. But her maidenhood, still obstinate to protect her from the vile urges of men, forbade him access. 

Foolish. 

What strength did her flesh have against such a sinister entity if even iron locks and carved religious figures couldn’t keep him away? Huffing with scorn, he drew an icy fingertip around the outlines of her slit, further spreading the sinful wetness across the seams of her cunt.

She mewled, despite herself, her waist moving in a smooth tidal sway. 

Sherlock could never tire of this, not of the terror in her eyes whenever she saw him at her bedroom door nor the moans she emitted as he traced her engorged flesh with a finger or his tongue. But what he favoured above all was the sensation of his cock as it tore through her seal and those heavenly pained cries that eventually turned into the moans of a whore. 

What a great fortune it was that they had an eternity of this dance. 

Hovering above his prey, he propped his knees between her legs, the fabric of his trousers brushing against her inner thighs as he lowered his weight upon her. If there was any air in her lungs, she would have let out a shuddering breath; but what came instead was a silent gasp, and only her lips quivered as she prepared herself for the familiar twinge of his invasion.

Reaching for his groin, he freed his hardened cock and stroked a hand across its length before nudging the heart-shaped crown at the gates of her purity. Not yet pushing in, he teased himself up and down her narrow slit, treating her the way a lover treats his delicate mistress— the way a cat toys with a mouse.  

Lips swollen and tingling, she whimpered, her yet-empty hole twitching as if heeding a primal call. How could she fear and need him at the same time? Did she loathe herself so much that she wanted him to defile her? Tears began to rim her eyes, and from quivering lips, she whispered, “please…”

Letting out a low rumbling chuckle, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead before whispering in her ear, “You, my ward, are such a mystery…” 

Her mouth opened to speak but a scream followed instead. One unceremonious thrust and he sunk into her lush depth, his girthy cock devouring the sweetness of virginal flesh. Indifferent to her pain, he pushed further and deeper past her folds until every inch of him was buried within. 

Cries and squeals sputtered from her mouth—the monster had tore her innocence, the pain had seared, and in pathetic pleas for mercy, she slapped against his bare chest and tried to shove him away. But Sherlock knew no mercy, for truly he was a beast, not just by the breadth of his shoulders and untypically muscular figure, but by his blunt absence of elegance and heartless mien. Giving her no moment to adjust, he had already began to pump himself inside of her now-defiled cunt.

Such a mask of virtue did her warden wear; to the world, a perfect, eloquent gentleman. But behind closed doors, lurked a sick, sinister man who only wished to desecrate this tender maiden in this dark sacrament. 

Over and over, he pulled away only to plunge into her again, each thrust harder than the last, each thrust ending with the slap of his sack against her cunt. And the moans that came from him - had the most debauched resonance, as if she was a long anticipated feast to a voracious man.  

Unable to meet his vigour, her walls whined a protest and squeezed around him in a futile battle to drive him out; yet for Sherlock, this tightness was nothing less than an aphrodisiac. If any, her insubordination did nothing but provoke the ungodly creature within him. Reaching a clawed hand to her chin, his fingers pressed into the hollow of her cheeks, forcing her to stare directly into his bright-red eyes as he began to fuck her in a punishing pace.

“I am already inside you, little dove. There is nothing that can be done,” he rasped while his hips continuously snapped into hers, every second rut bringing her closer to surrender as friction drew that which she so religiously wanted to resist. 

“Give in to me, and I will give you pleasure like no other.”

His words were but a spell. Briefly, unbidden, a spark inside her womb ignited, giving life to ecstatic flames that cascaded through her canal. While a part of her wanted to stay pure and deny this vicious man, an unbearable ache for his return struck her every time he pulled out from her slit. In mindless despair to hold him close, she had finally caved in and wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him near.

Triumphant grunts rumbled in his throat. Appeased by her surrender to his whims, he lifted his upper torso, his taut abs flexing as he rose to hover above her. With his hand still around her jaw, he pressed her deeper into the mattress while pummeling her cunt. 

“Make us whole…” he begged, his voice a husky—almost pitiful—groan. 

“Make us whole again.”

Depraved as an animal, he ravaged her with the selfish degenerate intent of a man yearning to impregnate his mate. Though this union could result in nothing of that sort, still she thrashed against him in an archaic frenzy, her screams unfurling into the night as her body became enslaved to the same foolish wanton. Soon her trenches began to tighten around him in demand of his seed, and the whispering embers that smouldered in her womb had suddenly imploded into a wave of molten fire that scorched through her completely. 

It was in that moment when her cunt devoured him completely, when he felt her heat gush and hug around his shaft so longingly that his eyes glowed bright red, and his fangs flashed sharply before her dazed eyes. Even though she had seen this play out numerous, endless times, she couldn’t help but gasp as he lowered his mouth to her neck and drank her pleasure-tainted blood.

Eyes staring into the ceiling with shock, she trembled like a thing that was about to be shattered. The waves of her ecstasy ebbed away as Sherlock stole from whatever maw of force she had left. Black mists began to waft around her, blurring her sight and pulling her down below. And suddenly, she was limp and heavy at the same time while a cold, strange tingle jittered through her veins.

‘Death…’ she smiled with her eyes half-shut, ‘Oh, finally… Release me!’

Just then, a secondary implosion spasmed through her core and caused her entire body to jitter with delight as the sensation elicited from his bite was an unlikely aphrodisiac. Mouth agape in a silent cry, she threw her head back and stared through the open window while the monster inside her continued to feast on her throat.

The moon—it was covered in blood, painting the room in a crimson shade.

Lost in this trance, Sherlock hummed; the blood of a newly deflowered virgin was sweeter than ambrosia; after decades and aeons of searching, he could sense the wind on his skin, feel the thrum in his veins and abruptly… in a moment passing, he felt a rumble in his chest as his heart pumped once again. 

‘Make us whole.’

‘Make me whole.’

‘Make me feel alive again.’

Losing his control entirely, he thrusted into her with a few last powerful strokes and then finally lifted his head with a savage-like shout while his thick elixir overflowed her womb. Cum seeped around his cock at the same manner of the blood that trickled down his square chin. 

He licked the corner of his lip, eyes red and sated, peering down at his prey.

“Oh, my sweet little flower,” he murmured and carefully lowered his head to kiss her. She returned the kiss, uncertain if by choice, little did she care now. Her body still tingled and the taste of her own blood had an odd sweetness to it that had made her thirsty. Once he broke from her lips, she suckled them dry. 

Like petals plucked from a rose, she laid raw beneath him. Not dead. Not yet. Not ever. She no longer remembered her life before him, no longer remembered who she was. All she knew was that when she would wake the next day, it would be night again.

And he would return to claim her, again.

His fellow companions warned him of such abomination; it was dangerous to drink from his own kind, or so they claimed. It poisoned the mind and the body according to the myths, but whether it was true or not, Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to care. 

No matter the fashion, he came every night, drank from her veins, deflowered her and left. 

And every night, she woke up a virgin again, clueless as to who and what she was.

But Sherlock knew the one and only true answer. 

She was his.

For all eternity. 

[jiubilant]

4.E. 170

They unload the young Ervine at the Vetring docks along with twelve tuns of wine—which she counts as they bob down the wharf on the dockers’ backs, two by two—and four thin, shivering pigs. She’s not sure where to go. She’s standing dazed with sunlight on the loading-plank, flanked by squealing livestock and the rank, seasick steam of their breath, when two youths hurrying down the boardwalk smile and wave: a lanky young mage, his cloak dyed adept’s blue, and a boy her age with a skeletal face.

“For the Kynesdag feast in town,” says the mage in breathless introduction, divesting her of books and bundles both. He means the pigs, she realizes. He darts a look over his shoulder, another at the ship, then gives her a gentle shake: half-friendly, half-impatient. “We were told to meet you. What’s your name?”

She frowns at him, suspecting a joke at her expense, then recalls how far she is from Betony and her father’s rotting lands. He’s never cursed an Ervine, this mage with busy eyes.

“Mirabelle,” she says, her voice salt-hoarse. She’s eaten nothing but hardtack for two months.

He doesn’t even ask for the rest of it—just glances behind him again and marches her down the frost-chewed wharf. Wizards, of course, always have somewhere else to be.

“Falion of Conjuration,” he replies with a hasty grin, pulling her out of the way of some rickety gibbet for fish. The cod dangling from it like gallows-fruit watch her pass with baleful eyes, as does the woman stringing them up. “That’s Phinis, also of Conjuration. Phin,” he says to the boy, who’s casting nervous looks about him like wards, “you’ll have to get used to it.”

Phinis pulls a death’s-head face. “I don’t want to get used to it—”

One of the pigs blunders with a shriek into their path. The biggest of the men dragging it down the docks stumbles, swearing in some Nordic tongue—then, with a snarling glance at Mirabelle and her companions, spits at them.

“Happy Kynesdag,” croaks Phinis, cringing sideways. Falion, with an inscrutable look, lays a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll have to get used to it, too,” he says to Mirabelle, who stares at him. He clears his throat and, with a playful flourish of his cloak, raises his voice like a mummer on the stage. “Pay the ignorant masses no mind. You are now a student of Mystery”—he grips her shoulder with jovial force, steering her away—“a novitiate of the Secret Fire!”

“A witch,” says Mirabelle, her voice steady and soft.

Falion’s grin, swift as a warning, bounds again across his face. “A scholar!”

Mirabelle glances behind her. The man with the pig, staring after them, shivers and looks away.

* * *

“They hate us in the village,” Phinis confides in her over supper: a bowl of pale and wobbly fish, glistening like glue in the sheen of the wandering lights. “Falion says they’re afraid of what they don’t understand, and that we should be”—he makes a grim little face at his bowl—“understanding.”

“Oh,” says Mirabelle through a mouthful of fishpaste. It tastes like jellied steam. She’s discovered, in her ravenous journey to the bottom of the bowl, that she can swallow it without chewing. “Why?”

Phinis scowls. “That’s what I want to know—”

“No.” Mirabelle, in the spirit of scholarly inquiry, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. No one snaps at her for it. She dares a quick, gleeful lick at the back of her spoon. “Why are they afraid?”

“Falion says—” A pallid light kindles in Phinis’s eyes. “No. I’ll show you.”

They slip out of the refectory, accompanied by a bobbing light and a few incurious looks from the adepts’ table. Their footsteps echo in the corridor like cracking ice. Mirabelle, in her scratchy new College robes that smell of mothballs and musty spells, resists an unthinkable urge to dance up and down the hall until it resounds with noise. It would be unscholarly, she thinks. She hugs herself hard instead.

“If you think this is cold,” says Phinis sagely, misunderstanding her, “wait until end-of-term. Falion says we’ll have to crack the ice in our basins every morning.”

The giddiness, despite her best efforts to restrain it, wriggles up from her toes to her face. “What else does Falion say?”

Phinis gives her a wounded look. “You’re making fun.”

The rush of warmth she feels for the little cadaver—and for the supper-sludge, the itchy clothes, Falion who knows so much—threatens to knock her over. “I’m not.”

“It’s all right,” he says, his face funereal. She has to bite down on a laugh. “I’m used to it. We’ll go up those stairs to the ramparts.”

They wrestle with the door at the stairtop, which is frozen or rusted shut; it bangs open at last, and they tumble out into a blast of wind that nearly blows them over the parapet. Mirabelle, with a delighted shriek, grabs Phinis—poor bag of bones, he all but rattles—and staggers with him away from the crenellated wall.

The wind whips his scandalized yell past her ears. “Are you laughing?”

She is. Something in her has come unstuck. “Have you ever been up here before, or did Falion tell you about it?”

“You’re making fun!” He stomps ineffectually on her foot. “The wind comes and goes, you’ll see—”

“I’m not making fun!”

By the time they struggle arm-in-arm to the far parapet, the wind’s died down. They sag against the wall. Phinis, breathing hard, glowers so peevishly at Mirabelle that she bursts into laughter again—which makes his lips twitch, and his eyes gleam, and something almost like life flush in his face.

“What are you so happy about?” he demands, fighting a smile. Mirabelle can tell by the way he’s twisting his mouth. “Here we are at the frozen edge of the world—”

“I didn’t think they’d let me come,” Mirabelle gasps, rubbing her eyes. The tears in them sting like grains of salt. “What—what’d you want to show me?”

“Oh.” Phinis tugs her up, then points over the parapet. “Out there.”

What he had wanted to show her, Mirabelle realizes after a long, staring moment, is the sea. Gulls circle and cry over the gray mirror of the water. Glaciers—smaller, now, than they’ll be in midwinter—slouch in the shallows. The sun on the horizon breaks the surface like a drowned face.

It’s nothing that she hadn’t seen from the deck of the ship. She looks sidelong at Phinis.

“It wasn’t always a village,” he says.

A gull dips in the sky. The water shimmers, changeless and cold, over the roofs of the city of the dead.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

i love the pumpkin decor from anura and the skulls from silk cradle !! even though its not even close to halloween,,,(its always in my heart lmao) i was thinking about bishops (+narinder and/or labert, if your up for it) platonically with a child! black cat reader (who is kind of like in the spooky month skid and pump mindset LOL, but the town they grew up in, possibly outside the lands of the old faith, is very halloween-centered)

i hope this isnt too specific !!

Don't worry, Halloween's ALWAYS in my heart haha. I love those decorations too! And the ones from the blood moon ritual. Can't wait for that event again

.........

Heket

With pumpkin patches flourishing in her domain, it only makes sense for her to have celebrations and rituals surrounding the harvest season.

Yet she knows nothing of this "Halloween" you've rambled on about to her followers, nor why you became so excited upon discovering that Anura's environment reflects the autumn season.

That's because the town you're from is centered entirely around the holiday, with you living among ghouls, skeletons, demons, crows, and (of course) other black cats.

To you, every day is Halloween and you're loud and proud about it!

You introduced the idea of jack o'lanterns to Heket when she discovers you carving a pumpkin, sticking a candle inside after you gutted the entire crop, much to her confusion and annoyance.

"You there..why do you waste precious food?" She accuses, but you're completely oblivious to her anger.

"Where I come from, we always carve pumpkins! And we make cool things like this!" You show her your finished product: a Yellow Crown carved onto the face of the pumpkin. "I offer this to you, Lady Heket."

"I see, but...what am I to do with it?"

"You put it outside your home to ward off scary spirits! Like those who wanna wilt the crops!"

She had her doubts about these traditions of yours, but she grows to like this "jack of lantern" and puts it into effect almost immediately.

More followers join in, learning how to carve their own pumpkins and place them outside their homes.

It actually gives the incredibly superstitious and paranoid some comfort that they won't be haunted or plagued by negative spirits/energy.

Heket made a point to allow an overabundance of pumpkin patches during Halloween season so there's enough for both food and carving.

She also discovers people are willing to pay for the best-looking ones, so she allows the elders to run stands by the fields and make some coin.

Ofc, a good chunk of the profits go directly to her.

Shamura

Skull piles and skeletal decorations are commonplace in Silk Cradle, being trophies of wars and intimidating those who dared wander into their domain--grim reminders that it could be their own skull next.

You, however, find them nonthreatening as you've had similar decor back in your little town of Halloween (/ref).

Fake or not, you loved them all the same (plus the cobwebs, even though most are just part of the natural environment) and had to ask Shamura if Halloween was celebrated all year here, too.

Although their brain struggles to recollect things, they have books on holidays and their ancient origins..so they are aware it exists.

But it's not one they ever cared to implement.

Nevertheless, they permit you to decorate your home to your heart's content with whatever skulls and bundles of silk you found--as well as pumpkins shipped from Anura.

They're nicer to you bc you remind them of Narinder back in his youth, fascinated with the spooky and the taboo.

All the giant axe traps and toxic pits scattered throughout Silk Cradle never bothered you, as you've seen them back in the spooky dungeons of your hometown.

Usually the resident bugs would freak out any newcomer shelling in new traditions..but Shamura told them that you, specifically, are not to be harmed under any circumstance and that they allowed this.

You've actually befriended Hauras, sewing them a spidery Halloween cape for them in place of the gray rags they wore.

They wear it with pride to every sermon from there on, not caring who judges.

Kallamar

This bishop's paranoia is a force to be reckoned with.

Even if one hapless follower said the words "red crown" in any context, he'll strike them down for "preaching heresy". He's easily scared of the taboo and misfortune falling into his realm.

So Halloween is definitely the last thing he wants to hear about, especially with its association of black cats (who are in turn associated with bad luck and Narinder).

He keeps trying to shoo you away when you try explaining that's a common myth.

If he sees you using bones and skulls as decorations, he feels sick to his stomach and orders you to take them down.

Those can be used to forge weapons or intimidate potential dissenters! They're not yours to keep!!

Yet you never listen, oblivious to his demands as you try telling him they're harmless.

Would he ever punish you for disobeying with sickness or sacrifice?

No...or at least not at this stage in your life.

That would damage his already-fragile reputation as a leader even further.

But if you grew up into an elder and continued with these "twisted traditions", however, he'd punish you as retribution for the "torment" you've brought upon him.

He just wishes you'd follow his ways and his ways alone.

Fortunately for you, that retribution never comes as he's brought into Lamb's cult during your teen years...with you keeping the Halloween tradition alive and well.

And Kallamar has a more open mind now, although he's still easily spooked by the decor Lamb brings out during the Blood Moon Festival.

The first time he partakes in it, someone pranked him with a fake ear and it traumatized him so bad he cried and hid inside his shelter.

But you comforted him, forgoing the festivities and sharing your candy until he was okay.

You just show him how to carve a jack o'lantern for the remainder of the night, and he's in awe as it glows.

Every year since, Halloween becomes less and less scary for him--and it's all ironically thanks to you.

Leshy

As a young bishop, he's open to ideas for traditions, holidays, etc. for his followers to enjoy.

So when little kitty cat you hailing from a distant land of Halloween propose celebrating it...he's all for it!

The only problem is, well, his sight.

With the Green Crown, he can see the general forms of followers, his siblings, and most structures within Darkwood, but he wouldn't be able to see the tiny details that gave Halloween its magic.

But you explained how you could go for bigger and brighter things. Like jack o'lanterns (made of both pumpkins and turnips) and skulls of giant beasts!

He approves of it and lets you lead in decorating the village nearest to his temple.

Followers initially questioned why they had to listen to a child, of all folks, but they're grateful it's something genuinely fun.

From your town, you've also brought scented candles to really enhance everybody's spooky spirit.

Especially for your Lord Leshy, who finds the smells delightful.

The pumpkin spice ends up becoming his favorite.

You've got him completely fixated on this event.

Plus it's a good opportunity for chaos to reign: with followers pranking one other and scaring each other half to death, dressing up like ghouls and skeletons.

The Bonfire Ritual is one Leshy likes to conduct to boost both his strength and cult morale (he's gotta benefit from all of this somehow too, of course).

Lamb

Not only did Lamb's cult know about Halloween...but they also celebrated it with the Blood Moon Festival.

You fully participated in the ritual every year, rushing outside just in time to see the moon turn blood-red and the sky darken for several days.

The ghosts of deceased followers usually terrified the living, yet you greeted all of them with smiles, waving goodbye as Lamb exorcised them with their book.

Crows, cattle skeletons, and even demons flocked to the cult as well, having been residents of your hometown, too.

And the decorations?????

You were obsessed and jumping for joy, wanting to decorate your little shelter and help everybody else with theirs!

And of course you participated in the many activities going on, including bonfire rituals, apple bobbing, and passing out soul cakes (yep you had a recipe for that from your hometown, too).

One year, Webber showed up and was initially scared since everyone was just staring at them and the spiders scattered around their feet..

But you greeted them warmly, showing them around the cult grounds and what the festival was all about.

Lamb themselves is impressed.

You're only half the age of most of their followers, yet you're active and very responsible (although only if your tasks have anything to do with Halloween).

So as a gift, they bless you with a jack o'lantern necklace. Not only does it light up at night, but its magical properties allowed you to lift up any pumpkin no matter its size with ease!

You vow to carve the biggest jack o'lantern the Old Faith's ever seen.