#ruby dark cloud

[nintendumpster]

[myflawsburnthrumyskin]

dark side of the clouds

[dailyvideogamecharacters]

Ruby

Dark Cloud (2000)

[whereserpentswalk]

Look under the cut to see what meeting your entity is like. Reblog to give a gift to your patron.

The fae: a creature stands before you. Though this street was warm and crowded a few moments ago it is suddenly cold and the people around you look like shadows. The creature begins an antlered shadow with glowing white eyes, but soon its body can be seem, with white blue flesh, and sapphire eyes, and icicles for teeth. What looks like a cloak unfolds from its naked body and you can see massive white wings of a moth. As if it's an act of sacrifice you tell it your true name, a name you didn't even see before, and suddenly you belong to it, for better or worse.

The angel: a radiant entity appears before you. They're bright, like something so hot it would burn you up. But as the light fades, you can see a person in silver armor, perfect yet inhuman like am ancient green statue, their back srouting six wings with blue eyes along them, as the eyes on their head are covered by a mask of two smaller wings. The creature offers their hands and you shake it, as they fly you through the city streets and above the skyscrapers, to the stars above and dimensions beyond, to gods living and dead, across the streets of alien cities and the clouds of dead worlds. And when you return to the earth you can feel something diffrent about you, like there's light in your blood.

The scavenger: below the lights of skyscrapers beyond you, on the dark sands of the beach, you see it crawling twords you. This serpentine creature with countless legs, and a dark black shell, yet a strangely human like face. You think it'll attack or run away, but it just looks at you, egar, and for a momment you stare at eachother. It's legs pass something to eachother and then to you, it's meat but it's shining with all the colors known to the human eye, and a few more. You hold it and it happily looks at you. You take a bite and suddenly you know... you know so very much...

The vampire: she flies down to you on green wings with orange eyespots, but folds them into her back. She looks like a human for a momment, tall and strong, with a black suit over her body, but eyes the color of ruby. For a momment her mouth opens, and it's massive and monstrous, with countless moving parts and fangs. But then it folds back onto something humanoid and she gives you a playful smirk. She cuts her hand and offers you her blood, and when you drink it it tastes so sweet, and makes you feel so good. She hands you the knife and you know to do the same, and when she drinks from your palm it's life the sweetest of kisses.

The djinn: the room wirs around you. If it were not for the fans it would feel like hellfire. For a momment there it darkness, but then the screen before you glows white like smokeless flame. You can sense something inside, something beyond the code. You reach your hand within it, and there's no glass, your hand passess right through until you're in a white void of your own making. You call out, thinking there is nothing at all around you. Yet somehow something calls back, something that knows your name.

The rat king: You see him in an empty subway station. Something dark and distorted, you're not sure if he's man or animal, covered in rags, and singing in the language of the goblins and the orcs. Yet he comes close to you excited. And you can feel his song. He calls for you to come to the train tracks, and let yourself run with the rats and the roaches, where the train will pass over you when it comes, and you'll live forever. When you touch the third rail you don't die, but you'll never be human again.

The lich: the library is strangely bright. Run by skeletons in suits, decorated with gold. There are more books here then you thought were in all the world. There's knowledge here most mortals will never have the change below, all kept safe below the city. You see her, her body doesn't look human, everything has been replaced making her look more like a joining white doll then a being of flesh. Yet she is dead, you can tell that under the porcelain skin she must be dead, she is dead, and there is the tragedy of death in her eyes. You come closer to her, and she places a black rose within your hair...

The demon: You stand in his office and he stands before you, a humanoid being covered in black scales, with red eyes covering his skin. Yet none are on his head, that remains featureless save for two massive horns. Wings on his back nearly surround you. Countless souls line the walls of his office, looking at you, waiting. After you sign your name you give him yours, you can feel it come away for you forever and your eyes grey and your skin pales. But he puts the jar in a special place for you, you're spacial, he can tell there's something about you that he likes.

The mushroom lord: you walk through the darkness of the forest, the furthest from civilization you have ever been. You come upon a part where the trees all seem dead, that even the cryptids won't go near. Mushrooms fill the ground, and white vein like lines are all over the trees. You feel the need to lay down, and you let the moss and the mushrooms and the worms surround you, and let yourself sink into the soil,, and it feels good. It feels so good...

The witch: You can see them in the Cafe next to you, skinny and small, with a sweatshirt over most of their body, and dark glasses over their eyes. They seem powerful though, and though their body looks young they seem ancient, they seem beyond humanity. You talk to them and they tell you things, and secrets, lost gods, things you never knew you didn't know, both beautiful and disturbing. When it's time for them to go they pet your head, and give you their number. You don't know if you should text them, but you have to, you have to see them again, there's something about them that makes you need to know.

The living clothing: you step into it at first, it looked like a puddle yet shining like silver or chrome. But soon it surrounds you, first just your torso, but soon your head, your entire body. But it doesn't feel scary, it feels like you're being held, held by something beyond your understanding. It whispers to you, and you don't know if you should feel like your being eaten alive, or like you're being protected. You can't help but keep walking.

The abyss: the void is before you, blackness beyond blackness, like the color beyond the field of your vision, stands before your eyes. You stare at it, it's nothing yet you're entranced. It stares back...

[clownkiwi]

+ also im thinking of possibly reinstalling a ps2 game i tried earlier this year to play in my free time... idk which game tho...

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ FOR THE LOVE OF FLOWERS

violet; 4,403 words; fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, bartender!vi, florist!reader, (probably) incorrect depiction of florist/bartender life, sun and moon dynamic, so much pining, dad!vander, bff!mel, mylo and claggor being... mylo and claggor, mindless, tooth-rotting fluff, lapslock, no "y/n"

summary: in which you work at the flowershop directly across the street from the last drop.

a/n: happy belated valentines day!!! i know i have like a bunch of other wips but i wanted to write something cutesy and it's still valentines weekend for me so... i hope you guys enjoy! :)

─── Ⅵ THE FIRST TIME SHE SEES YOU, it’s valentine’s day — after a long night of serving drinks and arguing with progressively drunker and drunker men (doubtlessly hoping to land a lay at the bar the night before valentine’s) and a botched hookup attempt (vi texted; hookup did not respond. the crowd boos), the sight of you across the streets had felt something like a dream.

she’d always known about the flower shop directly opposite the small, two lane street from the last drop —

for the love of flowers.

it’s a cute name, written in looping, ornate script, and she’s never paid it much attention till now, what with her schedule being so opposite yours, but that morning (february 14th, she’ll never forget) she sees you, pushing open the gorgeous french windows and setting up the sign, in a teddybear coat that looked like a wayward cloud had wandered down to earth and made itself into a jacket, just for you.

you were humming — she doesn’t know how she knew this, but she did. she could just tell, from the way you moved through the motions of your morning routine like a dance, trailing delicate fingers along the wooden frame of your door before disappearing into the shop and reappearing a moment later with a vast bouquet of ruby-red roses.

the smile on your face had been nothing short of incandescent.

it’s been a full year since then (so they say, time slips by quick when you’ve got a crush — or, whatever) and somehow, she still doesn’t know your name.

she knows other things though — she knows the shape and weight of all your smiles, the way your eyes glitter when you’re helping a customer pick out their flowers. she knows there’s a very fluffy white cat that sometimes likes to sunbathe on the shop’s windowsill, and that when it does come to visit, you always have a warm bowl of milk ready. she knows the cadence of your mornings, the rhyme and rhythm of your opening and closing routines. she knows the colors of all your favorite dresses, and how you like to match them to your seemingly endless collection of cute little flats.

she knows your laughter sounds like bell-chimes, the few times she’s heard it ringing out across the street. she knows the fragments of your voice she’s sometimes overhead, carried on the autumn wind, sometimes reminds her of birdsong.

and, she knows that she doesn’t stand a chance.

“you do,” vander chimes, wiping down the bartop one morning, even as vi helps him stack the stools, the window facing the street thrown open. vi groans, unable to help the way her eyes flicker towards it, towards the shape of your flower-shop across the street, where she knows that in about 10 minutes exactly, you’ll throw open your own white-paneled windows and start prepping for your day.

“how could you possibly know that?” vi asks, crinkling her nose at the whine that sneaks into her voice.

vander makes a sound not unlike an amused bear before slinging the large washcloth onto his shoulder and shooting her a fox-sly grin, his eyes beetle-dark and twinkling.

“just trust your old man on this, yeah? it’s valentine’s day tomorrow, so trot on over after we close… and buy ‘er some flowers. see how that goes, hm?”

vi chews on her lip — it sounds simple enough when vander says it like that but…

heat plumes up the back of her neck at the thought of you, in one of your myriad dresses, perhaps with leggings on underneath to protect against the mid-february chill, the flower patterned apron tied around your waist, a pair of red scissors tucked into the front pocket.

she’s shaking her head before she can stop herself.

“no — i — i can’t, she doesn’t even know i exist — how creepy would it be to just show up and —”

vander cuts her off with a massive hand on her shoulder, giving her a tiny shake that nonetheless makes vi’s head wobble.

“she does know you exist,” vander says, and from up this close, vi can almost see her own reflection in the dark of his eyes. “just… give it a go. and if it doesn’t work… i’ll cover all your drinks here for a week.”

vi puffs out an incredulous laugh.

“vander, i work here — i already drink for free.”

vander chuckles, “fine then, you’ll get the next two weekends off, how’s that?”

vi’s face brightens, “really? and… if it does go well?” she taps her fingers nervously against the worn wooden bar.

vander’s grin widens by degrees, “then… you’ll get the two weekends off anyway — for your first and second dates, sound good?”

vi blinks, staring up at vander for a solid few seconds before laughing and holding out her hand.

“yeah, sure — thanks old man.”

vander huffs, taking her hand in his and giving it a soft pat, and for a moment, vi feels the inexplicable urge to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest like she used to when she was still small enough for him to lift onto his shoulders. instead, she only swallows and gives his hand a tight squeeze.

his whole face softens as he lifts a hand to cluck at her chin, chuckling as she scowls and makes a half-hearted attempt to duck away.

“that’s my girl.”

vi turns away with burning cheeks and a giddy smile spreading across her face. she makes her way to the back where the door opens out onto the alley where the delivery truck for the next night’s liquors is already idling. she waves at the benzo, and reaches into the back for a crate of fresh beer bottles, counting down the seconds till tomorrow morning.

she doesn’t see, across the street, the flicker of lights click on in your shop or hear the slight creak of hinges as you push open the windows, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn wind. she doesn’t see the way you crane your neck out to try and catch a glimpse of her, of the tiny pout that pushes at your lips when you don’t see her familiar silhouette in the bar’s old, wooden window.

she doesn’t see the way your shoulders slump, or the way you glance down at your fingers, clutching at the window sill as you try to tell yourself that maybe, maybe this time, you’ll go over and talk to her. she doesn’t see you mouthing the words to yourself, as if going over lines for a stage-play — hi! i hope this isn’t too weird but… i’ve seen you across the street almost every day and… i just thought… well… would i be able to buy you a drink?

you shake your head, groaning inwardly to yourself as you slip back into your shop and grab the large sign that usually goes out front, boasting of the currently in-season flowers and any discounts you might be having.

“god, who even offers to buy a bartender a drink? she’ll probably think i’m an idiot or something —”

“i’m sure it’s not the first time she’s heard that line before, darling,” mel says, barely glancing up from behind the register, taking stock of the previous day’s sales.

“yeah, and i’m willing to be that it’s sucked for her every single time.”

“you won’t know till you’ve tried it,” mel sing-songs, even as she sighs and rounds the register to help you pick out the most eye-catching flowers for the outdoor display.

you scowl down at a fresh batch of roses, just in time for valentine’s day. you reach for your scissors and start the methodical work of ridding them of all their thorns.

by the time you carry the floral display outside and duck back in for the sign, it’s to catch a glimpse of vi, laughing as she jokes around with a pair of boys (who you’ve surmised by now also work at the bar), her ducking beneath an attempted jab and jumping up to loop her arm around one of them in a headlock. the sound of their yelps and laughter rings bright and clear against the mid-morning sky, a second before the wind kicks up and sends the hem of your dress fluttering.

you squeak, pushing it down, your eyes slingshotting back across the street, but vi’s already gone, disappeared into the back alley, the memory of her voice still echoing in your chest like the opening bars of a love song you’ve always known, but can never remember the lyrics of.

you catch sight of vander as he reaches out to close the window of the last drop, and for a second, your eyes meet. he cocks his head, a knowing grin slung across his lips even as you blush and raise your hand in greeting. he pauses to dip his head at you, before turning to say something to someone you can’t quite see, and then he’s turning back, lifting a hand to his lips as if to say — your secret’s safe with me.

something thuds in your chest as he shoots you a furtive wink and pulls the window shut.

“darling? come help me with these snapdragons — i can never get them to sit as nicely as you do.”

you turn and hurry back into the shop, your mind spinning even as you busy yourself with the task of arranging the shop for opening.

the day passes by in a whirlwind of cut-stems and wrapping paper, of satin ribbon and hard twine. and by the time you’re closing up shop, the familiar, heart-warming glow of light is already pouring from the window of the last drop, and a few seconds later, you see the heart-rending shape of vi as she pushes through the front door, holding it open with a hip to let vander through, chattering about this or that.

you whip around before she can catch you staring and busy yourself with checking over the leftover flowers from the outside display, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. you’re sure you can feel the weight of her eyes on you, and you tell yourself that it’s nothing — just something friendly, or neighborly, or — something bumps against your ankle and you glance down to find poro the cat twining herself between your legs.

“hey there,” you greet, bending down to pick her up. poro lets out a pleased mewl, purring loudly as you run your fingers through her silken fur, “we missed you today — but you never liked the big crowds, huh?” you smile, making your way to the window and setting her down on the wide ledge. she spins herself around twice before settling, her fluffy tail wrapping around her paws as she watches you with large, sky-blue eyes.

across the street, vi watches, her heart in her throat, and nearly walks into the edge of the door with an armful of empty crates, catching herself three seconds before faceplanting into the pavement. behind her, mylo lets out a bark of laughter even as claggor groans, shaking his head and sidestepping them both back into the bar.

“y’know, this whole lesbian pining thing’s gone on for a bit too long,” mylo says, spinning a beer bottle opener around his index finger as he and vi make their way in behind claggor.

“shut the fuck up,” vi snipes, shouldering passed mylo towards the stairs leading to the basement, her stomach twisting at the thought of perhaps asking you out in less than 24 hours. she sighs, dropping the crates into a corner and turning to leave again, only to find mylo leaning against the narrow stairwell, staring at her with the a sanctimonious smirk.

her eyes narrow, “you’re one to talk,” she grumbles, making her way back to stare him straight in the eyes; she sees him falter, the flash of uncertainty in his eyes before he squares up again, puffing out his chest, “how long’ve you been thirsting after the lead singer of that indie band again? two years now? three?”

“th-that’s different!” mylo insists, stumbling after her as vi shoves passed him back up the stairs.

vi cocks an eyebrow, reaching up to grab a barstool, setting it on the floor with a loud clack.

“yeah? how so?”

mylo licks his lips, “it’s — she — she’s like a celebrity, y’know? so it’s — it’s normal that i haven’t —”

“what celebrity? her band plays here like every other week — you’ve had more facetime with gert over the past few years than i’ve had with —” vi gestures towards the door, “flowergirl, in like… ever!”

on the opposite end of the bar, claggor is helping vander wipe down tables, glancing up from his work with a deep sigh.

“so is she gonna do it, or what?”

vander grunts, “think she actually might, tomorrow morning.”

“yeah? how’d you convince her?”

vander shrugs, “offered her two weekends off.”

claggor snorts, “figures. well — if it finally gets the two of them together then…” he mimics wiping sweat off his brow and shaking off his fingers. vander laughs, nodding.

“one can only hope.” he casts another glance towards where vi and mylo are now locked in a full-out brawl, vi having pinned mylo’s face to the recently wiped bar top with his arm twisted behind his back.

across the street, you’re sighing into a handful of Iron Plant leaves, stripping out the ones with yellowing tips and keeping the most vibrant ones for the next day.

“you’ll age yourself if you keep sighing like that,” mel says, reaching over your shoulder to pluck a particularly green leaf from the bunch and swatting at your head as if it were a feather-duster.

you frown, wiping your hands on your apron before moving to the next batch of leaves.

“it’s just… been so long and i — i don’t even think she’s looked at me.”

mel groans, “oh trust me — she has.”

“you keep saying that, but i’ve never —”

“just because you’ve never seen it, darling, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.” she reaches out to tug the sheers from your hand with dexterous fingers. she snaps them once, the sharp snip making you wince.

“yes, yes — i know…” you lick your lips, glancing at the window. outside, the setting sun has burnished the entire street in gold. a second later, the door of the last drop swings open again and vi appears, her eyes casting towards your shop and for a fraction of a second — no longer than a hummingbird’s wingbeat — your eyes meet.

the contact is electric, scintillating and strange — it shocks through you, staticking through all your nerve endings till your fingers and toes are tingling with it — the buzzing energy, the potential of something.

anything —

more.

and then, mylo bumps into vi as he clambers by, and the moment is broken, the tenuous connection between you shattering like sugar-string. vi shoves mylo back hard, and by the time she looks back, you’ve melted back into the flower-decked interior of the shop.

it is a long night, though in general, the one before valentines day always is. too many bruised egos, sloshing over the sides of beer steins. too many puffed-up, washed-up, has-beens, wandering the darkened corners of the town in search of a warm body inside which they might partake in the delicate art of forgetting. and in vi’s experience, wounded prides have never mixed well with alcohol — no matter what the occasion.

so by the morning, she’s exhausted, the sunrise greeting her in all its fool’s gold glory.

vander gives her a pat on the back and slides an irish coffee down the bar towards her. she stares at the white frothy top before cracking him a grin and chugging down half in a single gulp, wincing slightly a the sharp bite of whiskey.

vander laughs, shrugging as vi stares at the remainder of the glass.

“thought you could use a little liquid courage.”

vi sniffs, sucks in a breath, and downs the rest of the drink, raising the empty glass to vander before sliding it back down the bar. vander reaches out to catch it in a single smooth motion, waving her off.

“right, now go on and get your girl.”

vi coughs, “she’s not my —”

claggor tuts, “just go already — we’ll finish up here —”

vi opens her mouth as if to respond, but at another hard look from vander, she deflates, grumbling to herself as she drags the back of her hand across her lips to make sure there’s no residual whipped cream, before pushing out the door, bracing herself against the mid-february wind.

the street is nearly empty this early in the morning, and the dawning sunlight has yet to settle into it’s usual richness, still a bit wane, papering the street in the palest shade of gold. on the opposite horizon, the night is is bleeding out the last dregs of its own inky darkness, a crescent moon hung like a ghostly petal, floating across the surface of a late winter sky.

vi shoves both her hands into her jacket pockets and hunches her shoulders against a kick of wind, half-jogging across the thin, two-lane street just as you push your windows open.

“oh! hi! uhm —” your voice is just as beautiful as she’s always known it would be.

vi squeezes her fists inside her pockets, scuffing her feet against the pavement as she watches the way your cheeks flush rose-petal-pink, and then you’re ducking back into the store, only to appear a second later, stepping through the front door in a velvet dress red as holly-berries (or perhaps just the shade of bleeding hearts), your usual apron tied around your waist, a thin scarf looped around your neck to protect against the chill.

“hey! sorry to just — randomly run across the street like this —” she waves a hand awkwardly at the last drop, closing up behind her.

you shake your head, pressing your palms to the front of your apron, “no! it’s okay — actually i —”

“i wanted to ask — oh, sorry no —” she speaks over you in her haste, backtracking immediately, even as you flap your hands, seemingly just as flustered as she is.

“no, no! it’s fine — what did you want to ask?” you open your hands, expectant.

and you’re looking at her, gods, you’re looking at her. and vi can’t think for the rabbit’s foot thump of her heart, beating inside her chest, making her vision swim as a rush of blood floods her ears, washing out all sound except for the silver-bell chime of your voice. she digs her nails into her palms, clearing her throat.

“uh… it’s just… i was — i was wondering — shit — well, okay — say… i wanted to get someone flowers —”

you blink, your eyes flickering between both of hers at her words. and then, you turn, if only to keep her from seeing the way your expression falls, ever so slightly.

“oh… yeah? okay, sure — i can help you with that — do you know what kind of flowers you’d like?” you lead her into the main body of your shop, holding the door open for her.

vi steps through, scratching at the back of her neck, glancing around, trying not to seem so overwhelmed by the utter explosion of fragrance and color.

“th-that’s the thing though — i — i mean, i don’t know anything about flowers so — i thought — i wanted to ask for your help —” she glances back at you; you clear your throat and look away, reaching out to brush a finger along the petal of a single red rose, lying in the middle of a perfectly cut square of wax paper.

“uh… yeah, i — i can do that — uhm — i’m assuming this is a… romantic kind of floral-endeavor?” you ask, bracingly, making a small attempt at your usual humor.

vi purses her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose made all the more prominent by the way she blushes.

“yeah — sort of.”

you take a deep breath, then start to make your way around the shop.

“okay, well — do you know their favorite color or… anything?”

vi follows a few steps behind, glancing around for any indication before she sighs.

“uhm… i know she likes colors in general — bright ones —”

you pause over a display of button mums the color of honey.

“oh! cool okay —” you make to move away again but vi jerks forward, reaching out in an abortive movement, her hand caught in midair as you turn. you stare, unable to entirely keep the skip from your heartbeat.

“i just — holy fuck —” she runs a hand over her face, looking strangely abashed as she drops her hand, squeezing her fingers into fists before letting them loose again. you wonder, for a moment, why she might be so nervous before she licks her lips and continues, “— so — say you were going to get flowers from someone… on valentine’s day —”

you go almost preternaturally still.

“uh… huh…”

vi chews on her bottom lip so hard you’re worried, for a second, that she might draw blood. still, she looks anywhere but at you.

“w-what kind of flowers w-would you uh — would you want them to get you?”

you stare at her for a beat, and then another. a tentative hope blossoms in your chest, a single creeping vine at first, threading through your veins. you lick your lips, clasping your hands behind your back, worrying at your own fingers.

“d-depends… would this person be uhm… asking me out? or…” you trail off.

vi nods, almost too eager, taking half a step forward.

“y-yeah! maybe — if you’re… open to being asked out —”

“i — i am!” you blurt out. heat plumes into your skin like the first wisteria bloom of spring, one at first, and then another, then another — tiny flowers popping open, fragrant and shockingly violet until your chest is full of them.

“great! so… uh… the flowers —?” vi lets out a soft chuckle.

your lashes flutter, and then, you spring into movement. anything to dance off the mid-summer fire collecting beneath your skin.

“oh! sorry — right — i guess i’d like… gardenias, for secret love,” you say, rounding the shop towards the large white blooms, your heartbeat a riotous mess, clattering against your ribs as you pluck out a few of the choicest flowers. behind you, vi watches, her heart caught in the back of her throat, her breath lost somewhere in the air between you.

“maybe… a few pink camelias, for longing —” you move through to the other side of the shop, collecting the flowers one by one, your fingers trembling as you tug each of them from their stands, “hydrangeas for understanding… or at least —” you suck in a breath, “i hope…”

“y-yeah — i — i hope so too — i mean — that’s good, that’s perfect —”

you swallow, turning around to show her the budding bouquet, but when you hold out the flowers, she barely spares them a glance, her eyes fixed on you.

“y-you’re — they’re uh… beautiful.”

“u-uhm — and then… a few fillers…” you say, oddly breathless, if only to fill in the electric quiet, the air thrumming with it, as lightning might brew beyond a monsoon sky.

you finish the bouquet with a piece of twine, smiling down at your own handiwork. the flush in your cheeks only grows as you turn to offer them to her, and she smiles, pursing her lips.

“is… is there a card or something i could —” she motions towards the flowers.

you nod passed the giddiness collecting in your throat.

“s-sure! and… who —” you gulp again, tugging a small red-heart shaped card from the cash register, “who might this be for?”

vi lets out a helpless laugh, “i… i was hoping that’d be kind of obvious…”

you hesitate for a second longer before scribbling your name at the top of the card. vi leans over to read it; the way she says your name makes your chest stitch, your lungs constrict.

“and…” you finally allow yourself to look up at her, your pen hovering over the from line on the card. her gaze, when you meet it, is the most gorgeous morning-glory blue.

“vi — violet,” she says.

you smile, “pretty name.” before bending down to write it on the card as well.

“thanks. yours… isn’t so bad either,” she says, reaching for her wallet.

you wave her away.

“on the house.”

vi cocks an eyebrow, “i don’t think that’s how buy someone valentine’s day flowers works.”

you crinkle your nose, “it is if the person you’re buying them for runs a flower shop.”

at this, vi laughs, the sound sweet and clear as a winter’s thaw. you find yourself giggling too, looking down at the bouquet with soft eyes.

“how about… you buy this for me… and you let me… buy you a drink tonight?” you ask, setting the flowers aside and pressing your palms to the register top. vi blinks.

“yeah?” vi’s smile lopes to the side, a sharp, dangerous twinkle caught behind her eyes, “and… what would you be getting me?”

you trail a light finger along the length of the register with a small shrug.

“actually… i was going to ask — say someone were to buy you a drink for valentine’s day…”

vi puffs out a breath, her gaze darkening by degrees.

“uh huh.”

“what kind of drink would you want them to get you?”

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

A List of "Beautiful" Words: Red

for your next poem/story

Cardinal - a brilliant red

Carmine - a vivid red

Carnation - a moderate red

Carnelian - a red or brownish-red

Cerise - a moderate red

Cherry - a variable color averaging a moderate red

Crimson - any of several deep purplish reds

Damask - a grayish red

Erythematous - exhibiting abnormal redness of the skin or mucous membranes due to the accumulation of blood in dilated capillaries (as in inflammation)

Erythrism - a condition marked by exceptional prevalence of red pigmentation (as in hair or feathers)

Ferruginous - resembling iron rust in color

Floridity - tinged with red

Gules - the heraldic color red

Hectic - red, flushed

Laky - a purplish red

Lateritious - of the color of red brick

Lurid - shining with the red glow of fire seen through smoke or cloud

Magenta - a deep purplish red

Maroon - a dark red

Miniate - to paint with red lead or vermilion

Puce - a dark red

Raddle - red ocher

Rouge - a red powder consisting essentially of ferric oxide used in polishing glass, metal, or gems and as a pigment

Rubefaction - the act or process of causing redness

Rubicundity - having a healthy reddish color

Rubor - redness of the skin (as from inflammation)

Rubricity - redness

Ruby - the dark red color of the ruby

Rufescence - a reddish or bronze color

Rufosity - quality of being reddish

Sanguine - a moderate to strong red; bloodred

Scarlet - any of various bright reds

Stammel - archaic: the bright red color of stammel (i.e., obsolete: a coarse woolen clothing fabric usually dyed red and used sometimes for undershirts of penitents)

Vermeil - vermilion (i.e., any of various red pigments)

Vinaceous - of the color of red wine

More: Lists of Beautiful Words ⚜ Word Lists

[leighsartworks216]

Keep Going

Zayne x gn!Reader x Sylus

In my heart of hearts I fucking know Sylus has a thing for when Zayne speaks medical

Thank you @unknown-ends for inspiring this one cuz ough it lowkey consumed me

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: fluff, smut, polyamory, oral sex, kissing, biting, blow/hand job, cuddling, aftercare, banter, teasing, cum eating/swallowing, literal sleeping together, established relationship, licking

Word Count: 2,116

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Zayne glares at Sylus. "What are you doing?" he hisses.

Sylus has the audacity to pull that smug grin on him, at the same time he pulls the blankets down Zayne's body, slips his hands under his pajama shirt to feel the lean muscle of his stomach. "You're having trouble sleeping - I want to help. It's as simple as that."

Zayne looks pointedly over at you, only a couple feet away, back facing him. You're fast asleep and completely oblivious to what's happening on the other side of the bed. "We could wake them up-"

"And?" Sylus leans down, eyes still locked on the doctor, to kiss just above his naval. "They can join in if they need a sleep aid." A brush of his teeth, just enough to have Zayne shuddering beneath him. "I'm happy to assist."

Zayne becomes momentarily transfixed by the sight of his partner. The warm glide of his hands as they push his shirt up to stay bunched under his pecs and hook fingers around his waistband to tug down the front of his sleep pants. His tongue follows the path of his happy trail, swirling around the fine hair and lapping hot and wet at his skin, all the way down to his pubic bone. No doubt Sylus can feel the growing need in his pants as it rises to bump lightly against his throat and chin, if the dark cloud shadowing his eyes is any indicator. Still, he can't help looking over at you again. If they were to accidentally wake you up, what would you think? What would you do or say? Would you be annoyed at them? Would you join them? Would you be completely indifferent? He tries to weigh every scenario, but it becomes increasingly difficult the more aware of Sylus's breaths fanning across his skin he becomes.

A hand reaches up to guide him back to looking down the length of his body, at the man straddling over his legs, now tucked partially under the blanket. "You can say no," he says, voice even and silently promising the dismount that comes with his honest refusal. "Or, you can tell me just why sucking you off will work to put you to sleep."

His ears flush red. He stares at Sylus, contemplating, weighing his options, for one breath - two. And then he nods, almost imperceptibly, swallowing down the saliva pooling in his mouth.

Quietly, in that steady, methodical tone he usually speaks in when discussing anything medical, he whispers, "During ejaculation, men release several brain chemicals."

Sylus hums, pleased, and sets quickly to work. He pulls his pants down, dragging his underwear with them, over his half-erect cock. He studies the veins and curve as he pushes Zayne's legs apart to settle between them. "Keep going."

"Norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin, nitric oxide, and prolactin, which has been-" His words choke off, caught by the delicate press of lips to the length of his cock. Several left in a row, from the base to the tip. Ruby eyes implore him not to stop. He lets out a shaky breath. "-linked to the feeling of sexual satisfaction."

His cock twitches to life. Sylus rubs the soft skin of his inner thighs, his hip, all while pressing those maddening pecks along its length. He ducks down, kissing down the underside of his shaft, down to the hanging weight of his scrotum. His large nose bumps up against his cock as he lazily sucks one of the testes, humming his satisfaction at the taste of Zayne's skin.

Zayne's fingers tangle in Sylus's hair, grasping lightly, though the strain in his hold shows just how much tighter he wishes to hold on. It's a fight against his self-control; his ability to stay even-minded in this moment. It's a losing battle when Sylus is his opponent, but one he fights nonetheless. Sylus reaches up to hold his other hand, fingers laced together, thumb stroking his scars.

"Prolactin levels are naturally higher during sleep, so it is likely that its release during orgasm leads to the feeling of sleepiness. Additionally, oxytocin and vasopressin, also released during ejaculation, are also associated with sleep, and frequently accompany the release of melatonin."

Sylus releases his testicle with a shimmering splotch of saliva. He licks up the entire length of his cock, all the way to the tip, now leaking precum in glistening pearls onto his stomach. His tongue dips into the slit, lips closing around it to suck daintily. Zayne grips tighter at his hair, cheeks flushed and breath heavier as he chokes out the final reason:

"Oxytocin is also t-thought to reduce stress levels, which could lead to relaxation and sleepiness."

Sylus squeezes Zayne's hand. It's all he can do to stay silent as the heat of his mouth engulfs his cock, head tossed back and teeth biting cheek to hold back the sounds in his throat. He stays there for a moment, too. Swallowing around the girth of his dick, flattening his tongue along the thick vein on the bottom, staring up at his partner's reactions. Long enough to have the fingers in his hair tighten further and tug, begging him to move.

He's slow as he pulls off. Teasing, savoring the moment, the weight and taste of his partner on his tongue. He hollows his cheeks and sucks down again. Rising and falling at a steady pace. Not fast, just enough to have Zayne breathing heavily through his nose and squeezing him with his thighs. The wet sounds seem far louder in the quiet of the bedroom, mixed with his breaths and the quiet sounds of pleasure that rumble in Sylus's chest.

You can't say for certain what it was that woke you up. If it was the noise, or the slight shaking of the bed, or just your subconscious latching on to what's happening behind you. Either way, you blink blearily into the darkness, turning over to see what's going on. The glint of Sylus's eyes flicker to you, amused. Zayne's eyes are shut, or far too lidded to see anything other than Sylus's ministrations on his cock. A warmth, little more than a match-flame, alights within you, but the exhaustion from the day is far greater than it. The usual arousal you'd feel when seeing your partners so intimate is instead replaced with adoration. Love for these two men you can call yours, joy at seeing them together despite the differences they've faced in the past.

Zayne startles when he feels the mattress shift under your weight. You close the distance between you and him, pressing your chest against his arm, cupping his cheek in your hand to turn his face toward you. He's flushed so bright, from embarrassment and arousal. "I apologize for waking you, I-"

You shush him softly as you kiss his lips. Where Sylus's mouth is heated and passionate in its actions, yours is languid and sweet, sleepy and lazy. He sighs with soft relief into your mouth, the tension of being caught melting away. Your thumb strokes over his cheekbones, fingers curling under his jaw, behind his ear, brushing the mess of dark hair with tender care.

Sylus pulls off of him with a pop, dipping his head to lick up the puddle of precum from his stomach. Zayne pulls away with a shuddering breath. He presses his face into your neck, and you run your fingers through his hair. "Our poor doctor here needed some help falling asleep," Sylus muses between licks.

You hum softly. Zayne's hair is so soft, even dampened slightly with sweat. You kiss his temple, eyes closed, at peace. "Was cuddling not an option?"

"Certainly not the first one that came to mind," Zayne retorts dryly. Sylus nips at his skin, eliciting a hiss from your partner. "We can take this elsewhere so we don't continue to interrupt your rest."

"Nmm, no, it's okay."

Sylus takes his hand from Zayne's thigh to hold your calf, rubbing affectionate circles into your leg with his thumb. "I would offer my services to you, beloved, but I don't think you'll need them."

You laugh quietly, cut off by a yawn. "Another night, maybe." You turn to look down at Sylus, Zayne still breathing in hot pants against your neck, his cock still painfully erect and needy, glistening with saliva and pre-spend. "Keep going."

There's no command, no force behind your words, but Sylus takes them as a strict order nonetheless. He smirks wickedly up at you just before he takes Zayne's dick back into his mouth, bobbing along the length.

Zayne lets out a strangled, choked sound. Devastatingly beautiful. You brush his hair back, tug lightly on the strands to pull him from your neck. His mouth finds yours straight away. Tongue licks needily at the seam of your lips, but he follows the pace you set without hesitation. The dynamic between the rhythm of Sylus's mouth and the caress of yours makes his head feel light.

Your hand trails down his neck, along his sternum, over his shirt, until you're able to slip it under the bunched up hem. It's all too easy to find the perky bud of his nipple. And oh so wonderful hearing the sounds he makes as you circle it with your fingers, press against it, pinch it, pull it. His fingers tighten in Sylus's hair for support. You barely pull away to leave light kisses on his top and bottom lip, mouth parted around his heavy breaths.

Sylus's hand leaves your leg. It glides over Zayne's hip before he wraps it around the base of his cock, his mouth focused on the swollen head. He tongues at the leaking slit and the ridge of the tip, fisting his cock up and down at a pace faster than his mouth moves. Zayne strains to watch even as the burning ecstasy in his abdomen contorts his face, growing overwhelming, determined to watch the final moments of his treatment.

You bury your face in his neck in turn, mouthing lazily at the soft skin there. You can feel the thrum of his heart against your lips. Fast and eager, waiting for the fall at the end of this cliff.

And fall he does. With strained, stifled whimpers, he cums into the hot mouth of your partner. Sylus's brows pinch together, eyes closing, as he takes the full heft of Zayne into his mouth again, his cockhead shooting cum against the back of his open throat. Zayne subconsciously rolls his hips up, chasing the friction, nearly making Sylus gag.

Sylus pulls off of his cock for the final time tonight. He's panting, trying to catch his breath around a swallow. His eyes are lidded with satisfaction, the blankets falling around him as he sits up to take in the beautiful sight laid out before him.

Zayne, hair a mess, skin shimmering with a thin layer of sweat, panting heavily, head tilted back with his eyes shut, trying to come back down to earth. And you, tracing lines and patterns against his stomach, nevermind the mess, eyes closed and content, nuzzling against his shoulder.

Sylus slips out, blankets pushed to the foot of the bed, and disappears in the bathroom. When he returns with a wet cloth, his lover's breaths have calmed down. One arm wraps around your back, holding you close, as the other sits empty at his side, as though waiting for Sylus's hand to fit within it once more. He watches sleepily as the mess on his stomach is cleaned up, shivering as the cold bedroom air chills the sheen of water left behind.

Sylus's warm, rough hands slip his underwear and sleep pants back up onto his hips. Slip his shirt back down with knuckles brushing down his abs, and draw the blanket back up. He leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Zayne's lips. The salty taste of himself on his lips sends a trill down his spine.

"Thank you," he breathes lowly into the space between them.

"Happy to help," Sylus responds with a teasing grin. He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. You're already fast asleep. "Sweet dreams, snowflake."

Zayne watches the hulking figure of his partner leave the bedroom, unresolved bulge in his own pants. As he turns to the side to fully curl up with you, the heady scent of sex tickling his nose with your shampoo and Sylus's cologne, he thinks of all the ways he can return the favor in the morning. He falls asleep with images of Sylus's face pinched, head thrown back, mouth hinged open around guttural groans, and an invisible weight on his tongue.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @leiakitty

[madaqueue]

FALL FROM GRACE

do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes. put to death that which is earthly inside you.

pairing: priest!sunday x succubus!f!reader

themes/content: dubcon (char!receiving - he says "stop" and it's basically ignored, and there's some heavy coercion/corruption stuff going on here), somno depending on how you look at it (succubi technically visit people in their dreams, so he's asleep ? sorta?), lots of religious guilt around sex, heavy catholic religious imagery (literally straight up bible verses). smut. handjobs, fingering/masturbation, p in v. i wanted to explore the rigidity and internalized shame sunday feels so uh . here's this ! (wk: 3.6k)

a/n: me when he's burdened and tormented (also i had to put my religious trauma somewhere ! hope it's yummy) :3333

The first night is always the most fun.

They never wake, not on this visit; the mind is a simple thing to trick, eager to make excuses for the gentle touches trailing over one’s torso, down their chest. A dream, they call it, a ready and waiting path to forgiveness.

The second night is usually the same - feather-light hands, breathy kisses - but you find Sunday to be a near-impossibly light sleeper when he begins to stir beneath you. Pinned under thighs that straddle his waist, his eyelashes flutter, nearly roused; his lips part, almost a sigh. It’s an uncanny thing to be so beautiful and so unaware; you wonder if he’s grateful for this gift. With a quick peck, you send him back into the waiting arms of slumber.

The third night you visit him, his eyes open slowly, still clouded by dreams. It’s rather obviously unexpected to be found in this position, with a stranger resting over him, smiling, trapped beneath their weight.

“Who are you?” he breathes, barely above a whisper. There’s no fear behind his gaze, only shimmering curiosity.

“Who do you think I am?”

Your fingers trail lower, tracing circles into his abdomen. It’s a fitting pattern for what you’ve seen of him: controlled, precise, predictable. No hard edges or uncertainty, just smooth and calm. Something about a vow, you think, has made him like this. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. A promise to a power too self-righteous for your taste.

His eyebrows furrow as he attempts to focus upon you, vision still blurry. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, curves casting shadows under the fading starlight, black lace and soft skin. Then, there’s a flash of horns, a flicker of your tail, the markings below your abdomen pulsing through the dark. He swallows. “What are you?”

Ruby lips spread into a grin, one that veers sinister - he’s such a cute little thing, a chocolate covered strawberry, all sweet and flesh and blood. “An angel.”

The silk pillowcase rustles as he shakes his head, too innocent, too naive to do anything but be truthful. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” you lean forward, feeling his pulse thrum below your palm. “I’m not.” You kiss his cheek, and whisper a goodnight.

The fourth night, he’s more awake, but less verbal. Instead, sun-bright eyes follow your movements, the crackling fingerprints that travel his skin. He lets you touch him, lets you trace out the muscles lying below the surface, feel the nerves and arteries that quicken under your touch. Drowsy little whines leave his throat, barely a sound, as you work. Up wrists, over shoulders, to collarbones, counting ribs and diving into his hips, along his thighs, and back again. It’s a beautiful routine, just light enough to keep him half-slumbering.

From there, it’s mostly the same - you touch and trace and tease him, and he watches, silent and mostly unconscious. A week passes, maybe two. The time doesn’t matter, not to you, not really. What matters is the way his skin sparks beneath your fingertips, the way his eyelashes flutter under the moon’s silken glow.

You aren’t granted the privilege of visiting him awake, not yet, at least. There’s no way for you to see the way he pours over text, books with cracked spines and dusty pages, to find the source of these…dreams, of the being that visits him and steals him from the respite of sleep. The word succubus is heavy in his mouth, more bitter than communion wine, with no unleavened sanctity coming after to dull the taste.

On the seventeenth night (you think, if your count is right), he wakes in a notably different position, no longer cradled by the mattress upon which he put himself to bed. Under the mottled moonlight, he finds himself sitting upright, the bare skin of his back resting against something much warmer than the wooden headboard.

“Good morning, Sunday,” you purr into his ear from behind.

He murmurs something, slowly turning over his shoulder to face you. For the briefest moment, you think you catch the flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, demon.”

“Oh?” you let out an airy chuckle. “So you’ve figured it out then. Good, I was worried all you priests were nothing more than fools.”

The lightest laugh brushes past his lips, allowing his eyes to rest for a moment. “I’m no fool. Now tell me, why are you here, demon?”

Through a feigned pout, your hands make their way back to his chest. “What, are you sick of me already? You don’t like me, is that it?”

“I have no particular feelings towards you.” He’s quick to respond, quicker even to remind himself of his place, of his duties, as your palms threaten to burn through his skin. Poverty. Celibacy. Obedience. Important ideals. Good ideals. Holy ones, at that.

Through a hum, you travel lower over his body. It’s a test, really, to see if he’ll stop you, grab your wrists and yank you from behind him and banish you from this place forever. It would take so little: a splash of holy water, or even a simple curse, and he’d be rid of you. Surely he found that little fact in his readings.

And yet, he simply follows your path downward with his gaze (you can’t say you’re truly that surprised - it has become your routine, after all. And Sunday cherishes his routines).

“No feelings for me, you say,” you say, pensively. Lower, and lower, and lower.

Just as his lips open to speak, to throw some calculated retort, your fingertips brush between his legs and the sound twists into something else, something needier, a noise he couldn’t have controlled with all the constitution in heaven.

You gasp at the response, too, awe bubbling inside your cheeks.

“Oh, Sunday,” you breathe. “You poor thing, you must be so pent up.”

“I- mmm.” With a second run of your palm over his hardening length, his eyes dance shut, his entire body shuddering.

“Don’t they allow you to touch yourselves here?”

It’s evil, this touch, coursing with sin and dark, dirty blasphemy. He ought to shut his mouth, rip out his vocal cords if that’s what it takes, and wait. Perhaps a blood smear above his lips would protect him, make you pass him over tonight and all nights thereafter.

“N-not in the monastery,” he chokes out. “It’s against the rules.”

He grants you the privilege of grazing his warming skin, before letting out a shaky breath. Thou shalt not covet. Dispel desire.

“You…you should stop.”

“Stop?” The absurdity leaks into your voice. “You’ve given up so much for this silly church, don’t you think? Why give this up, too? Don’t you deserve it?”

A pause, a steadying breath, to quiet your dissatisfaction disguised as rage.

“And besides, look how badly you need this. It feels good, doesn’t it?” An angel, caught in your trap; to think you may not even have to clip his wings. “Don’t you want to feel good, my dear Sunday?”

Eyelashes delve into the creases of his eyelids as he tightens them closed, lips pulled into a gasping frown. Everything in his mind, in the years of his training, of memorizing verses and teachings and sermons and rules and rules and rules, tells him to say no, to force a stop to this nonsense.

“And,” you perk up at his hesitation, “it won’t even be violating your so-called ‘rules’ if I’m the one touching you, right?”

Even through the feather-light touches, Sunday worries he’s losing his mind, like your fist might as well be piercing through his chest and ripping his soul from it, dragging it into hell with you. The thoughts that make it up his spine are too blurry with lust to let the more sluggish Reason through.

“Right.”

Smiling into his neck, you feel his carotid jump under your teeth. “Good, good. So just let me do this, okay?”

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual immorality, impurity, lust, and evil desires.

He says the words over, and over, and over in his mind.

Do not be greedy, for a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.

He knows better than to make idols.

And yet, all he can do is nod his head.

He doesn’t face you, of course, buried under the shame of it. If the church was any older, he’d worry the brick would collapse in on him at any second, to punish him for the sin he was too weak to avoid committing. Perhaps he should be turned to salt, a fate befitting of his pathetic disobedience.

“Okay.”

It’s immediate, the way he relaxes when you finally reach below his boxers. The heat of your touch melts him, his throat craning as it releases strained whines. He’s heavy in your hand, a weight his so-called gods would surely commend, if they could spare such thoughts. Soft skin, unsoiled, untainted. Utterly holy.

As you stroke him with a tenderness only known to the clouds of salvation, he looks nothing short of angelic, the arch of his spine making space where wings ought to be, the tickle of his hair soft like a crowned halo. And you, wrapped around him like a flame, carry him through the air. Lower, and lower, and lower. To soften the blow when one falls from grace.

It takes so little for him to shake, to shudder and cry and bend, until you worry his shoulders may snap if you weren’t caging his torso against yours. His head falls back, slack-jawed and awe-struck, as he releases into your palm, pumps of white coating your hand.

It’s a beautiful thing, the sounds he makes, the purity of it. White and cream and gold, just as you’d imagine heaven to be.

There’s waves of pleasure, his stomach clenching with each one, pushing him further and further into you, and you swallow him whole, welcoming with open arms.

Slowly, you press your lips to his cheek, scalding hot.

“Goodnight, Sunday.” And he falls into your chest.

It grows increasingly difficult for him to hide the dreams (at least, that’s what he would convince himself they are). It’s been months now, although truthfully, you’ve stopped counting.

Every night, he falls into a troubled, humid sleep. Every morning, he wakes to a mess, still half-hard and panting.

And yet, he’s more relaxed, his shoulders less tense. When he turns to the parish, his neck moves more easily. As a well-educated (well-trained) man, he assumes he hides it well, but his relief is palpable, a taste too thick to anyone who knows him.

“You seem different lately, Sunday,” Father Wood observes casually.

With his back facing him, Sunday conceals the way his spine tightens. “How do you mean, Father?”

Pensively, Father Wood lights the altar’s candles, an honor given only to those most highly ordained, an honor Sunday used to dream of performing (now, of course, his dreams are consumed by other desires).

“Just…different, is all.”

Sunday’s attention falls to the flames before him, to the way they dance nervously despite the still, stagnant air inside the church. Perhaps they know something he doesn’t.

“I’ve been spending more time in the library lately. Perhaps my reading has enlightened me.”

“Perhaps,” Father Wood echoes. With quiet purpose, he lights the final candle. “This church is your home, my boy. You had nothing before you came here. I remember the day we took you in, the day you were saved.”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one that grows and grows and grows; he’d expect it to taste like acid, but all he gets is honey. “I remember it, too.”

Father Wood hums, facing away. “‘If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.’” A pause, a flickering flame. “Sunday, I trust you not to forget the oaths you swore.”

A shiver runs up his neck. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. “Of course not, Father.”

That night, you meet Sunday in bed. Normally it’s little trouble to untuck the sheets, to find the welcoming skin of his thighs, but tonight he seems determined to bury himself within the blankets.

“Sunday,” you say. He fails to respond, but his ears twitch. “Sunday, I know you’re awake.”

One eye slowly cracks open, revealing the sun behind his eyelids. “Go away.”

“Excuse me?” you choke a laugh. “You want me to ‘go away’?”

Closing his eyes, he hums in affirmation.

Within your chest, your heart flutters - he’s so cute when he thinks he’s in control. Perhaps that’s why you chose him (the chase is always the most fun, the tension of it all; you think Eve’s first bite of the apple must have been underwhelming compared to its weight in her palm).

Perhaps your routine will bring him back. Slowly, you trail a finger along his collarbone - before he pulls away. Curling himself onto his side, he tucks his knees to his chest and shuts you out.

This is certainly a novel development. And it certainly will not do.

“Fine then,” you state, leaning back to the corner of the mattress.

In response, his left ear twitches, but he gives no other response. So be it.

Against the wooden footboard, you open your legs, visible if he were only to turn towards you. With well-practiced hands, you easily slide the black lace panties down your knees, letting them fall at your ankles and leaving you bare (it requires few garments to do your work successfully, after all - they’re made for this).

Silently, you spread your ever-wet folds open. With your other hand, you draw circles around your clit, slowly, tauntingly. Delving into your own heat, a sound of relief comes as an exhale, one that finally has Sunday’s gaze peeking from between his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?”

“If you don’t want me to touch you, I guess I’ll just have to touch myself instead,” you say. The words flow easily, thick like milk and honey, something sweet, something to help him sleep.

This time, his eyes remain open.

His mouth does, too.

Silent except for the ragged breaths coming past his lips, he watches you pleasure yourself, the way your fingers curl, knuckles disappearing only to reappear shining. The inky pattern adorning your womb morphs and glows; a spot of saliva catches in the dim light, and he makes no move to wipe it away.

With an arch of your back and a tilt of your head, you beckon him closer - always such an obedient little thing, your Sunday (he was praised for it, once); he slowly rises. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, holding it unsteadily, as he crawls towards you. Unwavering attention held raptly between your thighs.

“Sunday,” you say, to snap him out of the trance that pulls him towards you. He says nothing, a small trail of drool spilling from the corner of his perfectly eager lips. “Sunday.”

His eyes snap up to yours, the sun eclipsed behind the growing shadow of his pupils.

Your palm cradles his jaw, thumb wiping away the glistening desire. “Are you going to behave now?”

A blank stare.

A fragile nod.

“Good.” Your grin splits the earth open with wicked flames, poking between your teeth. He drinks in the heat with a starving throat, ignoring the way it burns (or reveling in it).

A sparkling star shines in his eyes, nearly glowing. You pull the two fingers from your cunt, still warm and sticky and sweet, and hold them before his face.

You don’t even have to tell him to open his mouth - obedience is such a lovely thing.

When your taste lands upon his tongue, he releases a moan like molten gold. His lips close around your fingers and he sucks and licks the essence from them, hungry and gnawing. Your fingertips glide over his molars and he fights the urge to bite, to claim (a well-trained dog is still just a dog, after all).

There’s a half-hearted whine when you remove your skin from his, one that makes your cheeks ache.

“Tell me what you want, my dear Sunday. Anything you want.”

If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.

Perhaps dying here tonight, with your taste still lingering in his throat, would be a graceful demise. A martyr of his sacrilege.

Already, he looks ravished, his cheeks dusted red and eyes wild and unfocused. The pretty ones are always the most fun to ruin, to dirty with desecration; they look so beautiful as they fall.

“I want-” there’s a lump in his throat where his servitude lives, where the years of holiness coalesced and stayed. He swallows heavily. “I want to feel good. I want you to make me feel good.”

“Ah,” you breathe. “I suppose I can do that.”

“But-” he catches himself. Rules, and rules, and rules. They clog up his esophagus, his vocal cords straining to get past them.

With a gentle finger, you hush his worries. “Just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky sound. “Okay.”

It takes little pressure to recline him onto the bed, the sheets already dampening from the sweat collected in the hollows of his back. He lets you undress him, lets you place scalding kisses into his skin, soft and sweet as a fig. Ripe like one, too.

Only two pumps of your fist up his length and he’s already leaking, twitching and aching.

“So eager,” you coo when his hips rut into the air, chasing your touch.

“M-my apologies,” he says weakly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, my sweet Sunday. Pleasure is a thing to be worshiped, don’t you think?”

They’d bury him for this. The other priests would crucify him and leave his body out to rot. He’d deserve it, he wouldn’t even complain, he’d be perfectly obedient until his very last breath.

As your thighs encase his, as you line his tip to your entrance, as you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until you’re flush with him, until you’ve swallowed him whole and nestled him inside of you, his vision goes white and he feels the warm smile of forgiveness.

“Yes.”

From behind, your tail twitches into his peripheral vision. A cruel reminder, a crash and burn. Melted wings and the sea. But then your hips circle, once, twice, and he forgets himself again, he enjoys the fall.

His hands fly to your waist, before they’re swatted away with a click of your tongue and a sparkle in your eyes. “Ah, no touching me, remember? Those are your rules, after all.”

“Right.” Instead, his fists dig into the sheets, knuckles turning white.

With each plunge of your warmth up and down his cock, he’s reborn, fresh and gasping, each breath burning like the first. Crescent moons carve into his palms, and he groans.

“Is this…is this real?”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. “Do you want it to be?”

He hesitates for a moment, lets your hand rest on his unsteady heart, lets your skin stick to his. Just below it, a knot forms, the strings tightening and tightening and tightening under years of strain.

“Yes.”

You fill his vision, all-consuming, eating the space between you with sharp teeth. When you speak, it’s a low sound, a rumbling purr. It makes his stomach clench. “Good.”

His breaths come in faster, now that he knows it’s real, that the heat creeping up his neck and down his legs is real, that this is happening. That something exists that feels this fucking good.

And then, all at once, the knot unties itself. The moans he releases are holy, more beautiful than a choir with all its ordained voices.

Damp palms grab at your hips, and you let them. With greedy fingers he holds you in place, fucking himself up into you. Tears well in his eyes and in the blurry haze, he thinks he sees heaven. It opens itself before him, warm and beckoning, in the space between your thighs.

“God, fuck,” he exhales, and you grin.

“How blasphemous, Sunday.”

If he hears you, he gives no indication. Curses tumble from his lips, raw edges cutting his lungs.

He chases a high with urgency, with uncoordinated thrusts and a too-tight grip. His dedication is truly a virtue.

It’s only a moment before he stills, eyes widening, jaw falling open to release an angelic cry. Truly beautiful as he falls, as he comes undone. In the space below his arched spine, you swear there’s a momentary flutter of wings.

Eyelashes open and close, as if to prove that this is not, in fact, real. But the heat still encircling him is proof enough. He shivers.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

“Oh Sunday,” you hum, fingers tracing ribs that rise and fall unevenly. There’s a twinge of something mixed into the pride, something sadder, something longing. “This certainly has been fun.”

“Fuck,” he says again. Dread settles on his shoulders, heavy, heavier than duty or scriptures or a grave, than a cross. “Will I…?”

“Be excommunicated for this? Probably not,” you smirk.

Weakly, he shakes his head, sweaty strands of hair sticking to the pillowcase below. “Will I see you again?”

The question makes your heart flutter. How cute.

“If you’d like to, my dear.” With a gentle hand, you brush the fringe from his forehead. “Anything you want.”

At that, he relaxes, his shoulders sinking deeper. With heavy eyelids, his blinking slows. “Good.”

How beautiful he looks like this, half-conscious and spent, utterly debauched. Utterly holy.

“But for now, get some rest.” Warm lips press into his cheek, and he leans into them with a hum. “Goodnight, Sunday.”

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 13

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 5k

A/N: GUESS WHO'S BACK??? omg y'all. i can't believe it's been over a month since the last update. i had to let this story cool down in my brain before picking it back up. also, just a lot of things happening at the same time in my life. thanks everyone for your patience! as usual, feedback is MUCH appreciated. enjoy <3

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

“Don’t scare me!”

??? looks at you with a pout and a deep frown. You roll your eyes and rest your hand on the side of your waist.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You made that noise to scare me!”

“If you keep complaining, I’ll leave you alone…”

“No!” Her scream echoes from her place at the stairs. “You know I’m scared of the dark!”

You take one more step down and groan in a very annoyed tone. “You could’ve just taken a torch from the patio if you weren’t so lazy.”

“What? You make these light balls all the time. Keep showing them off. What’s different now?”

“The difference, ???, is that your mother asked you to go down the cellar, not me. You dragged me here because you’re a lazy scaredy cat.” ??? takes one more step down. You follow her. “And it’s not a ‘light ball’, it’s a–“

“A sun sphere,” she makes a very whiny impersonation of your voice and shrugs. “Whatever.”

She’s being definitely way too annoying for someone needing help.

The sun sphere floats centimeters away from your palm. It’s not bigger than a pebble, but it’s enough to lighten the entire underground cellar. Eerie shadows are cast over the many barrels and jars that store mostly wine and ale. It always smells of wood, wet soil and grapes down here.

??? squeezes her eyes and walks deeper into the cellar. “Now, which one is it… ???, do you remember–?”

“The big one in the corner. Made of dark oak. Gods, you really know nothing.”

She turns to you with a deeper frown. “And you’re the most annoying person I know! You keep acting like that just because you can make your stupid balls of light or because you turned twelve first! No one besides you cares! Everyone says I’m cuter than you anyway!”

Your jaw drops. You tilt your head to the side. “Well, I think you care. At least I’m useful for something. All you do is braid your hair and destroy Aunt ???’s tapestries with your ugly paintings.”

??? gags; her face is now completely clouded with anger. She puts the ceramic jar she held previously on the floor and walks towards you at heavy steps, her hands tightened into fists.

“Take that back!”

Oh, that was such a grave mistake.

??? has time to see your face turn into a mischievous grin before she regrets what she was about to do.

“No–“

Too late.

You summon the sun sphere to your palm and close your hand.

The light extinguishes.

??? yells.

You run upstairs much faster than her – you were closer to the stairs since the beginning – with ??? following you shortly while screaming like a scared mouse. But you get to the top faster. You shut the door with a loud bang. You lock the heavy wooden door and lean your back on it.

You laugh while she bangs on the door, screaming and crying, until you spot Aunt ??? going down the patio to see what is happening.

You run away before she can scold you.

Juste and Alucard gathered in front of Ruby to analyze the speck of light she had just summoned.

The old Belmont hummed and held his chin, leaning down slightly to see it closer. The only way to describe what he was seeing was as a ball of light. It floated a few centimeters away from her palm obediently.

Juste stuck his finger into the ball and hummed again. It didn’t move away from his touch; his pointer finger went through it as if it weren’t even there.

“It’s not fire,” he observed with a thoughtful tone. “It even feels a little cold.”

Alucard watched him intently.

“Does it feel like Speaker magic?” the white-haired vampire asked.

“No, no. It definitely isn’t.” Juste straightened his back and rested a hand on the side of his waist. “Never seen a Speaker summon light like that.” His frown deepened. “Though it’s not really light. It’s sun, isn’t it?”

Ruby looked down at the light orb and pressed her lips.

“It’s called a sun sphere. I… think.” Her words were slow, hesitant.

“And how did you figure out you could make it?” Alucard asked.

Ruby gulped. She looked a little dazed… Juste figured she was the most shocked out of everyone at this new discovery. It was as if she didn’t even know what to do with herself.

“I had a dream. When I woke up, I just… could do it.”

“How are you summoning it?” It was Juste’s turn to ask.

“I don’t know. It’s second nature. It’s like… it’s like asking me how do I raise my arm or how do I see with my eyes.” Ruby moved her hand slightly; the sphere grew a bit larger, floating farther from her palm. “It feels as if there is a room in my mind I was not aware of. It was… locked. Hidden. Now, the door is opened and I can walk in. It was always there, I just didn’t see it.”

Juste sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

“...Yeah, I can relate to that.”

She summoned the sphere back into her palm; when she closed her hand, the sphere vanished.

Alucard crossed his arms. “So Annette was right all along. You are a witch. Your powers were just locked.”

Ruby looked down. “I’m not sure about that.” She confessed. “I also don’t know how useful this magic is other than just creating light.”

Juste chuckled dryly. “Well. It did obliterate half an army of vampires. It’d call it more than useful.”

“But that was the scepter… wasn’t it?” She definitely didn’t sound too sure of herself.

Juste wasn’t sure about that, either. He knew the scepter had some sort of magic stored in it… but what if it was just and instrument for her power, not the source of it to create such an intense spell?

The Belmont was about to make more questions – her magic was intriguing; he didn’t like the fact that he didn’t know what he was dealing with… and the thing about Belmonts is that they usually knew what the hell they were dealing with.

But he looked down at Ruby and noticed how she looked nauseous.

Alucard acted before he could.

The white-haired vampire rested his hand over her shoulder. “We should depart tomorrow morning,” he said in a calming tone. “Why don’t you get inside and have your things ready for the travel?”

Ruby looked surprised at first, then something like relief covered her features. She nodded and stepped back.

“You’re right. I’ll… see what I can do.”

She waved a small goodbye towards Juste and rushed to get into the house.

The old man sighed and crossed his arms. “Poor girl. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.”

Alucard just looked down in response.

Paris was still noisy with repairs happening everywhere – even noisier than usual. The party last night lifted their spirits, but now it was time for the Parisians to face reality: hundreds of dead. Countless buildings destroyed. A monarchy yet to be crushed… there was much to be done.

But strangely enough, Juste felt… excited.

...Renewed? Joyful? Perhaps all of these things at once. It felt as if the veil that covered his eyes and the weight heavy on his shoulders had lifted. He felt that… maybe, Juste had found a purpose again. One that went beyond survival or killing some vampires for a few coins.

One more noble, perhaps. The one that kept the Belmont clan alive for centuries.

Talking about something being alive for centuries – Juste looked at Alucard with a quirked eyebrow.

“‘Departing tomorrow morning?’ May I ask where you’re going next?”

Alucard’s expression softened slightly, the knot between his eyebrows untied. Of course Juste was curious. He couldn’t deny that the mystique (for lack of a better word) that revolved around Alucard intrigued him. Juste spent his childhood hearing stories about the man from his father, even though the half-vampire barely spent any time with him back then.

Which was even more intriguing, in a way. Because Alucard hadn’t changed a day since Juste was fourteen. Same appearance, same voice, same… everything. It was a bit eerie how this man that looked to be around his late twenties was actually lifetimes older than him… and it was a bit eerie how this young looking man could make Juste feel like a child.

Not intentionally or in a belittling way. But Juste knew what that look meant, the slight curve up of his lips. The barely there excitement and endearment, maybe.

“We’re going to Wallachia. To the Castle… and the Belmont Hold.” There it was. Alucard knew Juste would gasp, that his eyes would widen ever so slightly. “You’ve never been there, have you?”

Indeed. Juste didn’t know exactly why his ancestors left Wallachia or why they decided to spread around Europe. He thought it wasn’t a great idea judging by how little of them still remained. Perhaps staying in the Hold would’ve been the smarter decision. But Juste wasn’t there at the time… he couldn’t judge.

Every Belmont knew about the Hold and the centuries of information, history and magic stored there. Every Belmont knew that Alucard was the official guardian of the place…

“You’re more than welcome to join us.” The vampire continued. “Richter, too, if he wishes so.”

...And it would be a lie if Juste said this invite didn’t make his heart race.

Juste was a Belmont, but he was far from knowing the glory days of his clan. He’d like to know what remained of it, how magnificent the Hold must truly be. If he said he didn’t plan this trip many times, he’d be lying. But life always had a way to drift him apart from it over and over again – because of Lydie, then because of Julia… and then, because of his inertia that lasted years.

He didn’t have any of that anymore.

And yet – once again, Juste couldn’t go.

The old man sighed and crossed his arms. “I’m honored for the invite… but I’ll have to decline. Richter decided to leave for Saint Domingue with Annette… and I just can’t leave Maria alone. At least, not now. She needs someone.”

Juste knew this better than anybody. He’d seen it up close for the past few days – her fight against the darkness within herself, the loss of her mother… the way he failed in stopping her from killing the Abbot. Juste knew she hadn’t healed from any of that yet. Maria needed guidance. Not only because she was just a child in a cruel world – Maria was a powerful magician, perhaps more powerful than anyone first assumed.

And Juste had seen that darkness in her.

That linked with magic could become a catastrophe.

Richter still hadn’t told her was leaving… Juste feared what her reaction would be. So he needed to make sure she wouldn’t feel alone. Even though, well, he wasn’t great with teenage girls.

He’d have to overcome that.

Was he doing it for Maria, for Tera, for himself or for Julia?

Did he see Julia in that short blonde girl?

Maybe.

Juste just knew he didn’t want to fail in protecting someone this time.

Alucard shrugged slightly. “The place is part yours by right anyway. You can come whenever you want.”

Juste smiled and nodded. He then quirked one eyebrow again. Talking about feeling responsible over someone…

“You took full responsibility over Ruby, huh?”

The faint smile immediately vanished from Alucard’s lips. He looked down, the knot between his brows appeared again.

“...This isn’t completely over, Juste.” His voice was quieter, as if afraid any passersby could eavesdrop. Somber. “You saw it, too. The shadow.”

Juste felt a shiver just remembering it.

He was barely awake at the time, recovering from the heavy blow Erzsebet had landed on him and Maria. He was dizzy, confused, feeling pain everywhere… but he saw it. The whirlpool of shadows surrounding Drolta’s beheaded body. The laughing thing that emerged from it.

The demon.

“That thing appeared for the Abbot, too, when he died.” Juste lowered his voice as well, caressing his beard absently. “It came to reap him.”

“He probably had a deal with this demon… and he died before accomplishing it.”

“Which means Drolta had a deal with it, too?” Juste completed his logic. “Why would a vampire so powerful fall for that?”

Alucard tilted his head to the side. Juste could almost see the gears in his mind turning relentlessly, trying to come up with new answers.

“I can’t be sure. But… they had an immortal whose blood miraculously heals in their possession for a long time.” The vampire looked at him. “This feels like something worth making a deal for. No?”

Juste widened his eyes slowly.

...That made sense. Yes, that made a lot of sense.

“Do you think she was the bargaining chip?”

Alucard shrugged. “Erzsebet drank Sekhmet’s blood to become the goddess’ vessel… and Ruby’s blood to heal herself from the process. Drolta searched for a suitable vessel for millennia. Maybe she didn’t find one. Maybe she made one that couldn’t die this time… because she had a way to heal her continuously.” Alucard held his chin in a thoughtful expression. “And it’s not only that… right after Annette managed to rip Sekhmet’s soul from Drolta’s body, Drolta tried to reach for Ruby. I’m sure she did. Why would she do something like that on the verge of death?”

“Maybe to heal herself with Ruby’s blood.” Juste guessed. “Or maybe… because she was part of the deal.”

“And Drolta knew she had to do something about Ruby to complete her part of the deal before she could be reaped.”

It’s like Juste could visualize an intricate thread form in front of his eyes as Alucard spoke. The old Belmont tapped his foot on the cobblestones floor, hummed deep in thought.

“The fact that after Drolta died, Ruby remembered how to access her magic… a non-Speaker magic that I’ve never heard of on top of that makes everything more suspicious.”

“Yes.” Alucard nodded. “I believe all the answers are with her already. We just have to find a way to open the doors to her mind. My father’s knowledge might be helpful with that.”

“Let’s be glad that Ruby is cooperative, then.”

“She wants to remember her past more than all of us.”

Juste tilted his head. “Understandable. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must feel like… to have no memories at all.” He hesitated a few seconds before speaking again. “Which… might lead to some uncomfortable discoveries, aye? Maybe she became a part of all this willingly.”

“I doubt it. She also wanted Erzsebet and Drolta dead more than all of us.” Alucard looked down again. “But if it turns out to be true… I’ll deal with it.”

Juste eyed Alucard in silence for a while.

Could he, really?

Of course – he didn’t want to question legendary Alucard. This man had killed more vampires and fought more magicians than Juste could even count. But Juste also saw that the vampire was… attached to her to some degree. He just wasn’t sure how deep this attachment was. Would Alucard be able to deal with her if he found out she wasn’t innocent?

Because dealing with it meant to kill her.

But… well… considering what he had already done in the past…

Juste didn’t even want to think about it.

“If it comes down to this… how are you going to do it?” The Belmont was, once again, hesitant, choosing his words carefully. “From what I’ve heard, she’s like a vampire. Does she die like a vampire, too?”

Alucard tightened his eyes slowly.

“I’ve seen a night creature bite half of her body. Multiple organs pierced. Bones crushed to dust. Mass bleeding. She healed in an hour and half.” The vampire looked down at Juste, maybe to observe his astonishment. “I don’t know many vampires who could survive all that.”

Juste went silent for a while.

That… that sounded dangerously close to something mankind had been looking for since the dawn of time. What vampires wanted the most. They called themselves immortals, but they could be killed. And yet…

“That sounds like true immortality.”

Alucard nodded slowly in a grave movement.

Juste felt his stomach get heavy.

He shook his head. “But that can’t be. Anything can be killed. We just don’t know how yet… in her case.”

Alucard looked down again. There was something very dark in his eyes… very cold.

“Perhaps the only person that knew how to is already dead.”

It took Juste a few seconds to understand what he meant… could it be… Drolta…?

But he saw someone else approaching – and the topic ended right then.

It was the ginger boy, Henri, son of the Judge.

It was a bit funny how awkwardly he walked. The young lad always looked like a pile of nervousness – blushing, blinking, averting his gaze elsewhere… so much that Juste wondered how the hell did he survive past night. How was he even a soldier?

“Did you call me, Mr. Alucard?” The boy asked. He hardly could keep eye contact with neither of them.

“Yes.” The vampire crossed his arms. He narrowed his eyes at Henri; Juste could almost see the boy shrinking under his gaze, though Alucard didn’t sound much different from how he usually talked. “Did you tell anyone about what happened yesterday?”

The younger one widened his eyes slightly. He unconsciously gripped his recently healed shoulder. “N-No, sir.”

“This information could put her in great danger.” Alucard stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The only people that know about Ruby’s ability are me, Juste and you. So, if anyone comes after her… I’ll know it was you.”

Henri got pale.

It seems that even his lips lost their color.

It was a bit impressive how Alucard could threaten in such a sophisticated way. Henri looked between the vampire and the Belmont, both much taller and muscular than him – and Juste wondered for a second if he’d piss his pants.

“O-Of course, Mr. Alucard. I’d n-never put Miss Ruby in danger. This secret goes with me to the grave.”

Alucard nodded approvingly.

He then looked at Juste. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some preparations to make as well.”

The vampire took two steps.

Juste watched Henri intently. In the time Alucard took these two steps, it looked like there was a war happening inside the boy. Finally, before Alucard could leave–

“Wait!”

He turned around and looked down at Henri. The quirk of his brow was enough of a question.

Before, Henri got pale. Now, he got as red as a lobster.

The boy avoided his gaze and bowed slightly.

“I-I’d like to properly apologize, Mr. Alucard. For c-c-courting Miss Ruby. I… I didn’t know she was is your fiancée.”

It was a difficult task to take Alucard off guard – but Henri’s “apology” certainly did.

Juste looked from the tall one to the small one repeatedly. What is going on here?!

Henri coughed. “I-I did not mean any disrespect on you, sir. Or on Miss Ruby. Please, forgive me.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

Juste tried to muffle an incoming giggle. So the boy thought they’re a couple?

The tension disappeared from Alucard’s face once more. He chuckled lightly and closed his eyes for a moment, looking like he found the situation extremely funny.

He patted Henri’s shoulder softly.

And walked away.

Not a word spoken.

Now Juste was caught off guard.

He watched Alucard’s back as he distanced himself, suddenly remembering what he said yesterday night when Maria asked him what he was going to do from now on.

“I’ve been alone for many years. It seemed, on the whole, for the best. But last night, I saw people who have found something… new and precious and… maybe world-changing. They were not ready to surrender it. They would rather die. I think I’d like to see how that goes.”

And Juste got it.

The old Belmont chuckled and patted Henri’s back. The boy gasped in surprise.

“You aimed too high, lad.” Henri looked down with blush already covering his cheeks and ears. “But don’t be discouraged. Paris is full of beauties.”

He walked away too before Henri could feel even more embarrassed.

Apparently… Juste wasn’t the only one with a new motivation to live.

You should be packing.

Well. Not that you had anything to pack. The maid had kindly brought a few pieces of clothing and a bag, so it was pretty much everything you’d be able to carry with yourself – but all of these items were still scattered over the bed, untouched.

All you could do was sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the sun sphere.

Sun sphere. It’s how that little girl in the dream called.

As soon as your eyes snapped open, you just knew how to do it. It was easy, didn’t make you feel tired. Almost as it you’d known how to do that your entire life.

It was the second time in 48 hours that a dream revealed something about yourself.

You remembered how, under imprisonment, you barely ever dreamed of anything – and now suddenly whenever you closed your eyes, your mind wandered. What if that was also Erzsebet and Drolta’s work? What if Alucard was right and your memory was blocked by magic?

Maybe these weren’t dreams. Maybe these were memories.

You closed your hand, making the sun sphere vanish. So you were in fact a magician, as Annette suspected from the start… though Juste stated this wasn’t Speaker magic. Alucard had no idea of what it was either. When it came to you, it seems no one had any idea of anything ever. Which, quite honestly, was starting to be annoying. Of course – no one had to know anything, but the sheer lack of information was just infuriating.

Alucard was confident you’d find valuable information in his castle, however.

Dracula’s Castle.

It felt a bit strange how Alucard didn’t call the place his. His father could’ve built it, but as far as you knew, it had been his for hundreds of years already. Why, then, didn’t he feel like he owned it?

The idea of being there was both exciting and frightening. Dracula built the castle. He lived there. And for some reason, the mere mention of his name already brought chills. You should’ve already mentioned this strange reaction to Alucard at this point, though you still didn’t quite know how to approach the topic… but it had to be done, right? And soon. You couldn’t run away from it much longer.

What was also exciting and frightening was the idea that you’d travel with Alucard.

Alone.

You weren’t scared of him; not at all. But… Annette and Richter wouldn’t be there to divert his attention. It’d be just you and him the entire travel.

You didn’t know if you could manage your embarrassment around him.

Why were you even embarrassed in the first place? You didn’t know exactly. Maybe the fact that you were so attached to him already. That… didn’t feel very mature of you. And Alucard was so mature.

There was no way you wouldn’t be attached to him when you knew so little about the world. But… how did he feel about all this? What if you were being inconvenient in some way?

You shook your head as if to make these thoughts fly away.

“Pack. I should pack.” You mumbled under your breath before finally getting up.

Two changes of clothes, one of which you’d obviously be wearing. A black cloak. You folded everything carefully and put it inside the brown leather bag the maid provided. And finally… something else you felt brave enough to ask for.

A small notebook.

The cover was made of black leather with a thin strip to keep it closed. It was a little bigger than your hand. With care, you took the lily that the three little boys had given you and placed it inside the notebook to let it dry there.

You’d just written a few things yet. A couple of phrases. You found yourself embarrassed of writing anything remotely personal, even if you were locked inside a bedroom. Probably because you were still under the panic of being watched at all times.

But you were scared of forgetting the frail memories you had retrieved… or even the events that unfolded in the past week.

You hadn’t experienced any memory blackouts since you left imprisonment. You woke up exactly were you laid previously; you didn’t suddenly find yourself in situations and didn’t remember how they started. But there was no solid proof that it couldn’t happen again. What if you had to use the scepter again and it melted your brain? What if it caused memory loss? What if there was actually something wrong with your head that had nothing to do with magic?

So you decided to keep track of yourself in this small notebook.

You still had to find the right words. It was… difficult to organize your thoughts in text. Your handwriting wasn’t the best, either. But you had to try, regardless of how awkward it’d feel at first.

You felt the presence before you saw him.

Something cold. For a second, you thought it was a freezing breeze coming from the open window… but no. Something in your guts knew better. Was familiar with it. The sense of danger they brought, the darkness and the cold.

The presence of a vampire.

You turned around in a jump.

You thought your eyes were failing you at first. It… looked like smoke. Pitch black smoke materializing in the room, condensing at the darkest part of it, were the thick curtains were still covering the window.

That pitch black smoke took the form of a man.

Your first reaction was to grab the sun disk. Your heart raced, adrenaline heightened your senses to a ten. The door was quite far… if he launched himself at you, would you make it to the doorknob in time?

But then… you looked at him.

Really looked at him.

The unknown man was tall and muscular. He wore a luxurious purple and golden attire. His long straight black hair fell to the right side of his face. His eyes… vertical pupils and an eerie, supernatural shade of green, contrasting with his brown skin. They seemed to glow in the dark. Astute eyes. Almost as if you stood in front of a serpent quietly analyzing its prey. His beauty was mesmerizing.

And you remembered.

“...I know you.” Your voice was quiet. “You were at the Erzsebet’s chateau that morning.”

The vampire opened an almost imperceptible smirk.

“I’m surprised you remember.” His voice was also quiet; smooth as silk, with a bit of rasp on it.

“Are you one of her servants? Do you seek revenge?”

He shook his head slightly. His earrings tinkled with the movement.

“Oh, no. I’m more than pleased that the bitch is dead now.” His gaze was so penetrating that you felt your stomach drop. He measured you up and down slowly. “But… I’m curious about you.”

You still moved slowly, as if you were indeed facing a poisonous serpent. Alucard didn’t feel this man’s presence in the house… meaning he was certainly skilled in masking his presence. That was no regular vampire. In a way, he exhaled that same quiet aura of an old, powerful vampire that Alucard had as well.

He didn’t show any aggressiveness in his expression or body.

Which made you remember something else.

The day Alucard took you from the chateau… the words he said.

Now, let’s go. I’m already abusing the opportunity my associate gave me…

This man was there to see you help summon the eclipse.

“...Was it you?” He waited for you to elaborate. “It’s you who told Alucard about me?”

He closed his eyes for a moment and tilted his head… almost a nod.

You straightened your back and lowered your arm slowly.

“...Thank you, sir. You saved my life.”

He seemed a bit taken aback by your sudden change in behavior.

“Nothing to thank me for. I was chasing after my own interests.”

“If your interest was to defeat Erzsebet, than I should thank you even more.”

He chuckled dryly. “You’re not what I was expecting. But… it makes sense, in the end.”

“What are you talking about?” You frowned.

“I wanted to see the person Mizrak risked his life for up close.” His eyes dropped to the sun disk in your hand. “So… it was really you.”

His last sentence went completely unnoticed. Your eyes widened.

“Mizrak?! Do you know Mizrak?” You took one step closer to him. “Is he alive? Is he okay?!”

The scene of Mizrak being stabbed in the stomach didn’t leave your mind. The amount of blood that flowed from the wound, the way he pushed you inside the cathedral… and how he simply disappeared after everything. Both Alucard and Juste tried to find him, asking in several medical posts (the improvised spots where the wounded in battle were being treated) if they’d seen him, but no one received a man with the same description.

You wouldn’t have reached Notre Dame without him. The idea that he could’ve simply died was agonizing.

The vampire quirked an eyebrow softly at your inquires. “...He’s still not well. But he’ll be.”

A side of you was immediately worried for Mizrak’s life. After all… this man could’ve helped you, but he still was a vampire – and you didn’t trust vampires. But there was something in the way his serpent eyes softened almost imperceptibly at the mention of Mizrak that made you… calm down about his safety.

You tightened your eyes at him.

“What’s your curiosity about me?”

The vampire watched you in silence for some seconds.

It was unsettling how you had no clue of what was going through his mind. The ghost of a smirk stayed there… almost in a mocking way. You wondered it you really should stop worrying. You wondered if it wouldn’t be a good idea to reach for the doorknob and scream…

But his eyes dropped from your face.

They lingered somewhere lower.

Your chest. The left side of it.

And… and it seemed he was seeing something you couldn’t. Something that made his vertical pupils dilate slightly.

Finally he looked at your face again.

Opened a lip tightened smile.

“Don’t bother, my dear. I already found out.” You watched as his body started to dissipate again in a shapeless black cloud. “Farewell.”

And just like that – he was gone.

You hadn’t realized you weren’t breathing properly.

You turned around and opened the door in a rush. What the hell just happened?! Who was that man? What did he mean? What if he was dangerous? What if he was still around? Why didn’t anyone else feel his presence?! You ran down the corridor, feeling adrenaline kick in again. The stranger saved your life… and didn’t seem aggressive. But that could mean nothing.

Alucard’s room was the last. The door was partially opened, so you just stormed in–

And froze.

Alucard was in the room.

...Laying on the sofa. Asleep.

His chest moved slowly. He was too tall for it… so one of his legs was over the sofa arm, while his other feet touched the floor. His neck was in an uncomfortable position. By the way his sword was leaning on the sofa and he had a small book over his chest… he didn’t plan to sleep there.

Your entire will to warn him ended right then.

From the moment you met him… the travel from Machecoul to Juste’s cottage, then all the way down the river towards Paris… Alucard didn’t sleep once. Richter and Annette took turns on who got to sleep. You even managed to sleep some hours at the atelier.

Alucard didn’t.

He’d been awake for days straight.

How could you simply wake him up now that he finally relaxed, even if by accident?

You stood by the door for some seconds. His long wavy hair fell over his shoulders and the sofa arm like a cascade of threads made with moonlight itself. You’d never seen him so… tranquil. No knot between his brows, lips completely relaxed. It made him look younger, in a way.

Slowly, you stepped back and closed the door, afraid to make any noise.

That could wait.

A/N: SO!! after over a month i know yall were expecting dracula's castle already or hot steamy sex!! BUT!! this is a transition chapter and it had to happen before we get to the next part!! it'll all be worth it later TRUST 🙏 what i will tell you is that one of the reasons why this ch took so long is that i REALLY wanted to write what comes next, but this one had to come first. and it kinda pissed me off, so instead of, you know, getting this over with, i just laid in bed and fantasized about the parts i ACTUALLY wanted to write. which means i am motivated to write again bc i'm getting to the parts i wanted. i don't even know if what i just said makes sense lmao but ANYWAYS!! trust the process!! 🙏

[myflawsburnthrumyskin]

murder on call with the *59

[everparanoid]

Soft Universe Sylus x F! Reader

word count: 5.4k

tags: fluff, angst

cw: reader is MC from love and deepspace, minor hades and persephone vibes, Canon typical violence, Canon Compliant, No use of Y/N, minor spoilers for Sylus's secret time Midnight Warmth and Lost Oasis, inspired by the Sylus's event story in Adventure Above Clouds

This was written before his official myth.

AO3 link: Soft universe

"With a scream, you bent back as a beam of brilliant light shot out of your chest, illuminating the sky with crimson stars. Each one bright. Each one filled with memories you knew were yours but couldn’t recall like lifetimes come and gone. Or universes born and destroyed."

Ever since you resontated with Sylus you have been having weird dreams. Or a story in which you are bound to Sylus again and he becomes clingyier than usual.

You dreamt of red mist encasing you in its warm embrace, licking at your heels, and trailing its ghostly lips along your body. Leaving in its wake skin the shade of sunset and a heart so full it could burst. You dreamt of it traversing the surface of your soul, gathering the embers of your evol and moulding them with its own before huddling into the open void in your chest.

A groan left you as the mist disappeared under your skin. Despite the initial discomfort, you didn’t hate the oddly familiar sensation of being whole.

You took an unsteady step forward. Beneath your feet, you could no longer feel the ground. Above you, the starless sky loomed. You blinked refocusing your eyes, believing they were the issue, not the lack of starlight. But nothing changed.

You heard the caw of a crow. In the darkness, you saw its ruby eyes watching you, piercing through your skin, and staring straight into your soul. Your heart thumped, beating faster, harder, growing hotter with every passing second. You keeled over, clutching your chest.

Your power, you heard the mist say. Yours.

You felt the bird's keen eyes as light burst through the cracks between your taut fingers. With a scream, you bent back as a beam of brilliant light shot out of your chest, illuminating the sky with crimson stars. Each one bright. Each one filled with memories you knew were yours but couldn’t recall like lifetimes come and gone. Or universes born and destroyed.

 The dream dissipated and your eyes fluttered open to see fire dancing in turbulent strokes in the fireplace, charring the wood that fuelled it. In the distance you heard the quiet murmuring of a film on the flat screen. You slapped your lips tiredly, rubbing your cheek against the warm, unusually hard cushion you clung to.

“This movie is boring. You should go back to sleep,” Sylus said, brushing your cheek gently. The tender touch was scolding on your skin.

 You nuzzled your head further into the hard cushion. A deep chuckle shook through it.

“What are you thinking about, kitten?” Sylus asked.

His heart raced against your ear, burning through its beats as though it were chasing death. It must have been night, you reckoned. His heart was only ever this fast in the dark.

“Sylus…” you whispered groggily.  Your focus locked on the familiar necklace resting on his chest—an empty aether core? A Protocore? A simple crystal? You yawned, blinking once, twice…three times. Wait Sylus!

You shot up, attempting to pull away. But finding your movement restricted by an inhumane force, you fell back on top of him.

 “Surprise. We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He lifted his arm and yours lifted too revealing the glowing crimson evol link cuffing you to the renowned Onychinus leader. “Were you thinking of getting rid of me again?”

The amused smirk on his lips told you he wasn’t angry, but rather entertained.

“No,” you responded.

“Being quick to respond only confirms your guilt, sweetie.”

You tugged your arm, pulling his too. 

 He grunted quietly. “Your defiance is getting old.”

“Maybe if you stopped putting me in awkward situations it wouldn’t,” you responded.

He sighed and squinted at you.

“What? Nothing to say for yourself? ” you teased.

“Silence is also an answer.” He lowered his head closer to yours. “And I like to think that actions speak louder than words.”

Sylus was a gorgeous man; breathtaking to say the least. Just being close to him made your heart betray you in ways you hated. You let out a gasp. “Sy—,”

His phone buzzing on the coffee table interrupted you. He grabbed his phone and put it on silent.

 “What time is it?” you asked. You tried to peer at the screen’s reflection in Sylus’s frameless glasses but failed.

 He turned his screen to you. “Nearly two am.”

“Why are you here? Don’t you have some gang to bully? Or some notorious deals to strike?” you asked. It had been a coincidence, your bumping into each other whilst you were taking a three day vacation from Linkon in one of the outskirt islands. A pure innocent coincidence—according to Sylus. You struggled to believe that, however, as it wasn’t the first time Sylus had conveniently appeared at the same place as you. Seemingly with nothing to do but be mysterious and strange and there.

He shook his head. “Have you forgotten?”

You had forgotten but only because of your dream. It wasn’t every day you had a nightmare so vivid that it tore you out of your sleep. It hadn’t always been every day. Only since you made the mistake of resonating with this unlikely ally.

“You got injured snowboarding with your colleagues. And I happened to be returning back to the resort when they saw me and pawned you off. Apparently they wanted to do another few rounds with the people they met.”

You frowned. You only vaguely remembered the incident. More so the tree that you had wiped out against. Everything else was a blur. You knew sylus had no reason to lie, so you chose to believe him. It wasn’t like Sylus and your colleagues didn’t know each other to some degree. Sharing a karaoke booth with Sylus was enough time for anyone to develop a trauma bond. It was like war…without the bloodshed. “Doesn't explain where they are now.”

“I used your phone to tell them I’d watch you for the night—ease their minds.”

“How valiant of you,” you ad-libbed.

“I did try to leave after making sure your condition wasn’t critical but you asked me to stay,” Sylus said. “Then you pulled me onto this couch with you and this happened.” He gestured to the link.

You looked away flustered. “Must have slipped my mind.”

“You’re so air-headed, kitten,” Sylus tutted.

The depth of his voice rattled you; made your skin feverish and a sudden flush spread through you. You noted your sudden reaction to his voice as an after effect of your accident. You straightened hoping fixing your posture would disperse the settling arousal. And in some pseudoscientific way, it did.

Mephisto squaking in the corner snapped your mind back to the crow in your dream. “Sylus, can I ask you a question?” you asked. You were being abstract but with this burning question fresh on your mind you didn't care.

“You just did.”

You rolled your eyes but asked anyway: “Do crows have dreams?”

“Is that seriously what you are asking me right now?” he responded.

“I’m being serious.” Your voice remained steady as your head lifted high.  “Does Mephisto dream?” you asked motioning with your eyes to the mechanical bird.

Sylus’s gaze followed.

Mephisto lifted his wings in response.

“Whether Mephisto does or doesn’t dream is beyond me. He is a mechanical bird after all. Dreaming isn’t something I programmed into him. If he were to dream, I suppose it would be recounts of recorded data or lines of code,” Sylus said.

Mephisto cawed again.

 Sylus looked back at you. “Does that answer your question?”

  You shook your head.

He sighed and cocked his head. He didn’t appear too surprised by your lack of satisfaction, more so by your inability to believe hard fact. “Then enlighten me, do you believe doves dream?”

Remembering the dove you had saved a few months back, you nodded.  “Yes.”

“So, why would crows be any different?”

“Okay, sorry for not thinking things all the way through, Mr philosophical,” you muttered.

He chuckled. “I was just answering your question, sweetie.”

You yawned.

 “You should get back to sleep,” Sylus whispered. “It’s still late for you. And I’d like to be free sometime soon.”

“I can’t,” you said.

His phone buzzed in his hand taking his attention. “Nightmare?”

“Nightmare,” you agreed.

He hummed listlessly as he scrolled through his phone, typing and swiping. “Am I allowed to ask what it was about?”

“It’s nothing really.”

Sighing, Sylus placed down his phone. “You still should rest... Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

“Oh no, please God no. I’d rather have Mephisto sing to me.” You physically cringed.

Mephisto squawked in protest.

Sylus ignored your dread. “Do you want me to tell you a story then?”

“No.”

He glanced at you. “I thought you quite enjoyed the last one?”

“I don’t know what Kieran and Luke told you a story is, but I think you have it misconstrued.” You wanted to cross your arms but remembered the link binding your arm to his.

“Oh?” He quipped. “It has a beginning, middle, and an end. Perhaps also a little filler to transition from plot point to plot point. That’s a story, sweetie.”

“And the demonstration?” you asked.

“Audience participation.”

 “I think you'll find that serves the opposite effect of telling someone a bedtime story.” You recalled the bites that had stained your skin pinks and purples the day after his ‘story.’  Which, much to his enjoyment, resulted in you having to extend your trip as there was no way you could go back to work in that state. Not unless you lied. And as good as you were, you knew no one would believe you had been attacked by a Wanderer.

Not Tara, who was obsessed with the idea of you and Sylus being more than friends ever since she met him. Nor Nero in Data Analysis because he was a bit of a freak when it came to anything concerning Wanderers. So you imagined a lie of that sort wouldn’t slip past him. And if it somehow did, you didn’t want to end up in a heated conversation about the potential mating rituals of Wanderers. Nero’s fascination was weird enough as it was without going anywhere near that topic.

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Sylus said.

You had… eventually. And unfortunately, when you had fallen asleep—exhausted from his playful bites, you’d slept the most soundly you had in years. Right in the arms of this criminal. You stomach churned at the memory. A hunter and a wanted mob boss…how unprofessional. “Because you were relentless.”

“Don’t act so innocent. You were actively enjoying our little roleplay. And as I recall you were the one who said I looked like a vampire.”

The tips of your ears burned. You stared up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze.

The empty ceiling stared back at you like a starless night; an endless void…a pit of nothing.

Your wrist tingled with the heat of the link binding you to Sylus. You felt a strange familiarity spreading up your arm. One that followed you out of your dreams. “Sylus…”

 “What is it?”

“Do you dream?” you whispered, staring into the darkness. You could hear his quiet contemplation from beside you.

“Not often,” he responded.

“Really?”

“You sound so surprised…” Sylus said.  “Dreams aren’t for those without hearts, sweetie.”

“You keep saying that,” you said.

“I keep saying—”

You could feel his stare. Slowly turning your head, you looked at him. “That you have no heart. I don’t believe it. Someone without a heart wouldn’t take care of me when I hit my head and listen to me when I ask them to stay.” You paused. “Okay...hypothetically, what do you dream about?”

He slipped his free arm under your shoulder and pulled you back toward his chest. “Why are you suddenly so curious about my dreams? Is it something to do with this nightmare?”

“No, I just—” you lied. The words fell out of your mouth like vomit.

He chuckled. “I don’t care for dreams because everything I could want I can get. And nightmares—well, you already know that there isn’t much in this universe scarier than me.”

“Must be nice to have the means to buy whatever you want.”

“You clearly don’t know me if you assume everything I want can be bought.”

“Can’t it?” You searched his gaze for some kind of answer, as if by searching those red pools you might see his desire. But instead, it stared right back at you; soft, unwavering, beckoning.

Come to me.

You looked away.

“No,” he said.

You dreamt of laying on the top of a hill dressed in a gown of white silk. You didn’t know how you arrived here, or why you were dressed in such finery. Flowers surrounded you, red-stained daisies and carnations, swaying in the gentle night breeze. You plucked one and held it up to your nose. It smelt of fresh pollen and mint. You hummed in approval, not questioning the oddity, and picked another, and another, till in your arms you held a bundle of red flowers.

You smiled warmly at your beautiful collection. A bundle of love and devotion, picked by you—for you. You decided then that you liked this place. This starless night haven of endless flowers. And thought, if this dream was the place you would be stuck forever then eternity didn’t sound too bad.

Just as the thought passed through your mind something spawned in the bundle. A pomegranate. You’d never seen one spawn from flowers. You didn’t know one could do so. It was so beautiful, however, that you didn’t think to question it.

At the sight, your stomach rumbled. You weren’t hungry until then. Or rather you hadn’t noticed you were hungry until the opportunity to eat arrived. It was like this place had read into your soul and presented you with your desire before you could even desire it. Was this paradise or a paradise lost?

Dropping the flowers, you lifted the pomegranate. With a twist, the ripe fruit split in half in your hand. You’d never seen a pomegranate so easy to split; usually, you would need a knife.

The juice stained your white dress in droplets of blood-like splotches. It dribbled down your hand leaving a sticky trail. You licked the mess off your skin before you picked up some of the fallen seeds—three to be exact—and ate them. They were sweet in your mouth.

Ravenous, you ate another, and then one more. And after that one more.

You only ate six. You knew because, at that moment, a red shackle appeared on your wrist and a hellish scream tore through the air. Your head shot up in wonder, like a prey alarmed by the snap of a twig. In the distance, a volcanic beam of light erupted into the sky. You recognized it by the familiar ache that resonated through you, but you didn’t know why. You shielded your eyes as you watched crimson stars fill the empty sky, covering the expanse in colourful noise, and leaving in its wake a hole in space and time.

Forgetting your flowers and pomegranates, you wiped your hands on your stained white silk dress. You reached up with a single hand toward the tunnel. You didn’t know why you did it. You didn’t understand what this feeling was that you were chasing. You only knew that you longed for it. You needed it like you needed air to breathe and eyes to see. Perhaps this was love?

Crimson shone between the gaps of your fingers, blinding you of anything but the tunnel. It gaped and shrivelled in intervals as if it were alive.

Come to me, said a voice from the tunnel.

Its coo guided you to your feet. But even on the tips of your toes, you were no closer to the heavens than you were before.

Come to me, it said again. It beckoned to you… calling your name. Its voice was clearer, familiar.

You knew that you knew it.

You reached further. Biting the inside of your cheek, your strain began to show on your face. If you reached anymore you were going to fall. But you were so desperate, you didn’t even care. You needed this—needed it.

The hole stretched and a mangled inhuman hand pushed through. Its long-scorched fingers reached out to yours.

Just when your hand was about to touch it, you pulled back. “No,” you said in a moment of hesitation. “I must go home.”

The mangled hand recoiled before shooting forward to grab you.

You evaded it, losing your footing.

Come, it said again. Come to me.

Terror claimed you. It burnt the sky around you from night-to-day and scorched the flowers beneath your bare feet.

Stay with me.

The earth shook.

Losing your footing, you rolled down the hill, tumbling in cartwheels through the bleeding flowers. Daises and carnations filled your mouth. Red paint dyed your dress. You sealed your eyes shut. You couldn’t tell if it was the earth shaking or just you.

You wished the dream away. You prayed for the familiar darkness. You prayed for ignorance—for the you you lost to knowledge. But most of all, you prayed for the cold.

You awoke in a king-sized bed covered in dark silk sheets. Sylus’ bed, you thought. He must have moved you when it had gotten closer to his time for bed. But Sylus was nowhere to be seen.

 You sat up and looked around. The night light beside the bed lit the room showcasing the extravagant dark furniture. The sound of water running through the foggy glass doors to the en-suite bathroom, and the off-key hummed rendition of some jazz he had on loop informed you of Sylus’ location.

“He’s showering,” you whispered to yourself.

Mephisto cawed from where he was perched.

When you stared at him, he lifted his wings and cawed again.

“I don’t speak crow,” you responded.

“And he doesn’t speak human,” Sylus said, closing the door to the bathroom. Steam pulsed off his wet body as he emerged in only a fluffy white towel.

You gulped, closing your legs under the covers. Not that it would do anything for the feelings that arose from the sight of him. Not even disgust could repel your natural desire for someone so physically alluring.

“I thought you were showering,” you said tightly.

Sylus scoffed. “And you were asleep. I guess we were both wrong, kitten.” 

You frowned.

Sylus approached the dresser and lifted the hairdryer. Slicking back his hair, he began to dry it with the dryer.

You shuffled to the edge of the bed and held out your hand for the hairdryer. “Let me do that.”

Catching your reflection in the mirror, he turned to you. “What? You want to do this for me?” he asked, switching off the hairdryer. His damp hair fell onto his forehead.

You flicked your hand impatiently. Your eyes actively avoided falling below his collarbones. “I’m trying to be nice… since you didn’t wake me when the link untangled and all. Thank you for that by the way. And sorry I took up your entire night.”

His brows furrowed. “You’re the only person I’d excuse taking up my time. Besides, that’s just common decency, sweetie.”

You blushed and gestured again for the hairdryer. You couldn’t fall for his pretty words. You weren’t that stupid. Halting your thoughts, you cleared your throat and corrected your posture. “Still—I feel like I owe you and this will make us even.” 

“Okay, deal.”

You half expected him to counter your statement and ask for more. You wouldn’t have faulted him if he had. You knew what you were suggesting wasn’t an even repayment for the time he lost, but for a man who had everything this was the only thing you could do on the fly.

His tall frame casted a shadow over you as he approached; all damp skin and wet hair. He handed you the wireless hairdryer. And then sitting on the ground at the foot of the bed, he sighed. “I didn’t know all I needed to do to get you to be nice to me was let you sleep.”

You rolled your eyes and shuffled back a little after feeling the heat of his wet body on the inside of your thighs. You tried to keep a small amount of distance not wanting to accidentally touch him. You leaned forward and cursed inaudibly at the difficult angle.

“I don’t know what hair you’re going to be drying from back there,” he cooed. Wrapping his hands around your ankles, he pulled you closer to him.

“Hey!” You yelped, sliding forward till you inner thighs pressed against his wet shoulders.

“That’s better,” he said, letting go.

 “You’re crude.”

“I was just making your job easier, kitten,” he purred.

You nudged his shoulder with your thigh and turned on the dryer. Your finger ran through his hair as you watched the water dry out and the soft greyish-white return.

Sylus closed his eyes and leaned his head back till you could see his face.

You paused. “You’re not making this easier for me,” you said, peering down at him.

He chuckled deeply. “I can’t help the fact that you have magic hands, I’ve never been so relaxed.”  He lifted his arms and rested them atop your knees like armrests. “Have you ever thought of changing careers?”

You snickered. “Are you sure you’re rich? Surely, you’ve had much better treatment than this.”

Sylus laughed with you. The sound called you broke in every way but with words. It reminded you of aged wine and expensive cuff-links, two things you had never associated with a voice until him.

You turned off the dryer and placed it on the bed.

“Why did you stop?” Sylus opened his eyes. He stared up at you from your lap. And for a man so good at being invulnerable, he looked extremely soft.

 “Your hair is dry.”

“So it is.” Sylus lifted his head. “Thank you.”

Mephisto cawed loudly and swooped out of the room. Taking Mephisto’s departure as your sign to escape too, you began to shuffle back,.

 “Where are you going?” Sylus wrapped his hands around your ankles once again stopping you.

“Mephisto is gone,” you stated as if the answer was obvious.

“And? He’s a bird, it’s not good for him to stay in one place. You’re not a bird, are you?”

You could see the hurt in his eyes.

“But it’s morning. I have stuff to do. And you should get some sleep,” you said.

“What stuff?” he asked.

You shrugged. You didn’t have many plans—maybe meet up with your colleagues. Not that they were concered about your whereabouts. Your phone hadn’t rung once.

“Since you don’t know, why don’t you stay? Your flight back to Linkon isn’t for a few days yet.” Sylus suggested, letting go of your ankles.

“Stay?”

He stood from the ground and by some will of the gods his towel stayed on. “Yes, stay…with me. It’ll be just us.” He placed his knee on the bed.

Your spine stiffened as you backed away. “I can’t lay around all day.”

“So, it’s okay that I did? Come on, sweetie, that’s not fair. Stay..” He placed his hands on either side of your head, caging you. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You pushed his chest gently—not exerting any real effort. “I dried your hair.” As much as you wanted to leave, you weren’t opposed to being stuck under him. Any sane woman wouldn’t be, especially when he was like this.

He caught your wrists and pinned them to the sheets by either side of your head. “Come on, kitten, we both know that was wasn’t an even deal.”

“What if Tara comes looking for me? Or the rest of my colleagues?” you spluttered.

“They know you’re with me. They won’t disturb,” he purred.

You pursed your lips. You knew he was right. That didn’t mean you wouldn't stop trying. “What about Mephisto? He might—“

“No one is going to disturb us, sweetie,” Sylus interrupted. “Just say you’ll stay. You were restless the entire night.”

“And you’re the one who is restless now,” you retaliated. In the settled silence, you could almost hear the thump of his heart. “Besides, I’m not tired.”

“We can fix that. Come on, sleep with me.”

You gave him an unimpressed side-eye.

“What if I said I wanted to hear a story? Would you tell me one?” he asked. He let go of one of your hands and trailed his fingers down the side of your face. Tucking them under your jaw, he guided you to look at him. His darkened gaze fell between your eyes and lips, dancing caution. Like you were a deer caught in headlights ready to disappear with any sudden movement.

“Why are you suddenly being so clingy?” you asked.

He hummed. “Am I?”

You nodded. “And you’re being too nice.”

“Are you saying I’m crass, miss?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Let’s say for your sake that I’ve learnt not to scare an easily startled kitten.”

“How kind…”

With his fingers still under your chin, he guided your head off the sheets, bringing you closer to him. “So, what do you say. It is a simple yes or no…sweetie?” He peered at you through thick eyelashes.

“Why should I?”

“I can hear your heart beating in sync with mine,” he said, bringing you closer.

“You’ve got me pinned to your bed—of course my heart is racing.”

“I can see the desire to stay in your eyes.” He brought you closer.

You scanned his face, barely millimetres away. “Still not good enough,” you said.

He let out a low scoff, looking directly into your eyes. “Because I need you,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you.

When you closed your eyes, you saw an expanse of dark teal grass dusted with withered, red-stained daisies and carnations. You looked around, first at the red silk dress draped over your body, and then at the tail of mangled dark scales trapping you. Beside you rested the head of the dragon-like creature, protecting you in its slumber. Your eyes traced its surface, taking in its shape and appearance—the long forked tail, wanderer-like body, and large horns. It was like nothing you’d seen before. And yet, you weren’t afraid of it.

You followed its scales with your hand until you reached its face. It stirred beneath your touch. Its deep, unconscious breaths halted as you stared into the giant red eye of the creature. Its pupil slit as it watched you, unmoving, as if waiting for your reaction—the screaming and shouting.

You dropped your hand. You hadn’t meant to wake the beast.

A low grumble reverberated through the creature’s body, one of disapproval.

You crawled slowly toward its face, watching its reaction for any signs to stop.

It stared at you, unblinking.

“Hello there,” you said, stopping beside its high cheekbone and deep crimson eye.

It didn’t respond, continuing to silently observe you.

“Do you have a name?” you asked.

Silence.

A sharp squawk made you look up as a crow flew in circles over the two of you. In the star-sprinkled sky, the crow was a black shadow with beady red eyes passing in flashes. Its speed caused feathers to flutter off its body and cascade down to the ground.

You lifted your hand and watched as a single dark feather landed on your palm. A smile curved on your lips as you admired the large feather, bigger than any crow’s feather you’d seen before—about half the length of your arm. You lifted the feather to the creature.

“For you,” you said to the creature, unsure of whether it could understand you or not. You knew you should have been afraid of the monster. You knew you should have run when you had the chance. But something about it seemed defenseless—tired.

It glanced down, motioning for you to place the feather on the ground.

You put it close to the creature’s jaw. “Where did you come from?”

It didn’t respond.

“What is this place?”

The creature moved its head closer to you, offering its snout.

You placed your hand on the creature’s face. “I suppose you don’t speak human,” you said. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a wound oozing thick blood. Your hand moved to it, blocking the hole in its chest.

At the added pressure, the creature grumbled. Slowly, its eyes closed as if to sleep—or perhaps even to die.

“Did you get this whilst protecting me?” you asked. You knew the creature needed healing, or some kind of regeneration. But its core was shattered. Under your fingers, you could only sense how weak it had gotten. It was not strong enough to keep the creature alive, let alone save it.

The creature blinked slowly.

You took that as a yes. “You shouldn’t have done that. You don’t even know me.”

It blinked again, slower this time as you felt its soul slipping from its body.

“I can help you,” you said.

You could help it. It was an ability you had, a one-time bonus that came with having your resonance evol. And you would use it—even if it cost you your power. Even if it bound you to this creature for eternity.

The creature made a sound of disapproval. And with its little strength, it moved away.

You froze so as not to anger it further. Movement was only making the creature’s wound worse.

“I promise I won’t hurt you. Think of it as repayment—common decency, if you will.” You waited for it to move again. When it didn’t, you approached it, lifting your hand. “May I?”

The creature didn’t respond, its breaths deepening.

“Thank you,” you smiled, placing your hand over the wound again. The tips of your fingers glowed as white mist gathered the embers of his evol and molded them with your own before sealing itself in the hole in his chest.

“Don’t close your eyes,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Stay with me.”

Sylus’s hand under your chin brought you back to reality as it moved to rest on the base of your throat, over your chest bone. His other hand, still holding your other wrist, unravelled. Trailing up to your palm, his fingers caressed the smooth skin before he intertwined your fingers  with his. He didn’t exert any force. No, he was careful. His body wishing, pleading, begging with yours for something beyond your awareness. Something only your soul could answer.

You could hear it promising you everything…the world, the universe. At the small price of…you. You knew he meant it. You knew this feeling. You’d felt it in your dreams. Or were they visions? Or perhaps memories from a different you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered the mangled inhuman creature and the sweet, damning taste of pomegranate seeds. And you wondered if this was how you would lose your soul—without ever being told it was on the market.

You broke the kiss. Instantly, you missed the minty taste of his lips.

  “Was I too rough?” Sylus asked. Dishevelled. Searching.

You had never seen him so disgruntled. Not since he was told you were disgusted by him after you’d met.

You shook your head.

“So, it’s something else then?” Sylus began to pull away. His hand slipped from yours, taking the connection with him.

You wanted to be thankful for your freedom…but it was too late, you already resigned yourself to your feelings.

You missed the heat.

You missed him.

Stay with me.

Was this delirium? Or some kind of Stockholm Syndrome? Loving a creature so twisted—so different from you. One who only wore the skin of a prince to lure in and devour the heart of a princess.

“Sylus,” you said. Sitting up, you caught him around his neck before he could get too far away. And with the strength you had left, you pulled him back to you. And kissed him. Silently telling him that you wanted this—you wanted him.

All of him.

And whatever that choice brought with it.

You knew he wasn’t perfect. In other lives maybe you hadn’t chosen to stay—to remain with him and his promises of grandeur amongst the destruction he sought. Maybe this time you’d chosen the path least trekked with the monster whose intent was only ever written about in the annals of history as that of the slain and evil. Ultimately, you didn’t care. You supposed that thought alone was immoral.

Sylus moaned into the kiss. It was quiet, guttural, and just enough to make you want more. You let him guide you back onto the dark silk sheets, your lips moving together all the while.

“I will,” you said between kisses. “I’ll stay.”

He didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t need to. His actions spoke louder than any words either of you could have said.

masterlist

my ao3: Everparanoid

[heartlilith]

WHAT THE VENUS SIGNS REMIND ME OF

🩷Oddly specific things I think about when I hear ______ venus

Aries Venus: Summer, rubies, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, rollercoasters, fast cars, the color red, vampire fangs, Saturday nights, liquor stores and gas stations, fireworks, sour candy, cool bic lighters, “you’re mine”, Mario Kart, boys who wear nail polish, fuck it energy, oversized sweatshirts, middle finger emoji, cherries

Taurus Venus: Satin pillowcases, white candles, pearls, mirrors, hand holding, walking someone home at night, vinyls, red lipstick, full lips, fancy dinner dates, the wine and dine, old romantic movies, wallets and purses, hotels, French manicures, old money, “I won’t get on my knees for no man”

Gemini Venus: Driving around at night listening to music, reading to someone, comedy shows, mimosas, Samantha from Sex and the City, libraries, nerd kink, hot teachers/student kink, emerald green, laughter, swing sets, looking out of the window and just watching, untied shoelaces, dogs and puppies, dad jokes

Cancer Venus: Soft feather pillows, a bowl of warm soup, a bubble bath, tears and running mascara, babies and how babies laugh, poetry, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be”, hot tubs, hot coffee, teddy bears, heartbeats, soft hands & skin, lotion, bagels and cream cheese, doodling in your journal

Leo Venus: Lip gloss, mojitos, getting drunk at brunch, diamond tennis bracelets, drunk texts you regret sending later, the block button, lonely nights, shooting stars, blowing bubbles, piggy back rides, art museums, glittery eyeshadow, jumparoos, birthday parties

Virgo Venus: Taking a shower, Dove soap, smooth skin, symmetry, butterflies, the smell of books, getting a facial or going to the spa, chicken caesar salads, the good tasting water, chunky headphones, acoustic guitar, running errands, getting your eyebrows done, neat handwriting, neutral colors, sushi

Libra Venus: Blush, dimples, Y2K fashion, Hello Kitty, makeup skills, those little hand mirrors, princes and princesses, cupcakes, pedicures, Margaritas, taking pictures, art, castles, Disney movies, daisies, spin the bottle, cartwheels, soft hair, bubblegum, skincare, watermelon and pineapple

Scorpio Venus: Psychology, neck tattoos, “until death do us part”, Kings & Queens, snakes, sacred sex, chess, secrets, hickeys, the feeling after you stay up all night, the feeling of being at a concert, roses, knives, tequila shots, legs intertwined, dirty martinis, sparklers, Avril Lavigne, fantasy books, true crime and dark history

Sagittarius Venus: Clouds, rock climbing, rappers, Hip Hop and R&B, going on vacation, açaí bowls and fresh fruit, sun kissed/radiant skin, the color yellow, retreats, history, yoga and Pilates, spicy food, “it is what it is”, curly hair, the smell of weed, casinos, the last day of school, Las Vegas

Capricorn Venus: Leather, red wine, the cow pattern, cowgirl boots, the color brown, espresso, dark chocolate, briefcase of money like in the movies, the movie Scarface, whiskey on the rocks, bosses, owls, turtle necks, caramel, wearing suits, lingerie, business, New York City

Aquarius Venus: Lightbulbs, telescopes and microscopes, LED lights, hamsters, college parties, glitter, peace signs, 70s concerts, food trucks, skipping school, “fuck it”, diving in the pool, the beach at night, disco balls, getting detentions in school

Pisces Venus: Mermaids, kittens, cartoons and Disney princesses, champagne, Webkinz, little kid stories like Goldilocks, 3 Little Pigs, Hansel and Gretel, clear glittery lip gloss, holographic, snowmen and icicles, swimming in the pool, flower gardens, glow sticks , picnics, bumblebees, sand castles, elementary art class, 3D movies

Book a Reading 🩷

Masterlist 🩷

[irishmammonagenda]

Death is a Debatable Thing-Obey Me x Reader

Summary: MC died 😱 and reincarnated as an angel, as per usual; chaos ensues. Word Count: 6.9k Warnings: Mention of Death, Cursing, Torture (mentioned, no torture happens) Michael is featured heavily in this, I just made up a personality for him, I don't play NB a lot (it makes me too sad) and I think he shows up there so if this is different to how he's portrayed there then L for me. Everyone except Luke was written as and can be read as Romantic(/platonic if you prefer)You can read Michael as Romantic, but I wrote him more Platonically.

post dividers from @saradika-graphics on tumblr (their dividers r really cool check them out if u havent fr (sorry for tagging you btw i just wanted to give credit)

"Absolutely not." You say, looking at your new found wings. "I did not die just to be reincarnated with the ugliest clothing I've ever seen."

"Would you have preferred to have been reincarnated as bare as Eve was in Eden?" The man you'd come to know as Michael. His dark skin shone in the blessed light of the celestial realm, his thick curly hair was pinned back in such a delicate fashion you wanted to unpin all the ornaments in it. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

"Isn't that against modesty rules or something...?" You paused, Simeon was an angel, he essentially had his ass out at all times anyway. Whore.

Michael stares at you weirdly, before playing with one of the loose strands of his hair, pulling the tight coil until it was completely straight before letting go and letting it spring back up again. Now you really wanted to mess up his hair. Just to annoy him.

"So anyway..." You start, sitting on a cloud that you fall through. For a moment you think you're about to pull a Lucifer and fall through the sky, but you manage to grab onto something and pull yourself up. That something is Michael's ankle and he's laughing at you, wiping a tear from ruby red eyes that shine just like that of his fallen brother.

"Stop laughing at me! Anyway, when can i go to the Devildom?" You inquire, watching Michael's face turn stern. He glares down at where you're lying, still gripping his ankle

"You're not returning to the Devildom anytime soon." He says sharply.

Your breath hitches. "Why not?! I have to let the brothers and Dia and Barbs and Sol and everyone else know I didn't die!"

"You did die. Why do you think you're an angel." Michael sighs, "and no. You're not letting them know you've returned."

"Why not?!" You repeat, outraged. "No offence though MC, but you´ve just died." "So?" You reply with indignation. "So," Michael says in a mocking tone, pitching his deep voice up high before letting it fall down the octaves once more. "You're barely able to walk on clouds or do anything yet. Letting you down to the Devildom is the equivalent of sending a baby bird into a den of lions."

"But...they'd protect me." You said softly, Michael's tone softens as well, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"They'd also over-protect you, they've just lost you. I don't think you're ready for that smothering just after your death."

You nod. Michael's soft expression turns devious, "Plus, this way, you have plenty of time to think about how youre going to scare my broth-...the brothers and everyone else whilst proving you're alive...well an angel..."

You grin too. "Amazing point Mr Michael."

He plays with his golden locks again, an idiosyncracy. "Anytime" He grins before beginning to walk again, you grab onto his ankle tighter. "Oh and Mc?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Mr Michael again and I'm shaving all you hair off. And trust me. Angel hair does not grow back." He smiles evilly. You shudder.

Well it turns out Michael is a fucking liar.

After being a little bit too bored during your second month of being an angel and first month of learning not to fall through the clouds in Michael's private garden that consists purely of clouds and a singular harp he stole from some poor Irish Deity, you go bored and snipped your unnaturally long angel hair up to your waist. You didn't want to go too short just yet.

In the time frame of a week you learnt two things.

One: Angel hair does grow back, maybe a tiny bit faster than human hair, and Two, Michael was babysitting the harp. Turns out the Deity was called the Dagda and he was visiting France on holidays for some reason, poor man, having to go to France and deal with all the French People there. Turns out he left the harp in Michael's hands, something about Fomoranians not being smart enough to see this one coming.

You just nodded and slowly backed away. Michaels red eyes followed you. He and Lucifer had to be twins.

Another day passed. The more you thought about it, the more Michael and Lucifer had to be twins. After having cut your hair to just below your shoulders, you found a piece of unnecessarily fancy parchment paper and a quill on Michael's desk

Holding the black quill in your hands you felt a sense of familiarity wash over you. Was that?....

No fucking way.

Michael was using one of Lucifer's feathers as a quill. You cackled.

After much deliberation you'd realised you could not write with a quill, but also that you were very good at ripping paper and making blotches of ink on said paper with a quill.

You decided to snoop in Michael's desk for a pen, instead you found a drawer titled, 'LUKE ONLY' in cursive letters, the label was stuck to the drawer so obviously you opened it.

Colouring books, letters written by Luke from the Devildom, Report Cards, Crayons, Drawings, and a pack of stickers were left in the drawer, a notepad lay next to it, Michael's cursive handwriting all over it 'Activities to do', it had things like 'Bowling' and 'Baking' and 'Gardening' and 'Teach him how to knit' and 'Arts and Crafts' and 'Prank Jesus' and 'Take him to Human Realm Cinema' and and anything else really. You cooed, your ivory wings rustling happily.

You grabbed a crayon and began to write.

WHY MICHAEL AND LUCI ARE TWINS one; same eyes two; both evil three; both hot four; satan is basically luci's son if you think about it and michael has blond hair too, if luci and michael are twins that means that blond hair is in the gene pool and thats how satn has blond hair even though luci has black hair five; both like wearing dramatic cape coat things six; both of them baby luke seven; they ha

"What are you doing?" Michael asks, startling you, and ruining your next point of 'they have hands', "Why is my drawer open?" He grabs the parchment from you, reads it and bellows out in laughter.

"We are twins you could've asked." He smiled, "also put the crayon back thats Red and Luke likes colouring in Teddy Bears red."

"Yessir."

You were a master conspiracy theorist.

In the end, you and Michael had decided on visiting the Devildom for 'diplomatic' reasons, but upon seeing the glint in his eyes it was probably more for 'dicklomatic' reasons seeing as he's an utter dickhead.

You had a veil covering your face, seeing as you were still kind of legally and widely believed to be dead.

You know, the usual.

You walked behind Michael, attempting to kick at the back of his knees, it never worked sadly. You took a deep breath as you reached the RAD council room doors.

Michael grabs you by your shoulders whispering into your ear. "Now remember MC im going to use you as a bargaining tool, so keep that veil on till i say so, got it?" He grins.

You nod, knowing that 'bargaining tool' in Michaelish translates to 'im bored and want to see a dramatic reunion'

Michael opens the doors.

You walk in with him but stand at the door awkwardly, steeling yourself so you don't immediately run into any of your idiots' arms.

Luke apparently had the same idea, as when he saw Michael, he let out a happy 'yip!' kind of sound similar to a puppy's and then ran from where he stood beside Simeon and Solomon into the Archangel's arms.

Michael catches him happily, petting his head as the young angel nuzzles into his hair, blabbering on about who knows what. Asmo takes a photo of it, everyone else stares with varying levels of fondness, awkwardness and 'meh'.

Sadly for you however, once Simeon is done greeting Michael, and Michael is now distracted by Luke introducing him to Barbatos who is apparently the 'bestest baker in the world!' (you could agree with that sentiment), Simeon walked over to you, his serene smile on his face.

"Hello, I'm Simeon, forgive me for asking, but do I know you? You have a familiar aura."

You shake your head.

"Oh, never the matter" Simeon smiles, "What's your name then. my friend?"

You clear your throat and put on a deep american accent, "Rupert...Pleasure to meet you...Simeon.."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"Certain." You say in the same ridiculous voice.

Simeon nods, he excuses himself after Solomon calls him over, you turn to glance at Michael who is carrying a now sleeping Luke in his arms and gently stroking the boy's golden hair while stressing out Lucifer with questions. Satan looks on with a smirk on his face.

Glancing around the room you see similar scenes, Mammon and Levi are playing a game on the latter's switch, Asmo, Solomon and Simeon are talking, sometimes glancing at you. Barbatos and Diavolo were watching Michael annoy Lucifer, with both sometimes adding their input, causing Michael to laugh loudly then stiffle it, so as not to wake up the sleeping baby in his arms. Beel and Belphie were near the others but still off in their own twin world, Belphie was awake and watching Michael bully Lucifer from where his head laying sleepily on his twin's leg.

Raphael, Thirteen and Mephisto had been sent out on a top secret mission the day before, Michael had said it was because he didnt want to die and also did not want his death to be put in the RAD Newspapers, especially a picture of him that was less than flattering.

Even though everyone seemed joyous, you noticed an air of sadness, like something was missing. Looking at your old seat in the student council you see the amount of flowers set on it.

Against your better judgement, you walk towards it. Not noticing a few pairs of eyes following you.

When you reach your former desk, you notice a photo of you framed, it was you and everyone, a family photo, everyone was either in their demon, angel or reaper forms, you wore really cheap red horns with a halo you shoved on one of them whilst also wearing an old reaper robe. It looked ridiculous, you loved it.

"Enjoying yourself? Rupert.~" a honeyed voice startles you. Asmo, although, somethings in his voice, maybe anger, maybe suspicion.

"Uhhh.." You say in your fake american accent.

"I'm Asmodeus, avatar of lust.~ Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Guess so." You shrug Americanly, thankful once more the veil covers your whole face.

Asmo's eyes have some hurt in them, he seems...catty, probably because you, who he thinks is a random stranger is just standing at his dead loved one's desk.

L.

You open your mouth to say something, but no sound comes out, especially not when another familiar voice is added to the mix.

"Well hello. I don't believe we've met before. The name's Solomon. You must've heard of me."

Oh shit.

"Oh...I have, briefly! Hello Solomon, my name's Robert." You say in your fake deep american accent voice.

Asmo tilts his head, "I thought your name was Rupert?"

Shit.

"Oh. Yes" You quickly bullshit, "My name's got the hyphens, Robert-Rupert." You avoid eye contact despite the fact you have a veil covering your face that only lets you see out of it, so the sorcerer and demon can't even make eye contact with you, even if they wanted to.

This was getting awkward.

"You seem very familiar Robert-Rupert." Solomon says, you did not like that crafty smile.

"I get that a lot." You nod before walking away.

You walk towards Michael who, has a now awake but sleepy Luke in his arms, he sits on one of the sofas in the council room beside Simeon, with Barbatos, Diavolo and Lucifer facing them on the other sofa. Atleast you'll be safe from Solomon over here. As you walk, you notice Satan, Beel and Belphie have left. Either Lucifer was going to get pranked or Lucifer was going to get pranked but not as prankily because Beel unknowingly made puppy-eyes. Mammon and Levi were bickering quietly in a corner (shocking they could do it quietly) about who won the lat round of Devilio kart.

When Michael saw you approaching he waved you over, beckoning you to sit down in the empty space beside him, "This is an angel I'm currently training, their name is.....Steven."

Simeon tilts his head "I thought their name was Rupert?"

Michael clears his throat awkwardly.

You make your voice the deep horrible American accent, "My full name is Robert-Rupert-Steven...it's hyphenated."

Michael nods aggressively.

Lucifer, Simeon, and Barbatos side-eye eachother. Something was going on here.

"So, Robert-Rupert-Steven," Barbatos begins, his polite smile a little jagged at the edges, "I saw you at MC's desk earlier, how so?"

At the mention of your actual name, everyone there tenses up, Luke, thankfully is too sleepy to have realised, Michael quickly stands up with the small angel in his strong arms, knowing if he heard the conversation about to occur he would be upset, "I should probably go, give this one a walk around to wake him up a little. Simeon, would you like to come with me?"

Simeon nods, Michael and Him leave the council room, with Luke sleepily holding both of their hands and walking slowly along with them.

Now you were stuck with the Prince of the Devildom, the Scary Butler and the Scary Single-Dad. All of which haven't realised that it's you, and all of which thinking you are a random stranger.

"Well, Robert-Rupert-Steven?" Diavolo asks, his friendly demeanor the tiniest bit strange,"What captivated you to go towards MC's desk."

"Who's MC?" You decide to play it dumb. Bad decision, seeing as all three stiffen, Barbatos' being the most unnoticeable.

A very long 3 hour conversation went by, wherein, Diavolo, Lucifer, Barbatos as well as a certain Mammon and Levi who joined 10 minutes in, and an Asmo and Solomon who joined 12 minutes in talked about you, for 3 hours straight.

'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.' was an accurate reprenstation of your mental state actually.

The urge to just rip your veil off right there was almost stronger than the urge to dropkick Maddi anytime you remembered she existed. Keyword being almost.

You just about made it out of the council room with your life. Now for your master plan. Scare the absolute shit out of the Anti-Lucifer-League. That'll get them back for never listening to your amazing prank suggestion of leaving random origami swans around the house in random spots. It was genius!

Breaking into the House of Lamentation was always easy when you knew that Mammon hid his emergency house key behind the garden gnome that now you saw it....kind of looked like a really bad rendition of Michael. With its dark skin, A DnD-esque robe and, a horrible smiley face painted on it, and the worst crime of all, bright yellow, almost neon hair, and also a princess tiara.

You almost cackled.

Taking the key you slowly open the door to the kitchen and sneakily sneak in. Sadly for you, it was they key to the kitchen door to the outside of the back of the house, which meant it opened in the kitchen, and since it opened in the kitchen, you awkwardly waved at Beel, who was having a midnight feast.

Beel tilts his head. "You're the Angel from earlier. What are you doing here?"

You once more, fake your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice and say, "I have Materials for the Anti-Lucifer League as they've suggested."

You are such a good liar.

"Oh," Beel nods, normally he wouldn't let a stranger into the house, but something felt...familiar...and safe with you. "Okay then, do you know where you're going?"

"Yes."

Beel nods, and goes back to eating the pudding labelled 'MAMMONS: BEEL DONT TOUCH THESE'

After much searching, you do not find the Anti-Lucifer-League, but you do unfortunately, open the door to Lucifer's office. The place where Lucifer currently is.

He looks up immediately on guard. You are not prepared to die a second time,

"What are you-" He begins, in demon form and standing up.

You interrupt him, making 'woooooh!' sounds and waving your arms about, and in your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you say "Wooooh! I am the....ghost of christmas past!...Woooh! and I am..." You pause, not noticing your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice has began to slip away, and your natural one has taken its place. "I am here to tell youuuuu.....to woohhhh! Take breaks more! Woooh!....and not overwork yourself! Woooh!"

Lucifer pauses, the danger in his eyes fades into disbelief. He knows that voice. He's spent the better part of a year listening to recordings of that voice and praying to his Father for the first time since the celestial war for that voice to return to him.

"..MC?.."

You've been found out. Quickly you put your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice back on, except it's gone up 12 pitches. "Who's MC?! Haha! What a weird thing to sa-"

You don't get to finish, as Lucifer pulls your veil off. His breath hitches upon seeing your face.

Your covers been blown. All because you pretended to be the ghost of Christmas past. Great.

Lucifer immediately pulls you into a hug, arms tightening around you, as if he's afraid you'd disappear. He chuckles, wiping tears from his eyes, his frame shakes. "I thought-thought I'd lost you forever...I always thought your face was angelic...-...it's fitting."

You hug him just as tightly.

But ever the menace, after about an hour or so, you look up at the Avatar of Pride, "Say, Luci?"

"Yes, my dove?"

"Wanna help me prank the rest of them?"

"Perhaps...I might help with...some setups..." He pauses, "You are telling Barbatos outright though."

You shudder. "Of course I am. I don't have a second deathwish."

Lucifer's grip on you tightens slightly, you kiss his cheek in apology. "Sorry," You grin, "Too soon?"

"Try again in another century dear."

The next day, the first thing you and Lucifer do is travel to the Demon Lord´s Castle.

Barbatos greets you in the Entrance Hall, "Oh, Lucifer," He nods in greeting at the eldest of the brothers (second eldest actually, seeing as Michael enjoys bragging that he's older by a whopping total of 2 minutes) he turns to you, who put the veil back on, "And Robert-Rupert-Steven, Welcome to the Demon Lord's Castle, although, I must ask, why you have shown up today?"

In your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you accidentally, against your better judgement, and rather impulsively state; "I'm here to assassinate Dia-...volo."

A portal opens, dragging you through it, and you land in the feared rumoured dungeons. Barbatos follows gracefully, now in Demon Form. Leaving a sighing Lucifer in his wake in the Entrance Hall. He decides to just journey to Diavolo's office and discuss things related to work. Barbatos wouldn't hurt you when he found out it was you so he really had nothing to worry about. Maybe you'd finally learn to stop joking about assassinating Diavolo, especally when other Noble Demons were around at Balls.

Sadly for you, you were now alone in Barbatos' Dungeons. Now what's scarier than being alone in Barbatos' Dungeons? Being alone with Barbatos in Barbatos' dungeons.

Time to run away.

As it turns out, running away isn't very easy when magic chains pin you to the wall. In your panic, you blurt out, "You know, I'd rather you pin me to the wall haha!" in your normal voice. The fear forcing your horrible puns and jokes to slip out.

Barbatos, who had been approaching menacingly calmly with a torture device pauses so fast it gives you whiplash. (Better than getting whiplash from the whip he was previously holding.)

In some display akin to a cockroach kind of squirming about after you crush it, in your chained up state you manage to twitch enough that you were able to pinch a piece of your veil's fabric just enough that it falls to the ground.

Immediately, the magic chains fall away, strong arms catch you as you stumble. "Hi Barbs..." You say breathlessly.

Barbatos looks like he'd seen a ghost. (You were an Angel, thank you very much.) After your death he had tried and tried to pull a you from another dimension. It would never work, some force stopped him each time. (To be fair, it was probably your jealous ass. No way in Diavolo were you being replaced by yourself from another dimension.)

His bottom lip trembles, much like the rest of his body, as he leans in, "May I, my dear?" You nod, giving him your consent as he kisses you so gently, as if he feared you would break or fade away.

He murmurs apology upon apology for the fact he had no doubt frightened you, he couldn't risk a threat to Diavolo, your 'death' had left him a little...tethered and emotional.

You close your eyes and kiss him again, now noticing you're in the kitchens and not in the spooky scary dungeon.

"Wanna bake cookies? Like we always used to do?"

Barbatos nods softly. "You do have to tell Lord Diavolo you're actually alive though, little lamb."

Your eyes light up. "We could make a cake! And hide me inside it!"

Barbatos sighs, but looking at your puppy eyes, he agrees. Gently he picks a stray ivory feather from your wings, making them rustle at the touch. Devil...you looked angelic.

Baking with Barbatos was always fun, but sadly he did not agree with your attempt at throwing flour at him.

"MC?" He catches your attention, bringing an ungloved hand to caress your face, "Have I ever told you that you shine brighter than all the stars in the Devildom?"

You blush and try to cover your face when he turns away to add more eggs into your batter only to find flour on your face. That sneaky bastard! Psychological warfare is illegal. And that sure felt like it.

It was on.

Apparently it was only on for you though. Though you did get a speck of flour on Barbatos' apron. That was a win, especially if you ignore the fact that your face and apron were covered in the white powder, which you were ignoring! So take that Barbatos!

In the end, the cake was beautiful, Barbatos helped you into the cake, and cut out a you shaped hole out of the layers made.

He then helped you out again, and the Flour War began again only this time with icing.

Hiding in a cake is quite a fun experience. Especially when you can take bites of your hiding space. Yum yum.

You feel Barbatos' wheeling of you stop as he reaches Diavolo's office, he knocks on the door, and as you requested, begins to film on his DDD (you had to promise the video would never get out of your hands.)

Diavolo sat alone, Lucifer had had to leave an hour before, Beel had went on a rampage in Hell's Kitchen again apparently.

"My Lord, I feel you have been feeling down, so here is a treat." Barbatos says, "And as a special treat, I will allow you to cut it yourself." He nods at Diavolo who you can just picture has stars in his eyes as you hear the demon butler walk to a corner of the room, still filming.

Diavolo brings the knife to the cake, as it cuts into it, you grab the blade and pull it forward. Upon hearing Divaolo's confused murmurs, You peek through the tiny hole the knife made, seeing Diavolo distracted, tilting his head like a child and asking Barbatos what he should do now.

You however know what you should do now.

Quick as a flash, you shove your hands through the cake, reach for Diavolo's arms and pull him in face first.

You didn't even care if it was probably treason. Diavolo's suprised screaming and Barbatos' slight surprised chuckle was so worth it.

It was worth it for Diavolo even after 4 hours, as he held you in his big arms, whilst the both of you were still covered in cake. Barbatos, the traitor, snapped photos of this and sent them to Lucifer.

On a great note, Diavolo agreed to help prank the rest of the brothers with you, much to Barbatos' dismay. (The butler was definitely going to help you with a certain sorcerer, however)

After a night and day at the castle and a very extensive bath, you recollected your veil, and snuck out (read: Barbatos and Diavolo waved goodbye to you and gave you some left over cake for the journey home) of the castle, you began your walk to Purgatory Hall.

Michael was staying there, and you needed to tell him everyone's reactions so far.

It was also a Saturday, meaning that Solomon would be out in Sorcerer's society meetings all night and morning.

When you got there you made use of the tree there and climbed up it until you saw something in Luke's room. You paused your climbing and looked in through the window.

Two figures were in the Young Angel's room.

As Luke lay tucked in in his bed, cuddling the dog plushie that Mammon had given him at a carnival last year that he claims to have thrown away, Michael and Simeon sat on his bed, the nightlight on the boy's bedside table created a gentle glow that the two elder were using to read the storybook strew across both of their laps aloud, they appeared to be acting it out ever so slightly. When Luke finally drifted off. Both Angels kissed his forehead then dimmed the nightlight down slightly, dim enough where it wouldn't hurt the boy's eyes but bright enough that the dark wouldn't scare him if he woke up in the middle of the night, keeping the curtains open for added light.

You cooed silently, your white wings rustling.

Snapping out of it, you scale across the wall before finding the spare room Michael was staying in and breaking in.

"Hello Motherfucker." You greet the Archangel.

"You couldn't pay me to fuck your mother."

"Harsh. And here I was about to tell you my escapades..." You sigh dramatically. Michael immediately smiles sweetly. Buttering you up. You cave.

After about an hour of Michael laughing at you specifically, and then changing your contact to 'ghost of christmas past' the bastard finally fell asleep.

Feeling thirsty, you snuck downstairs into the kitchen to get a drink, and also a sharpie so you could draw a mustache on Michael's face. Not bothering to put your veil on seeing as no one would be awake anyway.

As you filled up a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter drinking it, lost in your own plans, mainly of who to prank nest and how to do it.

You don't hear the little pitter-patter of feet until it's too late.

"MC?" A sleepy Luke stands in the doorway in cat themed pajamas no doubt gifted to him by a certain someone, he holds his dog plush loosely as he rubs his eyes with a tiny fist.

He walks slowly towards the cupboard, pouting sleepily when he realises he can't reach it, you immediately grab his favourite mug,(the one with the red tractor on it) knowing to put milk and some sugar in it before placing it in the microwave for 2 minutes.

Luke walks over to you still half asleep, resting his face on your side, you bring him in for a hug. "Simeon said you went to a happy place after you left, he always got sad when I asked when you were coming home..."

You bite your lip and speak softly, "My flight got delayed for a little while," You lie. Luke didn't need to know you died, Simeon hadn't told him in the best of ways to shield the young boy, that worked out in your favour.

You catch the microwave before it beeps, taking the warm milk out and stirring the hot-spots out of it before handing it to Luke. With his teddy now in the crook of his elbow, he sleepily took the mug before putting his tiny hand in yours.

"C'mon Luke, let's get you back to bed." You say softly, he nods tiredly.

"Will you tuck me in? And read me a bedtime story?" He yawns quietly.

"Of course."

After closing his curtains and tucking Luke in, he snuggles up to you and you read him a bedtime story, after drinking his warm milk, he falls asleep quite quickly, so do you.

A mistake, really. Seeing as in the morning when Simeon comes in to wake the small angel up and sees you there he lets out a shriek very out-of-character for him.

A shriek which wakes both you and Luke up.

Luke smiles toothily, "Oh Simeon! MC came back last night! Did you not see?"

Simeon collects himself, "I must've been asleep Luke, why don't you get dressed then come down for breakfast? Michael and I made pancakes. M-MC, why don't you come downstairs now?"

Luke nods and gets up dutifully.

As soon as you leave the room and Simeon is sure you're both out of the earshot of Luke, he pulls you into a hug which you return.

"I thought I'd lost you.." He breathes out softly.

"Me? C'mon Simmy...you know I'd never let death keep me." You laugh, he laughs breathlessly.

"I suppose not...." He captures your lips in a soft innocent kiss before leading you downstairs, hand-in-hand.

When Michael sees the two of you he offers you a pancake, far too casually for Simeon's taste.

Simeon looks between the two of you and glares at Michael. "You knew about this."

"Haha! Funny story actually! I need to go help Jesus! He's gone and ventured into another desert!" Michael laughs nervously before booking it, only coming back when Luke appears, knowing then he's safe from Simeon's wrath....

....for now.

You took out your super serious napkin and crayon that you stole from Diavolo (read: Diavolo gave you) and crossed out Simeon's name.

Your list was now as follows:

Purgatory Hall Simeon Solomon House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

For Satan and Belphie, you could knock out two Anti-Lucifer-League Birds with one stone. It felt a little mean to prank prank Levi and Beel...Mammon and Asmo were debatable, but you were going all out on Solomon. That'll teach him to turn you into a sheep that one time 2 years ago.

After careful deliberation and planning, (20 seconds of thinking.) You'd decided to sneak into the Sorceror's society and jokingly attempt to assassinate Solomon, and maybe fully assassinate Maddi if she was there. Not maybe, definitely.

Veil over your head, you walked in, when the sorcerer guards stopped you, you just pretended to be Michael then walked further in. Apparently they were terrified of the Archangel. Damn this society needs better sorcerers securitying it.

After stealing schedules you realised Solomon would be in a meeting right now with a bunch of no names. Oh well.

You crept into the meeting and attempted to plunge the butter knife Barbatos' gave you from the castle kitchens specifically for this in his neck, knowing he'd dodge. "This is for the Sheep Potion you Rat Bastard!" You screech like a Bean Sídhe. After half a millisecond of shock and slight anger, Solomon realises who it is behind the veil, laughing he grabs the arm you're holding the butter knife in and drags you into his lap, gently ripping the veil off of you and giving you a peck on the forehead, before he turns to the shocked and slack-jawed sorcerers that looked older than he did. "Sorry all, my adorable partner," He puncuates the word partner by pulling you closer to him, "missed me a little too much. and has-" He kisses you on the lips passionately for a moment, leaving you very much breathless and him very much chuckling, "-strange ways of showing their affection."

Bastard.

Some time into the meeting you whisper, "How are you not more shocked?"

"Well Robert-Rupert," He whispers teasingly back to you, "Remember that binding spell we did back when you were alive? It never broke. I knew the moment I saw you."

Your heart stops. "Did you tell anyone else?"

"I debated telling Asmo, but I suppose you wanted to on your own terms." He teases.

"I should've tried to stab you with a sharper knife."

Solomon laughs, "Oh and MC my love?"

"Hmm?"

His eyes glint predatorily, "You look absolutely ravishing as an angel. I can't help but want to corrupt you..."

You bury your face in his chest to hide your blush.

Bastard.

On the bright side, now a rumour that Solomon the Wise and Michael the Archangel are secret lovers has spread around the Devildom. You're counting that as a win.

Purgatory Hall Simeon Solomon House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

After your encounter with Solomon, you'd decided learning to just hide your angel form was the best course of action. Luckily it was fucking easy and you could've done it ages ago. Strange how Simeon and Luke never mentioned it....meh. You're pretty sure Luke just thought Michael thought you were super cool so he made you an angel. You weren't telling him anything otherwise.

´Satan and Belphie watch your fucking backs.´ was the pedal note of all your thoughts currently, you´d snuck back into the House of Lamentation, thankfully Beel was not in the kitchen, he was at Fangol at this hour.

Walking through the halls stealthily, you heard whispers as two sets of feet seemed to enter the room at the farthest end of the hallway. Lucifer´s room.

You fucking caught them.

No time to be caught in Lucifer´s room, seeing as if you were there long enough and Lucifer caught you, you would not be leaving for a good while.

So you crept up to the attic, the official Anti-Lucifer-League headquarters, you climbed the pillars to get on the roof and you waited.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, snickering could be heard coming up to the attic. Satan opens the door, letting Belphie in, both brothers in various fits of sniggering as they walk into the room.

"He'll never see this one coming!" "This is our best one yet."

From your place on the attic ceiling, you spot Lucifer filming on his DDD from the shadows of the doorway. Of course he found out about this.

"Of course it's our best one yet!"

You swing down off of the ceiling beam, swinging lightly upside down. "And you didn't invite me?" You pout.

Satan and Belphie scream, clutching onto eachother, before noticing that it's you and running to pull you down and clutch onto you instead. You notice Lucifer chuckle and put his DDD in his pocket before leaving. Traitor.

You cuddle into your two Anti-Lucifer League Brethren, maybe this wasn't so bad. (Of course it wasn't, you loved your idiots.)

Safe to say, you didn't leave the attic for a long time. Apparently people need time to process that you're not actually dead. What madness.

House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

You had long unentangled yourself with a sleeping Belphie and Satan, making sure to leave a:

it wasnt a dream dont worry lads im alive.

note on their chests just in case.

Sitting in the attic with your napkin and crayon in hand, you ripped the Purgatory Hall part off of it and used the back of it for that note, you scanned through the list. You should save your First Man for last, so your next options were Beel, Asmo and Levi.

Seeing as you've shown yourself to Belphie, it's only natural your gentle giant is next.

Watch your fucking back Beel. Literally

Speaking of, it's been a few hours, Beel should be coming back from Fangol practice any moment now.

As was routine at this point, you crept through the House of Lamentation's halls and quickly ran into Beel and Belphie's shared bedroom.

As Beel walked into the room, his Fangol bag slung across his chest and a pile of after Fangol snacks in his hands, you braced yourself, made a run for it, anf landed right square on his back, arms around his neck to keep from falling.

"Oh hi MC!" Beel hummed cheerfully, before his eyes widened and he dropped his snacks. "MC?!"

"Hi!"

Quick as a flash, Beel maneuvers himself in 'dying cockroach you in Barbatos' dungeons part two' and grabs you into his arms.

"I thought you died..." He said, smelling your hair as he cuddled you.

"I did. I just came back as an angel."

"Really?" His breath hitches, "Can I see?.."

You take a deep breath and your wings and halo pop out, he strokes them gently.

"You're beautiful..." He whispers, enraptured...."I think...out of all of Father's creations over the years since the celestial war...you're the most precious...."

He speaks softly, always the gentle giant, the moment lasts for just a moment, before the moment, like all moments do, has passed. Beel's stomach rumbles and you giggle.

"You should eat your snacks, Beelie.."

"They always taste better when we share." He nods seriously.

House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

Levi or Asmo? You bit your crayon in thought then immediately made a face. Crayons did not taste nice.

Speaking of things that did not taste nice, you remembered that one time you tried to eat Levi's controller because you were bored.

Levi it was!

You had to time this perfectly, waiting in the shadows until Levi went down to get a snack, you snuck into his room, saying the answer to his password out of pure habit, before sitting on his gamer chair and maneuvering it in such a way he would not be able to see anyone on it from the door.

When Levi walked into his room, a bag of crisps in hand, he took a few steps before you swung around "Boo!" and he screamed. Dropping his crisps.

After convincing him you were infact not a ghost (Unlike Lucifer's), you sat with him in your arms, watching anime, and getting caught up on the new episodes released.

You cuddled up to him in his bathtub that night. You grinned evilly. This gave you an idea.

House of Lamentation Mammon LeviSatan Asmo Beel Belphie

It was no secret that Asmo bathed a lot. Funfact, Angels can hold their breath for 30 minutes!

As Asmo was busy picking out which pajamas he wanted to wear after his bath, you tiptoed behind him and slowly got in his bath, hiding under the bubbles.

It took a total of five minutes before Asmo closed the door to his bathroom and got into his bath, this was your chance! Reaching out, you grabbed his foot and pulled him under.

He screeched, when got back above the surface of the water, he grabbed your hand and pulled you over.

He squealed this time, hugging you tightly.

"Oh MC darling!~ I thought you were...well never the matter~...." He punctuated each word by kissing your face all over, leaving you squirming in his grasp out of embarassment. "How naughty!~ Sneaking into my bath like that...~...not that you arent always welcome my lovely!~"

"A-asmo," You say, your clothes soaked, though you couldn't find yourself caring. "Asmo, I love you..." your voice is soft and the Avatar of Lust coos.

It was a nice night.

Time for your final victim. Your First Man. Feeling nice, you decided not to do something too mean.

Painstakingly, you made a trial of grimm from the front door to your First Man's room, more specifically; to his bed. The plan was to hide behind the door and jumpscare him while he was busy collecting the grimm.

Unfortunately for you, seeing as you weren't sure when Mammon got off his modelling shift, you'd finished far too early, and since you and Asmo were up the entire night, you were quite sleepy.

Surely a little 5 minute nap wouldnt hurt?

You woke up hours later to a sobbing Mammon on top of you, cuddling you in his arms like his life depended on it. It seems you'd falled asleep on his bed, more specifically in his nest.

In the nest you would normally sleep in while alive. (While Human technically, seeing as you are alive, just not human.)

You bring a hand to his snowy locks, he sobs harder. Like his brother, kissing all over your face softly, "Thought I lost ye' forever Hum'n" he gasps for air, his sobs quieting down, "Though' you were gone....I prayed ev'ry nigh'...." he says, voice barely above a whisper as he strokes your cheek, looking into your eyes. "I prayed ta Fath'r ev'ry nigh' since ye' died...that he'd bring ye' back te me...."

"And he did..." You say just as softly, bringing your hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes, sharing a soft kiss with him. As always, your greedy lovable bastard would want more, and you'd want nothing more than to give them to him.

And the next day when you told Michael you'd be staying in the Devildom he cheered, then told you to include him in this 'Anti-Lucifer League business' because it 'seemed fun'.

Wow. Now you knew where Satan got it from. Poor Lucifer, he just barely got away from Michael in the Celestial realm, and now he has to deal with Michael 2.0 in the Devildom.

Satan and Michael really were kind of similar....maybe it's a good thing they've only met in passing.

Moral of the story kids. Death sucks, don't do it. If you do do it, reincarnate. Bam! Problem Solved.

This is the longest ever fic I've ever wrote and probably does not make a lot of sense so I apologise for that. I also apologise for any ooc behaviour i'm still learning how to write characterisation😔✊

also i love thinking of Michael being a father figure to Luke and its very obvious

[yanderecrazysie]

A Dragon's Hoard Part 2 (Yandere Malleus)

Title: A Dragon’s Hoard (Part 2)

Pairings: Yandere! Malleus Draconia x Female! Reader

AU: My Fantasy AU

WARNINGS: yandere themes, dead bodies

Part 1: here

You woke unsure of how long you had been asleep. There was no sunlight in your eyes, like there always was back in the fae kingdom. Deep inside a cave, you couldn’t tell if it was still night or a new day.

Deciding to check for yourself, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up. You still wore what you were wearing the night before- a fairly long, strapless dress made of palm leaves and woven flats. 

In any other cave, you would probably be shivering, your bare arms and ankles exposed to the air. However, the green crystals jutting out of the stone walls seemed to cast not only light but warmth as well.

At first, when you padded out of the alcove and into the main cave, you couldn’t see Malleus. His throne was empty and the piles of gold and gemstones remained untouched. Then, you spotted him, walking towards you with silent footsteps around the corner. 

“Did you sleep well?” the dragon asked you, coming to a stop a few feet away from you.

You nodded, ‘Yes. Um… what time is it?”

“The sun is high in the sky,” Malleus said with an amused smile, “You slept long. I wouldn’t expect anything else, after such a long journey.”

You nodded again, unsure of what to say.

Malleus lifted a black-gloved hand and motioned for you to follow him, “Come. I have prepared a meal for you.”

Knowing dragons were meat eaters, you were apprehensive to see what kind of meal he had prepared for you. Fae were all vegetarians, after all. He led you deeper into the cave and turned into a dark alcove.

In this “room” was a long table with chairs pulled close. There were no crystals on the wall, but there was a crystal standing straight up straight and tall as the tables centerpiece, casting a candlelight-like glow on the room.

At the foot of the table was a gold plate, a gold goblet with rubies encrusted in its carved pattern, and silver silverware. Upon the plate was a variety of fresh fruits and nuts, cozily placed in the crook of a lopsided loaf of bread. 

You could smell the fruit and warm bread from where you were standing and your mouth began to water. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were before seeing this delicious meal set out for you.

“I trust this will suffice?” Malleus asked. When you eagerly nodded, he continued, “I am unfamiliar with the needs of fae, so I will need you to correct me when necessary. However, I have studied all of the species in Wonderland, and know the basics of how to care for you.”

The statement seemed a little foreboding, but you were very thankful for the meal. “It’s perfect, thank you,” you said.

You pulled the chair from the table. There were carvings on the back of it, shapes of dragons in the clouds sticking out to you with great detail. The cushion was velvet-covered and cushy. Taking a seat, you tucked into your meal, biting into a juicy strawberry that spurted juices into your mouth and against your lips, turning them red.

Malleus watched you eat with an unwavering gaze, studying you in fascination as you chowed down on the meal as though it would be your last. Your teeth tore chunks of bread a little too large to be polite. Your wings fluttered in discomfort under Malleus’s stare, but you couldn’t care enough to slow down.

You finished with the nuts, cracking open their shells with the silver knife. As soon as you’d finished, Malleus began to speak, “Tell me, little fae, what brought you to break King Riddle’s rules? Not many fae are able to stand up to the king.”

You hesitated to answer, but finally settled on a safe response, “I didn’t agree with his asinine rules. The Great Ones may have all come up with rules for their descendants, but none set as many as the Queen of Hearts… They’re suffocating. All I wanted was a little freedom.”

Malleus tilted his head, “Freedom,” he echoed, “A noble choice, yet dangerous for a fae.”

You lowered your eyes, feeling the sting of tears in them. It was hard to believe you could never return to your little cottage in the confines of King Riddle’s castle. 

“That’s why I came here,” you said softly, “I thought I could find freedom on my own.”

Malleus chuckled softly, “Freedom is so delicate… oftentimes it is just an illusion.” You felt a little uncomfortable, especially as he continued, “Fear not, you are free from the fae court here. I protect what is mine.”

You met his emerald gaze, “What if I want to leave one day?”

Malleus’s expression froze and tightened. His features grew hard as he said in a deep and rumbling voice, “We shall cross that bridge when it comes to it, little fae.” Then, a smile graced his lips, “I believe that you will find there is no reason to leave soon enough.

The mark on the back of your hand pulsed faintly, as if agreeing with his words. You clenched that hand into a fist and looked down at the dragon carved into your skin.

“I have something to show you,” Malleus said, “A part of my hoard I believe you will find interesting.”

You pushed your chair out and stood up. Malleus was quick to push the chair back in its place and motioned, once again, for you to follow him. He led you even deeper into the cave, passing several alcoves on the way. This passage opened into a small cavern, the sheer amount of green, pulsing crystals causing a warmth that was almost uncomfortable.

As soon as you saw its contents, you screamed.

Skeletons piled high, along with rotting corpses. Whether there was nothing left on the bone, or just a scalp of dead hair or melting faces, they all still had clothing adorning their figures that told stories of what they once had been. 

One skeleton’s bottom half looked like fish bones and another had a spine that curled way too long, coiled over itself like a snake’s tail. Some wore black gothic dresses, reminiscent of vampires, while others wore leather like were-creatures. There were even one or two wearing dragon scales, like Malleus’s black-scaled cloak. None wore fae clothing.

“What is this place?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Malleus smiled and, in the bright glow of the green crystals, his face was lit up in a terrifying way, “This is the most precious part of my hoard. Treasures I’ve gathered over centuries.”

You were going to throw up. You clapped a hand over your mouth and began backing out of the cave, fear pulsing in your chest.

Malleus chuckled, “But these are mere trinkets compared to the treasure I’ve just added to my collection.”

His eyes looked at you with meaning and you let out a squeak of horror. You turned and ran, your wings fluttering madly, too stressed to actually take you off the ground. 

The cave twisted and turned. You could not sense the entrance anywhere, but still, you ran, terror speeding up your legs and filling your muscles with adrenaline. Tears spilled down your cheeks and strange little hiccups left your mouth.

Was he following you? You glanced back and could not see him. While looking back, you rammed your shoulder into a sharp turn and let out a squeal of pain. Stumbling slightly and holding your throbbing shoulder, you desperately looked for the exit.

Finally, as you rounded a corner, you realized you could see a light that wasn’t green. You sprinted out onto the ledge and crouched down. Your wings steadied and you took flight with a leap into the air. 

Suddenly, as if an invisible rope had wrapped itself around your hand, you cried out as a tightening feeling squashed your hand, the dragon on the back of your hand glowing with a green fire.

You were forcibly tugged backward so roughly that your wings folded in front of you and you plunged backwards back into the cave, hitting the stone wall so hard that you heard a crunch as one of your wings was caught between your back and the cave.

You slid down the wall and laid on the ground, panting from effort and terror. Your spine ached, your left wing was slightly bent, and the back of your head throbbed from where it hit the wall.

Malleus walked around the corner and into the sunlight, the scales on his cloak shimmering in the light. He walked over to your crumpled form and crouched down, petting your braided hair with a soft sigh.

“Do not fear,” he murmured, his voice soothing, “I will keep you safe. If you do not leave, you will never know hunger, pain, or loneliness ever again.”

You let out a sob and Malleus’s smile grew a little. “Why?” you asked him brokenly.

“You are the most precious addition to my hoard. More precious than gold or jewels…

…How could I ever let you go?”

[awhhayden]

LOVE BITES ₊˚⊹♡ (Sam Monroe)

CONTAINS : [ fem reader x sam monroe ] | smut with plot?

THE NIGHT WAS COLD, the February sky shrouded in clouds, as if the world was waiting for something to happen. Sam sat by the window of his apartment, the flickering streetlights casting shadows on the walls. He had never been one for Valentine’s Day—too cliché, too forced—but tonight, something was different. The air felt charged as he waited for you to arrive, as if he had spent years building walls around himself and now, with you in his life, they all crumbled.

you were kind—gentle in a way that made the harshness of the world seem less cold. The way you smiled, the way you looked at him, as if you saw beyond the tough exterior. Sam was dark, brooding, and he knew you noticed. But you never judged him for it. Instead, you had embraced it, offering him warmth when all he’d known was isolation. That soft spot he tried to ignore for so long had become impossible to deny, before he knew it he had fallen in love with you.

When the doorbell rang, his heart gave a jolt. He stood up, straightening himself, as if the weight of his feelings could somehow be hidden. He opened the door and saw you standing there, a soft blush on your cheeks, holding a large box that was delicately wrapped in red paper. you smiled with excitement that made him arch his brow.

“Hey princess,” Sam said, his voice low, almost gruff. He couldn’t help the way his lips curled into a small smile, the corners of his mouth betraying his usual stoic expression.

you stepped inside, your warmth filling the room like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Sam watched as you carefully sat the box on the counter, your hands delicate, as if you were afraid to disturb the quiet beauty of the moment. He didn’t know how you did it, but to him, you made the world seem softer just by being in it.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” you admitted, your words stumbling slightly as you met his eyes. “But I thought, These were cool. Something you could enjoy.” you handed it to him. "I think you’ll like it," you said quietly but nervously.

He took the package from you, feeling the weight of it in his hands. His fingers carefully unwrapped the ruby paper, peeling back the paper to reveal a stack of old vinyl records. His breath caught in his chest as he recognized the covers—the classic art from bands he had adored for years, ones whose songs had become the soundtrack to his life. These were no ordinary records. They were vintage—rare, hard to find.

He picked up one of the albums, his fingers grazing over the surface of the cover, taking in the familiar design. “Where did you find these?” Sam asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

you sat beside him, watching his reaction with a soft smile on your face. "I remembered you mentioning you liked them. Thought you'd appreciate having something like this... something from the past." your voice was low, as you blushed deeply.

He leaned closer to you, the space between you charged with unspoken tension. “You didn’t need to get me anything,” he murmured. “But these... they’re perfect.”

he gently cupped your face, pushing you against the couch. He hesitated for a moment before kissed you deeply, taking the lead and pinning you there with his body. he continues to kiss you with a mix of tenderness and a slight hint of desperation. his hands are planted firmly on either side of your head, caging you in against the couch as he deepens the kiss.

sam breaks the kiss for a moment, panting heavily as he hovers over you, his chest heaving slightly. his eyes scan over your face, his gaze intense as he takes in your flushed expression. he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin for a moment. “I love you” you whisper tenderly.

he leans forehead against yours “say it again." he says urgently. you smile, “I love you sam.” he lets out a shaky breath, the words sending a warm rush through him. he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he holds you close. he presses soft kisses along your skin, “i love you too... so damn much."

He swiftly picks you up and you gasp and giggle. he carries you easily, his arms strong as he holds you close to his chest. he lays you down on the bed gently, his body following to hover over you once again. he gazes down at you with an intensity in his eyes that was different from before, his expression now filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. “you're mine." he whispers, his voice low and possessive.

you nod and he grins at your response, his hands roaming over your body slowly, tracing every curve and line with his fingertips. he kisses you deeply again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound urgency. “no one else gets to have you, understand?" he murmurs against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer to him.

you gasp softly. he smirks at your gasp, loving the effect he has on you. he nips at your bottom lip, his hands moving up under your shirt, eager to feel her your against his.

"i need you... need to feel you, all of you." he whispers huskily, his breath hot against your ear. he quickly pulls your shirt off, tossing it aside before doing the same with his own. he runs his hands over your bare torso, his touch gentle yet possessive. he kisses down your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake.

"god, you're beautiful." *he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he looks up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. “Please Sammy” you whisper. his smirk widens at your plea, and he chuckles softly. “please what, princess? use your words." he teases, his fingers trailing along the hem of your skirt. “N..need you” he lets out a soft groan, his control wavering at your words. he moves back up to kiss you again, his tongue sliding against yours as he grinds his hips against you. “i need you too... need you so bad." he murmurs against your lips, his voice strained with need.

he kisses you hungrily, his hands working quickly to grab your skirt and slide them down your legs. he breaks the kiss just long enough to rid himself of his own pants as well, leaving you both in just your underwear.

he gazes down at you, taking in the sight of you lying beneath him, looking absolutely beautiful and wrecked already. he runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. “you're driving me crazy, you know that?" he tosses your underwear aside before sliding out of his own, his eyes roaming over your naked form hungrily. he moves back up to hover over you, his body now completely pressed against yours.

“you're so perfect... so perfect for me." he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. he kisses your neck again, his hands gripping your hips tightly as lines up with your entrance. he groans deeply as he enters you, the feeling of you surrounding him sending a wave of pleasure through his body as you let out a soft moan, he pauses for a moment, his breath coming out in short pants as he tries to collect himself.

"fuck..." *he murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again to look down at you "you feel so good, baby..." you moan louder and he shivers at the sound of your moan, his hips starting to move slowly, savoring the feeling of being inside you. he leans down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent.

"I needed you so bad princess." he mutters against your lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough to leave bruises. he continues to move, his pace now relentless as he pounds into you. he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as you moan and whimper in his ear. “you're mine... all mine. i'm not gonna let anyone else have you, you understand?" he growls, his possessiveness shining through as he thrusts harder.

he moves one of his hands up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose more of your neck. he nips and bites at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites and hickeys as he goes. “say it... say you're mine, baby. i need to hear you say it." he demands, his voice rough with need.

“I..I’m yours” you gasp between moans. he groans again at your words, his grip on your hair tightening as he quickens his pace even more. he's losing himself in you, his mind clouded with pleasure and the overwhelming need to claim you as his. “good girl... that's right. all mine, forever." he growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels himself getting closer to the edge.

he can feel you getting closer too, your body trembling beneath him as he continues to move inside you. he lifts his head to look down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he takes in the sight of you. “you're close, aren't you, princess? I can feel it. you're gonna come for me, aren't you?" he asks, his voice strained with effort as he tries to hold off his own orgasm.

you nod desperately. he smirks, his pace becoming even more brutal as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. he leans down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “that's it, baby. come for me. let go for me." he urges, his hand moving from your hair to your clit, rubbing you there in time with his thrusts.

he feels you tighten around him as you come in soft breathless pants, and that's all it takes to push him over the edge too. he buries his face in your neck once again as he reaches his climax, his body tensing as he spills inside you with a loud groan.

he collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. he gently pulls out of you, rolling onto his back beside you. He turned over to face you as he stroked your hair softly, “Happy valentine’s day princess”

My first story in so long finally! I promise i’ll be writing more! this isn’t my favorite and it was a bit rushed but wanted to get something out there before valentine’s day, Love you all! <3

TAGLIST : @anakinstwinklebunny @fredswrite @inlovewithdob @speaknow-sw @haydensheartt @malinadbbdh (let me know if you’d like to be added!)