#my soul is far past damned whats a few more steps

[biohazard-inevitable]

“I could fix him”

Well I could make him worse cause actually, hes got a point

[tatorthots]

— promise you’ll forget me

featured: liyue men x fem!reader

cw: generally gn but uses she/her (an itty bit), pet names, angst, hurt/comfort, a sliver of fluff, mention of character death, a little wholesome if you’re delusional enough (me)

synopsis: “When I die, promise me you’ll forget me. Erase me from your memories, bury me in the past, and live.”

a/n: my 3 babygirls + if I caused anyone any distress from this soft angst then let me know !! so I can continue wrecking havoc :)

── ꨄ︎ Xiao

Xiao stared at you, frozen in place and eyes widening as those words fell from your lips. He was in shock, completely baffled at how casually you uttered those words. As if they meant nothing… he grimly thought, As if you could ever mean nothing. His hands trembled, balling them into fists and digging his nails into the back of his palm. Had his silent affection, loving kisses, acts of devotion, and fierce protection not been testament enough to the impact you had on him? Had you not realized that you wielded the same amount of power over him as his previous master had with his true name? The Yaksha was almost amazed at your ignorance. “How dare you speak so carelessly…” he growled. Xiao was already fully aware of the reality of your inevitable death; it’s a truth that even the Conquerer of Demons, himself, adamantly refuses to revisit. He was bitterly aware that your time in Teyvat — your days together — was on borrowed time compared to his. That’s just the fate of a human's life in comparison to an Adeptus. He knew that the day will come when he would be forced to confront the tragic cycle of life and death once again, and if only for the sake of his Archon, he’ll grit his teeth and face it when the time comes. But to ask him to forget you, to erase you from his memories? You, who he cherishes most of all. You, who stealthily slithered into his heart and made a home in the remnants of his damned soul. You, who he foolishly fell in love with. There was no force in this wretched world that could ever submit him to abandon the little joy he was given in his life. And to ask that of him was to condemn him to a far crueler fate than that of the karmic debt he harbors on his shoulders.

Glowering at the wooden floorboards of the Wangshu Inn, Xiaos piercing eyes flickered up at you. “Do not make such absurd requests of me again.” He sneered. Flinching in surprise, you questioningly glanced at your lover. Shifting your gaze down, you noticed the deathly grip he held on the patio's railing and the cracking lines spreading beneath his fingertips. “Xiao… wait, I didn’t mean to—“ but your words were cut short by the solemn glint in his yellow stare. “There are many things I struggle to comprehend about you mortals, so tell me,” attentively, your ears perked up and your breathing paused as he spoke, “could you forget me so easily if I asked you to? Is your affection for me simply…” biting the inside of his cheek, his expression shifted to one of sorrowful hesitation, “temporary?” Your entire body tensed. Xiao had made a bad habit of hiding his less ‘acceptable’ emotions in an attempt to not burden you — no matter how many times you reassured him — so to glimpse at that fragile vulnerability and find the newly seed of doubt you had planted, it made your heart wrench in your chest. You blinked a few times as each flutter of your lashes only gathered more and more wet droplets onto them. “No! Xiao! I would ne-.. ver….” and that’s when you realized the weight of what you had asked him. Rejected.. I made him feel rejected, You internally groaned. Sighing you carefully took a few steps towards him, “Listen to me,” you softly spoke, “I don’t want you to live in mourning after I pass. You don’t deserve that, Xiao,” and his eyes widened, “I want you to be happy,” softening your gaze, you continued, “I want you to continue enjoying the gifts life brings, no matter how big or small they might be!” Standing in front of him, you reached a hand out to gently caress his cheek and dotingly smiled when he instinctively leaned into your touch. “I want you to keep spending time with humans, and one day you may even find new companions who’ll add to your happiness.” Nonsense, he thought. The Adeptus revers you almost as highly as his Archon and you think some feeble companions could ever compare? Xiao placed his hand atop yours and gingerly kissed your palm. His eyes reflected a tender intensity as he peered down at you, “Our connection is too strong, y/n.” his arms wrapped protectively around you, holding you tightly as if he wasn’t careful enough you’d disappear and be gone forever. Xiao hovered his lips above yours as he rested his forehead on you, and closed his eyes, “No matter what challenges time brings, or what you, yourself, try to do to sever our bond,” pressing his lips on yours, he kissed you as he quietly whispered, “I will love you, always.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

417 years have gone by since Xiao last held you in his embrace. And although he was pleased he was able to offer you a long, happy and loving life, Xiao would be blatantly lying if he said he’d moved on from your death. And if not for your last — somewhat reasonable — request, he likely wouldn’t have intervened with the lives of mortals, or reluctantly accepted their friendship. If that was what you truly would’ve wanted for him then he’ll hold his complaints and trust your judgement. It was bittersweet, really. If you were still alive, he knew in his heart you’d be fascinated by these mortals' new technology and inventions; he wonders what you’d say of this new era. And he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips as he thinks of how you’d fawn over these silly contraptions, There’s no doubt you’d be foolishly fascinated by such simple trinkets, he thinks, but archons what he wouldn’t do to see your eyes sparkle with wonder again. And although Teyvat has undergone infinite changes, there is but one acre of land that the Yaksha has ensured remains untouched by humans, Adeptus or demons alike. It was a sort of sanctuary for him. A place of refuge, meditation, reflection, and heartache; but above all, it was where Xiao would religiously visit to honor the love he had, and continues to have, for you — his one and only. The area was radiant, nothing less than one of Liyues hidden gems. The ground was vibrant with lush grass, lively wildlife, and blanketed with all your favorite flowers; flowers Xiao had helped you plant and nurture. What once started as your personal garden ended up flourishing with vines, plants and new ecosystems. It could honestly be described as a mini forest, and the Adeptus wonders if it’s prosperity is because of you. Either way, you would’ve loved it, and that thought alone was enough. Thinking back, Xiao couldn’t believe he was so ignorant. Initially, he thought the whole custom was silly when Morax first casually mentioned it one day. ‘Marriage, is a unity humans practice as well here in Teyvat. It is a unity between lovers — a ceremonial alliance, if you will.’ To him, the idea seemed pointless, but the thought never left his head since. He’s already submitted himself to you in every way, but if his Archon had advised marriage was also a custom between mortals then perhaps you would like to marry as well. So this sacred area is where you both wed. The beaming smile and buzzing excitement you showed that day was forever engraved in his memories. Xiao still keeps the silver ring you slid on his finger with him. Though as of recent centuries he hasn’t worn it as much in order to preserve its integrity, but sometimes, when he’s laying amidst the swaying grass and reminiscing of times gone past, he’ll slip it on and think of you. On rare occasions the Yaksha would even stage a performance, the way he used to when he danced beneath the moonlight as you watched in awe. Whether sunlight warms his skin, rain splashes on his hair and wets his clothes, or strong currents of the wind whistles loudly through the air, he’ll dance to the natural rhythm of Teyvat. A performance reserved only for you. Other times he’ll rest on a bed of soft moss as his honey eyes gaze at the starry sky till morning illuminates the world once more. Simply remembering the sound of your voice, your touch, your laugh, and he’ll wonder, wherever you are in this vast universe, if you think of him too.

── ꨄ︎ Zhongli

The sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the mountaintop of Mt. Aocang. The traditional, delicately crafted teacup Zhongli held was now shattered into pieces in the palm of his hand, and the tea previously filling it was now spilled all over the god's lap. Unaware that his sudden vise-like grip was to blame for its broken state. He saw your lips move and your body apprehensively patting his clothes dry with a cloth, but he couldn’t hear a thing. Zhongli simply stayed in place as his golden eyes stared at you. Yes, it’s true that the former Geo Archon has encountered countless tragic fates and lost several friends and close relationships to the erosion of time. And it’s only been recent, with the reawakening of Azhdaha, that he had to reluctantly reevaluate and reaccept his cursed fate of eternity until the last remnants of his body eroded back into the stones of old. Azhdaha reminded him his future was pitiful. Doomed to solidarity as punishment for being a God. It was for that exact reason that Zhongli heavily contemplated the idea of entering a relationship with a human for a very long time before officially committing to you. However, it was also through that slow-burn romance that an unexpected love blossomed. Its tender passion awoke a primal instinct that had long laid dormant in the depths of Morax’s innate desires — it caught the Archon, himself, off guard. The love of a God cannot be easily earned or discarded. It entails complete submission, adoration, and devotion. Then again, it might be the reason Zhongli wasn’t avoidant of the inevitable outcome of this relationship. He fully accepted the consequences of his decision if it meant enjoying just a moment of tranquility in your embrace. He’d be willing to endure a thousand years of heartache if it meant hearing your voice just once, and he’d suffer through thousands more if even to kiss the fabric that clung to your body.

Zhongli, blinked from his trance and looked down to see you patting his clothes dry with red fingertips and scathed palms from the burning hot tea. Swiftly, he took hold of your hands and took the cloth away from you. He felt a pang of guilt as he carefully cascaded his thumb across the searing flush of your warmed skin. “I do apologize, my love.” shifting his gaze up to you, he continued, “It seems that your request has taken me aback.” Tightening your hold on his hands, you knitted your brows in worry, “Oh.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” you pouted. Zhongli removed his gloves, and your attention trailed to the geo marks decorating his golden skin. So pretty, you thought. “There is no need to fret, darling.” His voice was deep and affectionate. An obvious difference compared to the usual somber and nonchalant tone he speaks with, and it made your heart flutter knowing it was only ever exposed to you. But then suddenly, his expression turned serious. “However, that request would be a breach of contract, and I simply, will not break it.” Your eyes widened for a moment before quirking an eyebrow up in question. You momentarily tilted your head in curiosity, and the Archon couldn’t help but feel his gaze soften, just a little, in response to your small habit. Fluttering your eyes on him, you asked, “What contract?” What contract? He silently mused, as if the answer itself was blatantly obvious — which to him, it was. Lowly chucking, he wrapped his large hand around your wrist and slipped his fingertips up to caress your palm. Raising your hand up to his lips, he languidly met your gaze with his adoring one. “If you do not recall, then allow me to remind you.” Closing his eyes, he placed a kiss on your fingertip, ��I have sworn myself each time I touch your skin.” He placed a kiss on another, “Each time my mind had been desperately surrendered by thoughts of you.” Then another, fluttering his long lashes, he peered at you with half-lidded eyes as his pupils dilated to slits “In every moment our bodies intimately intertwine together amidst the heat of our love.” Gasping at his sudden confession, your heart sped up in a fervent fluster. He leaned in close, “I am bound to you, my love, for all eternity.” Zhongli kissed you once, and then twice. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in, almost urging you to sit on his lap. Deepening the kiss the Geo Archon could only pray his kisses could hope to portray even a sliver of the love he has for you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

And so a millennium has passed, he hums. 1,231 years to be exact. Since your passing, Zhongli counted each year that came and went. Placing an incense down on the shrine he built in your memory, the Archon kneeled before your golden statue and prayed — he’s not quite sure to who, and he’s not sure if there’s anyone listening, but if there is, he hopes it’s you. Today had been an unusual day given that he doesn’t normally visit your shrine so late in the evening, but no matter what he did it seemed like unforeseen circumstances kept getting in the way of his preplanned visit. And after several attempts of trying to untangle himself from piling responsibilities, he sighed and decided it was best to just visit you by the end of today no matter what or who dared get in his way. Which brings us to now. However, shortly after he started his peaceful meditation, he was disturbed by someone’s quiet shuffles behind him. Fluttering his eyes open, his sharp gaze glared in the direction the noise was coming from. Even though it’s location wasn’t necessarily private, this shrine was his personal alter of worship, a private haven, who the hell was foolish enough to intrude on its sacred premises? Snapping his head around, his menacing gaze immediately widened into one of pure shock. It surely.. can’t be..? He muttered in disbelief. “Oh! I’m sorry I-um- I didn’t realize someone was here!” The voice awkwardly spoke, and as they turned to leave, his lips moved before he could realize he was talking, “What’s your name?” Blinking in surprise, the woman sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, “Ah. I’m h/n, heh.” Walking closer she carefully inspected the handsome man as he stared at her like she was some sort of ghost. “Is this your shrine?” Looking up at the statue she softly smiled, “I’ve been coming here for weeks.” she confessed, and Zhongli slowly stood from his position. It’s her. The depths of the dragons innate need for his mate had violently awoken from its slumber, and he felt the bond he mourned for centuries, suddenly call out to each and every one of his senses. It’s her. Your reincarnation. Lighting her own stick of incense and bowing, the woman — you — glanced back at him, “I found this place by accident, and I bring my own incense to pay my respects as well. But honestly, I don’t know why I come here.” You chuckled. “Maybe it’s because her statue looks similar to me, or maybe … it’s because I can’t help but feel like this place calls to me.” Shaking your head, you bashfully looked away, “Sounds crazy, right?” “No.. no, not at all….” Softening his gaze, he offered a smile. There’s no mistaking it. I can sense her soul, years of longing and heartache clutched his heart, I could recognize it anywhere. And so the both of you spent the evening chatting away over tea the man you came to know as ‘Zhongli’ had prepared, and when nighttime shadowed the streets you both politely took your leaves. Zhongli deeply considered whether or not he should look for you again, but he soon realized he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the new life you had built — even if it didn’t include him. He told himself he was happy, satisfied knowing your soul had returned even if every cell in his body painfully yearned to be with his lover again. Being given the opportunity to drink tea with you should be privilege enough. It wasn’t until you visited the shrine early one morning that you finally found him. After a brief catch-up, he noticed you nervously shifting, “Is something the matter?” He worriedly asked. With a deep breathe you confessed what’d been on your mind since your last encounter. “Have we met before?” You began, and his entire body froze, “I know this might seem strange but…” and unconsciously his body leaned in closer as his primal instincts begged him to caress your skin once more, but he forced himself rooted. Until you uttered a single sentence and momentarily tilted your head in curiosity that he felt his heart struck, and daresay, even gave the god hope. “I can’t help but feel like…. I’ve met you before, a long time ago.”

── ꨄ︎ Childe

Strumming his fingertips, Childe hummed in contemplation. He’s well aware of the repercussions that come with being 11th of the Fatui Harbingers, and he’s hyper-aware of the vile leverage his enemies would try to obtain when discovering the infamous Harbinger has taken a lover. However, the thing about Childe is that he actually openly welcomes his enemies to try to even get remotely near you. Honestly, your request is just straight-up hilarious to him. But he supposes he can’t blame you. After all, you haven’t a clue of the extent your lover has and, even as you ask, is taking to ensure your safety. It’s stressful, really, but the man loves challenges — “Let them come, let them ALL come!” He manically laughs, before lowering his head, “I’ll kill them all where they stand.” he snarls. Every loud and flamboyant confession, every playful kiss, every subtle caress of your skin, and each lingering touch holds an ulterior motive aside from just affection. It’s a warning. But you never noticed, have you? While you’re pushing him away in a flustered daze, you don’t notice how his cheeky smile and crescent eyes fall the second you turn in a huff and his gaze narrows to a sinister glare — directly locking eyes with the spies creeping atop rooftops. How he never directly answers your questions when he disappears for a few minutes only to return scathed and sometimes even bleeding. Brushing away your worry with a tender smile as he pinches your cheek, “Heh, don’t worry so much!” He’ll coo. Your request isn’t even an option. Childe would die for you, kill for you, live for you. He’ll do whatever it takes to stand above a pile of bloody corpses if only to force them to bow before you. You, the promised ruler of the world he’ll craft. And should you fall, he would build his empire on the blood of millions just to keep his promise.

Childes eyes glimmered in amusement as he threw his head back and laughed. “Hahah—!! You really do have an active imagination babe!” Playfully ruffling your hair, he chuckled, “C’mon now, don’t say such nonsense.” His lips curled into a beaming smile, but you could tell by the edge laced in his words that he meant what he said. Huffing, you smacked his hand away, “I’m not joking, Ajax!” Sighing, you turned away in embarrassment, “I’m being…. I’m being serious, alright?” Pausing, Childe furrowed his brows, “You’re serious?” Rolling your eyes, you marched away feeling flustered and annoyed by your lover's reaction, “Yes! I’m being serious!” Normally, the incredulous stare Childe gave you would’ve made you tease him in any other situation, but as of now it only added to the searing burn on your cheeks. Following behind you, he grabbed your arm to stop you and delicately tugged you to look at him. “Hey, what are you saying?” Turning around, you were met with narrowed blue eyes and a frown, “Are you calling me weak?” And as much as you wanted to stay mad at him, you couldn’t help but crack a smile at his accusatory tone and pouty lips. Intertwining your fingers with his you stepped toward him until your face was only inches away from his pretty glaring eyes. Running your fingertips against his jaw, you lightly traced them across his freckled skin until you reached his messy, orange hair, “The only thing I think you are is dumb.” You lovingly purred. Scoffing he averted his gaze from yours. “Listen, Ajax,” you started, “I know you worry about me, and yes, even though you’re the strongest man I know—“ “Ever will know.” He corrected. Giggling you flicked his forehead, “Ever will know~” you repeated, before you cleared your throat and steeled your gaze, “If I do pass… promise me you’ll live for yourself, okay? Take care of yourself, and no matter what, don’t let my memory hold you back.” Hold me back? He chuckled. Gently placing both hands on your cheeks, he guided your head to fully face him, “Your life makes me feel alive, y/n, and if the day comes — which it won’t,” he sternly emphasized, “your memory will only serve as the reason I fight to survive.” Pulling you into his protective embrace he buried his face in your soft locks, “I’ll keep you safe.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

720 days. That’s 720 archon-forsaken days, and sleepless nights. It was clear to all, that a part of Childe never quite recovered the day he found your lifeless body lying alongside the jagged edges of stone slabs resting beneath a mountain cliff side. The image of your body lying still as a pool of your blood gushed from your mutilated wounds onto the unforgiving surface of the rocks became a memory deeply embedded in the Harbingers mind. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t something inside him that had shattered, but instead completely disappeared. Even now, he still feels likes he’s quietly being haunted by the agonizing screams he cried and tears that he endlessly shed as he held your bloody corpse in his possessive and shaky embrace. However, all of that paled in comparison to the unsettling numbness that nestled within his bones and tainted his heart when he caught sight of the item that dropped from your hand as he cradled you. It was mocking. Taunting, even. “The pendant…” he spoke, barely above a whisper. She protected.. the pendant I gave her? His azure stare darkened as the very last of his compassion died right there and then. Now they only harbored hatred and desolation. Reaching to pick up the pendant, Childe carefully brushed the blood staining it with his gloved thumb. This was the gold entwined, jade pendant he had gifted you during the firework showcase of your first Lantern Rite with him. It was intended as a good luck token — a marker of sorts. He promised you that so long as you held this pendant, he would always come to protect you; your lover vowed this. His breath trembled, and his jaw clenched as he glared at it with blurry eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder, Was she waiting for me, choking out a sob his fingers combed through your hair as he rested his forehead on yours and salty tears dripped down your cheek, to protect her? And that thought alone was enough to sever the remaining domestic threads of his heart. For the next two years, Childe spent every waking moment tracking your killer. His obsession only further manifested as time went by. Even his work as a Fatui Harbinger strained, yet none were brave enough to tell him otherwise. Either because of fear, or because the Tsaritsa ordered it so. During that time there were those who argued that Childe had gone on a blind rampage, and others argued the Harbinger became the vengeful embodiment of a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will. To be honest? Neither were completely right or wrong. He never hurt bystanders, yet he never hesitated slaughtering anyone who got in his way. As for those foolish enough to mislead him or hold information? Well, they suffered a fate worse than death. It wasn’t until he found himself deep within the shadowy crevices of the chasm that he finally met your murderer. It was a wretched demon that had ripped you away from him, a crime even death was too good for. The accumulated rage of a fallen God was nothing compared to the murderous hatred he harbored. In the end, Childe came victorious — albeit at the cost of his own life. Sliding against weathered stone, he sat down and aimlessly stared at the curvatures of the chasm. “Seems I couldn’t keep my promise, huh?” He chuckled, “Don’t be too mad at me.” Wincing in pain, he slipped out the pendent he gifted you from his Foul Legacy’s armor as he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Kissing it’s cold exterior, he took a breathy sigh, “Please, wait for me,” fluttering his eyes shut, a line of blood dribbled from his lips as he smiled, “just a little…. longer..”

side note!: new format ! let’s goooooooooo

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[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 2 of 13

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: Suggestions of sexual assault

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

~~~~~<3

“Welcome back, Ladies!” Alastor was in the hotel lobby as soon as the doors opened. “How did your ill-fated endeavor go?” 

“Bad.” Vaggie answered, not wanting to talk about any of it. The less people that knew her angelic origin story, the better in her mind. 

“Alastor?” Charlie tried to find the similarities between the man in the picture she had spent most of the trip home looking at and the one standing before her. 

“Whatever can I do for you?” He was in front of her in a heartbeat, leaning into her space slightly, hands planted on his cane as was his way.

“I think maybe I have something for you?” Charlie held out the silver pocket watch. 

“Angelic steel?” He asked as he stepped closer, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. “As a pocket watch? What a silly trinket to bring back. Pocket watches were a thing of the past long before my day.”

“It was given to me. A woman, she asked me to give it to you. At least, I think you’re who it’s for. Maybe there’s another Alastor? Or one who isn’t dead yet. Or one that already had their soul destroyed. Or-”

Alastor bounced the watch in his hand a few times, enjoying the weight of a well made pocket watch in the palm of his hand. Wristwatches had indeed replaced the pocket by in his time on earth. Still, they had an elegance he had favored in life that few knew about. 

They made handy trinkets to fiddle with. In life, he’d run his thumb over the faceplate of the watch his wife had gotten him while he stalked his victims… or while he sat through pointless meetings. 

She had gotten it for him as a gift early in their marriage, upon discovering his rather modest personal collection. It’s weight lived in his pocket during those few short months they had spent together. In the time after her death however, he had wore the faceplate smooth, running his thumb over it again and again as he went about his daily life. 

Alastor froze as he opened the watch. A face he had spent what felt like eternity trying to forget looked up at him.

He had hoped that was where she was. He had feared she had already perished in hell, having been damned for one wrong thought or some childhood action like so many of the weakest sinners in the realm. 

Static jumbled his voice, radio filter going heavy, “Where did you get this?” 

“A woman, she gave it to me.” A shiver ran up Charlie’s spine as Alastor clicked closed the watch and slipped it in his pocket, moving without a trace of the dangerous flair of power he had displayed. “Do you- is she-”

“My wife.” He confirmed. Though they had been separated in death, he wouldn’t deny her. He had spent decades trying and failing to forget her, but he would never deny her outright. 

“You had a wife?” Angel was too shocked to add any quips to his question. Alastor having a wife ment that surely, at some point he had an interest in more than just himself. “Does that mean that you do-”

“I advise you to speak carefully,” Words came nearly lost in static as shadows deepened, lights dimmed and Alastor’s back twisted and his neck turned far more than should have been possible so Angel was faced with his terrifying face. 

“What is she like?” Charlie was eager to settle the mood and learn more of the woman who she had only gotten to meet for a fleeting moment.

“She was sweet as honey. A woman truly deserving of Heaven.”

“How’ed she end up with a fella like you?” Angel stuck his neck out to ask the question on everyone’s mind, not having enough sense of self preservation to keep his mouth shut after the first warning. 

“I was far from deserving of her,” Alastor felt like such didn’t need saying. “We had family connections pushing us together. Is she well?” 

Charlie hesitated, her mind replaying the way Adam manhandled the wisp of a woman. 

“She’s in Heaven.” Vaggie answered, as if that was an answer. 

Alastor accepted it with a nod, “I thank you for bringing me her trinket.” 

“She said to tell you that she loved you,” Charlie blurted out. “No, that’s not exactly it. She would always love you, that was it. I didn’t have a chance to talk to her but she said she would wait forever for you.”

The wide toothed smile on Alastor’s face closed, pulling tight, “She shouldn’t.”

“You can try for redemption.” Charlie felt renewed hope for him. He had someone to be redeemed for!

“No, thank you.” Alastor’s smile grew again, cut wide by his sharp teeth. “I am hardly the man she knew. I thank you again, for the trinket, and carrying my Isabel’s message. Good Night.”

~~~~~<3

Adam was in a rage as he threw her against the wall. Isabel wished for nothing more than to die. If this was heaven, she didn’t want to be here. 

“What were you talking about!”

“I just wanted to find him.” She whimpered in the face of Adam’s rage. He was held up as the perfect man, the first man. If he was placed next to the man she loved though, he couldn’t even live up to his shadow. 

“He’s a disgusting Sinner!” Adam grabbed her again. “Why do you hold out for him? You could have me, the original dick.”

“You’ll never be half the man he was!” 

Adam threw her on the floor and loomed over her. “Take what I am willing to give you,” His hand grasped her ankle and pulled her toward him as she tried to get away. “And I will make you forget him.” 

“You’re as much a sinner as anyone in hell!” She kicked at him, “This is no Heaven. This is but a beautiful blasphemous lie. This is Hell!” 

~~~~~<3

Alastor sat in Rosie’s parlor, teacup of rich warm blood swirling as he was lost in his thoughts. Across from him sat his dearest friend in Hell. Her territory was a refuge for him, somewhere without cameras and where those who would spread idle gossip about him were not eager to wander inside.

“Alastor Dear, As glad as I am to see your face, what troubles you?” 

Rosie had been sitting in silence, watching him. She waited patiently for him to open up before her soft prodding, though she wouldn’t dare push or pry. Maintaining a friendship with her often chaotic fellow Overlord took some delicacy and respect for his many boundaries and walls.

“My wife,” Alastor’s smile was subdued yet ever present even as the weight of his punishment in hell crashed over him once again. 

It was a weight he had long ago gotten used to. He had learned to thrive under but when he was forced to remember this part of his living life, it was a stone around his neck that threatened to try to drown him. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he would let it.

He needed to once again cast aside the stone. She was where she belonged and he would never be with her again. So what if she waited for him? So what if she still loved him? She didn’t know the sins he carried. He needed to throw her memory aside, once again, and leave the past in the past. 

There was nothing that could be done to change anything. 

She sat back in her chair, back perfectly straight and empty eyes wide. Sure, she had been privy to the fact that at one time, he had been married but most gave up such ownership over their spouse after a few decades, referring to them as former, ex or late.

It was easy to assume due to his apparent lack of romantic or sexual drive that he had mentally divorced himself from the relationship long ago, shed the shackles that societal expectations bound him with in his life. They hadn’t spoken explicitly about his preferences or desires, it wouldn’t be proper, but she had a way of knowing these things. 

Or at least, she had thought she did.

The idea that taking a wife had been anything more meaningful to him than the socially expected and proper thing to do hadn’t crossed even her mind. All things exist in a spectrum, she supposed, and matters of the heart were rarely anything less than complex. 

Alastor placed a open pocket watch on the table between them after she was all but certain that he wasn’t going to discuss the matter further, “She’s in Heaven.” 

“How did you get this?” She asked, picking the silver watch, gleaming in a way things in hell rarely did, and examining the picture inside. 

It was hand sketched and ever so detailed. Crafting the image clearly took a significant amount of time. Someone had slaved over the artwork inside for a great many hours to produce something that had near photo results. 

“Is this-?” 

“My Darling and I, the day we wed.” Alastor confirmed. “She had always been a talented artist, though I’d say her skills have progressed significantly in the decades since she left my side.” 

“It’s very good,” Rosie said, “You made a lovely couple.” 

“Our Darling Princess delivered it when she returned from Heaven,” Alastor took a long pull from his teacup. “A gift from Isabel.”

“I’m so sorry, Alastor.” She slid the watch back toward him, not sure what the proper thing to say to him in that moment was. 

“No need, my dear friend.” He absently responded as he pocketed the watch, sparing a moment to run his thumb over the faceplate hiding the picture inside. “No need. She is where she belongs, as am I.” 

“Yet it weighs on you,” Rosie pointed out, “You long for her?”

“Perhaps.” Alastor wasn’t fond of the questioning but thankfully, Rosie did so with tact and respect. It was something lacking from the hotel residents who struggled to picture him caring for anyone, let alone as a husband. “She is safe, as she should be.”

“It’s a relief then?” Rosie asked, plucking a lady finger from the plate between them. “To know she didn’t parish in an extermination?” 

It hadn’t occurred to her that he had been looking for, hunting for anything more than the powerful demons he killed as he arose to power. Perhaps there had been a bit of something else driving the events of those days. Now wasn’t the time to ask however.

“To know that she is where she belongs,” Alastor countered.

“Which isn’t with you?” Rosie delicately tried to untangle the complexities of her dear friend. 

“Which is somewhere safe,” Alastor corrected. “You know just as well as I, Hell chews up and spits out those who are not savage enough to earn respect and take power.” 

~~~~~<3

Sulfur stung her nose as the portal to Hell opened. This was her chance, she had humored Adam though it had made her skin crawl to get to this moment. Adam wasn’t an intelligent man but still, it wasn’t easy to allow him to believe that she was finally willing to entertain his advances, his hands on her. 

It was too much to hope for that he would know anything about her husband but he was her ticket to where he was. It was common knowledge that Adam took his warrior angles between Heaven and Hell in order to protect the gates. 

There’s no way she could convince Adam to take her with him. Manipulation wasn’t her strength in the slightest. Just pretending to accept Adams advances was challenging enough. 

It wasn’t for nothing at least. It had gotten her here, standing at the front of the select crowd who would see off Adam and his warriors to the mighty battle as the citizens of Hell once again rose up to try and overtake the gates. This was a war only a select few knew about and being one of those few took work. 

Golden sparks kicked to life in the air in front of the army. Sparks grew, swirling to life into a large portal from what had started as a pinprick. Adam offered her a cocky grin that she did not return before he lead the first wave of his army though.

This was her chance, Isabel knew. It was now or never. If she let this chance pass by, she wouldn’t get another. 

Counting, Isabel prepared herself to do something she knew she could never come back from. 

One. Looking in the distance she saw her Mother-in-law nod her blessing. How she had managed to get that close, Isabel would never be able to ask her. Everything she had learned, everything she had feared, everything she had experienced in Heaven, she had shared with her dear Alastor’s mother. If anyone knew how much being separated from him was torture to her, it would be his mother. 

Two. She fluttered out her wings, tensing muscles and ruffling feathers. To pull this off she needed every feather in place. She needed every muscle to propel her forward before anyone could stop her. Hopefully at least. 

Three. One last deep breath of the cleanest air she would ever breathe as the hot sulphuric air wafted into heaven from the open portal. Just a few more rows of the army were left. 

 Now. She ran, long dress clutched in one fist as she hiked the hemline up to her knees, wishing she had worn the dip hemline she had favored instead of the ankle long hemline Adam liked. She had to manage without getting caught. She had to make it through and out of reach of the angels while she fell. 

One powerful beat after the other allowed her to pick up speed as she ran forward, going as fast as her legs would carry her. Then she was going faster, feet grazing the stone floors as she shot forward into the stream of deadly angel warriors.

Fingers grazed the feathers of her wings in a startled attempt to stop her as she shot away from the army. For a moment, she was disorientated. 

They were supposed to be high above hell, defending the gates from one of the frequent uprisings. She had planned to fall, hoping to miss the battle and fall fairly safely.

Instead, the portal all but threw her out into the battle near the grounds of Hell. This wasn’t right but Isabel had no time to get her feet under her. The air burned her lungs as she gulped  air as her wings beat with all the strength she could manage. 

Dodging out from the army, a black tentacle nearly knocked her out of the air. She had to get away from here, where ever here was before she could do anything else. Flying from rooftop to rooftop, she did everything she could to try and put distance between her and the battle without drawing attention to herself.

Once the fighting was over, she would look for him. First she had to find somewhere safer to wait out the violent fighting taking place around the large building. Surely, everyone would be paying attention to the battle and one lone angel wouldn’t draw too much attention, right?

~~~~~<3

TagList: @catticora, @alastor-simp

[pollymorgan]

Ex-Husband Negan Part 8

Warnings: A woman who is probably running into her ruin and a bit of sex.

Steve's gaze still wandered incredulously between us.

"I... I always knew..." he stammered.

I didn't know what to say. No words could explain this whole situation. What was the right answer? "It's not what it looks like...?". But it was exactly what it looked like. I felt terribly sorry for Steve. Especially that he had to find out like this. After all, I painfully knew what it felt like to be in his position.

"Steve, let's talk about everything in peace!" I said softly.

"About everything? Just as soon as I'm not around, you spread your legs for this idiot, even in our bed, and now you want to talk about everything? I bet this wasn't even a one-time thing...". His voice was getting angrier by the minute.

"One thing I have to give you credit for, Stevieboy... you're a really clever guy..." Negan chimed in amused.

Annoyed, I rolled my eyes, only this jerk managed to make a terrible situation even more unbearable.

"Just shut up, Negan!" I snapped at him, but he just shrugged unimpressed.

"No, let him talk, he seems to be the only one finally telling me the truth here...". Steve's voice trembled incredibly.

Suddenly, I heard my daughter's sleepy voice. "Mom, what's going on here?". Now she stood there, in her pajamas, with wide eyes, in the doorway.

"Go back to bed, this is a matter for adults..." Steve ordered loudly.

Pumped up, Negan headed purposefully towards Lizzie, who was trying to make sense of the situation, brushing against Steve's shoulder so hard that he stumbled back a few steps.

"Never talk to my daughter in that tone again!" Negan scolded him seriously and then said gently to her, "Come on, I'll take you to bed!". Gratefully, she accepted the invitation and they both disappeared in the direction of her room.

Steve and I stared wordlessly at each other for a while. I saw all the anger and disappointment in his eyes. I felt so sorry for everything, but I couldn't do anything that would change the situation.

With a broken voice, I said, "Maybe it would be better... if... you... left now...".

Ashamed, I stared at the ceiling, covering my half-naked body.

"So that's it now? How broken are you that you're falling for this sick guy again? Damn it, haven't I given you everything you need?" he asked desperately.

He was right. Every word was so true and I knew it myself. Negan and I. It couldn't work. It hadn't worked for the past 30 years. Yet, if I looked deep into my soul, he was the only man I really wanted. I often hated myself for it, but it was the truth.

"Steve, it's not because of you!" I tried to appease him somehow.

Shaking his head, he replied, "I know, it's all because of you...".

With that sentence, he left the house and probably my life. I stared after him incredulously until I was startled by the sound of the slamming front door. Tears immediately filled my eyes.

I wiped my face a few times, then I stood up purposefully, put on the first nightgown I could find over my underwear, and went to Lizzie's room.

I was determined to kick Negan out. Yes, I had brought him here. But the situation just now had shown me more clearly than ever that he had no place in my life - except as the father of my children.

He was a selfish, egotistical jerk. I had known that for far too long and still fell for him over and over again.

The door to my youngest daughter's room was slightly ajar. Just as I was about to angrily open it, I heard her talking to Negan.

"Yeah, Steve and she are always arguing, I hate it... every time you're here, Mom laughs so much. I think she thinks you're the funniest person in the world..."

My heart skipped a beat at her words. I never thought she would pick up on so much of the arguments between me and Steve, but I was clearly mistaken.

"Hey, that's because I'm the funniest person in the world..." Negan countered.

"Kind of..." Lizzie replied amused.

"Hey, remember, I'm your father, I can still give you a grounding..." my ex-husband joked with her and I couldn't help but smile.

"I wish so much that Mom and you would get back together someday, I mean, that we would be a real family again..." my daughter said seriously.

"We are a real family! Please never forget that!... But your old man is also a real jerk, at least sometimes, and even though I love your mother very, very much, I once broke her heart pretty badly and that can't be easily fixed, unfortunately....Hey, I have something for you, if you promise me that you'll take good care of it and give it back to me if I ever need it again..."

"What is it?" my daughter asked excitedly, and I was just as curious, hidden behind the door.

"First, your promise, young lady!" Negan reminded her.

After my daughter made a vow, there was a moment of silence, then she asked curiously, "What is this ring?".

"This is my most valuable possession, and you are now responsible for it, understood? This is my wedding ring, your mom put it on me at our wedding when we promised to love each other forever, and you know, promises are not to be broken...".

Immediately, a lump formed in my throat. I knew that if I continued to eavesdrop, my sobbing would give me away, so I tiptoed back to the bedroom.

I immediately collapsed into bed. My head was buzzing with everything that had just happened. It felt like a bad dream playing out in fast-forward. But unfortunately, it was bitter reality.

I turned off the light and covered myself. But of course, I couldn't sleep. Thoughts kept bombarding me and wouldn't let me rest.

After what felt like an eternity of agonizing silence, the bedroom door suddenly opened. My heart pounded in my chest, and small flashes shot through my body.

I closed my eyes and didn't move. But I still felt Negan's presence more than clearly. I sensed him sitting on the bed. I felt his eyes on me. Then, he apparently took off his T-shirt and opened his belt to let his jeans fall to the floor.

The nonchalance with which he lay next to me made me angry, but as he put his arm on my hip, I automatically pressed my body closer to his.

His lips lightly touched my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I didn't want to think anymore, just feel. Feel him. Only him.

He started to trace his fingertips lightly over the bare skin of my thigh. Up and down, over and over. Then he pushed my nightgown further up, so that I could press my almost naked butt against his, clad only in boxers.

I rubbed against him gently, feeling him harden under my movements. The sensation alone made my core heat up.

"Fuck, this ass is driving me crazy!" he whispered softly, his breathing becoming heavier. He then held my hips firmly and pressed me even closer to him.

"I know you enjoy it when he gets so hard because of your little games... you love that, don't you, sweetheart?"

I tried to suppress a grin by biting my lower lip, then I answered with a confirming "Mmm...".

Negan released my hips to lift my leg and place it over his. I turned slightly more onto my back, burying my face in his neck, his beard pleasantly scratching the thin skin, while his warm breath only aroused me more.

Slowly, his hand slid under my nightgown and caressed my stomach. I allowed it for a moment, then I wanted more and took his hand, placing it on my center.

"Oh, my beauty, do you need it so badly, yes?" he teased me excitedly.

His index and middle fingers lightly touched my underwear. Every fiber of my being tensed, and I felt the wetness soak through my panties. Eagerly, I spread my legs wider.

"I need you..." I sighed.

Skillfully, he circled over the nerve bundle between my legs with perfect pressure, and my body trembled under his touch.

As I was on the brink of climaxing for the first time, he stopped and watched my reaction for a moment, before inserting two fingers into me. Slowly, he moved them in and out.

"You feel so good, so damn wet and tight for me..." he murmured in my ear. My inner walls tightened around his fingers repeatedly. But that jerk knew exactly what he was doing and kept me on edge. Quickly, he withdrew from me again. My whole body was tingling with anticipation, craving the sweet release.

"Please, don't stop...!" I pleaded.

"Why so impatient?" he asked amused.

I gathered the little strength I had left and spun around in one swift motion, so that I suddenly lay on top of him.

Negan looked somewhat surprised as our faces were so close that our noses almost touched.

"So, you want to play games, my dear? You picked the wrong person to mess with, you should know that..." I said confidently and pulled my nightgown over my head. Then I leaned back towards him to plant a light kiss on the tip of his nose. Then, I slowly slid down his body. As I removed his boxers, he willingly allowed it, lifting his hips to make it easier for me.

Now, his perfect, rock-hard penis was right in front of my face. Damn, how much I needed him! But I didn't want to make it easy for him anymore.

Hesitantly, I took his head into my mouth and sucked on the precum, only to release him again. I looked up at him with joy, enjoying his tense expression. The vein on his forehead bulged, his dark eyes full of lust, watching my every move.

With my thumbs, I spread my saliva on his tip, making his penis twitch in my hand.

"Come on, sit on my cock, sweetheart..." he urged me.

But I just shook my head, grinning. "Oh, who's so impatient?".

"Come on, you need it too. I know exactly how much you enjoy riding me..." he almost begged.

I quickly removed my soaking wet panties, which made Negan smile confidently.

"Well, well... Not so fast, my love... first, I want to come on your perfect face..." I said, sitting up.

Negan slid down a bit, and I knelt over his mouth, finally lowering myself onto him.

As his tongue touched my wet core, I could barely hold back. I pressed down even harder on him and moaned loudly.

My whole body was tingling with pleasure, and I couldn't help but push myself even harder against him and let out a loud moan.

As his fingers dug into my hips, holding me in place, I could feel the tension building up. I was so close to the edge, my body trembling with anticipation.

Suddenly, I came undone, a wave of pleasure washing over me. My body shook with the intensity of the climax, and I collapsed onto him, breathing heavily.

Negan's hands held me close, his touch comforting me as I came down from the high.

As we lay there, tangled in each other's embrace, I realized that despite everything, despite the chaos and the pain, there was still a connection between us that I couldn't deny.

And as I drifted off to sleep in Negan's arms, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would always find our way back to each other.

[istoleyoursk1n]

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A Wretched Love

A Gn!Durge X Gortash short fic.

Featuring Angst 💀

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An alternative outcome to the Gortash boss fight.

The first fic I’ve done in years so let's see how this goes :)!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

Bloodied and heavy is all this cursed body of yours felt as you clambered your way up another flight of steps, steps that felt…oddly familiar. Trailing behind you were your exhausted companions who had ever so generously lent their strength to aid you in every way they saw fit. They meant everything to you, such precious souls that you've fought to keep alive, not just from the enemies that dare stand in your path… but from this profound urge that leaves you ever so restless.

You've done so much just to get to this pivotal point, you've slaughtered his men, his noble warriors, and his onslaught of soldiers, all to get to Lord Enver Gortash. Strange how such a name fills a sweetness in your bitter tongue, a sweetness you can't help but wince at. Regardless, you shook the familiarity and strangeness aside, rushing forth to the final flight of steps. You're so close to victory, a victory that could put an end to the Absolute and the chaos it had wrecked in its path. Enraged and pumped to the bones with a blissful rush of sweet sweet adrenaline, you were ready to slice this man into pieces and revel in his blood.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away from your bloodied hands.

For a moment your eyes widened, a strange pull tugging at your darkened heart that was enough to make you hurl if it weren't for the sheer stubborn will you carry. You froze as you gazed upon him, a tired visage you can't help but feel utterly fixated by. You've seen this face before… somewhere lost in the sea of forgotten memories, you've met those same tired eyes dozens of times. Still, you pressed on. You were this city's last hope were you not? This is what everything you've done has led, right?

“Gortash! Step forth and face me so! Allow my blade to pierce through your godforsaken body, let these walls be coated with the color of your damned crimson blood!” Your words were violent, a rumbling growl of malice directed toward the man before you, and yet in you stirred a barrage of emotions you couldn't possibly understand. You were angered, frustrated, hurt, and perhaps even confused. But he sensed it too. No, he did not confront you with a scowl or a prepared speech over breaking your shortly-formed alliance, the man was smiling. A horrid smile you wish you could just tear off his face.

“Ah. It’s been far too long since I've seen that fiery look in your eyes… that darkened urge to maul whoever was unlucky enough to meet your striking gaze. Oh, how I miss it.” He uttered ever so sweetly, his phrases akin to a soothing remedy that only seemed to cause you to choke on your own words. How dare he say such things? How dare he leave you so clueless, so lost, helpless to the loss of a forgotten past… a past that certainly involved him. You tried to still your frustrations, and your confusion, stepping closer with an unsheathed blade.

“Whatever I was to you. Whatever we were. It means nothing to me now! I will be put an end to this, I will do what I know must be right!” your words of conviction sounded more like a plea than anything else, a desperate cry that longs to put aside all these familiar feelings this man had placed upon you. No, you can't recall what you two had done or were… but everything about him sent you into a craze. You wanted to rip him apart, to curse him for all that he’s done to the city and your dearest friends but... Your hands, bloodied as they are they long to touch him. Still, you shake those cursed feelings rush through you, snarling at the sensation.

“Tell yourself whatever you wish, my dearest assassin. Lie to yourself. Blind yourself, try your hardest to claw your way out but we have shared far too much for you to truly forget… for your body to forget.” His whispers were sickening, sickening in ways that bewitched your entire being. Out of desperation, you lunged at him, slicing a cut through his luxurious robes, though he managed to save his own skin by missing just in time. His guards were all too ready to attack, moving to their master's aid and yet, he signaled for them all to halt.

Still, you were persistent, refusing to falter now. You've come too far to fall at the hands of a man whose tyranny couid have ruined this entire city. You drew your sword against him again, attempting to slice and tear pieces of his flesh just as you always do to your every foe and yet you couldn't hit him. It was as if he memorized your every move, exactly how you fought, exactly how your body would strike. It was a glorious dance of death. Your companions were left to stand back as they attempted to attack the guards who circled around their tyrannical Lord, allowing you and Gortash to focus on one another in a rather familiar proximity.

“Just as I remembered. Just as how I dreamed. You are as dreadful as the day I first met you. Just how many have you slain without me? Don’t tell me you've replaced me now.” He chimed, even laughing as he fought against you. A low growl found its way out of your lips, followed by the swing of your blade which Gortash could have so easily avoided yet again… but he did not. Blood began to drip down his chest as you finally were able to cut through his skin, his blood being the most beautiful kind you've ever seen. You shook at the thought of finding his blood beautiful, of finding him beautiful.

“Stop! Whatever it is you’re pouring into my mind! Stop this madness! I’ll cut your throat and dine on your bones like the worthless thing you are.” the words roared out your throat like a violent threat, enough to make anyone cower, anyone but Gortash himself. Instead, his smile only seemed to widen, his eyes brightening in ways you couldn't understand. That wasn't a look of hatred, that was a look of admiration, of enhancement, of desperate longing. Pure unrivaled longing. You couldn't stand it, you couldn't stand feeling so helpless around a man you swore to kill. With another swing of your blade, you continued to cut through his skin, your composure shattering bit by bit as cry after cry left your lips.

“And that would be the most magnificent thing you could ever give me. To have such an ethereal monstrosity such as you rip through my very heart once more…if I could only have you once more, if only you could cry out for me once more..” His words… so soft, words that were meant for you. He was smitten by your every move even if each strike was meant to hurt him. He was drawn to those bloodshot eyes and the trembling little growls that would leave your lips as if by nature. You felt as if you wanted to scream, to cry out, to pull out these confusing sensations you feel for the man who’s been happily bleeding out for you. It almost feels as if you've done this before as if you've made him bleed a dozen times and more…

For a moment, your eyes darted all about, finally taking in the massive room you and your companions stood within as you all fought and bled. A room that felt all too familiar to you. These stone walls and these blood-stained carpets… stained by your hands somehow if only you could remember. Those disgusting paintings you could have sworn you've passed by many times before and in the corner of your eye a soft bed whose bed frame is etched with deep claw marks of… are those yours?

All too suddenly, you were shoved up against those stoned walls by clawed fingers, snarling at the man who dared do such a thing to you. Writhing and clawing beneath his hands, you struggled to push him away from you. He was bleeding, bruised, and bloodied from your onslaught of attacks, and yet his smile never once disappeared. He was getting closer... Close enough to make your skin crawl. His scent was enough to drive you mad, an all too familiar scent that made you want to skin him in hopes of keeping such a precious scent to yourself.

“Oh, love. My wretched love. We could have been so good together. We could have moved mountains, we could have ruled this world, we could have been… us.” As charming as his words were you could feel a deep pain stir within him. He was smirking and yet pain was nestled within those dark eyes. He knew all too well that you wouldn't recall a thing, that all memories you may have had with this man were long gone, and yet… you could feel it. Like a cold haunting whisper that caressed your skin, your body, and perhaps even your heart could remember just how much this man meant to you, how much he once completed you. And the way he calls you his… the way that once upon a time perhaps you two were beyond mere allies or enemies.

You opened your lips to protest, to bark out every threat and insult that you could muster but they were silenced by a sudden tug of your hair and sharpened claws against your throat leaving nothing but a growl to rumble out your mouth. “We were unstoppable! We were a team! Through the hells and back we were by each other’s side. We were magnificent! We were above it all! Two Kings atop a golden throne! We waltzed through foul piles of rotting flesh and built towers out of our sheer brilliance! We were everything we could ever…” and for a brief moment, he hesitated to continue, not when both of your Gods looked down upon their chosen with weary eyes. He couldn't say such a thing… yet still, he pressed himself closer, clawing deep sweet cuts at your skin which only caused you to shriek. Even so, it all felt too good, such a wonderous feeling of chaotic bliss that you hadn't felt in so long. Both of you bleeding together, your breaths so close together. Somewhere deep within your heart no matter how much you deny it, you've been through this before. You’ve basked in each other’s unholy blood before.

“Enver. What was I to you?” You choked out through heavy sighs, the name rolling out the tip of your tongue like a forbidden pleasure. You've said this name a hundred times or even more, a name that even now despite all the memories you lack, leaves your body shuddering head to toe. Your blade was still pressed against his skin like a warning, a warning that if he came closer, close enough to reach your bloodied lips, he’d die. You couldn't let him get that close no matter how much you seemed to ache for it.

“You were mine. As I was yours.”

A sudden shiver ran up your spine at his confession, a confession so sweet it made you sick. You've come so far, and done so much to get here and it was taking everything within you to not drop your blade and fall into the arms of a man from your dreaded forgotten past. There was no denying it, both of you were pained beyond belief, lost in a flurry of sensations that left both of you breathless. Perhaps, in another life, things could have been better… perhaps you two could have been rulers of a rotting world, but not this one. Not anymore. The struggles you’ve gone through to resist The Dark Urge you felt coursing through your wicked blood were nothing compared to how insanely difficult it was to resist the treacherous embrace of Gortash. Your Enver.

In a final moment of sheer desperation, you finally mustered up the strength to pierce your blade through his body, heaving at the realization that you had just taken a life that at a certain point meant everything to you. His blood felt glorious against your skin, the life from his eyes slowly flickering as he gazed upon you with nothing but utter awe. Even in his final moments, hatred was something he never could have felt for you. You shook in fear for the first time in decades, grasping onto the man whose roughened hand gently began to graze the skin of your cheek. You did what had to be done… and yet you could not help but feel utterly broken. Shattered by the fact that even now, you’ll never understand just why your heart beats so intensely for him.

A sharp angered cry left you the moment the fondness buried deep within his eyes began to drain, a loss you couldn't possibly comprehend. All the people you've slaughtered and tormented throughout your life but why is it he that you cry for? All you wish to do now is claw at your own flesh and curse yourself for once again bloodying those sinful hands of yours with a sweet visage that long ago you used to long for. This battle was doomed from the start, you may have come one step closer to saving the world but would it ever be enough to fill the sudden void in your heart?

Gods above all, what has this man done to you?

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[ddoubleblindd]

Everyone's a Catgirl! Ch. 1: The Bench

It all happened so fast. “You Died” didn’t flash before my eyes. There wasn’t a guardian angel or that “light at the end of the tunnel.” I didn’t even get the memory reel that everyone talks about.

Just a giant vastness of nothing.

When my consciousness returned, it didn’t come with a body. Well, it kind of did, but not the corporeal flesh-golem I’m used to. It was more like an outline, hinting at where the edges of my skin should be. I thought I’d lost all five senses before I found myself standing in a room, staring at the hinted shapes of other people.

Dead people?

There were a lot of ways I’d imagined the afterlife, and this definitely wasn’t one of them. I was in the lobby of an enormous building flooded with stringent white light. Rooms lined the hallways to my left and right, extending further than I could see. Each section was closed off by glass panels, allowing curious onlookers to peer into what looked like courtrooms. Stern-faced judges in black robes sat at the head of every room while other souls—at least, that’s what I assumed they were—stood at the defendant’s table. The whole setting had a dream-like quality that I couldn’t seem to shake, but something told me that this was very, very real.

“Am I in hell?” I wondered aloud, happy to hear my own voice emit from a source that I was sure had lost its lungs.

“I dunno, man. I just got here.” Another form next to me shrugged. “But this sure is my idea of hell.”

I wanted to panic, or run, or do anything but stand there and stare into what was sure to be my final judgment. This was all too fast and too damn soon—I’d just barely turned twenty. I couldn’t be dead yet.

“Matthew Kelmer?” a kind voice called over the crowd. I looked up to see a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than me but contained a more solid-looking body. Her blonde hair fell in waves just past her curved hips, and she wore a sharp black jacket with a tight skirt and brightly colored scarf. Made me think of a sexy flight attendant.

“That’s me,” I said, stepping past the other souls.

Her smile was brilliant and unnervingly comforting. But what else was I going to take comfort in? “Come with me, please.”

“Hey! What’s the deal? He just got here!” a man in the back shouted.

“This way, please,” she repeated, ignoring the outcry.

There was an annoyed grumbling from the heckler. I squared my shoulders and fell into step behind the stranger.

“Where am I?” I asked once we were far enough away from the crowd.

“Surely you’ve heard of purgatory?” she asked.

“Well, yeah.” I realized that being called back so quickly probably wasn’t the best thing to happen in purgatory. “Wait, did I stamp a one-way ticket to hell or something?”

“No, silly. Quite the opposite. Here, please.” She stopped in front of a large metal door and held it open for me. It was one of the only rooms not sectioned off by glass.

I stepped inside and waited. “Who are you?”

“My name is Leiana. I’m one of the managers of purgatory.”

“Managers?”

“Your world refers to them as goddesses, I believe.”

I wanted to pinch myself and wake up. But there was nothing to pinch. “Um. Okay.”

“You see, Matthew—”

I bristled. “Just Matt is fine.”

A corner of her smile twitched downward, but her cheerful demeanor remained. “Your heroic death has earned you another chance. A new life in a different world.” She circled an oak desk and took a seat.

My what? In a what? A dozen questions assaulted me. “Valiant death?”

A virtual display appeared above her desk with a few presses of her fingers. A movie in stunning high definition began to play, and I watched in silence. It was me at the gym I’d been standing in not an hour before.

I was lying on the bench, preparing to do a bench press without a spotter. Who the hell needed a spotter? It didn’t look that hard. I’d never done one before, but I knew the other girls in the gym loved to watch guys compete against each other with the weights. And there was a girl there I had my eye on.

“You battled against this metal beast with such courage!” Leiana exclaimed.

The dots began to connect. Oh, Jesus Christ. In the video, it was clear that I hadn’t secured the weights well. Briana, the girl I’d been hoping to catch the attention of, had noticed. She’d jogged over to the bench just as I lifted the bar. Her lips were moving, and she was waving her arms, but I’d had my headphones in and didn’t hear her.

“See how you struggled!” Leiana clasped her hands and swooned. “You protected her with all your might.”

Yeah, I struggled, alright. As I pushed harder on the bar, my face turned beet-red, and the veins in my throat pulsed against my skin. I’d racked up almost three hundred pounds—nearly twice my weight.

The bar tilted in my unsure grip, and my arms buckled. As my shoulders gave out, the bar hurtled toward me past the catches on either side and crushed my windpipe. I must have died instantly. Briana sunk to her knees and plucked out my earbuds, shouting words I couldn’t make out.

“And as all tragic romances end, true love’s kiss,” Leiana crooned.

Briana had tried to give me CPR. I wanted to crawl under Leiana’s desk. I hadn’t even stayed alive long enough to feel her lips on mine, goddammit. The screen went dark.

“I could not let your judgment pass without offering another chance.” Leiana sighed. “These are the stories that go down in history.”

God, I hope not. I had no idea what to say. “So, another chance?”

“Yes. As a manager, you see, I can grant second chances to special cases such as yours. There are hundreds of other worlds that could use your strength and valor, with a few stipulations, of course.”

“Such as?”

Leiana giggled. “It depends on the world! Every world has its own set of rules.” She replayed the video from the beginning. “Goodness, I believe I could watch this for eternity.”

And now I’m in hell. “Can we talk about the other worlds?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Let’s see what we have available.” She closed the window and opened a new one—something akin to a spreadsheet program. Names and languages I’d never seen nor heard of scrolled by at a blazing speed. Her smile wavered. “Hmm.”

“What?” I was beginning to wonder if I’d rather risk it with the judge. I hadn’t done anything too terrible in life to deserve eternal damnation, right?

“Well, you see, I only have three worlds available at the moment.”

“Out of that whole list?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

“There are many specifications, requirements, overrides, and a lot of paperwork that goes into such a feat. But we’ll make the best of it, Matthew, I promise you!”

“Matt,” I corrected flatly.

“Of course, Matt!” The giant list condensed down to three names, all composed of symbols I didn’t recognize. She selected the first title, and a screen filled with bar graphs and pie charts overlayed the spreadsheet. “So, our first potential world has a moderate difficulty rating, a balanced monster score, and vast opportunity for growth!”

“Difficulty rating? Monster scores?” I probably couldn’t feel dizzy, but I took a seat in the chair across from Leiana’s desk anyway. “Like a video game?”

“Yes! Very much like the video games of your world. You must complete tasks and earn yourself a place in their society by honing your attributes and gaining Skills.”

“Are you saying I have to level up?”

“Something like that.”

“Are all worlds like this?”

“No. However, the three available are.”

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. I’d played enough games to have a handle on that sort of system. “What are the rules of this one?” I gestured to the graphs.

“You must begin life anew as a dungeon.”

I paused. “A what?”

“A dungeon. It’s very popular, from what I understand.”

I pictured dark, scummy caves filled with bats and spiders and bears. I imagined smelling like stale water and mold. “Who the hell would want to be a dungeon?”

“Well, many before you have chosen this option, but we can move on,” Leiana mumbled, seeming distraught. She quickly regained her composure and pulled up the second set of charts. “Our second world begins in the Kingdom of Rhodes. The difficulty rating is low, the monsters are on the gentler side, and magic powers the realm.”

Boring. I’d played every JRPG on the planet. The last thing I wanted to do was live in a tropey, easy fantasy land. “Next.”

“You don’t wish to hear the rules?”

“No. Next?”

Leiana sighed and pulled up the third name. The graphs for this one looked more intense compared to the other two. She chewed her bottom lip and glanced at me before looking back at the hologram.

“What?” My interest piqued.

“Well, the difficulty rating is quite extreme, and the monster score is on the higher end of what I’m familiar with. And, well—” she trailed.

This sounded interesting. “Well, what?”

“Everyone’s a catgirl.”

If I still had a heart, it would have stopped. “Wait. It’s a world full of catgirls?”

“Yes.”

“Like girls with cat ears and tails?”

Leiana narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“Do I have to be a dungeon?” There had to be some stupid catch. This was way too good to be true.

“I do not believe so.”

“Do I have to be a catgirl?”

She opened another document and glanced through the illegible script. “No. Per their stipulations, you would arrive just as you were before you passed. But your attributes and profile would be entirely reset. Matt, I don’t—”

“I’m going there.” I leaped from the chair. My head swirled with pictures of beautiful, petite girls with adorable kitty ears and bells. “Send me there.”

Leiana drummed her fingers along the top of her desk as she stared up at me. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Catgirls wearing maid outfits, in silk lingerie, in bathing suits. It was like the ultimate dream come true.

She paused. “The difficulties will be immense. We cannot change this decision once you’ve made it.”

“I understand.” What part of “Send me” didn’t she get?

She frowned. “You are certain, then?”

“I’m more than certain.” How many times was she going to ask me? I didn’t care how hard it was or how awful the grind could be. It was a whole damn world of catgirls. I wanted nothing more. “Send me.”

“As you wish.” She stood and signed off on the bottom of the stipulations sheet. “Your necessary tools will be given to you after you arrive. Please check your inventory.”

“Wait? How do I do that?” In a video game, my inventory was accessed by a button. How did someone pick through a physical inventory? Would I get a suitcase or something?

She ignored my question and made a series of hand signals. A warm glow surrounded her fingers, and her final gesture pointed toward me. “For your valor, Matthew Kelmer. Be reborn!”

For the second time that day, the world went dark.

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[strawberrypinky]

can't catch me now. - a. sharp x reader

i'm in the trees, i'm in the breeze my footsteps on the ground. you'll see my face in every place, but you can't catch me now. through wading grass, the months will pass you'll feel it all around. i'm here, i'm there, i'm everywhere, but you can't catch me now.

aesop returns to the place of your demise and the source of his everlasting guilt.

prompt fill for sharpuary no. 8 'scarborough'

A/N: Here we go! I'm kicking off Sharpuary with my take on the "Scarborough" prompt! Big thanks to @ynyseira and @gufu-vire for publishing the prompts ahead of the month!

Throughout the month I'll be publishing the prompts 'Portrait', 'Valentine', 'Gherkin', 'Mirror of Erised' and 'Slytherin'. I wish I would've had the time to do more, but alas these are the ones I have queued up. If inspiration strikes and I find the time, I might publish some more.

This one shot was loosely inspired by the song "Can't Catch Me Now" by Olivia Rodrigo & takes places in Aesop's early years, only shortly after the events of Scarborough. I am aware that Aesop tells the player of the battle taking place on a ship, but I am bending the story slightly aka taking some creative liberties 😗✌🏻

CW: Major character death, (auditory) hallucinations, overall angst

Word Count: 3.8k

Link to AO3 Version: can't catch me now.

Scarborough was decidedly one of those infernal places which seeped with indulgence and détente at every corner yet truthfully simmered with wretched delinquency and bitter peccancy enshrouded in its shadows.

At least if one were to ask Aesop Sharp what he thought of the place.

The town on the northern coast of Yorkshire was a far cry from how Aesop remembered the place. The last time he had stepped into the place, the air was cold and frigid, and the streets barren of any human soul, safe for the few lingering locals that stayed even when the travellers left. Scarborough was the epitome of splendour and abundant leisure, the upper class spending their summers far away from the sweltering and stifling heat of London and its boroughs and trading the sheer endless days of summer for the gentle breeze and wide horizons of the English coast. Aesop supposed that perhaps, in another life, he might have enjoyed the place himself, a life in which he had not stepped into the town as an Auror but as a traveller himself. Perhaps, he glaringly thought as he stood atop the hill bearing the ruins of the medieval Scarborough Castle, and his gaze swept across the vast horizon of the coast, he might have stayed with the upper echelons at the Grand Hotel himself, instead of the seedy tavern you and he had spent your final moments together. 

Cursed be the Ministry and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for ever sending the two of you to the forsaken town at sea. And cursed be the Ministry and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for asking him to come back - to return to the scene of the end of one life and the eternal damnation of another.

It had been 178 days since that day.

178 days since he had last heard your voice, last seen your smile, last shared the quips you and he shared.

It had been exactly 178 days since your life had ended, and his had forever been changed.

Growling, Aesop turned away from the sun, his newly cursed leg starkly protesting the movement as he limped himself into the shadows of the castle, searching for just a semblance of respite from the stifling August heat. The damned thing ached beyond belief as if a million knives pierced his skin over and over again at his hip and spread down to his leg. It was a persistent reminder that the night you had lost your life happened, though the scar his soul bore was infinitely more agonising than his leg would ever be.

Glancing at the watch in his pocket, Aesop noted it was a quarter past three, his former supervisor late to their agreed-upon meeting and he had half a mind to apparate out of Scarborough and drown himself in firewhiskey in his home as he had done past 100 days since his release from St. Mungo's. Yet as he glanced upon the ruins once more, he recalled why he had come in the first place, the Ministry intent on gathering any intel from that night as they had yet to capture those who had slaughtered you in cold blood and thus Aesop stayed - he owed you that much.

You.

You had been a rather annoying thorn in Aesop's side from the second you had stepped into the Auror office, sauntering and high-strung with a burning thirst to do good in the world as you threw yourself into cases headfirst with reckless frivolity. Sometimes, he had wondered how you had passed the initial training stage at all, your hyper personality a stark contrast among the serious and battle-worn officials that littered the office. It was a personality beaten out of recruits over the lengthy training period, and while Aesop was a mere five years older than you had been, he doubted that you hadn't been exposed to the cruel realities of war and crime as any other recruit had been. You were an oddity - an eclectic fireball among the burnt-out personalities that were Aurors and Hit Wizards, and Aesop had loathed it.  

When he had first been paired with you a mere two years before, he had all but begged his supervisor to reconsider, to pair him with anyone but you, but they had insisted.

"She's a promising young soul," the words echoed in Aesop's mind. "You will make a fine pair."

He had doubted it then, obviously. Denied any possibility of someone like you - skittish and genial - ever being a perfect match for him - staid and austere. Your first mission together had been a complete and utter disaster, for what should have been an easy arrest of a reprobate had turned into a full-blown battle you had fearlessly and recklessly charged into.

"Come catch me," you had giggled before abandoning all rules of basic Auror training and charging into the unknown. 

While you had successfully apprehended the suspect and turned him over to the Ministry, the battle had commenced in broad daylight and enlisted five Obliviators to manage dozens of Muggles who had witnessed a heated exchange of spells and curses and had confined the two of you to desk duty for more than three months. Aesop had been seething with rage, desk duty the most mundane and imbruting tasks one could ever sentence an Auror to. He was a soldier, a shining paragon of honour and defence - not a desk clerk. It was a speck of dishonour among his otherwise pristine rise among the Aurors and it had all been because of your extroverted, verging on effusive personality. 

You had not minded, of course, even making a joke of the situation and blathering on with what you thought droll jokes and enthralling stories, and Aesop had more than once snuck alcohol into the office, unable to take your disposition any other way. It had been freeing to return to active duty once more three months later, even if the task of simple observation had been mundane and hackneyed - at least it had been a change of pace.

It had seemed, at least, that you had at least learned after your idiotic endeavour, no longer charging into situations unknown but awaiting his command, for he remained your superior. Your demeanour had not changed otherwise, but at least he could count on a partner slightly more conscientious in the field. It was a win he did not relinquish, and your entire company seemed a little more bearable from that point on.

It hadn't been until one night of observation, eight months after your initial pairing, that he had been privy to see another side to you.

"You're quiet tonight," he had remarked as your gazes meticulously observed the seedy establishment where allegedly all sorts of prohibited deals and Faustian bargains were closed. "Oddly so." 

"Sorry," you had mumbled in a half-hearted apology, your eyes not meeting his. "Long day."

"That's never stopped you before," he had snarked cruelly, the week long and tedious. 

"Sorry," you had all but whispered again, shrinking slightly under his scrutinising glare. "I'll be sure to be less bothersome in the future."

"You are not -" he had begun to argue, stopping himself mere seconds later, for he was many things, but Aesop was not a liar. You had been bothersome. 

A bitter laugh had escaped your throat, the sound paradox coming from you, of all people, when all he had seen of you was a person as jovial as someone drunk on Alihosty. "Exactly."

He had later found that your father had passed a mere fortnight earlier, and the burial had been that day. He had felt like a grand arse, swallowing down his pride and openly apologised for his behaviour and offered you a shoulder to cry on, though you had never actually taken him up on the offer. Instead, you had smiled gratefully before burying your grief beneath the infinite layers of frivolity and mirth he had grown accustomed to, and Aesop finds himself seeing you with the depths of your soul and all its paradoxing contrasts and within seeing you, he is falling for you.

It had been a slow realisation at first, from noticing how, instead of vexation, your laughter and stories brought a comforting sense of familiarity to laughing manically alongside you, confusing his colleagues, for nobody had ever seen Aesop Cyril Sharp smile that much. 

You had slowly yet surely crept into his mind and heart, your being a beacon of amenity and Aesop was powerless to do anything but surrender to the shining light that was you. 

The amicable partnership that had been between you blossomed into a bountiful and fulfilling romance, and with each passing day, it became more challenging to maintain a facade of his characteristic stoicism and the carefully curated illusion of mere friendship. Your superiors had been correct in their assumptions after all: You made a fine pair. It went unspoken between you that your romance could never see the light of day, the sheer scandal of a workplace relationship enough to silence even you, though Aesop yearned to show off how deeply you loved the longer it went on. Your blossoming romance transcended into your professional lives, too, the pair of you rising through the ranks and taking on more complicated and intricately woven cases as you helped bring justice to the Wizarding World.

Your keen and genuine yearning to bring goodness into a world littered with hardened criminals and devilish syndicates is nothing short of inspiring, and while you had never truly ceased to be slightly more reckless than you perhaps should have been, your prowess in battle was unmatched as no onslaught of chaos or destruction could hinder your sheer determination or force of will. 

"Come catch me?" you had jokingly asked before each and every battle you and him found yourselves in, alluding to the disastrous first case, yet then Aesop found the words comforting rather than infuriating. It was as if you were making a silly game of a perilous situation, and while he had initially been hesitant to follow your jubilance, it had quickly become addicting.

"Come catch me?" had been the final words you had uttered to him in the place he now stood, the desolate ruins of a formerly stately palace cold and unforgiving as the bitter February winds had whisked along your heads and you had thrown yourself into a battle you'd never emerge from. The seedy smugglers you and he had been trailing for weeks had seemingly finally slipped; a contact Aesop had acquired telling him of a supposed incoming shipment of shrunken heads which was to be traded in the ruin of Scarborough Castle and then taken to over parts of the country via the port of the city. As Aesop reminisced on the minutes preceding that fateful battle, he only realised how foolish it had been to expect the man to have been working alone; how foolish it had been to expect a sudden contact was telling the truth. The arrogance with which he had displayed confidence, further emboldened by every battle you and him had won, was the beginning of the end.

From the second you had stepped from the shadows, you were ambushed by what seemed like an army of reprobates and scoundrels, lunging at the two of you with cruel precision in the pandemonium. The ruins of the castle upon the rocky promontory, once a symbol of royalty and defence, had been transformed into a brutal battlefield with colourful hexes and curses illuminating the night.

Aesop had scarcely been granted a second to draw upon his Auror badge, a clever charm allowing him to call for backup.

It was the first time he had felt genuine and true terror as he continued to fight alongside you, his feelings for you at the forefront of his mind as his role had turned from Auror to protector among the assailment of spells hurled your way.

As the seconds ticked by and it became more evident that the battle you were fighting was a losing one, Aesop had all but hoped you would retreat and run as far as you could, but he should have known better. You never backed down from a fight.

All too late, he had noticed the witch sneaking up on you with impeccable stealth before she drew upon her wand as your back was turned to hers, engaged in a duel of your own, and uttered the words which would void you of any life. 

"Avada Kedavra."

You had fallen to the ground within a second, your body plummeting into the dirt as the witch cackled in sadistic delight upon having ended a life with a mere flick of her wrist, obliterating any future you might have had. Aesop could not recall what had transpired next, unadulterated mania consuming his body as he fired curse after curse at the witch who had taken you from this mortal coil, which she deflected with tantalising ease. His love for you, which had translated into his rage, had been his second mistake that night, and though now he wished it had meant the end of his life, it had allowed another to sneak up on him, uttering a strange curse and aiming at his leg, damning it to the pain he now felt with every step.

Aesop was unsure what happened after; the rest of the night, a blur of colour and shapes and overwhelming sentiments obscuring his memory before he awoke in St. Mungos again, and 178 days later, the memory of the night seemed far away as the sun illumed the grassy patches and rocks, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of summer instead of the fetid stench of decay.

Half past three, Aesop noted as he glanced at his pocket watch once more. Resigned, he sighed as he leaned against the cool stone, closing his eyes as he desperately tried keeping the weight off his bad leg as it spasmed and the pain etched itself into his very core. Damned be the blasted thing, and Aesop had no one to blame but himself.

A gentle breeze passed him by, the scent strangely familiar as it passed in a second. Aesop scrunched his nose, hoping to catch it again to identify the source, but all he got was a strange sound instead - a near-mocking giggle reaching his ears. His eyes shot open once more, the sound too close for him to be comfortable, yet as he searched the place, there was not a single soul in sight. His hand strayed towards his concealed wand, ready to fight, yet the place was quiet again, merely the breeze enveloping him in a cocoon of familiar and comforting smells. All too late Aesop realised that the scent was you, the tantalising allure of it nothing but a distant memory that continued to fleet the more seconds passed. 

The giggle sounded again, his ears perking up as a presence clouds over him like a paradoxical embrace both chilling and warm, a gentle voice accompanying it. 

"Come catch me." 

Your voice hauntingly sounded around him, though there was no source to be determined. The words struck him like a hot iron, piercing his soul as Aesop feels as if he were struck by a physical blow. He blinked rapidly in almost visceral disbelief.

Had he just heard your voice? Aesop shook his head, trying to convince himself his mind was simply playing tricks on him, the proximity to the place of your demise aiding in his delusions. Another resigned sigh escaped him, deciding that if his superiors did not arrive within a minute or two, he would disapparate and schedule the meeting for another day, even if he was not terribly keen to return to Scarborough either way. 

"Come catch me."

And there it was again, a sanctimonious sound ringing in his ears as your voice penetrated his senses and twisted his mind. It had to have been a trick - a cruel diversion. Yes, that must have been it. Aesop's mind was twisting and turning, forcing itself to remember that you couldn't be there. A shaking puff escaped his lips, air filling his lungs with a semblance of clarity as the echoes of your voice faded once more and all that was left was the gentle breeze and the rustling leaves with the chirping birds off the coast. 

Enough was enough, Aesop determined, unwilling to wait a single second further in this forsaken place of demise and terror and anguish, his rickety leg carrying him through the wading grass before his mind could think of it any further and convince him to stay any longer.  Damned be the Ministry - may they reach out any other time or kiss his arse, but to torture him with this was asking too much. How dare they ask this of him after all the months, wasting time and efforts when your murderer was still on the loose and - 

Aesop stopped dead in his tracks, feet frozen to the ground as a surge of consternation and terror courses through him at the picture he was faced with.

There you were, standing in the clearing between the crumbling castle walls and the remains of the barbican, as if you had always been there. You were a shining beacon, seemingly untouched, with your clothes pristine and your countenance not cadaverous but as full of life as Aesop fondly remembered in his darkest nightmares and most precious dreams. A strange look had clouded your features, though your smile was as warm and familiar as it had always been. Aesop shakingly exhaled, his eyes not leaving yours as they held your gaze in sheer disbelief and poignancy he was unable to describe. 

You stood as still as he as if awaiting his movements, though Aesop remained motionless - stunned by your sudden appearance. Was this a cruel trick? Or was it a gift from a deity pitying the man? Aesop would have described himself a Nihilist, yet there was no worldly explanation for this otherwise. 

His mouth opened, then closed before a single sound could leave him, his chest constricting the more he gazed upon your frame, and he felt his heart beating erratically. One step forward, he told himself, his agonising leg a mere afterthought as he stumbled towards your vision, which stayed unmoving. Another stumbling step forward, hands reaching for the silhouette etched in his mind; a body so familiar to Aesop, like a painting whose lines he had drawn over and over - all your strengths and vulnerabilities - and he held onto your gaze fiercely, afraid that when he let go, so would you. Like a man possessed, he staggered through the grass, fearful that you would vanish if he did not reach you, as he imagined you retreating to a place he could no longer reach you.

Aesop's mind was a hollowed place filled with a cacophony of screams, mindlessly scrambling for answers - for reason. He wanted to scream, demand answers he had been searching for since that harrowing night. 

Come catch me, he could hear your voice ringing in his head. 

One more step. Just one more, Aesop told himself.

A second more, but before his hand could reach for yours, a firm hand clamped around his shoulder, grounding him to the spot. Aesop whipped around, hand on his wand and ready to fight as a piercing pain shot up his spine, shooting him down, hissing and groaning.

"Bloody hell, Sharp," Aesop could hear the deep timbre of Eleazar Fawley, his former superior, as he knelt on the ground, pain flooding his system as he groaned in an effort to suppress the screams at the back of his throat. His vision blurred as he focused on the ground, the viridescent grass beneath him soft between his fingertips as it ground him to the earth. 

"What the fuck, Eleazar?" Aesop hissed after a while, still feeling the pressure of Eleazar Fawley's hand as he slowly raised himself, further suppressing the screams which threatened to escape his throat as his blasted leg ached and spasmed under the pressure, having been used far more in a mere two hours than it had been in the last couple of months passing him by. Aesop turned to face Fawley, a man of unimpressive stature or height, with a face marred by years of brutal combat, though his presence was imposing nonetheless. The man's most extraordinary edge had always been his unremarkableness; many a foe underestimated him and paid the price with a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Aesop glared at him, though Eleazar Fawley remained unimpressed, if a little leery in his questioning gaze. 

"What the fuck is an apt sentiment," Eleazar Fawley mused as he removed his hand from Aesop's shoulder. "Because why the fuck do I arrive to you staggering through these ruins like a man possessed, ashen like a ghost? Are you out of your mind?"

Aesop flouted the man, turning around to where you had stood as your voice had finally ceased to echo in his head, only to realise the spot was vacant once more; any trace of your phantom vanished as if it had never been there in the first place. His mind reeled, void of anything but you and your ephemeral vision.

"Sharp?" he heard the questioning tone of Fawley again. "Is everything alright?"

Aesop looked around once again, his eyes sweeping over the place, desperately looking for only a hint of you or even a testament that you had been there, but the place was void of any other soul but him and Eleazar Fawley, leaving nothing but a lingering feeling of mournful longing and haunting despair in its wake.

"Yes," Aesop hesitantly mumbled after a while, returning to look at his former boss. "Everything is perfectly fine."

The man in front of him nodded, and though the disbelief was evident in his eyes, Aesop gratefully noted he refrained from prying any further, though whether this was out of the goodness of his heart or genuine disinterest, Aesop did not know. He stood up straighter, though he scarcely reached Aesop's shoulders and let out a huffing breath before his gaze hardened once more and became the picture of collected lassitude Aesop was accustomed to.

"Right then," Fawley cleared his throat, turning around to walk away. "Then let's not dally any further and get this over with." 

Aesop nodded in compliance, slowly forcing himself to follow as your voice rang in his ears once more.

Come catch me. 

Once more, he looked over his shoulder, hoping to see you smiling at him with the familiar impish glint your eyes held before you charged into battle, yet the fields stayed clear, and Aeosp bitterly realised that nothing remained of you but your shadows haunting the ruins of Scarborough Castle, tormenting his mind as he would forever be unable to catch you now.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

From The Jump

From The Jump

Wordcount: 2990

Dean Winchester x POC!Reader “Wildflower”

Summary:

He is the kindest thing that has ever happened to me. Even if that isn’t how our story is always told.

Warnings:

18+ MDNI, Fluff, Smut, Humor, Flowery Words (I'm a published poet, sue me)

Notes:

Hello Heathens, Damn I haven’t written for just Dean in a minute. This felt good to get out. Inspired by “From The Jump (Duet Version)” by James Arthur & Kelly Clarkson. I even used some of the lyrics which will be in bold. Be sure to check the song out, it’s amazing. Also I know I write a lot of my reader inserts with the reader having the ability to sing, but music is a huge part of my life. Other than writing and film, singing was always my escape from the chaos. So if the trope seems tired from me by now, get used to it. I write what I know. And what I know is that music is therapeutic. Happy Reading!

Banner @cafekitsune

Divider @firefly-graphics

A random hole in the wall bar out in the middle of nowhere an open mic is happening. Dean has been secretly performing at them from time to time while out on solo missions or when Sam is preoccupied since his early 20s. He actually has a lovely voice and a way with words. 

My past with the infamous hunter is complicated. I know all about his little secret. We met after his time at the boys home where Robin taught him to play the guitar, among other things. We were young and dumb. The children of hunters. The weight of the world on our shoulders just looking for an escape.

Be that in guitar strings, joy rides, stargazing, or stolen kisses under the shade of a willow tree that lead to so much more. We might not have shared every first that summer, but we sure did knock off quite a few big ones.

From there on, as it goes for most hunting families, we ran into each other from time to time. Sometimes going after the same case. Sometimes overlapping cases. No matter the reason, we always fell back into place like time never passed. Like it was that first summer all over again.

Only now our stolen kisses lead us to fall into bed, or the backseat of the Impala. Over the last couple of years, as the boys have become more stable having found the bunker, our kisses have become far less stolen and more so intentional.

You would believe that it was a natural progression for us. That time just did it’s thing and we fell in love slowly. But the truth is, from day one I knew he was mine and I was his. No matter what life threw at us or where we were in the world, our souls were tethered to each other. Rubberbanding us back to one another when we were apart for too long.

That’s what I choose to believe is happening tonight. The only plausible reason why I stepped into this bar, during this open mic to find Dean on stage, guitar in hand finishing his first song of the night.

The room is hazy from the cigarette smoke permanently wafting through the air. It gives me just the right amount of cover to slink my way to the side of the stage. Who I presume to be one of the staff is standing nearby, clipboard in hand, making sure everyone performing tonight gets there due time.

Dean begins to play a chord progression very familiar to me. A song I know all too well. His smooth voice carries out amongst the crowd. Making the women swoon and the men take note.

Right from the jump I was addicted, I was hooked on you Like July is to the sun You're the one that I prayed for all my life And then you arrived, it's amazing How the time flies by Do you remember, my baby?

He has no idea that I’m here.

I can’t tell you why I decided to tap the woman with the clipboard on the shoulder. I just felt like I needed to be up on that stage pouring my heart out with him. I explained that I was his bandmate and apologized for my tardiness but I needed a mic so that I could hurry up and get on stage before my part of the duet started. That I didn’t need to be announced. She frantically looked for the nearest wireless mic and turned it on. Shoving it into my chest and shooing me away with a hand motion.

I kept myself tucked into the shadows as he lost himself through the chorus.

Take me back to the summer breeze We were sleeping out by the willow trees It was the first time you laid your head on my chest It was a night I will never forget That's when I told you on a Friday night You're always gonna have this heart of mine Wherever we go, whatever we do I just wanna spend forever with you

As he strums along, preparing to sing the next verse, I step forward and steal the words before he can fully register what is happening.

I know this sounds cliché But I was in love with you from the first sight Like a moth drawn to a flame, mm

A smile spreads across his handsome face as I make my way across the tiny stage to stand beside him.

And I know even in another life I would find you and hold you Remember I told you I'll never let go, baby?

The smoke filled room fades out as we sing to each other. As if we were still tucked in the privacy of his room back at the bunker. Playing around, creating songs about our sordid lives. 

I allow myself a moment to get lost in the depths of his mossy green eyes as we belt out my favorite part.

So get on your favorite dress (my favorite dress) Let's drive back to the place we met I knew I'd die for you right from the jump

I’m reminded of the bar patrons we’re performing in front of as the crescendo hits. A whistle splits through the air, forcing my eyes toward the crowd. Where I spot couples, new and old, swaying along to the beat. Chest to chest and cheek to cheek without a care in the world.

I allow myself to just listen to Dean begin the final chorus alone. Letting his words seep deep into my bones, as they have in the past. A stupid grin upon my face as I join in. Singing about it being a moment I would never forget.

Honestly this moment right here truly has become one.

Dean softly sings out the remaining lines as he strums out his final chords. The next thing I know, his hands are on my face and he is pulling me in for a kiss. 

This isn’t your average run of the mill, sweet hello kiss. No, this is a soul deep claim made public. One I return back in kind.

I’ve always equated our love to that of Hades and Persephone. He stole my heart, along with my soul that first night under the summer sky. Holding me hostage over the remaining days until we had to go our separate ways.

I never could forget our time together. Even when I tried. And there were many a time that I truly tried. I just always found my way back to him.

The only person who seemed to ever soothe my aching soul.

The applause and catcalls pierced our lovesick bubble. Reminding us of where we were.

With a nod to the crowd, Dean gathered up his guitar and we headed off the stage to the safety of the shadows.

Once his guitar was securely placed within the confines of his travel case, all of his attention was turned back onto me.

“Well, hey there Wildflower. Not that I’m complaining but what brought you to this particular bar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere tonight of all nights?”

“I was actually on my way to the bunker to try and catch you between cases. I had been on the road for most of the day. Thought I deserved a nightcap before resting up for the night and this was the first place I came across.”

“Well ain't that a coincidence.”

“You know I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“I know you don’t. But you have to admit it seems pretty convenient. We were about to head back from a case in town and Sam wanted the room to himself for a couple hours to talk to Eileen. I saw there was an open mic tonight while we're gathering intel earlier this week. Figured it was as good a time as any to sign up. It’d been a while since I’d done one. And you not only show up, but surprise me on stage as well. That’s just too good to be true.”

“Well it is true so no need for the divine intervention talk. I think we get enough of that on a daily basis.”

“I have to agree with you there. So should we take this reunion to some place a little more private?”

“Baby?”

“Motel is within walking distance, so I left her behind with Sam. You bring Trixie?”

I give him a glare. “Do you know me to go anywhere without my precious?”

“Of course not sweetheart. So where’s she parked?”

“In the back corner of the tiny ass pothole filled lot.”

“Perfect.” He kisses my lips. “Lead the way, baby girl.”

With a tap to my hip, he grabs his guitar and follows me out the door to the parking lot. My precious Plum Crazy 1970 Dodge Demon drawing us forward like moths to the flame.

Dean has me propped on the trunk of my car as soon as he has his guitar secured inside. His broader frame sandwiched between my thighs as we makeout like the lovestruck teenagers we once were. Forgetting there is such a thing as air we need to breathe.

With reluctance I pull out of the kiss. Dean’s lips chasing mine and providing me a nip to the chin for the inconvenience. I have far naughtier things in mind for our impromptu reunion than just making out in a dark parking lot on my car.

“You gonna let me ride you properly this time pretty boy?”

This gets his attention. A smirkish grin adorning his handsome face.

“No promises. These wicked hips tend to do naughty naughty things that make my brain short circuit. I can't control what my instinctual hindbrain does.”

He squeezes said body part to emphasize his point.

“Best crawl into the back seat then. Unless you want to give the bar a show.”

He lifts me off the trunk with a growl and smacks my ass. Walking himself over to the passenger side, my keys still in hand, to unlock the door. Pushing the seat forward to gain access to the back seat.

“After you, Wildflower.”

I bend over to make my way into the back when feel Dean’s hands clamp around my hips.

“Actually Imma need ya to unbutton your fly and slide your jeans down to your calves for me sweetheart. Need to sear you bending over for me so sweetly into my brain.”

I’ve always had a weakness for when Dean got controlling like this. It does something to his voice. Turning it all gravelly and rough, like he can't contain how much he needs me.

So I do as I’m told and unbutton my fly. Lowering my ripped jeans to my knees. Exposing my soaked tiny lilac lace panties to the chill night air.

“Fuuuck. Look at that wet patch. This all for me baby girl?”

He runs his thumb down the damp gusset. Resting it on my clit with just the right amount of pressure to make me squirm. 

“Mmhmm.”

“Get in the back seat Wildflower. And keep that delectable ass up in the air for me.”

I climb into the back with the best of my ability as my jeans are currently wrapped around my knees. Thankfully they slip down to my calves, to allow me more room to move.

The time between when I get myself settled into the back and Dean’s tongue assaults my weeping slit, feels like the blink of an eye.

He didn't even wait to remove my panties properly. He just ripped them apart and threw them aside.

Any thoughts of complaint have left my brain as his tongue does that thing I love that sends a shiver down my spine.

He is feasting upon my dripping flesh as if it is the sweetest nectar and he fears this may be his only chance to partake in its bounty. Regardless of the countless times he has bathed himself in my essence before.

An orgasm creeps underneath my skin in record time. Having me grip the leather of the bench below as I cry my ecstasy out into the night.

With a final lick and soft kiss to my clit Dean makes his way into the backseat with me. “I’ll never grow tired of how you taste on my tongue.” 

He takes a moment to free my ankles from the confines of the jeans trapped around them. Satisfied that I have full movement again, he scoops me up into his lap as he takes a seat in the middle of the bench. Allowing for his bow legs to spread out.

“Still want to ride me properly baby girl? Got enough energy? You’re looking rather sated at the moment.”

I nod my head. “Of course I am. You know what that tongue does to me. But I am always ready and willing to ride you.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He grips my ass and squeezes. “Better get to it then.”

He does me the kindness of freeing himself from the confines of his jeans. His thick cock standing at attention. Precum coating the tip making it shine in the dim light of the darkened parking lot.

With a grip to his base I lower myself down onto his generous girth. That first stretch after time apart is like a balm to my aching center. I brace my hands on his broad shoulders, tilt my head back and let my instincts take over. 

Riding him as my body seems fit to do. Uncaring of how I may look. Just fulfilling the need my body so desperately craves. Hitting all the spots that make stars alight behind my eyes.

The core strength needed to ride in such a way can become tiring rather quickly. Before I know it Dean is fucking up into me from below. As if he could no longer hold himself still. I give in to the pull of giving up control in this moment.

He must sense my surrender as I find myself spun around and bent over the front seat, as Dean fucks me senseless from behind. Using my hips like handlebars and pulling me back into him with every thrust. 

Losing himself in my silken walls. Uncaring of the fogged up glass and the rocking of the chassis. Nothing compares to when our bodies are intertwined together after being without the mother for so long. It's like a soul reunification every time.

He pushes my hair to the side, exposing my neck to the hot sticky air of the interior. Open mouth kisses are placed along my shoulders as his deft fingers play with my sensitive clit. Bringing me that much closer to my inevitable high. 

My voice pitches into that sultry whine that feels like heaven to his ears. A melody created just for him. Crafted by his own hands and it is time for this tune to reach its crescendo. 

Brought on by the pleasurable pain of his teeth sinking into the flesh at the back of my neck. A place he has claimed time and time again. Where it can be shown with pride but concealed when need be. It never fails to send me over the edge. 

My orgasm has been on a hairpin trigger. The slightest pressure of his teeth against the delicate skin of my neck rockets me off into the stratosphere.

A cacophony of moans and groans fills the stifling air around us as my cunt convulses. Setting off the only man who has ever had my heart, into his own release. With every pulse of my walls and the creamy twitch of his cock, our bodies finally feel complete again.

“I'll never get tired of this.” I think aloud as I trace the buttons of his red flannel.

“Tire of what?”

“The calmness of your body after a great orgasm. The steady rhythm of your heart that tries to lull me to sleep.”

“Mmm.” He kisses the top of my head that is lying on his chest. “Nothing beats your afterglow when I've thoroughly wrecked you. You melt into me like warm apple pie.”

“Of course you'd compare me to pie.”

“Well I did just give you a creampie so…”

I pinch his side. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” He taps my hip.

It sets us both off into a fit of laughter.

“You know I love you more than pie right?”

“I do. And I love you more than cheesy horror films.”

He takes a deep breath. “I've been meaning to ask. Well, suggest is more like it.”

“Spit it out Dean.”

“I think it's time for you to make the bunker your home too.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Like as a couple. Or just into the bunker?”

“As a couple. I want you in my space. Waking up in my bed almost every morning?”

“Why not every morning?”

“Because I know you'll want to keep hunting and I don't want to clip your wings so to speak. I just want to be able to come home to you and you to me. What do you think?”

I raise my head so that I may look him in the eye. Gauge the sincerity of his words. I only find love and vulnerability.

“Yes. I'll move into the bunker.”

A grin splits his face as he pulls me in for a kiss.

“Guess we better clean up and go tell Sam.”

“Why the rush all of a sudden Dean?”

“Because we have a couple weeks worth of time to make up for and lots of rooms to christen in the bunker.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I have a feeling Sam will be taking a solo trip to see Eileen very soon just to avoid whatever it is your dirty little mind has conjured up.”

“It would be for the best.” He smirks.

[missacidburn928]

From The Jump Now live on Ao3 & Tumblr

From The Jump

Wordcount: 2990

Dean Winchester x POC!Reader “Wildflower”

Summary:

He is the kindest thing that has ever happened to me. Even if that isn’t how our story is always told.

Warnings:

18+ MDNI, Fluff, Smut, Humor, Flowery Words (I'm a published poet, sue me)

Notes:

Hello Heathens, Damn I haven’t written for just Dean in a minute. This felt good to get out. Inspired by “From The Jump (Duet Version)” by James Arthur & Kelly Clarkson. I even used some of the lyrics which will be in bold. Be sure to check the song out, it’s amazing.Also I know I write a lot of my reader inserts with the reader having the ability to sing, but music is a huge part of my life. Other than writing and film, singing was always my escape from the chaos. So if the trope seems tired from me by now, get used to it. I write what I know. And what I know is that music is therapeutic.Happy Reading!

Banner @cafekitsune

Divider @firefly-graphics

A random hole in the wall bar out in the middle of nowhere an open mic is happening. Dean has been secretly performing at them from time to time while out on solo missions or when Sam is preoccupied since his early 20s. He actually has a lovely voice and a way with words. 

My past with the infamous hunter is complicated. I know all about his little secret. We met after his time at the boys home where Robin taught him to play the guitar, among other things. We were young and dumb. The children of hunters. The weight of the world on our shoulders just looking for an escape.

Be that in guitar strings, joy rides, stargazing, or stolen kisses under the shade of a willow tree that lead to so much more. We might not have shared every first that summer, but we sure did knock off quite a few big ones.

From there on, as it goes for most hunting families, we ran into each other from time to time. Sometimes going after the same case. Sometimes overlapping cases. No matter the reason, we always fell back into place like time never passed. Like it was that first summer all over again.

Only now our stolen kisses lead us to fall into bed, or the backseat of the Impala. Over the last couple of years, as the boys have become more stable having found the bunker, our kisses have become far less stolen and more so intentional.

You would believe that it was a natural progression for us. That time just did it’s thing and we fell in love slowly. But the truth is, from day one I knew he was mine and I was his. No matter what life threw at us or where we were in the world, our souls were tethered to each other. Rubberbanding us back to one another when we were apart for too long.

That’s what I choose to believe is happening tonight. The only plausible reason why I stepped into this bar, during this open mic to find Dean on stage, guitar in hand finishing his first song of the night.

Continue: ao3 tumblr

[stuffyflowers]

Started playing PS Outertale a few hours ago and I have, thoughts.

For the most part, geno has been a chill time. There are some tweaks I really appreciate, like the grinding being so quick and skipping dialog by holding C. Asriel was a little jarring at first, really did not like the way he talked down to Papyrus (and that bit where he's pretending Sans is still there? eugh), but once we were past not-Snowdin I really started to appreciate him. His relationship with Frisk/Chara/The Player/Whatever is really intriguing, especially how Frisk or whoever genuinely seems to reciprocate his feelings. Love the Best Friends Setting The World On Fire vibe we got going on.

I did kind of feel like the game was just, really easy? I beat Undyne the Undying without dying, and that's without knowing what the new spear attacks did. But a lot of her normal attack were just like, easier versions of her original attacks? I did like the extra attacking mechanic and how it was still loosely DDR esc like green soul mode.

Beat Mettaton on my second try. Orange soul mode was neat. A little weird to get used to but it didn't offend. Defiantly a little harder that Undyne but not a huge step up.

Alphys... I REALLY do not like this fight. As of writing this I have not beaten it and I don't thing I will. There are a just, lot of little things that just drag the whole thing down for me. For one, Screen Shake. Lasers shake the screen, the expanding rings shake the screen, hell, even the damn MUSIC shakes the screen! I can't see where I am or what I'm supposed to be dodging! Second, the obnoxious spinning background. It's distracting and bugs the hell out of me. Third, the music. It's very meh imo, gets grating after a bit and just sounds like noise now. So far my biggest issue is that her attacks are 1000 years long. Each one feels like three for four attacks in one. Sometimes I'd get most of the way through an attack and just, get fatigued and take my hands off the keyboard cause I'm so overwhelmed.

I've never felt like this before. I don't usually mind a challenge, I actually like throwing myself at a problem until I break through. I loved beating UTY geno without using any equipment (Only Rubber Bullets, the Patch and the Toy Gun. Honestly if you're looking to play UTY geno again but harder I highly recommend), and that was a grind that took weeks. But this? I have absolutely no desire to return to this. I can't honestly say the fight is even good or bad cause I just can't get into it. This is the worst time I've ever had fighting an UT boss, and I don't think that was the intention.

I don't know where I was going with this. I just had a lot of thoughts and felt the need to share them.

Fun fact u can hold alt+press left twice to open the debug menu and get temmie armour infinite hp etc etc would highly recommend using whenever a fight annoys u lol im not grinding for this game. I agree w ur alphys boss complaint so much, I almost got my ass beat WHILE using th temmie armour, the patience soul mode is just not made for a boss fight of that scale I don’t think, especially not one where it piles on what feels like 20 attacks in one turn. It’s so sad bc I was genuinely pretty hyped to see final boss alphys, seeing herself as the one to blame for everyone’s deaths in this route coulda made up for the nothingburger she was given in pacifist but it was just. Eh.

Also asriel is just very funny to me. This au really only cares abt asriel and twinkly seems to exist just to fill floweys slot which is smth I don’t care for, but I at least appreciate they let him be an edgy little shit rather than playing into the idea that having a soul would magically fix flowey/twinkly and make him a normal kid again. I like that frisk is kind of just fucking around ig, it makes a funny contrast against asriel. I wish the route used the frisk/asriel/mk trio more also. Idontknow I still haven’t fully figured out how I feel about this route it’s so weird. I did enjoy it more on average than lv0 pacifist tho so that’s. Something?

[tothesolarium]

A Bang

Chapter Two

Fireworks, Stars torn apart

     So life began from the final breath

  A perfect image, filling space that could not think of itself

   A perfect portrait in a thousand faces,

   Yet- knuckles strained white around their own neck

  That is the future that created this past.

  Of God, alone, born from nothing.

  God, Alone, Born from what he will not look upon.

  While humanity was just an idea, Heaven filled itself with song

     The Angels were silent from their ideas, but still, the spark would not leave them. It remained contained at first, understanding their father needed company. Laughter was a wonder to whatever seemed to weigh on his heart.

     Before Eden, There was a Father with his Children. A Father, and his work.

     As Humans Lived and Died, the Angels were happy for their work. At least those who were made docile. God the Father did want company, to have ideas bounced and built upon. He gave this allowance to a few. So they took in the world and thought honestly. Many good people came to Heaven, as well as many damaged and hurting souls. The Angels were not upset by those with bloodied hands who sought forgiveness.  

     It was the angry abused, those who worked with love under other names, that were cast aside. Most of the angels could not stand the souls who would damn their father’s name. It was such a direct Anger that it hurt far too personally. This is what God the Father thought was happening as tears fell from the Morning Star’s eyes.  

     “They are nothing for you to worry about my dear child.” God’s voice was warm but there was a point to it. The Morning Star got up from his seat at the feet of his Father’s.

    “They died hungry,” Lucifer, the Morning Star, tried to rub the memories from his eyes. Yet he could still hear the final pleas to humanity and the curse to the unfeeling stars.

    “Such is the way.” His Father said so calmly.

     “Can’t we give them more?” Lucifer asked.

    “Humanity cannot be babied.”

     “But, how can we expect them to do more if they are always hungry? Wouldn’t you steal if you saw kings throwing away feasts while you had nothing? We are that King Power and the people believe we craft every step of life! If we don’t, we are the liars, and if we do, what path have we made?”

     The first mistake was saying, We, when this was his Father’s plan. The Next was thinking he could finish his thought. Lucifer was cut off with a crushing warmth. His wings snapped into his Father’s hands. Lucifer was lifted like a dead bird and tossed to the side.

     The first Rebellion was quiet. People asked where Lucifer went, others had their questions. When ten Angels were missing, those who cared had to keep their plans private. It was the Second Rebellion that could be called a war.  

     While dreams fueled by an Eden of Conquest crafted weapons.

     Hell was born.

     Before, Hell was more of an abstract void, a recycling bin of sorts.

     Now it was full of bodies without definition, no concept of gravity or stability. What filled the realm was their whole being, with no break between land and sky. Emotion and memory became tangible substances. Endlessly full, made of up shapes that were never meant for reality. The newly fallen craved distinction, some understanding of who they were and what was happening. What showed this most clearly was their impact on each other. These newborn Demons discovered what humanity had long understood. To force your will on another for your relief. Someone who once loved you, now running? It was painfully addictive. It was a small number who were not keen on violence, and those who hid were sought.

     These Divine started to craft their own rules of reality and play with those now made weak and ungrounded. To remain safe meant that someone had to be bloodied.

     On freshly founded land, Lucifer tried to murder Gusion. The reason was unclear even then. Lucifer stood as a shadow, rippling with rage that cut reality. Gusion, a hulking beast who could crush a mountain in her jaws. When they clashed they grabbed onto the sky for support.

     Lucifer was forced to the ground, spewing out murk and oil as Gusion lashed into him. While Lucifer tried to collect himself, He felt something under him.

     Small, barely a grain of rice, yet the frantic movements pressed into his back. Not that there was much to do or interest in anything other than survival. Lucifer took in a breath to try and throw Gusion off. Only to feel a pop, and then dread. While Lucifer tried to understand what was happening, he allowed himself to be gutted. This alone made Gusion slow. Gusion knew her brother as the prideful light, the perfect weapon that spat the Heavens, why would he relent from this throne called land? There was a fainter memory of a Brother she had admired, that now felt eons away.  When Lucifer started begging through the oil, that there was something else in danger, Gusion stepped back. Though she kept her mouth firmly around Lucifer’s neck.

     What lay on the ground looked like glass. The smallest remains of a crash, with light winking in and out of focus. Neither Divine knew what it was, till they leaned close enough to see the memories skipping across. Fragments of life repeating, dancing, and twirling till the soul shattered completely.

     Gusion’s jaw hung slack and they slipped away from Lucifer. Who’s dark talons tried to put two pieces back together, only to drag the bits of soul apart and into the dirt. Their sobs shook the ground, and the rage that started it all was swallowed by despair. So a desert felt its first rain.

[chaos-event-horizon]

🤍💙💜!!

🤍 when did you first realize you were in love with s/i?

Toshinori: Last time I talked about the first innocent twinge I felt... This time, I'll talk about a less innocent moment.

After realizing how deep the kid's trauma well likely was, I paid another visit to the facility I found him in and murdered every soul in a lab coat or guard uniform I could find. I demolished that building, and killed everyone inside it. I like to think of it as... Karmic retribution for what Kitten went through. I was so enraged on behalf of Rian that I didn't think twice about slaughtering them. It felt personal. Usually I only go after irredeemably corrupt heroes, politicians, CEOs... But those people more than deserved it. It was by far the best thing I could have done back then to show that I cared. I wasn't exactly "human" myself back then.

And afterwards, the visions started. Like that single act of compassion opened the floodgates of my past memories to guide my way through the next several years... I still haven't told him about what I did for him. I doubt he'd thank me for shelving my ideals like that-- I'm sure many of them were just doing their jobs and had never laid a hand on my Kitten-- but I can live with potential innocent blood on my hands, if it means no one that hurt him will ever breathe again.

💙 do the two of you have a shared morning or evening/night routine?

Toshinori: Absolutely, yes. We've had roughly the same routines for years... The biggest changes being when we started sharing a bed and got less shy about how soon we take baths after the other does. Not to mention Hinata entering our lives and giving us a few extra steps. But we always eat breakfast and prepare for the day together, and we always clean up and go to bed together. We rarely spend time apart, for Rian's mental health.

💜 what is something you would like to say to s/i right now?

Toshinori: I'd keep telling him I love him. That he's my world. That I'm the luckiest man alive for having found him again.

Damn the consequences, Rian... You're what matters.

[pomrania]

Looking over last year's Smaugust stuff in preparation for this year's Smaugust -- I don't want to have to rediscover all those tricks from scratch -- and damn there's some REALLY good stuff in there. Good job, past me.

Currently working on writing the text for at least the first request post, decent chance it'll get changed up for future posts as I think of things to add or remove. At least this time around, I have a "for more information click here" post I can link, instead of having a wall of text to scroll through before people can see critters and art.

So yeah Smaugust is starting tomorrow, and I'll want to draw some (read: a lot of) cats as dragons. If you have cat pictures, get them handy.

I remember that last year I was really drained by it, so I think this year I'll work on limiting the amount of time I spend on any one picture; ideally this will help me develop some artistic efficiency, but "not feeling tired all of the time" is its own benefit.

DO NOT REFRAIN FROM MAKING REQUESTS BECAUSE YOU DON'T WANT TO OVERWORK ME; TIME AND ENERGY MANAGEMENT IS A PROBLEM TO BE SOLVED ON *MY* END. If I end up needing to close stuff for a bit, I'm perfectly capable of deciding that myself; have some respect for me as an autonomous person. I've already set things up to prevent certain ballooning; "separate posts for each day" means that it can't go too far if it breaches containment, and also that if I end up needing a day off, I can just... not make a post for that day.

(In completely unrelated news, I just found a comb I'd been looking for, for a few days; it was behind the container it's supposed to be in, but I know for a FACT that I'd taken that container out, looked in that area, and hadn't seen it. *shrug* Gremlins.)

Gah, every time I prepare for an art event, I keep coming back to that rant, of people not making requests, WHEN I EXPLICITLY SAY "PLEASE GIVE ME REQUESTS", because they "don't want to be a bother". First of all, that's some nasty scarring on your soul, that you think that way; I know "don't think that way" can't make you heal, but at least it doesn't let the lie continue that you're SUPPOSED to be mentally limping around. Second of all, my own damage resulted in the exact opposite problems; so if I ever hit a lull with this, there's a decent chance I'll be bothering people "hey give me a photo of your cat to draw".

Back to looking at the stuff I'd drawn last year. I'm pretty sure THAT prompt list is better than the one I'll be using, which I'd made in like half an hour, MAYBE an hour; so there's a bunch of cool concepts I won't get from my list, so I'll have to be aware and try to work cool stuff into it anyways.

Huh, I hadn't remembered I'd drawn so many pictures in greyscale. Well not MANY of them, but still more than I'd thought. That's what I did when I didn't have the energy for working with colours, or I simply couldn't think of what colour scheme would be best; and they all looked good regardless. (Okay there's one I don't care too much for, but it was from early on in the event, where I hadn't fully figured out the best way of dragonification, and it doesn't look any worse than pictures done in colour from that same timeframe.) Need to keep in mind an that's an option.

Also, I really like a lot of the pictures I'd done where there isn't really any shading, just lines and colours. Something else to keep in mind, that it's not a NECESSARY step. Might or might not want to try working on that specifically, because when I see a picture (that someone else has done) in that style, done with skill, I personally enjoy it more than one done in a different style with equal skill.

Also seeing a number of pictures where it's EXTREMELY obvious I just had a dumb thought that made me grin and then I ran with it; and you know what, those pictures STILL make me grin.

[spookiekewchie]

holy water cannot help you now

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: Antichrist!Ransom x black!reader

Summary: When tragedy strikes and you're desperate enough to make a deal with a devil it turns everything on its head.

Word Count: 13k+

Warnings: DARK FIC, HORROR THEMES, non/dubcon, mentions murder, drug use, drugging, innocent reader, naïve reader, loss of virginity, blackmail, improper use of religious items, bondage, unprotected sex (p in v, wrap it before you tap it), stalking, manipulation, crying, sir kink, mean!ransom, antichrist!ransom, degradation (not a lot of it), petnames (ransom calls the reader lamb)

A/N:  This is one of my entries for @boxofbonesfic 's exciting challenge (Bones Spooktacular Smutfest!) I didn't mean for it to be this long, or take this long to post but here it is! Anyways, all mistakes are mine so pardon any errors or typos I'm sure I missed a few. The divider is by @firefly-graphics. The moodboard is by me.

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. If you like it don't forget to reblog and share with others who might enjoy it as well.

Your hand trembles as you pull the sleek business card from your pocket to look at it again. You’re well past second thoughts, it's more like ninth and tenth thoughts, but you’re determined to see this through. Your uncle’s fate depends on it, and you feel helpless when you think of the ax that swings over the man’s head while he rots away in the county jail awaiting trial for a crime you’re sure he didn’t commit. The cops said he bashed a man’s skull in, but the man that had raised you wasn’t capable of doing something so violent and horrific. Just thinking about it makes your stomach roil, and nervously you twist the purity ring around your finger thrice.

You can do this, you think to yourself. Just remember why you’re doing this.

The night is dark and dreary, the streets ominously lit as you pause and look down the sidewalk and across the street at the building you’re heading towards. Carefully you slip a hand into your purse to let your fingers brush over the small canister of pepper spray that you bought earlier in the day. It does little to make you feel secure or confident. You shouldn’t be here, you know that and yet you’re just desperate enough to go and beg at the feet of the most powerful man in the city. You aren’t even sure he’ll help, he sees people all day everyday just about. Every one of them asking favors and offering god knows what in exchange. There’s rumors that he takes people as slaves or pets, others that he demands first borns, and there’s some far fetched and ridiculous tales about him demanding souls.

You aren’t sure what you believe, all you know is that you are desperate. Desperate enough to turn to the devil! Your mind screams, and a shudder wracks your frame as you take another damning step towards the building. It’s foreboding, something about it just not settling right when you try to look at it. You shake it off, it must be the nerves, is what you mutter to yourself as your fingers reach to fiddle with the purity ring on your finger again. It’s a way to self soothe, and ground yourself as you make to step into the street.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

The aggressive sound of a car's horn as it speeds by carelessly has you jumping back on the sidewalk just before it careens into you. It leaves your heart pounding in your chest, and tears stinging in your eyes at realizing just how close a call it was. That’s a sign from the lord, turn around and go back. It’s not worth it! Your intuition screams at you, and for a second you consider listening to it before you remember why you’ve come all the way across town, and for who.

You check the street this time, there’s no cars coming and it’s eerily quiet when you step off the curb and quickly make your way across. The building is dark but otherwise nondescript save for the gilded numbers over the door knocker. It’s heavy when you go to lift it, and you bring it down three times before you take a step back and wait.

A window slides open and you can hear the faint sound of music filtering out. A pair of cold green eyes stare out at you with a harsh glare and you swallow nervously while trying to remember the passphrase your friend had given you for this moment.

“Tenebris oritur.” The words feel wrong to say, they fill you with a sense of foreboding but you push it off and try to ignore it. It’s just nerves, you’re sure of it. You wait a beat hoping that you’ve said the right thing, and when the heavy door is finally pulled open and you’re ushered inside you know you have. The grim looking man by the door says nothing still, peering down his nose at you while you try not to stare at the scare that decorates his jaw. Slowly you step away from him, walking further into the building and stopping to check your coat with the girl by the front door. Then you’re led through a metal detector, and instructed to place a sticker over the lens of your phone's camera. Apparently photos are strictly forbidden in this venue. Once you’ve done that you’re allowed to follow the muffled sounds of soft music deeper into the building until you come upon another heavy door.

You push through it and almost immediately you feel as if you’ve stepped into a different world. It’s almost jarring how clean, and upscale this dimly lit lounge bar is compared to the dreary and almost too quiet street outside. The pungent smell of cigar smoke fills your nose and you do your best to not make a face or cough at the way it seems to cut your breath short. Men and women lounge and mill about, drinking, smoking, and in some dark corners doing a bit more. You keep your eyes away from those corners, face hot and body moving swiftly towards the bar. You just need to find the man you've come to see and try to convince him to help your uncle.

"Well, well, well...you must be new." Says the man behind the bar, drawing your attention as you give a soft gasp. He's handsome, tall with a chiseled stubble covered jaw, and a fluffy head of hair. He looks you over, taking in the sweet little dress you're wearing and he smirks. It's obvious that this place isn't your usual hang out spot. Hell it's obvious that you've never been inside a place like this, otherwise you would have known better than to wear something so sweet and tempting into a den of iniquity. "I'm Frank, what can I get you beautiful?"

His flirting doesn't go unmissed but you choose to ignore it because you have more important reasons for being here. "Well, I was hoping you could point me in the direction of Ransom Drysdale." A couple of men at the bar beside you fall silent and suddenly depart to go settle elsewhere. You do your best to not think about why that might be. "I really, really need to talk to him about something very important." You continue, not noticing the stocky man that settles to your left until he's close enough to touch you. The feeling of his hand against your lower back makes you jump and squeak in surprise, and it's clear that he's startled you. It's something that seems to amuse this stranger and Frank just heaves a sigh from behind the bar.

"Brock," he greets, blue gaze watching as you try to step away from the man. "The boss’ usual?" He questions, Brock just nods while eyeing you up and down.

"Now what's a sweet little thing like you doing in a place like this asking to see my boss, huh?" He doesn't let you get far before he's reaching out with a quickness to grip you by the arm and drag you back in. You look around, hoping that someone might step in and help you but everyone seems to be pointedly looking in any direction but yours.

Panic and fear have you seconds away from reaching into your purse to grab your can of pepper spray but another voice cuts in and Brock promptly releases you as if you had burned him. "That's enough, Brock. Can't you see the girl is scared?" You're shaking as you take a quick step back, stumbling slightly in your heeled boots and falling into a strong broad chest. "Careful, everything's alright now." The man coos, and you whip around to face him. You feel like you've been thrown into a shark tank, and it's quickly overwhelming you. "I heard you were asking for me, something about needing to talk to me about something very important." He offers, and you relax just a fraction. Just enough for you to take him in and notice that pictures truly do not do him justice.

Ransom Drysdale is much more intimidating in person, and he carries about himself an aura of arrogance and control that makes you want to shudder when he turns his icy gaze on you fully. You open your mouth to speak, determined to say what you have to now before courage fails you, but before you can utter a word he cuts you off.

"Not here, too many prying eyes and ears. Let's go somewhere more private." Ransom doesn't give you a chance to protest before he's plucking his freshly made drink from Frank's hand just as the man sets it on the bar, and with his other hand pressing against the small of your back he's guiding you deeper into the lounge club, past roped off booths and into a quiet little room that has a wet bar, a couple tables, a few chairs and a sofa. You stand there awkwardly, nervously glancing behind yourself to see that Brock looms in front of the only door in or out of this room that you can see. The sound of Ransom clearing his throat draws your attention back to him sitting comfortably on the sofa. He nods to the empty space besides him, but you don't move until you feel Brock giving your shoulder a shove to spur you into motion.

If you felt like you were in a shark tank before, that's nothing compared to this lion's den that you've been led into. Slowly and reluctantly you lower yourself onto the far end of the sofa, as far away from Ransom as you can manage. It's all in vain when seconds later he moves close enough for your knees to touch. Attempting to shift away from him does little good, and so you resolve yourself to try and ignore the distraction that the little bit of contact offers.

"Mr. Drysd—"

"Call me Ransom." He tells you, smirking as he lifts his glass to his lips to take a sip.

You press on, despite his correction. "I was told by a friend of mine that you might be able to help me, you recently helped her with some legal troubles after...after she put her abusive ex in the hospital." You hope he remembers Lea, she's the whole reason why you're here in the first place ready to grovel if it means getting help for your uncle.

Ransom takes a moment to think it over, he already knows exactly who you're referring to. Lea had been one of his charity cases where he didn't take a payment for lending a helping hand. It's all in the name of branding and public opinion, unfortunately you won't be so lucky because Ransom can already spy a couple things that he wants as payment for whatever little favor you're about to ask of him.

"I remember, and I'm willing to see what I might be able to do to help you. Just tell me what it is you need." The way he says that word stirs something in you, it feels loaded like he's fishing for something more and the way his blue eyes bore into you doesn't help in the slightest.

You nod, breathing out a sigh of relief. "My uncle was arrested recently, accused of murder and the court appointed lawyer isn't even trying to help. I was hoping that you could help us with legal representation the way you did with my friend."

Ransom nods along, realizing now where he's seen you before. "Your situation isn't as clear cut as your friend’s was," he starts and you fear for a moment that he's about to send you on your way. "It would cost a significant amount to get the right team in place to sort that fucking mess out." You flinch at his harsh words, but you remain hopeful. He hasn't said no yet.

"Please, sir," sir? Oh he likes that very much coming from your pretty mouth. "My aunt and I don't have much but we could go into our savings, and if that's not enough I could work off the rest. I'd do anything if it means helping my uncle. You own this place don't you, I could clean and learn to make drinks, or—" you lose your voice when Ransom suddenly leans in and you feel a warm hand settling on your leg just above the knee. Even through the dark tights that you wear under

"I might be willing to let you work off the cost, but you'd have to offer me a bit more than that, lamb." His voice is low, lips curled into a smirk and for a moment you're stunned into silence and stillness before you catch up to the moment and immediately you're shaking your head. If he's implying that then surely he's got the wrong idea about you. "What? You came to me, you said you'd do anything. That's the price, either agree to it or don't." By the door you hear Brock's chuckle, and it sets your nerves on edge. Meeting Ransom's gaze you try to search for some sign that he isn't serious, but you find none.

Swallowing thickly you drop your gaze from his, even through your tights you can feel his burning touch, and it takes everything in you to fight the urge to squirm. Instead your fingers began to twist the ring around your finger. You run your thumb over the words etched into the metal before you twist it around thrice and steel yourself. The action catches Ransom's attention, and for a moment his brow arches curiously. A purity ring? He hasn’t seen someone wearing one of those in a very, very long time. He huffs out a short laugh, licking his lips as he regards you more closely. He can practically taste the innocence on you, and he can see the way your light hasn’t been dimmed by the world yet. It awakens a desire in him that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He wants to devour that light, and all that sweet innocence fills him with a need to corrupt.

“I'm waiting." His tone is impatient when he speaks this time, and you can feel the energy shift from teasing and seduction to tense and stifling. The grip on your knee tightens and it's enough to jolt you into moving.

Quickly, you stand to your feet taking a step away from the sofa. Anger, hurt, disappointment and embarrassment all reflect in your eyes and you know Ransom can see it by the amused smirk that's on his too pretty face. “Your choice.” He says with a laugh and a shrug while pulling a small vial of white powder from his pocket. You turn away, not wanting to be a witness to him snorting whatever drug it is he’s diverted his attention to. He cuts it into a line and you hear him behind you inhaling it, and you huff, stomping towards the door.

"Please let me by." You say, voice tight as you hold yourself together. Brock doesn't step aside, instead he grabs you by the arm and backs you away from the door with a cruel grin. This time Ransom doesn't stop him from manhandling you. Instead he watches curiously as if he's waiting for something to happen.

You panic, fumbling with one hand to pull your keychain can of pepper spray out and once you do and the safety cap is flipped open you aim and blast Brock in the face. He's coughing, sputtering, and cursing in seconds, letting you go to instead scrub at his eyes while you rush to the door and run out. Brock makes a fumbling attempt to follow but Ransom has other plans. "Let her go, go clean yourself up." He orders, wiping his nose clean with a sigh. He waits until Brock leaves the room cursing and spitting insults at you even though you're gone. The moment Ransom is alone he pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a call to the twins. Colin Shea and Jake Jensen. He tasks them with finding you, and finding out everything there is to know about you beyond what the news has already reported.

Once that's done he knows he only needs to wait. More than likely the two will have everything on you before the end of the next day. And in the meantime he thinks about what will be the best way to get you right where he wants you.

No one stops you as you rush out of the building. Some laugh at the sight of you so frightened, others simply stare as if watching a show, and the rest ignore your existence all together. The realization that no one cares, that if something were to happen to you here that you’d just be entertainment to them, it’s like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your head. You can feel the tears brimming and stinging behind your eyes. Your vision starts to blur with the unshed tears, and your chest feels tight. By the time you make it outside you’re sucking in the fresh air, taking it in in lungfuls and trying to ignore the cold and the taste of smog that faintly registers with each breath.

When you feel like you can walk a straight line, you do, heading for the nearest open business and calling yourself an Uber. You wait there, still shaken up by all that’s transpired and the lack of hope has you sullen and withdrawn. You barely speak to your driver once you’ve gotten in after checking to make sure the car and the man behind the wheel match what’s in the app. He talks enough for the both of you though, and you leave him a nice tip in the app to show your appreciation for him getting you home safely.

It’s with reluctance that you trudge up the steps that lead to up to the porch, you don’t want to go inside. You can see the light on in the living room and you know your aunt is waiting for you, likely worried sick because you’re home over an hour later than usual. She’ll have questions that you can’t and don’t want to answer because they’ll only make her worry more. In her condition it’s stress that she doesn’t need, and your father’s upcoming and looming trial is taking a toll already. Breathing in deep you blow out a cleansing breath, swallowing the lump in your throat a second later, and then you slide your key into the lock and give it a twist. Turning the knob to enter, you see your Aunt sitting close by your Uncle’s favorite chair. Your heart breaks just a little more, and you offer a quiet hello and an apology for being out so late and not calling.

“Where were you?” She questions, and you just shake your head.

“It’s not important, Aunt Lily. Just go to bed, it’s late.” You reply, going to take off your coat only to realize that you aren’t wearing it. In your haste and panic to leave that dreadful place you forgot to stop and pick it up from the coat check. The thought of going back to get it fills you with so much dread that you’ve already resolved to simply leave it there and see about buying yourself a new coat tomorrow.

Your aunt seems to notice the lack of your coat though, and when she comes closer to inspect you she shakes her head. “I know it’s late, I’ve been waiting for you. Worrying over whether or not something’s happened to you and—” She cuts herself off with a huff, “and where is your coat? It’s freezing out.”

It’s worry and fear, and you know she means well but your nerves are still on edge from your encounter in the lounge club that you just want her to stop and let you breathe.

“Aunt Lily please! I just needed some time to myself, out of this house with all the memories and worry. I just needed to deal by myself okay, and I’m an adult I’m allowed to stay out late if I need to. I’m sorry I didn’t call but you didn’t have to stay up, you need your rest just as much as I do.” You feel bad for not telling the truth and dismissing her worries but being honest would only make things worse…even if it twists your stomach into knots to be anything less than truthful.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night, you toss and you turn in bed. It’s too hot in your room and it has you kicking your covers off in your fitful slumber. Images of Ransom’s cruel smirk, and the phantom feeling of his hand on your body plague you every time you manage to slip away to a dreaming state. It startles you awake each time and you growl in annoyance. You’ll never see him again, you’re sure of it only because you naively believe that he was only toying with you and wasting your time.

It doesn’t help you rest though, by the time the sun is coming up you’ve only managed a few hours of sleep. Caffeine keeps you mobile throughout the day, and you trudge through the motions until it’s time for you to go visit your uncle at the jail. Like so many things since his arrest, it fills you with apprehension. There’s always a worry that you’ll see him beat up or that his spirit will be broken.

You’re always relieved to see that’s not the case, but today your worries are confirmed. When he enters the small visitation room you see the limp and the black eye. What’s worse is you see how his usually bright gaze is darkened as if there’s a shadow that’s settled over him. The lump in your throat burns when you try to swallow it down, and you can feel the tears brimming but you try your hardest not to let them fall.

“What happened?” You question, and he says nothing. “Uncle Gideon, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“It won’t do any good telling you what happened, it was just a misunderstanding and it’s all fine now.” He wants to reach across the table and take your trembling hand in yours but he knows the guard won’t allow it. “I’d rather you talk to me what your aunt telling me about you staying out late.”

You sigh, heavy and feeling weighed down. “I was trying to find better lawyers for you.” You admit, knowing better than to lie to him. He’s always known when you were being dishonest, whatever tell it is that you have he won’t disclose. So you give him enough of the truth to satisfy him. Your uncle lets out an almost amused laugh, as if you’ve told a joke that you aren’t aware of.

“What?” You question, brows furrowed in confusion as you regard the man sitting across from you with a mixture of worry and curiosity.

“Nothing, sweet pea, it’s nothing.” He runs his manacled hands over his face and just shakes his head. “You should go, today’s your day at the animal shelter. Don’t be late worrying about an old man.” You don’t want to leave so soon, but your uncle calls the guard over to escort you from the room before you can protest his dismissal. The huff that leaves you is watery, and that lump in your throat returns. You hate this, you still don’t believe that he did what the police and prosecutors are claiming he did. There’s no way, he’s been the same sweet, caring, and protective man you’ve known all your life. To think that he was capable of even considering bashing a man’s skull was madness to you. You’re so sure that your uncle isn’t capable of violence that you had completely missed the bruises on his knuckles that tell otherwise.

“Don’t forget to sign out, Miss.” The guard tells you before he calls for two men who apparently have a visitation with your uncle too. One of them stops when he gets to you, says your name and offers a smile.

“You must be the niece, I’m Andrew Barber. That’s my partner, Scott Huffman. We’ll be taking over your uncle’s case, and it’d be helpful if you and your aunt could set up a time where we can get you two into the office to take some statements.” He holds out a business card while you stand there mouth moving wordlessly as you take the card between unsteady fingers.

“I don’t understand, we didn’t hire new lawyers…we couldn’t—”

“It’s been handled, and just in time too. I hear the prosecution is looking for the death penalty.” Andy reaches up to adjust his tie, not paying attention to the way your breathing suddenly gets shallower, and you sway slightly. Panic is setting in, the lump in your throat feels like it’s choking you, and the tears you’ve been fighting off all day are threatening to break free at any second.

You rush past Mr. Barber, with a rushed “We’ll call you.” You can’t breathe and it feels like all the walls are starting to close in on you the longer you remain. The tears are kept at bay until you make it to your car, and once you’re in the driver's seat you can’t stop the broken sobs that finally break free. They’re the type that hurt, that feel like they’re tearing and clawing at your throat in an effort to escape out of you. You haven’t let yourself cry once since the arrest, you’ve been so convinced that everyone else will see what you see, or that a new suspect will be discovered and your uncle released.

To hear that the situation is so much more serious than that is finally the straw that breaks. You sit in your car, crying and gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. It’s minutes or maybe longer before you feel sobered enough to drive, and you let a hand move weakly to push your keys into the ignition. Blurry eyes drift to the windshield and startled at what you see you drop your keys to the floorboard and gasp. Wiping the tears away, you blink.

Ransom Drysdale stands there, staring at you in a way that sends chills and terror shooting up your spine.

You blink and he’s gone, and that shocks you even more. There were no other cars that he could have left in, there’s no one else in the parking lot, and there’s no way he could move that fast. Quickly you fish your keys up from the floorboard and shove them into the ignition and turn it on. You back out of your parking spot a bit faster than you normally would, but your fight or flight response is telling you to run so you listen.

By the time you reach the animal shelter you’ve convinced yourself that you just imagined it. You write it all off as you being stressed out, distraught, over emotional, and still on edge after your encounter with Ransom and his goon. It’s the only thing that makes sense, and once you’ve rationalized the experience you’re calmer.

Nothing else happens, and the rest of your day is uneventful. Something you’re grateful for. But the night is a much different story. Your dreams are fitful, sinful things that you can’t seem to wake up from no matter how hard you try. Ransom is in them, touching you, kissing you, rutting into you, claiming you, and pushing you to the brink until you wake up gasping and soaked with slick between your thighs. No matter how many times you try to go back to sleep it’s always the same and you spend another night in fitful sleep.

“Boss, we got the research on the girl all done.” Jake says into his headset. His fingers tap at the keys of his laptop as he navigates his way through your digital life. It only took him all of thirty minutes to get into your emails, your socials, phone and laptop. “Got info on the aunt and uncle too just in case you asked for that too.” Jake adds.

Ransom opens the zipped file that’s labeled with your name with a smirk. He’s not surprised that Jake went above and beyond, there’s a reason he keeps him and his brother on the payroll. “Your girl lives a pretty simple life, not much activity on her socials. Just a bunch of memes and pics with family...oh look at that, she’s got a cute friend…” Jake begins to give Ransom the rundown as he goes through everything starting with your birth records. “Goes to church every Sunday, works, well worked, at a daycare Mondays through Wednesdays. Apparently they put her unpaid leave after her uncle’s arrest, finances have been pretty tight since then. Her aunt works as a nurse at the local hospital so they’re making enough to keep the lights on. Colin’s tailing her right now, I think he said something about her volunteering at an animal shelter Thursdays and Fridays. You want me to patch him in?” Jake asks, still tapping away at his keyboard.

“Go ahead, Jensen.” Ransom says, hearing a click a moment later as Colin is brought onto the call.

“Hey boss, got your sweetheart in my sights.” Colin greets with a chuckle, Ransom rolls his eyes but says nothing. “Looks like she’s heading to the jail to see her dear old murderous uncle.”

“Speaking of,” Jake cuts in. “I found some surveillance footage from that night, turns out the old bastard really did bash that brats head in. You want me to send it to the prosecution or hold onto it for now?”

Ransom let’s out a pleased hum, hearing that and knowing that he has proof that no one else has just further stacks the deck in his favor has him in a very good mood. “Send it to me, and only me.” He instructs, and seconds later another file is sent to his computer containing the damning video. “Jake keep digging into their lives, Colin, you keep tailing her. Let me know when she gets to the jail.”

“What are you gonna do, boss?” Jake questions, the grin evident in his voice. Ransom doesn’t answer him, simply ending the call and making another.

He waits for the line to ring, and the familiar voice that greets him once the call is answered has the man grinning.

“Barber, I need you and Huffman down at the jail, you two are picking up a new client. I’ll send the details to your phone along with instructions.” Andrew Barber doesn’t question it, simply announces that he and Scott will be on their way shortly and hangs up.

Half an hour later Ransom receives a text from Colin, alerting him that you were leaving the jail and that you seemed upset. It’s perfect, and when Ransom appears in the parking lot moments later he sees you in your car sobbing he knows that Barber let the dreadful news slip regarding your uncle’s case. He lingers there for a moment, watching as the tears slide down your face and the muffled sounds of your sobs from inside the car has him stirring beneath his expensive trousers. When you look up and see him he doesn’t move, and even though he knows the distance is too far for you to make it out, he smirks. Something about the way you gasp in shock and begin to panic makes him want to steal you away right then and there. He resists, he wants you backed into a corner and desperate enough to agree to giving yourself to him. When you blink he takes his leave, vanishing just as quickly as he appeared.

Back in his home, Ransom wanders over to where your coat is draped over the back of his sofa. He lifts it to his nose and inhales deeply, your scent is still strong enough for him to pick up on the different notes and layers to it. Lilies, citrus, nutmeg…and there’s something else under all that. Something familiar that he can’t quite place, but he knows it’s uniquely you and it’s addictive.

That was a week ago, and things have been uneventful since that moment in the parking lot. Save for the unwanted dreams that leave you aching with a need you can’t quite explain or even know what to do with. And you still lament the loss of your coat, especially now that you’ve talked yourself out of buying a new one since money’s been tighter with your uncle’s arrest and you being placed on unpaid leave from the daycare center. You’ve been making due with wearing your thickest jacket, and it does hardly anything to keep the biting cold from seeping into your bones and making your teeth chatter loudly. Your arms are wrapped tight around your shivering form as you make your way down the street, focusing solely on getting to the bus stop that will drop you off at the animal shelter. You don’t register the car that begins to slowly creep along beside you at first, when you do though you cast a wary glance to the side and pick up the speed of your steps.

The dark town car speeds up as well, and you think about running into the next open shop you get to and waiting until the car passes before you hear the sound of a window rolling down, and a vaguely familiar voice calling out to you from the backseat.

“Need a ride, lamb?” You freeze midstep, sucking in a breath of cold air that makes your lungs ache. It can’t be him, you gave him no way to contact you much less find you, but when you turn your head to look there he sits. Ransom grins from the back seat, looking warm and comfortable as he observes your shivering form. “Come on, it’s nice and warm inside.” He tries to coax you closer when he sees you working up the will to keep walking. “Besides, I have something that belongs to you.” He adds, holding up your coat with a smug grin. You take a step towards the side of the car and hold out your hand, expecting him to hand you the much needing piece of outerwear. Ransom snatches it back and tsks at you disapprovingly, shaking his head with an amused chuckle. “Get in the car, I promise it’s just me. I left Brock at home.”

The mention of the other man brings on unwanted thoughts of that night, and if it weren’t for your need to get your coat back you would have resisted and just kept walking. The bitter chill that cuts through you with a timely gust of wind has you thinking better of that decision and reluctantly you reach for the handle of the car door. The warm air that billows out when you open it nearly makes you sigh, but you hold it in and carefully slide into the back passenger seat. Closing the door behind you, you keep as close to the door as possible, something that Ransom notices and finds himself amused by. You’re so timid, so skittish and he loves knowing that there’s something in you that makes you wary and afraid of him. You suspect as much too, there’s a twisted sort of glee in his eyes when you glance over at him setting you coat down in the space between you. You fiddle with your ring nervously, waiting for him to say something and end the tense silence. You’re so on edge that you can’t even let yourself settle into the seat to enjoy the warm air that’s heating the car's interior. Not even the heated seats are enough to make you relax, and the longer Ransom watches you with that unnervingly blue gaze the more you feel like you want to crawl out of your skin.

There’s something about it, a vibe he gives off that unsettles you, and you know it’s not just the memory of his proposition that makes you feel that way. “So,” he says suddenly and you jump slightly before taking a calming breath. “Where to, lamb?”

“The animal shelter.” You answer quickly, rattling off the address for his driver. It’ll be a good twenty minute drive and you aren’t sure how you’re going to be able to deal with it.

Another long beat of silence passes, and when Ransom notices you twisting the purity ring around your finger yet again he finally chooses to address it. “I didn’t think people still wore those these days.” He says, carelessly invading your space to reach across your body and pluck up your hand to inspect the ring more closely. You suck in a sharp breath, tensing up at his sudden closeness. His hands are smooth and tell you that he hasn’t had to work a day in his life, and just like before his touch is warm on your skin. Like a deer in headlights you’re frozen, your mind telling you to pull your hand out of his and push him away, but you can’t move. He’s close enough that you get the full effect of his cologne, and its mouthwatering. Nothing and no one should smell that good, but he does and it's causing a conflict inside you. He still sets your nerves on edge, but when he’s this close your mind spins dangerously and those sinful dreams are at the forefront of your mind. “True love waits.” He says, reading the inscription on your ring before he snorts derisively at the notion. “Is this why you didn’t take me up on my offer?” He questions, sliding his piercing gaze up to meet yours. “Is someone still a virgin?” He taunts, laughing almost cruelly when you snatch your hand out of his and look away from him.

He backs away, sliding back to his side of the vehicle and you feel no less boxed in and overwhelmed. You’re relieved when the shelter finally comes into view, and you quickly tell the driver that he can drop you off at the property’s gate. Eagerness to get away from Ransom once again has you forgetting about your coat, but he stops you before you can get out of the vehicle. “Lamb, I think you’re forgetting something.” He coos, holding your coat out to you. You go to grab it, and instead of letting it go he pulls it hard enough to make you topple on top of him. Your squeak of surprise and struggle to get off of him is quickly stopped by a strong arm locking around your middle. “Oh lamb, you really thought it’d be that easy didn’t you?” Ransom sighs, releasing your coat so he can bring his hand up to brush a few errant curls away from your face. “Thought you’d get to deny me, and that I’d just drop it and leave you be, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, you have a feeling that he doesn’t need you to. “You came to me, wanting to make a deal with the devil. You opened the door, and now payment is owed.” He tells you, and you shake your head.

“I never agreed to—” He silences you with a hand around your throat.

“Who do you think hired the fancy new lawyers? The lawyers that are actually doing their job and keeping your dear old uncle from a death sentence.” His hand wanders from your throat and down to cup one of your breasts through your clothes. Your breath quickens, and you clench your eyes shut. You can feel your body reacting to him despite how you don’t want any of this happening. Those damn dreams that have been plaguing you every time you close your eyes for more than a few seconds play on repeat in your mind. “Look at me.” It’s a command that you follow only after you feel him gripping you around the waist tight enough that it becomes harder to breathe.

You meet his gaze, and the longer you look the more off balance you feel, and everything around you is a dull roar except for him. Ransom is in crystal clear focus, and it’s like you can slowly feel yourself slipping away. Your thoughts dull, the protests and warning bells quieting down until the only thing you can think of is giving in to whatever demands he has for you. He gives your breast a squeeze, drawing a whimper out of you and you squirm on top of him. “Why are you doing this?” You ask, words feeling like they’re coming from you slower and slurred. You don’t know what he’s doing, or how he’s doing it but you know in the very back of your mind that this isn’t really you.

“Because I want to. Because I can.” He answers, hand sliding lower and on the verge of slipping under your clothes. You should stop him, you know you should but you can’t when it feels like you’re just a puppet on his string.

It’s the sound of a horn from a car behind you that startles you both out of the moment, and you come to your senses startled and alarmed. You’re suddenly aware of the position you're in, and the fact that there’s another person in the car with you two. Your struggle comes back tenfold and you try to fight your way out of his hold. “Let me go, I swear I’ll scream.” You tell him knowing that even though the person trying to get past the gate can’t see past the vehicle’s dark tint that there’s still a chance they’ll be able to hear you. A nearly inhuman growl rumbles in Ransom’s chest before he relents and lets you go. Scrambling off of him you’re careful not to look him in the eyes again, afraid of what might happen if you do. You grab up your purse and coat, the whole while you can feel the heated gaze of Ransom burning against you.

Foolishly you spare him a final glance before you slam the car door behind you, and you swear for a moment his blue eyes were a blazing red. You shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold.

You rush across the gravel parking lot and hastily make your way inside, chest heaving and nerves utterly rattled as you try and settle your erratic pulse. There’s something off about Ransom, and it’s more than just him being a rich, entitled creep. There’s something that’s not natural there, because the way he’s been invading your dreams and doing the most filthy things to you isn’t normal, nor is the way he had you lost and so pliant for him with nothing but that intense stare of his. And you’re sure you didn’t imagine the glowing red of his eyes when you managed to get away from him. He might truly be the devil, you’re convinced of it and you spend the rest of the day on edge because of that thought.

It’s not rational, you know that, but the rational explanation for what you’ve experienced is that you’re losing your mind. Despite everything that’s going on in your life you don’t think that’s it, but there’s no one you can talk to about this so you do your best to avoid thinking about it while you go through the motions.

Ignoring your worries becomes impossible though.

It happens while you’re filling the water buckets in the kennels, a chill crawls up your spine despite how warm they keep the interior of the building during winter. It feels like icy fingers skittering over your flesh. You spin around with a gasp of shock.

There’s no one there. You’re alone in the room.

You breathe out shakily, eyes widening when your breath comes out in a foggy puff of air. It shouldn’t be this cold, why is it cold inside? “Guys? Hey, did something happen to the heat?” You call out when you see the figure of someone passing by the door. No answer comes and when you take a step towards it the door suddenly slams shut on its own. You let out a small shriek and jump back, holding up the water hose with your finger on the nozzle trigger as if it’ll help anything.

A dog charges the door of its kennel, startling you enough that you drop the water hose with a scream. It sets off a chain reaction, the entire space is filled with the sounds of dogs barking and growling as they charge and slam themselves against the doors of their kennels. You try to calm the ones closest to you, but something has them worked up and fearful as they try to escape. You look around wildly, calling out for help but no one hears you over the din. Something catches your eye, and when you look you see something in the too dark, too shadowy corner across the room, it looks like the shape of a man’s silhouette. That isn’t what sets you running towards the door though, it’s the glowing red eyes that watch as your name is both a whisper and scream in your ears. A high pitched whine follows, and crimson drips from your nose as you clutch your ears and scream for it to stop.

Your throat feels raw from the screaming, but you can’t stop it or the fear that’s clawing at your mind telling you that you need to get away. Your hands scramble for the door handle, desperately pulling only to find that you can’t open it. It isn’t possible for this door to lock, there’s no key for it, no latch, and it never sticks. “Someone help! Help me!” You cry, yelling and beating your hand against the door. Tears stream down your cheeks and your pleading and pulling at the door becomes more frantic when you notice the shadows starting to stretch and creep towards you. The shape of the man in the corner looms closer as well, and the fear that grips you makes you choke on every attempt to take in air.

Suddenly you’re sent sprawling across the floor, the door being forced open by the shelter manager and another volunteer. They take in your crying, trembling form curled up on the ground and all the barking, growling, and rattling kennel doors and even they feel the chill in the air.

Then it all stops, the noise dies out in an instant. The dogs are quieting down and settling in their kennels, the air is suddenly warm and comfortable again, the shadows aren’t as exaggerated. If you didn’t know better you’d say that you were imagining it all, but you know it was real.

“The door…th-the door was locked.” You stammer out, flinching when the shelter manager reaches out to help you up off of the floor. You sniffle, taking the outstretched hand and let him pull you to your feet and check you over. “The door was locked.” You repeat weakly, wiping at your wet cheeks in an attempt to pull yourself together.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I don’t know what happened, but it’s okay.” You reach for your ring finger, twisting the metal band repeatedly but it doesn't calm you. “Uhh…look why don’t you take the rest of the day. We can make do without you, let me order you an Uber to get you home. You nod, numb and silent as you try to understand what just happened. Were you losing your mind? Had you imagined it?

You swipe a hand under your nose and it comes away smeared with blood.

No, you hadn’t imagined it.

The ride home is spent quietly, this driver is thankfully not chatty and you’re left to stare despondently out the window of the backseat until the car pulls up in front of the house. No sooner have you stepped out of the car do you receive a text from an unfamiliar number. You open it to find a video attachment and a message that says Read me. It’s against your better judgement but your day has been filled with stress and horror, you think that it can’t possibly get any worse.

You’ve never been more wrong in your life.

The video that plays on your screen is of your uncle. It’s not the best quality video and there’s no sound, but it’s clearly from a security camera, and it's clear enough to identify him as it shows him committing the crime that he’s been accused of. Your stomach drops, and you feel like you’re going to be sick. You don’t know what to do or what to think so you do the only thing you can and that’s call the number that the video came from. You’re shaking as you wait for the line to pick up, and when it’s answered you feel unsteady and dizzy.

“Hello, lamb. My car should be pulling up shortly, and you have a choice to make. Get in it and come to me, or don’t and I’ll let the prosecution have this video.” The goes dead, and as if on cue a black town car pulls up behind you and stops in the same spot that your Uber had been moments ago. You feel like you’re on autopilot as you move on unsteady legs to the back door. You slide into the car, and the moment the door is closed the driver is pulling away and carrying you off to what you feel will be your doom.

You’re passive and don’t fight when you arrive at the secluded house, not even the sight of Brock is enough to snap you out of the robotic task of being led into the lion’s den. He takes in the sight of you, ripped jeans and an old t-shirt. A pair of well worn sneakers cover your feet, and your curls are piled on top of your head with a scarf, and the most make up you have on is a flavored lip balm. Brock scoffs at the sight of you, but you ignore him and try to brace yourself for whatever price Ransom is about to demand from you.

“You’re lucky the boss told me to keep my hands to myself. I owe you for that shit you pulled last time, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

You say nothing, simply staring ahead at the house as you move closer and closer. Once inside you’re led into what looks like an office, and Ransom sits comfortably in an armchair sipping a glass of something amber colored. He dismisses Brock for the evening, and once he leaves it’s just the two of you and no one else for miles.

“Where did you get that video?” You say, finally speaking and finding that your voice is a little hoarse from the ordeal earlier. You want to accuse him of being the thing to torment you earlier, but you fear saying it out loud and you know it sounds crazy.

God you feel like you’re being attacked on all sides.

“Doesn’t matter where I got it from, what matters is that I’m the one that has it and I can cause a lot of pain with it.” Ransom replies, smirking as he sips at his drink.

“He told me he didn’t do it, he lied to me. Why should I care anymore?” You don’t mean that, you know it and he knows it but the way he grins at you tells you that he isn’t done making you regret ever meeting him.

“He told you he didn’t do it because admitting the reason why he did would crush you.” Ransom replies, getting up and wandering over to where he’s got a bottle of whatever he’s drinking sitting. He plucks up a second glass and pours a shot's worth of the liquid, you can’t see what he’s doing clearly so you miss the drop of something that he adds to the drink before he saunters over and holds it out to you. You don’t touch the glass, shaking your head at it because you don’t drink and because you need to keep a clear head.

“If you know why he did it then just tell me.” You say, preparing yourself for the worst.

Ransom just chuckles darkly, and shoves the glass into your hands until you reluctantly take it. “He did it because of you, lamb.” He says falsely sweet. “Apparently that poor poor man he killed was overheard making some not so kind comments about you and what he planned on doing once he got his hands on you.” Ransom watches as you blink back tears and mindlessly lift the glass to your lips and gulp down the liquor with a choking cough and a grimace as it burns down your throat. “I should thank your uncle, him killing that idiot put you on the path to me.” He sighs, watching you sway as the little addition he’s added to your drink starts to kick in. “You could have been locked up in some psycho’s basement, but instead you’re here with me.”

You sway again, head swimming and dizzy as the glass drops from your hand and bounces on the plush carpet. You slump forward right into Ransom’s waiting arms, he strokes a thumb over the apple of your cheek with a grin. “My sweet little lamb.” Is the last thing you hear before darkness takes you.

It’s hours, or possibly a day, when you come to you aren’t sure which. All you know is that your head feels heavy, and so do your limbs. Cottonmouth has your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth and you desperately want for a sip of water. You try to move, hoping to make it to the bathroom sink to quell this hellish thirst. That’s when you realize you’re bound, rope wound around your wrists and winding up the length of your arms to keep you secured to something hard and wooden. You struggle, turning your head to either side to see that your arms are tied outstretched to a wooden cross.

“Finally awake, I was starting to worry that I had given you too much of that little potion.” Ransom’s voice is just loud enough to fill your head with a dull ache, and you groan pitifully.

“Please, I need water.” You croak, head rolling forward on your shoulders to hang heavily as you clenched your eyes shut against the dim lights that illuminate the room. Ransom hums in thought, observing you for a moment before wandering over to a small table and mixing a few things together. He approaches with a glass of something fizzy and sweet smelling, but you don’t trust him to drink considering the fact he’s clearly already drugged you. He brings the glass to your lips, and you turn away with a sound of protest. You hear the growl of frustration before you feel his fingers tightly gripping you by the jaw and tipping your head back so he can pour the concoction into your mouth.

He doesn’t give you a choice in swallowing it, covering your mouth and nose with his large hand until you're forced to swallow the sweet drink down. You don’t know what it is, but it seems to remedy everything that’s affecting you. Your head clears, the dryness in your mouth is sated, and the taste of stale liquor is gone. Your limbs no longer feel heavy and useless, you’re more aware of the state you’re in as well. Realizing that you’re bound and stripped down to your bra and panties, it prompts you to begin to struggle against your bonds.

Ransom’s amused laughter fills your ears, and you sag against the cross in defeat. “Now that you have a clear head, you’re welcome by the way, let’s revisit that deal you originally wanted to make.”

You shake your head, wrists tugging against the bright red ropes that keep you bound to the cross. They dig into your skin, and pull tighter each time you pull at them. Ransom lets his tongue run slowly over his plump bottom lip as he watches you struggle in vain, chuckling when you make a frustrated noise. “This doesn’t feel like a negotiation,” you’re exposed enough that it’s causing you to feel embarrassed and ashamed, and all you want to do is get your arms free so you can shield yourself from his hungry gaze.

“The choice is yours, lamb.” He begins, ignoring your protests when he steps in closer. “Deny me again, and you can go free. Your uncle, however, well once he loses the expensive lawyers and the prosecution receives the full video of the murder it’s very likely that he won’t stand a chance against the death sentence.” He lets his words sink in for a moment before he offers the counter. “Or you give me what I want, and I promise he’ll spend the rest of his days well taken care of.”

“What type of choice is that? I either let my uncle die or I let you have your way?” You can feel the tears brimming again and God you are so sick and tired of crying today so you fight them back shaking your head as you begin to take in short choppy breaths.

“Well when you put it that way…” Ransom is amused by your crisis, and he knows out of the two options there’s only one you’ll choose. You’re too sweet, too giving, and too selfless to leave someone you care about to a fate like the one your uncle is facing. And of course there’s the guilt, misplaced as it is, it works in Ransom’s favor just as well.

“You’re the devil.” You say sadly, knowing exactly what corner you’ve been backed into. The laughter that leaves Ransom is mocking and cruel and with an iron grip he grabs you by the jaw to force you to look into his wickedly grinning face.

“Not the devil, lamb, but close enough. Now, what’s it going to be?”

You open your mouth to speak, eyes cast down and voice barely above a whisper. “I—you promise my uncle will be spared? You’ll make sure he’s okay?”

Ransom nods, lessening his grip and letting his hand drift down to settle around your throat. The feeling of his thumb brushing over your pulse point makes you shiver, and you hate that such a simple touch is capable of stoking the heat between your thighs despite the situation. You don’t know why, but you blame the dreams and how they seem to have primed your body to react to his touch alone. You resist the urge to try and lean into it, you don’t even understand why you want to or why the blooming heat is steadily growing.

“Okay.” It feels like the final nail in your coffin when you say the word, and an eerie silence seems to settle around the room until the only thing you hear is your breathing and his.

Ransom drops his gaze to scan your barely covered body, and when he looks back up and meets your gaze you go to scream, but before you can his hand is squeezing tighter and choking off the noise. Blue eyes are glowing red, and you know for sure now that nothing you’ve been experiencing has been imagined. “No—you...”

Not the devil, lamb, but close enough.

The words echo in your mind, and you tremble at the way the shadows in the room seem to come from him. It had been him. The dark force that had tormented you earlier in the day, you know now without a doubt that it and Ransom are one in the same. “What—” You’re trying not to panic again, but all you want to do is scream and run. “What are you?” You’re afraid to ask but you need to know, you need the confirmation even if it won’t help you or bring you any peace of mind.

He runs a finger over the swells of your breasts, licking his lips as he contemplates whether or not he feels like answering that question. “The better question is who am I, lamb.” He says softly, pressing into your space to whisper against the shell of your ear. “They call me many things. The final persecutor, the beast from the abyss, the man of sin, the son of perdition, son of the devil. Just to name a few.”

Your body goes tense, eyes wide with fear and understanding of what he is claiming. You remember the stories from Sunday school, and bible study, you know who those titles belong too.

The Antichrist.

“No! This can’t happen! I can’t do this, I take it back!” This is so much worse than you thought before, and you feel every bit the sacrificial lamb bound in red ropes to the cross he’s secured you to.

“The deal has been struck, I will have what was promised.” His voice carries an edge that makes you attempt to shrink away only to be reminded that you can’t escape. His hands tear your bra and panties to scraps, and he hums in approval at the sight of you fully exposed and at his disposal. You let out a broken sound, tears threatening to fall again as you try desperately to fight them off. His hands wander over you, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts before pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefingers to tweak and roll them in between the pads of his digits. You bite back the sound that wants to desperately claw its way out of you, chest heaving with the effort to not simply give in to this monster’s depravity.

“I’ve thought of having you since that night you came seeking me out, but I know your type.” He sighs, bending to press his face into your neck so that he can inhale your scent. His teeth nip at you seconds later, drawing out a surprised yelp. “Innocent, and sweet. You would have never come to me so easily if I hadn’t resorted to a few dirty tricks.” He admits, drawing back to see the way your brows furrow and your expression twists with the realization that he’s been setting you up for this very moment. “How did you enjoy those dreams I sent you?” His hand snakes down your front, sliding between your clenched thighs and forcing them apart so he can cup your hot core in the palm of his hand. “I’d say you enjoyed them quite a bit.” He chuckles when he feels you’re already wet, and getting wetter for him. You gasp when you feel the heel of his palm grinding against your clit, the sudden burst of pleasure shooting through you like a jolt of electricity. He dips a finger into your slick entrance, hissing at the tightness of your untouched cunt.

When he withdraws he holds up his hand to show you the shining slickness that coats his finger. You look away, sniffling when he brings it to his lips and sucks it clean with a groan of satisfaction at the taste of you. It's better than any drug he's imbibed, and you just might turn out to be his new addiction. He needs more, and so Ransom chooses to go straight to the source while he watches you wallowing in shame and guilt for the way your body is betraying you.

“Are you gonna cry for me?” He teases, dropping to a knee to bring your legs up to drape over his shoulders. “Tastes so much fuckin’ sweeter when you cry.” You don’t mean to, but his cruel taunting finally makes you break. The tears roll down your cheeks, and a broken sob claws its way out of you when feel his hot tongue dragging through your folds.

“N-no, please. Don’t, Ran—“ Your words cut off as a sharp cry replaces them. Ransom's teeth bite down hard on your inner thigh, and you know a bruise will be left behind.

“You’ll call me, Sir. And you’re to be silent unless you’re begging me for more.” He commands and no sooner has he spoken is he back to pressing his hot mouth to your core. You bite back the sounds of pleasure that are threatening to come out of you. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard that you taste the coppery zing of your blood.

Ransom's tongue laps its way up to your clit, and your attempt to jerk your hips away from his menacing mouth are met with a sharp slap to the outside of your thigh. Tongue swirling over your sensitive bud, his glowing red gaze is on your face, watching the way you try to deny your pleasure. He seals his lips around your clit, sucking at it with enough pressure that you can’t help but cry out and let your moans finally be heard. You feel him pressing a finger into you again, working you open enough for him to tease a second digit into your quivering entrance. The stretch is more than you could ever expect and you clamp down around them as Ransom begins to drag his thick digits in and out of you.

He’s done this in your dreams but those dreams are nothing compared to reality, and you feel yourself nearing your peak at an alarming rate. You squirm and try to escape before he pushes you to that point. Ransom keeps you in place with a firm hold, his free hand grips against your hip hard enough to bruise. He pushes you right to the edge and just when you think he might send you flying over he stops. Pulling away from your slick, quivering sex with a wet pop, Ransom grins up at you before standing to his full height. “So sweet, sweeter than I could have ever imagined.”

You say nothing, transfixed on the way your arousal glistens against his mouth, and frustrated by the way he’s left you aching and unfulfilled. The shame of knowing your body had given in, even worse that you’re disappointed that he had stopped before you could finish.

“Don’t pout, lamb. I’m far from done with you, and I’ll have you begging soon.” He coos before capturing your lips in a rough kiss that has the taste of your arousal and blood from your split lip mixing. He kisses you deep, stealing your breath and pressing you back against the cross he’s tied you to. You can feel the corners of the wooden beam digging into your back, it's uncomfortable but Ransom doesn't seem to take that into consideration. He growls into your mouth, gripping your body so tight that you squirm, whimpering against his mouth. Ransom forces his tongue into your mouth, and he can taste the very essence of you, and it nearly makes him abandon his plans to draw this out and make you beg for him to give you more.

Nearly, but not quite.

Your head is cloudy and swimming, but through the haze you can feel him sliding those two fingers back into you without warning. You’re so slick that you swear you can hear the faint schlick, schlick, schlick of your sex being toyed with. You catch yourself beginning to return the damning kiss, realizing a second too late and jerking your head away with panting breaths. This man, if he can be called that, is dragging you further and further into this twisted game. “You’re trying so hard not to give in, but this body is screaming out for me.” He says with a dark chuckle, fingers pumping shallowly into you just enough to tease and keep you on edge. You shake your head, denying the obvious truth that despite your efforts you’re dripping for him and aching in a way that no one has ever had you aching before. Part of you just wishes for him to force the climax out of you, at least then you can say you tried to resist. He doesn’t, instead he drags it out and teases his thumb over your clit until you’re at the edge again just for him to stop. “Beg me for it, and I’ll let you have it.”

By the sixth denial of your climax there are fresh tears on your cheeks from the frustration, shame, and embarrassment at being brought to this point. Ransom makes the bargain again. Beg me for it. You try to fight it but when you feel his fingers beginning to slow again you break with a choked sob and a “please, please not again.” You hate this, you hate feeling so needy and desperate but that’s exactly what he’s turned you into and you just want the relief he’s been denying you.

“Say it, lamb. Please, sir let me cum.” He instructs, smirking at your trembling form and admiring how he’s broken you down.

You whine behind your teeth, the feeling of helplessness fueling the neediness in your voice when you repeat his words. “Please, sir let me cum.” You say, trying not to think about how weak you sound or the wet squelch when he suddenly pulls his fingers from you. The sound of despair that escapes you is involuntary and your brows furrow in confusion. You’ve done what he wants, and you don’t understand why he’s not making good on his promise.

Ransom senses your discontent and confusion and chuckles, stripping off his soft blue sweater and the shirt he wears under it. His hands drop to his belt, and he makes a show of pulling it off before doing away with his pants. You can’t help the way your eyes are transfixed on him as he bares himself to you, and he relishes in the way you suck in a breath at the sight of his cock thick and hard as beads of precum dribble from its head. You press your thighs together, fearful of the prospect of him trying to fit so much into you. “Oh, did you think I was going to let you cum on my fingers?” He questions mockingly, reaching down to lift your legs and making you wrap them around his narrow waist. “The only way you’re cumming tonight is on my cock.” He tells you, and your breath comes out in quick pants when you feel the blunt tip of his length running through your folds as he collects and smears your wetness over it.

“I—no please, please I’ve never…I’m not ready, and it won’t fit.” You’re aware that he won’t stop until he has what he wants.

“Oh I know, lamb. I know this is the first time, but trust me I'll make it fit.” His blazing gaze shifts to the silver band on your right hand. “I’ll make it good for you.” He says, and it does nothing to comfort you when you feel him at your entrance. You suck in a breath just as he pushes in with a hiss at how tight you are. When he presses further, and breaches the barrier that marks your virginity, the strained sound that comes out of you is one of surprise and pain. His fingers are no match for his cock when he starts to fill you, and you clamp down around him so tightly that he has to still and calm himself. He expects you to be tight, but the way your body is squeezing him is beyond perfection. You’re like a vise around him, and while it feels good for him, he needs you to relax enough to let him move. “Look at me.” It’s an order, and when you don’t immediately comply he startles you with the inhuman growl that rumbles out of him. Your eyes snap to his expecting to see the blazing red still there, but instead it’s the icy blues that drag you under and fog your mind with his influence and make your thoughts drift away. “Now breathe, and relax.”

You release the breath you were holding, and with it goes the tension in your body. Soon your walls are fluttering around him, and your hips are squirming just the smallest bit as if your body is begging for more. Ransom takes it as his cue and begins to thrust into you, going deeper with each one and touching spots within you that you never knew existed. His grunts, and groans of pleasure mix with your moans and cries to fill your ears as he fucks you on the cross. “Fuck, told you I’d make it fit, lamb” He grunts, a hand moving to your thigh and the other gripping your ass as he ruts into you. “Knew this cunt would take me just fine, greedy little thing doesn’t wanna let me go does she?” He continues, and you feel the way your body clenches around him at that. Ransom curses, head rolling back on his shoulders for a moment while he loses himself in the way your body seems to suck him deeper with every thrust until he’s buried to the hilt.

There’s a voice that you hear, pleading and begging for more, in the part of your mind that’s still yours and not under his influence you realize that it’s you. He happily obliges, moving faster as changing the angle of his thrusts just so to hit a spot inside you that has you cumming before you realize what’s happening. You cry out, outstretched arms struggling in the ropes keeping you bound as the wave of overwhelming pleasure crashes over you. Ransom surges forward, burying his face in your neck to suck and bite bruises against your skin. Without that eye contact the hypnotic spell he’s had you under breaks and it’s disorienting as you try to ground yourself. It’s an impossible task and a sob of pleasure sputters out of you, incoherent words following when Ransom’s hips continue to pump his cock into your sensitive, pulsing cunt.

You want to tell him that it’s too much, that you can’t take anymore and that the sensations are becoming too overwhelming but you can’t form the words. All you can do is struggle in your bonds, and pray that he’ll finish soon. When his fingers move from gripping your ass to drift between your thighs, and you feel the rough circles he draws against your clit you scream. Another climax crashes over you, clenching your eyes shut you swear you can see stars bursting behind them as your body shudders and your thighs tremble. The pleasure is quickly turning maddening and you try to focus on anything but the electric pleasure that’s shooting up your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body.

“P-please, please, t-too much, ‘s too m-much.” You babble out, crying out in frustrated pleasure as he forces a third orgasm from you.

“Shh shh, gonna fill you up soon.” He breathes against your skin before sucking another bruise onto your neck. The fourth climax has you reeling, and it pulls him over the edge along with you. Your fluttering walls milking his cock of his spend as he cums deep inside your overwrought body with a loud moan of pleasure. You’re panting, and shaking in the aftermath, tears on your cheeks and mind in a haze. When he pulls out you whine, and sag heavily against the cross. He takes the moment to admire his handiwork before he reaches for your right hand to pull your purity ring from your finger with a taunting laugh. “This is mine now, think I’ll put it on a chain and wear it. A nice little reminder that even the innocent ones can turn into cock drunk whores.” You don't have the energy to speak, and there are no more tears that you can cry so you say nothing. Ransom seems satisfied, and a moment later you’re crumpling to the ground when the ropes keeping your arms bound vanish. “You and I are going to have so much fun, lamb.” You hear him say as you passively lay there unable to bring yourself to look up at him, afraid of what you’ll see. Instead you close your eyes and let the exhaustion take you away to a dreamless sleep.

You don’t know for how long you sleep but when you wake up the news is playing on the television and you’re in a bed instead of on the floor where you’d fallen. You’re cleaned up, still bare, and you clutch the covers to your chest when you realize. Ransom is nowhere to be seen and you think now might be a good time to try to find your clothes and run. Something on the television catches your attention, the news anchor says your uncle’s name and mentions something that makes you freeze at the edge of the bed.

“Opening statements were made today in the case of the horrific and brutal murder of…” it fades out and you realize that you weren’t there because you were here offering yourself up like a lamb for slaughter. “…the defense is arguing against the death penalty, and instead pleading insanity. If found guilty but insane it’s very likely that he will spend the rest of his life in a psychiatric facility.

You stare dumbly at the television, trying to process what you just heard when the sound of Ransom’s smooth voice suddenly reaches your ears. “Look at that, my little lamb is finally awake.”

You try to scramble away when he takes a step closer but the soreness between your thighs has you wincing and hissing in pain. “You lied to me! You told me you’d help my uncle and that you’d take care of him!” Ransom laughs, shoulders bouncing lightly as continues to close in on you.

“No, I promised you that he would be well taken care of for the rest of his days, and he will be.” His smile takes on a mean edge as he reaches you and begins to tug at the covers you’re desperately clutching. “He will get the best care possible while he lives out the rest of his life heavily medicated and locked up with the criminally insane. So much better than a death sentence don’t you think?”

He knows that it’s not and that’s what makes it cruel. Your uncle would call it a fate worse than death, and you’re the one that’s condemned him to it by trying to make a deal with something evil. “I need to call my aunt.” You murmur, trying to move carefully across the bed. Ransom is on you before you manage to slip away, pulling the covers from your naked body. He hovers over you, and you can see that he’s made good on another promise as well. Your purity ring hangs around his neck from a silver chain, dangling in your face and taunting you with the shameful memory of the prior night. You try to even out your breathing, but it becomes difficult when you feel Ransom’s weight settling between your thighs. Wincing you let out a pained noise. “Not again, please. I’m sore, and I just want to call my aunt.”

Ransom rolls his eyes, shaking his head and grinds against you despite the pained noise you make. “That’s fine, lamb. You’ve got two other holes for me to claim.” He chuckles darkly against your mouth before claiming it in a demanding kiss. “If you can talk once I’m done with your mouth I’ll let you call her, deal?”

[wishfullyeternal]

Enzo x Reader- For Eternity

Enzo x Reader- For Eternity

Words- 1,970

Warnings- Graphic depictions of blood, violence, character death, cursing.

A/N- Back at it again, I haven't watched much stranger things but I watched the season finale and fell in love with Enzo. This is written to purely go with my plot, and probably follows no rules in the actual universe. I don't care though I just love Enzo. Feel free to send requests! As always, love you lovelies!

"Enzo," I said into the walkie-talkie, standing outside of Hopper's home.

A strange green hue filled the sky, clouds so thick I could feel them on the surface of my skin. A layer of wetness condensated onto my clothes, hair, and body. Mixed in with sweat I felt like I had just gotten out of the ninth circle of hell.

"Dimitri," I continued to speak into the microphone, looking at the clouds arriving fast. Whatever this was, it happened to be moving, and fast.

"Yes?" A voice on the other line made me silently sigh in relief

"Enzo come outside right now..." I waited, looking at the rapidly approaching fleet of cloud cover on Hopper's wooded yard. He walked past me and looked up to the sky, eyes widening.

"что за черт..." He said, mouth agape.

"Wake up Hopper." He said, going out further to investigate. I felt an overwhelming sense of panic fill my soul. It felt like a legion of demons was about to attack me from the clouds. I felt like my salvation lie ahead of me away from the green, and Lucifer was behind me, trying to keep me from safety.

I almost ran inside the house, my heart burning from the stress.

"Hopper!" I yelled, checking through the rooms. He scrambled out of the last room and looked at me, the whites of his eyes brighter than the light illuminating the hallway. He had grabbed a jacket and put it over his pajamas, pushing in front of me to see whatever lay ahead.

"You've got to see this," I said, motioning quickly towards the door. As he ran outside, I followed swiftly behind, afraid to be alone in any situation, especially one like this.

"The Hive..." Hopper said, clenching his fists and shaking his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose and thought for an agonizing few seconds.

"Get in the car, we need to find where it's rooted," He continued

"If we stop it before it fully roots, then we can make up enough time to find the others, and plan to finally defeat this damn thing." Hopper started towards the car, Enzo quickly nodded and climbed into the car. The roar of the engine was the only noise to break through the stagnant air.

The drive became more and more green as the clouds began to thicken even more than I could imagine. It looked as though we were wading through a sea of fog. Eventually, we stopped at an abandoned house, sedentary particles of what seemed to be snow layered around the yard.

"Hopper what the hell is this place, and what the hell are we going to do?" I said, trying to wrap my head around this situation. 

Hopper sighed and got out of the car. We both followed as he opened up the car. A multitude of guns, ammo, and different weapons were neatly sorted into piles as if he were planning this for quite a while.

"Fight." He grabbed a shotgun and pistol, then gave me a machete, pistol, and extra magazines. Enzo grabbed the last pistol, a greatsword, and a hunting rifle.

"Well, let's hope he hasn't rooted too far into here," Hopper said. Enzo broke the monologue by quipping,

"Sometimes I wonder if this is ever going to end," He shakes his head and closes his eyes, then opens them and begins in. I follow, pistol in hand, rifle strapped around my back.

The house is covered in black roots, seeming to breathe with the house.

"Stay by me малютка" Enzo whispers, quietly stepping over the roots. We make our way up the steps, into what seems to be the middle. Hopper stayed on the main floor, looking for anything to give us more information on where the Venca was, and how he was making this his home.

I step on an extra squeaky floorboard and scare myself, stepping back directly onto a root.

"Oh shit-" I am quickly wrapped by roots digging painfully into my skin and flying me towards the far wall. I hit it with enough force to crack the wood paneling and scream in pain. Enzo's eyes widen in shock, barely able to comprehend what is happening. I heard a sudden scraping noise, almost as if the roots were connected to a single entity. It's coming from deep within the house, continuing for several seconds, then silence. I let out a cry which startled even me. I was no longer consciously reacting to the noise, nor the suffocation of the roots against my limbs. The cry was a subconscious response to the fear which flowed through my entire body. In a panic, I began to fight against the roots. With every breath I took it seemed to tighten even more around me. I felt one slither across my neck, sharp thorns creating deep puncture wounds across the way.

"малютка!" Enzo yelled, fear evident in his stature as he ran towards me, eyes glued to the ground. He began to slash at the roots around me, black liquid oozing out of them. I screamed again, a thorn breaking its way through the thin skin of my neck, and coming so extremely close to hitting every vital stem in my body.

"Enzo please," I begged, tears blurring my vision.

"I'm trying, please, hang on!" He slashed again, and then pulled out his gun. He shot away at the roots and managed to send one flying to the other side of the room.

"Enzo it's choking me," I croaked, eyes beginning to blur my surroundings and darken.

"Hang on мой дорогой" He aimed his gun again, struggling to take aim and blow away the one on my neck. Once that one was severed, the roots loosened on my now purple appendages. The new blood rushing through them made me burn as though Lucifer himself was pouring hellfire on my hands. I cried out in pain, bringing my hands to my neck. They came back covered in blood as Enzo lifted me up, taking me quickly out of the house. He shot a few roots in his way and almost got caught up in one above him.

"Enzo..." I said quietly, eyes fading away into darkness, I coughed and felt the taste of blood fill my mouth. I swallowed and said,

"I love you," He walked out the door of the house, and that was when my consciousness finally faded.

"Please, don't die now," Enzo muttered to himself, ripping a piece of fabric from his shirt in order to close the deep wound on my neck. I needed a medic before I bled out.

Enzo wasn't the type to hope, nor pray. But at the sight of me in the hospital, it was all he could do.

"Please wake up, please." He begged, grabbing my hand slowly, afraid that if he created one more scratch, one more strain on an already broken bone, I would die right then and there. He imagined himself as the bull in the china shop, me being the most expensive piece.

"Протяни свою руку, наполненную исцелением. Поднимите ее с постели и обработайте ее травмы. Аминь." He gently kissed the back of my hand, allowing it to rest in his callused hands. The tubes coming from my mouth and veins scared him. He hasn't slept in days, even though his eyes are begging for rest. Hopper has offered to watch but was always met with the same,

"It's my responsibility, Jim." He states it in a clear voice, almost as if he speaking to someone higher up than him, rather than Hopper. The heart monitor has infiltrated his subconscious, a constant reminder of the pain I had endured.

I finally wake up to a tube being taken out of my mouth. Enzo is quietly staring at me in the corner, watching the doctors and nurses crowd around me, attaching and detaching multiple cords and tubes. Hopper is looking through the window, and relief floods both of their faces. I cough, and the same stagnant particles from before erupt from my mouth, slowly moving through the air. The doctors look nervous, and quickly page for something I couldn't hear. They leave, closing the door, leaving Enzo and Hopper staring through the window. I grab for one of the particles and struggle to find out what it could be. I look back at them and smile slightly.

They are speaking to each other, worry plastered on their faces. Hopper says his last sentence, which causes Enzo to turn away and take a deep breath. I stare back.

"She's infected Enzo." He starts, Enzo turns to him and sighs,

"What does this mean..."He closes his eyes and holds his breath.

"The spores have invaded her lungs, and soon will travel through her blood, and to her vital organs." Hopper didn't have to say anything else. Tears began to pool at the back of Enzo's eyes, but he keeps his composure. I've failed her. He thinks.

"She's going to die isn't she." Hopper doesn't say anything, and it's all he needs to hear.

Enzo walks briskly out of the hospital, tears flowing freely down his face.

All. Because. Of. Me.

His stomach feels as though it will heave up anything in it, yet there is nothing to give. Muscles clench, and he bites his lip to try and control himself. He goes to Hopper's car, to maybe try and take a rest, or do something...Anything. Anything to try and distract himself from the fact she was going to die.

"She's going to die, because of me." He thinks. He silently weeps, chest heaving in and out with such motion it feels as though waves are crashing throughout his entire body.

"Все моя вина" He screams, desperately trying to evade the emotions of her imminent death. He didn't realize he had punched through the passenger side window, glass shards covering the seat. His knuckles are now stained with blood, dripping onto the pavement.

He can't feel it though, the intense feeling of dread, death, and anger overtakes any other stimuli.

All this time. The years, weeks, days, and hours lived. All to come back to this moment. This is her end, her calling. The end of the string.

She could have been so much more. If only he could have done something, anything.

He sinks to the asphalt, bloodied hands covering his face.

It was always going to be her, wasn't it? She was always the one destined to sacrifice herself for us.

He wipes the blood from his face and runs back to the hospital. People look at him in bewilderment, but he can barely discern their faces. He takes one look at Hopper and opens the door. Hopper grabs for his hand but he had already slipped through.

"Oh малютка, what has happened to you?" He smiles ever so slightly and I smile back. I reach out for his hand, particles still floating around the room, moving as though they had a mind of their own. He squeezes it reassuringly and grabs the chair next to him. I scoot over though, and motion for him to climb in next to me. Hopper is knocking at the window, but I pay no attention. My eyes are stuck to Enzo, watching as he lays gently next to me. I wrap my arms around him, snuggling my face into his chest.

"Why did those doctors leave Enzo? He frowns for a second and says not to worry.

"You'll be alright медовый”

"Promise?"

"Promise."

A single particle lays between us, and Enzo waves it away.

"For eternity my dear."

Translations- (I am not Russian and these are probably wrong, I apologize lol)

что за черт- What the hell?

милочка- Little one

мой дорогой- My dear

Протяни свою руку, наполненную исцелением. Поднимите ее с постели и обработайте ее травмы. Аминь.- Reach out your hand filled with healing. Get her out of bed and treat her injuries. Amen

Все моя вина- All my fault

медовый- Honey

[bnha-dumpster]

What about centaur denki fucking the absolute crap out of the reader 😳

oh i love this. this is in a slightly more fantasy world. have fun with a non-human reader too. i can’t believe i looked up horse anatomy for this.

pairing: centaur kaminari x slime male reader content tags/warnings: monster on monster, belly bulge, cumflation, milking word count: 1.4k

Slimes aren’t exactly the best monster to be cornered by. They’re difficult to fight considering what their bodies are made of, they rarely have any sort of consciousness and worst of all, they’re constantly hungry. So when Kaminari is cornered by a group of a green slimes, he thinks he’s doomed. 

“Sorry, sorry!” 

A male voice catches him by surprise and he sees you coming out of the woods. You’re made of the same green gelatinous substance as the slimes surrounding him and they instantly focus on you when you enter their line of sight. They hop over to you, nuzzling against your form. He has to take a moment to process it. There’s some who talk about the infamous “slime people” who exist among the groups of slimes, usually being their leaders. He never believed it, but now that you’re standing in front of him, he has to believe them.

“They’re a bit hungry. They see anything move and assume it’s food. You weren’t hurt, were you?” You take a few steps towards the centaur, shooing the small slimes back into the forest. “Could I help you with anything? Are you lost?”

You can’t help your doting nature. The small slimes don’t have the ability to really think on their own. They see something moving and chase after it. You always have to watch over them so they don’t get in trouble, so they don’t get hurt. It translates towards any other living being you come across.

“I’m alright! So... Never seen one of you before.”

“We tend to stay out of sight, you know? It’s safer.” You give him the bare minimum for an explanation. A tinge of hunger goes through you and you shift uncomfortably, a few bubbles growing in your form. 

Kaminari notices and he takes a step forward, looking you over for a moment. You look uneasy to him, like you’re almost waiting for the conversation to end. 

“Are you hungry too?” He opens his pouch, pulling out a bit of dried meat to offer to you. It’s clear he’s not sure what a slime actually eats but he wants to help. When you don’t take it, he starts thinking about what you might eat but he can’t come up with anything. “Uh- what exactly do slimes eat?” 

“Technically slimes can eat anything that’s living, but...” Slimes can’t blush, but if you could, you would. “I don’t like hurting people so I think that consuming bodily fluids is better...”

“Huh?”

How Kaminari wound up with you on your knees, lapping at the precum leaking from his cock, is lost on him. Your tongue feels strange yet pleasant. This entire situation can be described that way as well.

“Does it feel good?” You peek out from under him, looking at his face for any signs of discomfort. “Should I stop?”

“No, you’re good. Could we try something else, though?” He watches you nod and get out from under him, your body jiggling slightly as you move. The centaur can’t stop himself from reaching out to grab at your body, fingers sinking into the slime. You let out a small moan and only makes him want to touch you more. 

He pushes you against a nearby tree so he can properly grab at your form, enjoying the way his fingers sink into it slightly. Even though you’re made completely of slime, you don’t lose your humanoid form when he grabs you. Your body must be some sort of erogenous zone from how much you’re squirming and moaning. It’s only confirmed when you a cock forms from the slime and slaps gently against your stomach.

“You... Did you just make a dick?” 

“It’s a reflex, okay?!” Your voice’s pitch and volume is raised as you respond. It’s obvious to both of you that you’re aroused by the situation. There’s a strange fluid leaking from the tip of your cock that can only be an imitation of precum. Kaminari reaches out to touch it, watching how it twitches from the feeling of his hand. 

“Fuck, that’s hot...” He has to lean down to properly wrap his hand around your cock but he doesn’t mind. The way you squirm and whimper shows that no one has ever touched you like this. No one has ever returned the favor. Even if you did it as a way to eat, you were still making that person feel good.

“Okay, where’s a tree stump or something? I’m gonna make you feel the best you’ve ever felt in your whole life.” 

Excitement fills you and you eagerly take his hand and tug him into the forest. You practically throw yourself onto a large stump, your body jiggling from the impact. As you bend over onto it, you spread your ass and hold your cheeks open, showing where your hole would be. 

“You’re so eager, damn. Don’t worry, you’re gonna love this.” 

Kaminari trots over and puts his forelegs on the stump to lift himself up. It’s a little difficult finding where your body is without being able to see you, but one of your hands leave your ass to guide his cock towards you. He can feel the cool substance against the head of his cock and when he can make out your fingers holding yourself open, he pushes in.

Neither of you are sure how to describe the feeling of him sheathing his entire cock in your body. He doesn’t have to worry about hurting you at all. Your body doesn’t have any skin or organs, nothing to worry about squishing when he thrusts into you. 

“Shiiit, you feel amazing. You feel good too?” 

The moans and groans coming from you say everything for you. Your entire body is overcome with pleasure, an intense feeling you’re not used to. Part of you wants to turn into a pile of slime from the pleasure- but if you do that, you won’t get to feel it anymore.

“If I had a brain, yooouu-” Your body tenses and the slime surrounding Kaminari’s cock constricts for a moment as you cum. A sticky, white substance spurts from your cock and paints the tree stump. 

The centaur isn’t close to finishing at all. He’s planning on working you past several orgasms before he fills you with his cum. 

“Give me another one, okay? Cum on my cock again, cum for me.” 

It’s like your body is following his orders as you tense again, more cum coating the tree stump. Your cock twitches and stays attached to your stomach by a few strands of slime. Who knows when it’s going to go away, especially with your body feeling like it’s being constantly thrown into an orgasm. 

The blond is feeling like you’re entire soul is trying milk him dry- which you are, in a sense. You’re begging him with your body to give you his seed and feed you. His cock twitches and pulses inside you, especially when you reach into your own body to play with the head of it. Your fingers tease the slit of his cock and even dive in a little, rubbing the inside of his cock. 

“Fuck- yeah, keep doing that.” Kaminari’s hips stutter from your fingers. “Play with my cock more.”

You let your slime slide into his cock, sounding him. The slime goes as far as it can comfortably, reaching his prostate to tip him further towards his orgasm. It’s something he’s never experienced before and he lets out a confused moan. It almost feels wrong to have something thrusting in and out of his cock, but the feeling of it directly playing with his prostate overpowers it.

He continues to fuck you, pounding into you without a care. Your cock twitches against your abdomen and spurts more cum onto the tree stump. There’s a small stain on it now.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum! Take it-” 

As his cock twitches, your slime is pushed out of his cock followed by ropes of cum filling your body. The slime of your body clenches around Kaminari’s cock to milk out all the cum that he can possibly give. 

When he pulls out of you, none of his cum is left on his cock. It’s all inside you, not a single drop wasted. His cock retracts back into its sheath and he moves away to look down at you. You’re fucked out, belly full of his cum. The centaur gently turns you over onto your back so he can see your blissed face from the feeling of being completely full. 

“You okay?” 

“Mhm.” You smile up at him. “That felt amazing- I didn’t know I could feel that good.”

“I’m glad you felt good... I should probably head out, but I’d be willing to come back and feed you again. Keep you full and stuff.” Kaminari looks almost embarrassed to suggest it, not able to meet your eyes. 

“I’d love that. Right, I’m Y/N.” 

“I’m Denki. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”